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Chapter Text

Harry was waiting for Dumbledore to pick him up from Privet Drive. That didn’t happen though. He fell asleep clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet and woke up at the wheel of a flashy luxury car.

He reacted appropriately.

“AAAARGHHHHH!”

The car veered off the empty road and crashed into a tall, sturdy tree. The airbag slammed into Harry’s face. His glasses broke and pain burst into his senses, shockingly sharp and he was soundly knocked out.

Annabeth was waiting for Percy to reach camp. It was their first week anniversary, an incredibly important date to remember. Percy had promised her he’d be there by lunch, but it was now past 3 pm with no sign of her boyfriend.

She reacted appropriately.

“CHIRON! WE NEED TO ISSUE A QUEST!”

Chiron winced, looking up from his hand of cards. He was losing this time at Pinochle and Mr. D’s smug face would not allow him to leave the table.

“Annabeth, dear,” Chiron told her, from the porch of the Big House. “Percy’s probably taking the bus here if his stepfather is busy.”

“But he usually calls if he’s late,” Annabeth argued. “I phoned Sally just now, she said he’d left at 11!”

“Perhaps he ran into a monster. We know Percy can handle himself,” Chiron told her gently. “I’m sure he’s close enough. Let’s wait another hour before setting loose the cavalry.”

“For the best,” Mr. D grunted. “Unless you want a repeat of the funeral Perry Johannson gate-crashed. His own funeral.”

Percy had been on his way to Camp. But he’d found himself flying through the window of the car and scorpioning on the forest floor beside the road.

He reacted inappropriately.

“Ouchy.”

Thankful for the Achilles’s Curse, he stumbled to his feet and touched his aching face. Nothing was cut or broken, but his head flashed a neon red Check Engine sign. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Brain reeling from the impact, Percy waddled off into the forest, swaying with every fumbling step. He had a date with Annabeth.

Drew sounded the alarm horn. Peleus the dragon curled protectively around Thalia’s pine tree as the campers assembled in haste, rushing to the border.

“There’s a fire there!” Drew yelled, pointing at the horizon. “And I heard something explode.”

Indeed, there was a column of smoke rising to the sky.

Annabeth steeled herself. “Cabin 6 and 11 to me! Cabin 5, take up rear guard. It could be a new camper or monsters. Stay alert!”

They rushed out in an unpredictable fashion. All the better to confuse anyone watching them. Annabeth and her siblings approached from the north while the Hermes cabin and Ares kids pincered around the blast zone.

A car had been wrapped around a tree and exploded. It was currently on fire and the dryads around it were shrieking and trying to put out the flames.

“Douse the fire!” Annabeth barked at Cabin 11. “Malcolm, check the road! Clarisse, how close can you get to the car?”

“Just a few feet,” Clarisse growled, and her brothers agreed. “It’s too hot. Gas leak.”

“There’s someone here!” Connor yelled.

“New camper?” Annabeth asked, marching toward him. She saw the extent of the scene.

Connor’s siblings managed to kill the fire and peel the car away from the partially burned tree. Glass and metal had burst on the ground, somewhat melted on the grass around the tree.

The most visible part of it all was that a boy covered in glass cuts had crawled away from the exploded car. From a cursory examination of his head wounds, Annabeth figured he’d been hit by an airbag.

“Probably mortal,” Connor was saying. “Can’t see any bags or supplies around him.”

“Unless they burned up in the car,” Travis reminded him.

“Clarisse?” Annabeth called. “Anything useful in the car?”

Cabin 5’s head shook her head. “I can see two bags in the rear seat. But they’re properly melted.”

Malcolm walked down from the highway. “Car veered off the road. I’m guessing he was going at 150 miles per hour, maybe more. He could have seen a deer or something.”

“No!” a dryad snapped. She was the tree that had been hit by the car. Her sister spirits helped her stand as the charred bark of her skin painfully healed. 

Annabeth could sense the Golden Fleece’s magic in the air, healing the dryad.

“Did you see what happened?” Annabeth asked her.

“I was sleeping without a bother in the world!” the young pine spirit complained. “It was all quiet, there was nothing moving around me. Then the car just rammed into my trunk and burst into flames. It was loud! He got thrown out the window, too!"

Annabeth frowned. So the mortal boy just lost control of the car? And was thrown through the front…

“He’s totally out!” Connor called. “He’s got a bunch of cuts from the glass. You won’t believe it, but one of these look like a lightning bolt!”

The campers whispered intrigued. The dryads muttered unhappily. They’d been on the receiving end of human carelessness for millennia. They wouldn’t like it if camp allowed this human that crashed into a tree past its borders.

“Call Will!” Annabeth decided, sending one of her siblings. “See if he can treat the guy out here. We’ll get him back to the city so no one thinks to look around camp.”

“Jeez, he’s got those blood quill words on his hand too!” Connor announced, examining the unconscious boy’s knuckles.

“The what?” Clarisse asked, exasperated.

“Come on, La Rue. You watched Order of the Phoenix, right?!” Connor yelled.

Annabeth approached the boy. He had dark black hair messy in the back and wayward from surviving a car crash. He was prone on his stomach as though he’d tried to crawl out from the burning car but collapsed a few feet from it.

“I guess Long Island’s got some serious role players,” Annabeth said, shaking her head. She’d never fully understand mortals and their fascination for the otherworldly while ignoring the truth in front of them.

“Hardcore,” Connor agreed. “I found round glasses beside his head.”

Annabeth heard the others start giggling around them.

“Great,” Annabeth sighed. “Does he have a fancy stick to go with the ensemble?”

Her siblings snorted and so did half of Cabin 11. She was about to turn back to the car when Connor laughed, “Yeah, he does! This dude’s the best Harry Potter impersonator I’ve seen!”

Chapter Text

Harry felt someone roll him onto his back. Warm hands checked his pulse and brushed the glass bits off his face. A cool alcohol-soaked cotton disinfected his cuts.

He peeled open his dried lips and whispered, “... what… happened?”

“You’re okay,” someone spoke to him gently. “My friend and I found you. I’m checking your wounds. How’s your head?”

“... dizzy.”

“We’ll get you some water. Anything else hurts?”

His hands tingled from the fierce heat of the fire that Harry had scrambled to get away after the crash. But it was the skin on his chest that hurt the most. A diagonal band stretching from his shoulder down to his opposite torso throbbed aggressively. The pain seemed to flow like molasses up to the back of his head.

“Chest,” he breathed. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was too bright.

Strange. Hadn’t it just been nightfall at Privet Drive? Why did it feel like daylight now?

Harry moved his hands weakly, searching for his wand. He needed it. He couldn’t remember if he’d been holding it or if it sat in his pocket.

He felt his jeans pockets and began to panic when he found them empty.

His wand wasn’t there!

“Think you can sit up?” the bloke spoke as though Harry wasn’t having a crisis.

“Wait,” Harry gasped, still lying on his back on the grass. Awareness slowly filtered in.

“You have a mild concussion,” the boy spoke. Now that Harry paid attention to his voice, he sounded young. Younger than Harry.

Harry blinked carefully, wincing against the bright light. He smelled the smoke from the car. He saw a curly-headed blonde peering down at him. It was a kid maybe Ginny’s age or younger.

“Can you tell me your name?” the kid asked.

“Harry,” he answered, gripping his thighs hard through the denim.

“Do you know the date?”

“Er. 12th, July.”

“No…” the boy said, frowning worried. “It’s August 25th.”

Harry’s eyes flashed open. “W… what?!”

The blond boy sat back as Harry pushed himself off the ground and leaned against one of the many trees. “What d’you mean August?”

They were in a forest. A girl stood by the destroyed car with melted tires, examining its sorry state. All Harry could do was scream in his head about why he was in a forest with two muggles in broad daylight in August?!

And what was with the accents?

“I’m Will,” the boy told Harry. “You have a funny scar.”

Harry clapped his forehead, hiding the red lightning bolt-marked scar. It throbbed dully now. His chest ached more than his head. His hands…

He stared down at his perfectly healed hands now. Not a blister, not a cut. The pale words from Umbridge’s blood quill shone from his knuckles but other than that…

“You’re a hardcore LARPer,” the young boy, Will, told him.

Harry had no idea what was happening. He’d been in a car crash, but the question was why had he been in a car crash?

“Are you sure it’s August?” Harry blurted, eyes darting around the forest floor for any signs of his wand.

“Definitely,” Will promised, getting to his feet and packing his little first-aid kit. The kid was tall, almost Harry’s height, but his face showed his painful adolescence. Harry did not miss being thirteen.

“Is he okay?” the girl asked, walking over to them with purpose. She had sharp intelligent eyes, more dangerous than Hermione’s could ever be. Her dark braids bounced as she came to a stop, scowling at Harry’s fringe.

“Mostly,” Will told her. “But that scar is real.”

She frowned. “Seriously?”

“And the words on his hand,” Will told her.

Harry backed away, heart thudding. Were they trying to identify him? She did not seem friendly. But they didn’t give off the creepy vibe that Death Eaters had. Will seemed curious, even worried. The girl was just annoyed that Harry had appeared in what he presumed was her land.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t really remember how I got here. I’m supposed to be heading somewhere. Someone’s coming to pick me up from where I’m staying… er, where am I?”

She blinked. “Wow, that’s posh. This is Long Island. What do you mean you don’t remember? Will, I thought you said—”

“There’s no memory impairment, Annabeth,” Will said, surprised. “But that scar is giving me the heebie jeebies.”

Harry was trying to figure out where this Long Island was supposed to be. The girl, Annabeth, didn’t seem to like Will’s answer. “Who are you? Why were you driving so rashly?”

“I’m Harry,” he said honestly. “I wasn’t driving.”

“Then who was?”

Harry paused. Had he been driving? That couldn’t be. The only time he’d come close to driving a car was the Weasley’s Ford Anglia and Ron needed help landing at Hogwarts and they had to get the landing gear moving.

“I… don’t know,” Harry said, racking his head.

“You were driving,” Will said.

“Huh?”

“Your chest bruise,” the boy insisted. “It’s from the driver’s seatbelt.”

Harry pulled the neckline of his tee down. There it was. He had a blooming reddish-purple bruise that extended from his left shoulder diagonally down to his right hip.

“Er,” Harry said, feeling sick. “I guess the airbag and seatbelt stopped me from flying through the windshield.”

Annabeth examined the bruise with her scary eyes. “You were wearing a seatbelt?”

“I guess I was?”

“But then… who was thrown through the windshield?”

Will and Annabeth exchanged surprised glances. Harry was confused.

“Were you in the car with a friend?” she demanded.

“No. It’s not even my car! I don’t have a car! I just don’t know… I can’t…”

Annabeth frowned and raised her hand. “What about this stick of yours?”

Harry felt light-headed. She was holding his wand! They couldn’t be Death Eaters. They didn’t recognize the wand. A muggle had gotten hold of his wand!

“It’s mine!” Harry said, approaching her, but Annabeth snatched the wand away.

“I’d like some answers first,” Annabeth said, eyes flashing.

Harry glared. A spark of warmth burst through his hand and down to his fingers.

The wand was yanked from Annabeth’s grip. It flew into Harry’s palm and warmed his entire body. The holly and phoenix feather wand was reunited with him.

Annabeth and Will’s jaws were open.

“Wow!” Will cried. “Like a real wizard or something!”

Harry’s heart hammered against his chest. His focus was on Annabeth who’s shocked expression quickly fizzled into suspicion.

“What’s your name?” she asked, stepping close.

Harry backed away. “I told you.”

“Your full name,” Annabeth insisted.

He scowled at her. “I need to go.”

Will rushed forward. “Hey, Harry! I’m Will Solace. This is Annabeth Chase. We live pretty close by and we heard the car crash. We know you’re a half-blood!”

Harry froze.

“You’re one of us, right?” Will grinned. He elbowed Annabeth happily. “He’s probably one of Hecate’s!”

Annabeth grimaced like she ought to have figured all this at first. Harry did feel more inclined to trust Will than the girl who looked like she wanted to hold him at knifepoint.

“I can find my way back,” Harry said, pocketing the wand. He could try and summon the knight bus if he got away from the weird muggles.

“You have a concussion,” Annabeth reminded him loudly as he turned away. “Look, I didn’t think you were a half-blood. But if you were searching for our camp, you got pretty close.”

“Camp?” Harry asked warily as his head spun. He tilted to the side and Will was instantly there, propping him up.

“For kids like us,” Annabeth said. She sounded softer now. It was as though she had been waiting for some kind of confirmation.

“Wait…” Harry said slowly. “Are you two… half-bloods too?”

Will sighed in relief. “Yes! Yeah, we are.”

“You’re much older than thirteen,” Annabeth murmured. “How did you survive this long?”

The question made Harry giggle. Then he chortled. Then he burst into wild laughter that made his eyes burn with tears. They streamed down his face and the last thing Harry saw before he fell were the stunned expressions on Annabeth and Will.

Percy bumped into a tree and apologized, “So sorry, ma’am. I’ll stay out of your way.”

He tripped and landed face-first into a shallow stream. The cold water revitalized him so fast that his head spun.

His head ached less now. Percy slowly got to his shaking feet. The forest sun around him, trees moving yet staying rooted to their spots.

Annabeth. Date.

“Right,” Percy mumbled and staggered off deeper into the forest.

Chapter Text

Thirteen-year-old Will Solace was in charge of the infirmary now. He liked that the work swamped him. It distracted him from the thoughts.

It had been barely a week since the end of the Second Titan War. Percy had demanded the gods to claim all kids by the time they hit 13. Campers placed bets on how long it would be before they would start skimping out on the responsibility.

Will hadn’t thought it would be a mere seven days in.

Harry was in the infirmary, sleeping off his head injury, still unclaimed. Having seen his bright green eyes, Will might have shuffled him off to the Demeter or Hecate cabins. But no symbol had appeared above him, so they waited.

“The stick flew to him, you say?” Chiron was asking Annabeth. The pair walked into the infirmary, and Will leaped off his seat.

“Yes,” Annabeth said stoutly. “Will saw it too!”

“I did,” Will promised, peering up at Chiron’s tall form. “He isn’t mortal. I didn’t give him nectar, though, because I wasn’t sure before. Once he wakes up, we can get some ambrosia in him and he should be better.”

Chiron frowned at Harry, who was lying quite still on a hospital bed. He approached him and picked up the stick from the bedside stand. Their mentor examined it carefully, turning it over in his nimble hands.

“We think he’s a role player,” Annabeth said, filling up the silence. “He has a scar too. And his spectacles are just like Harry Potter’s.”

“His name is Harry, too,” Will pointed out, smiling.

“Possible,” Chiron said. “He must have realized he had actual powers and decided to emulate his favorite fictional character. Or…”

Will blinked when Chiron trailed off.

“Or what?” Annabeth demanded.

“Or he is indeed a wizard,” Chiron said without a hint of sarcasm. He held up the neatly craved stick and intoned, “This has incredible magic in it. Human magic.”

Annabeth gawked. Will was speechless.

“A sorcerer then!” Annabeth hissed.

Chiron shook his head. “I’m afraid the magical conduits of our world do not include a wand in the collection. We have staffs, weapons, and other artifacts. I’m afraid this boy is human and has a magic wand that seems to obey him… since he summoned it to his hand without a verbal spell.”

Will burst out laughing. “Are you serious?! So, he’s actually like a wizard or something? I didn’t know they existed!”

“Nor did I,” Chiron murmured. He gazed down at Harry and reached a quiet hand to brush the dark fringe off the guy’s forehead. The sharp lightning bolt scar stood out against his skin. It looked recent like it was cut barely a week ago.

It felt sharp to Will. He’d tried extending his magic to heal it, but the cut was deep, resisting his efforts. He’d never encountered such a reaction before unless it was poisoned.

“The scar feels cursed,” Will mumbled.

Annabeth muttered, “So he’s infected with something?”

Will had read only till Goblet of Fire. He never got a chance to see the last few movies, either. But he knew that Harry Potter’s scar was cursed because it had a piece of Voldemort’s soul in it. One of the many spoiler forums had tweeted it happily before Will could block them.

“Strange,” Chiron said, wiggling his fingers over the scar. “It feels occupied.”

Will inhaled sharply.

NO. FREAKIN’. WAY.

All the cabin counselors gathered in the war room. Everyone was yelling, discussing the latest wildfire rumor that had raged through camp, mere minutes after Chiron had galloped away to send a message off to Mr. D, who was visiting his wife on Olympus.

Clarisse banged her fist on the table to quieten them.

“Settle down, numbnuts! Seriously, Stoll. Either sit down or I’ll shove that chair up your ass!”

“Someone woke up on the right side of their bed, huh?”

Annabeth cleared her throat, and they settled down. “First thing’s first. Travis, Jake, what did you get from the car?”

Jake showed them a melted bag with books that had turned to crisp inside. It was hard to even say what color the bag was. Travis held up a partly burned newspaper. He opened it carefully on the table, and everyone gasped.

There, on printed paper, was a black-and-white photograph moving like a gif. The words printed above it spelled DAILY PROP.

“It’s real,” Travis said to a stunned group of demigods. “That’s an actual Daily Prophet newspaper from Harry Potter. The date says July 1996.”

Will sat up. “He said that too! Harry said it was July. I thought he was seriously concussed!”

Drew clapped her hands happily. “So, who summoned a fictional character into our world? Lou? I’m looking at you.”

Everyone turned to Lou Ellen, the only child of Hecate currently at camp. She was thirteen, like Will, and she was startled by the number of eyes looking her way.

“What?!” she burst. “It wasn’t me! I can’t bring randos from another universe into ours!”

“He ain’t a rando,” Pollux said solemnly. “He’s Harry Freakin’ Potter.”

“Or to be more precise,” Katie interjected. “He’s Harry Bloody Potter!”

Annabeth sighed. “Does that matter?”

“It does! He’s British! They have different slang.”

“Bloody fine!” Clarisse growled. “So we have a fictional character who crashed Prissy's car outside camp. And Prissy is missing?”

Annabeth swallowed. “He should have reached by now. I already called Sally twice. She’ll start to worry if I call again. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

“What about Rachel?” Will asked.

“I left her a voicemail. She should be here in a bit…”

RAP. RAP.

Everyone paused and watched the large doors shudder from the force. Someone had knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” Annabeth called. “Chiron?”

“No… it’s me.”

Everyone whispered, confused and worried. Will’s heart leaped.

Lou opened the door and let Nico di Angelo in.

Will noticed he was taller now, but skinnier thanks to the way his bulky jacket seemed to swallow up his thin body. His hair was longer, curling by his ears and his face seemed paler. It made his dark eyes stand out nicely in Will’s opinion.

“Nico?” Annabeth said warily. “Good news?”

Nico stopped. “Not really. An hour ago, my father was complaining about a messed up soul on the surface. He sent me coordinates and I realized it was inside camp. You said someone showed up here today?”

Katie muffled a gasp. “Holy schist! Are you talking about Voldemort?”

Nico frowned. “Who?”

“You-Know-Who!”

Nico was even more lost. Will thought it was a cute look for him.

Annabeth stood up, “Will, do you know the story?”

Will nodded. “I know like a summary.”

“Okay, bring Nico to the infirmary and explain the situation about the scar. If that really is Harry Potter, then that means it’s someone from another bloody universe. Lou do you have any information about multiverse-summoning?”

“Multiverse-summoning?” Lou repeated.

Annabeth flapped her hands. “I don’t know! What would you call it?!”

“You can’t just bring someone from another universe!” Lou cried. “There are rules!”

They paused.

Clarisse stood up slowly. “You mean to say it’s actually possible?”

Lou shrugged, uncomfortable with everyone’s attention. “Technically, yeah. But it’s seriously complicated and dangerous. I can’t imagine anyone actually doing something like this. Especially since universes need balance.”

“Balance?”

“Yeah. Bringing Harry Potter, or anyone, here throws both his verse and ours out of whack,” Lou insisted. “It’s why any kind of person summoning is totally uncool. Also banned. Very much banned.”

Nico made a face. “What are you even talking about?”

Travis gave a synopsis. “Book character crashed a car into our universe. It may just spell the doom of everything we know. You a Potterhead, di Angelo?”

Nico stared as though Travis had been talking in another language, which he might as well have.

“Let’s go to the infirmary, Nico!” Will chirped. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Annabeth dismissed the counselor meeting, asking the cabins to keep an eye out for Percy. She and Clarisse stayed back to examine the magical wizard newspaper and probably try to read the articles that hadn’t burned in the car fire.

“Who’s Harry Potter?” Nico asked.

Will wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts. “He’s a fictional character. Probably the most famous one in books and movies. You must have seen it on shelves? It’s okay, I got the first few books and you can take a look. Maybe we can have a movie marathon this week!”

None of this seemed to help Nico any more than Travis’s summary did.

But Will didn’t have the time to flesh out his explanation. The two boys had arrived at the infirmary only to find it empty. Harry had vanished.

Percy nearly walked off a cliff. Whoops, bad Percy. Mom would so ground you for this.

He spun around and waddled back into the dense forest.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up in a hospital bed. For a moment, he thought he was at Hogwarts because he’d experienced intense déjà vu with the scene.

And, of course, the Dursleys would never get him to a hospital.

But he sat up, blinking a couple of times to take in the sight. It was a long hallway, almost as wide as the Hospital Wing. But the floor was polished wood, not stone. The windows were larger, letting in more sunlight. The roof was not as high as the Wing either.

The layout was absolutely different as well. A table stood by the doors, filled with papers and pens. All the beds had soft green covers, not white. Beside his, he noticed a tall bar with hooks to hang muggle IV fluid packs. Harry had never seen Madam Pomfrey use those.

His wand was on the bedside stand, thankfully. Harry grabbed it and swung his feet down to the ground. Someone had removed his shoes and socks. So Harry found a pair of nurse’s shoes, shoved his bare feet into them, and escaped out the back into the warm woods of this strange place.

This had to be a dream.

Harry noticed the trees were closer here and not as impossibly tall as the ones in the Forbidden Forest. More light streamed in through the branches, letting him see the sights easily. It wasn’t as cold as the Scottish Highlands either, and Harry was forced to admit that he wasn’t in the Forbidden Forest. This was not Hogwarts.

“Hello?” someone called, and Harry paused, heart thudding.

He was staring at a young girl, just a teen. She wore a thin, plain summer dress that she seemed to have roughly cut out of a large piece of fabric with blunt scissors. Her skin was covered in dirt like she’d lived in the rough for months. Her face was beautiful and her eyes glowed purple. As in… really glowed with purple light.

She stepped closer, barely twenty feet away, eyes wide and unblinking. The hair on Harry’s arms stood up.

“Are you Lord Dionysus?” she asked sweetly. Her bare feet stepped lithely over the rough forest floor.

“Lord… me? Um… no?”

“You don’t sound sure,” she said. Her voice had a strange quality. It was as though she was about to burst into song, the melody already filling her throat.

Harry thought something about her felt like facing a Veela. He backed away, placing his hand in his pocket in case he needed his wand. The girl moved closer.

“I don’t… I’m lost,” Harry said carefully.

The trees around them rustled and more girls stepped out. They were dressed similar to the first, in plain fabric leaving their arms uncovered. Their legs from the knees down were naked and splattered with dirt.

All their eyes glowed purple. The girl in the lead smiled. Her lips pulled wide to show blood-stained teeth. Sweat broke out on Harry’s temples and the back of his neck.

“I’ll just go,” Harry whispered.

“Don’t,” the girl said and lunged.

She was a blur. The wind rustled, and Harry had his wand out, shouting, “STUPEFY!”

The spell slammed into her and she crumpled to the ground.

The others gasped and snarled at him. Harry staggered. The spell had been overpowered and it had taken a lot to affect her.

A dozen other girls dashed across the forest, hands hooked into claws, blood smeared across their faces which were terrifying to behold. They moved so fast that Harry didn’t even have time to raise his wand again.

He didn’t need to. A hundred gallons of water emerged from the west, slamming into the monstrous girls, and flooding the forest in front of Harry. He yelped and fell back, watching the spectacle.

The girls were all swept up in the water which now hovered in the air a few feet above the ground. Harry couldn’t believe the power. The girls shrieked, a stream of air bubbles escaping their bloody mouths.

A boy stumbled into the clearing. He was squinting up at the water, confused.

“No attacking campers unless it’s Capture the Flag!” he scolded them. “And you gotta get permission from Chiron to try and kill us.”

The girls shrieked at him but Harry didn’t understand the words. The boy did though.

“He’s probably at Olympus for the day,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll let you go. Find a nice monster to eat.”

“Wait!” Harry said, alarmed. But the boy didn’t heed him. He dropped the massive ball of water and the girls fell to the ground, soaking wet. Their hair hung limply around their faces reminding Harry of a horror movie antagonist.

The girls snarled at the blond boy who folded his arms and glared back. They backed away and picked up their fallen leader like she weighed nothing. One of them held her bridal style and they slunk deeper into the forest, annoyed.

The boy dropped his hands and sighed. “Urgh! It’s barely Wednesday and everyone’s already getting amped up for Capture the Flag.”

Harry was gawking at him. “Th… thank you. That was quick thinking.”

He blinked at him. He had greenish blue eyes, his blond curly hair reminding Harry of the young boy, Will, who’d helped him. But this bloke was older, Harry’s age. One of his thick curls looked pale in the sunlight, almost gray.

“Are you new?” he asked.

“Huh?” Harry said. “No, I crashed here. I need to go home.”

The boy massaged his temples. “Most of us crash here. It’s the only place actually safe. There are monsters that would love to eat people like us.”

Harry gulped. Those purple-eyed girls had definitely looked at him like he was the only meal for miles. “People like us?”

“You know,” the boy said. “Half-bloods. You do know, right? Did Chiron not tell you?”

“Er, I don’t know a Chiron.”

The boy frowned. “I’m Percy Jackson, head of Cabin 3. I’ve got this massive headache that the Achilles curse can’t seem to fix. Let’s get to the mess hall and I’ll answer your questions, ‘kay?”

Harry stared back into the forest. His heart was sinking. He was nowhere near Hogwarts. That girl had told him that he was in Long Island. Harry had never heard of such a place.

“This is America?” he asked hesitantly.

Percy blinked again. “Yes…”

Okay, Harry told himself. For some reason, he was in America, all the way across the ocean! HOW?

“Hey,” Percy said, now gentler. “It’ll be alright. I know things seem rough now, but we’ll help you figure it out. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Harry didn’t want to run into any monsters like those girls. Maybe American wizards could use magic without wands because they constantly had to be on the lookout for threats.

“Alright,” Harry said. “I don’t know how I got here though… I’m supposed to be in Surrey. London.”

“In England?”

“Yeah.”

Percy stared. “Weird. I was wondering why you speak like that.”

Harry sighed. They fell into step, going back the way Harry came from. At least Percy was nice enough to help a complete stranger. He figured he could be somewhat candid with him.

“I really do need to get home. My professor was supposed to pick me up in an hour… he’ll worry.”

“Professor, eh? Okay, I’ll bet Chiron will have answers. If he doesn’t, Annabeth will. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Annabeth? Dark, sharp eyes, t-shirt and shorts?”

A goofy smile lit up Percy’s face. “Yeah.”

Harry chuckled. “I hope so. One minute, I’m asleep in my bedroom, and the next, I’m in a car, crashing into a tree.”

Percy nodded. The smile slowly left his face. “Huh. I was in a car too, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. One minute, I’m reaching into the back seat for a book, and the next, we’re flying off the road, and I get launched through the windshield.”

Harry frowned. “Weird.”

“Yeah, weird. So, what’s your name?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Harry Potter.”

“...”

“What?”

Percy spoke slowly, “Your parents really named you that?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. What of it?”

Percy’s steps stuttered for a moment. “I thought you’re my age.”

“I was born in 1980,” Harry shrugged, not sure why Percy looked increasingly perplexed.

“Woah, really?” Percy suddenly said. “Damn, dude. Cabin 9 would kill for your skin!”

Harry recoiled. “What?”

“Like, you look younger than 20, man.”

“... I am?”

“Huh?”

“I’m 16.”

Percy squinted. “Okay, my math ain’t so good. But 2009 minus 16 is not 1980.”

Harry stared. “2009?”

“Yeah. That’s the year.”

Harry froze. Percy went on without him for a couple of steps before stopping in surprise and turning to face him.

“No…” Harry said weakly. “It’s 1996.”

Percy shook his head, just as wide-eyed as him. “It’s 2009, dude.”

So, not only was Harry on the wrong continent, but he was in the wrong year, as well? Could things get any worse?

“Did you cut your head?” Percy suddenly asked, staring through Harry’s bangs to focus on his scar.

“It happened a long time ago,” Harry said, instinctively flattening his hair down over it.

Percy gawked for a moment. He stepped closer to him, eyes boring at the scar and then at his eyes.

“Damn, dude,” Percy whispered. “You’re the best Harry Potter role-player I’ve ever seen.”

Harry scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look more like Harry Potter than Daniel Radcliffe! And that guy rewired my brain with the series, so it’s a big deal!”

“Who the bloody hell is Daniel Radcliffe?!”

“You live under a rock or something? He’s Harry Potter!”

“I’m Harry Potter!”

“I almost believe you, man,” Percy said, whistling low. “You got a wand and broomstick and an owl too?”

“Yes, what’s it to you?!” Harry snapped.

“I bet you could win any contest.”

“What contest?!”

“Harry Potter look-alike contest, duh!”

“I AM HARRY POTTER!”

“You got the bright green contact lenses too. So cool.”

“Sod off!” Harry shouted and marched ahead, fuming.

Percy called out, “I bet you of all people were thrilled to find out magic actually exists, huh?”

Harry yelled some not-so-polite stuff. Wrong continent, wrong time, and now this random bloke was talking about him like he was a non-real persona. Even if he had a concussion, Harry wasn’t so inclined to forgive him---

“Wait!” Harry said with a sharp gasp. “You said you were in a car crash, too?!”

Percy frowned. “Yeah. I think I wandered too far west. Nearly walked off a cliff.”

“Mate!” Harry gritted through his teeth. “I was in a crash as well!”

“... okay, twinsies, I guess.”

Harry exhaled deeply. “What if… we were in the same car?”

Percy squinted. “We were?”

“I was in my room,” Harry said, now to himself. “Then I woke up… in the car! In the driver’s seat! That’s why we veered off the road!”

Percy’s eyebrows flew up. “You were in the driver’s seat? But… holy Poseidon, I was in the passenger seat!”

Percy stumbled against a tree, his face growing horrified. “I was talking to someone… the driver… oh, gods! You arrived… and Rachel disappeared!”

Chapter Text

Rachel Elizabeth Dare tumbled face first into an unfamiliar room. She threw her arms out with a loud gasp. Her fall was cushioned only by the soft impact of a bed. She hit the mattress and rolled off it, thudding onto the floor with a groan.

She pushed herself upright, her hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself, her heart racing from the sudden jolt. For a moment, everything was hazy—her surroundings blurred as she tried to orient herself.

“Ugh! What just happened, Percy?” she muttered.

No one answered her.

Rachel blinked rapidly, realizing that she was alone in a small, cluttered room that she’d never been in before. One second, she had been on her way to camp with Percy—the next, she was here. Wherever here was.

Rachel’s eyes adjusted, and she started to take in her surroundings. She was standing in a small, dimly lit bedroom, the kind that looked like it belonged to a teenage boy.

A red and gold Gryffindor scarf was draped carelessly over the back of a chair, and there were scattered parchments on the desk. 

Real parchment, Rachel thought, surprised. She had those too!

She gazed around the room, growing excited. An old-fashioned trunk at the foot of the bed. It was open. Inside was a broomstick that looked like it was taken from the set of Harry Potter. Its handle was polished and shiny, just like the one in the movies.

Then, her eyes caught something even more bizarre: an owl—large and snowy—sat in a cage near the window, peering at her with dark yellow eyes. Its feathers ruffled slightly as it turned its head with a startled stare.

“Okay, okay. Stay calm, Rachel,” she muttered, her fingers gripping her temples. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m in some... weird fan’s bedroom. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I’ve stumbled into a crazy Harry Potter fan’s room. This has got to be some hardcore fandom stuff.”

She patted her cheeks to freshen herself up.

“I must be dreaming,” Rachel whispered. She was standing in what looked like a perfect remake of Harry Potter’s room. It didn’t look like the one from the movies. This room was smaller, with a bad pale green wallpaint, and a sad layout.

She gingerly opened the door, stepping out into the dark hallway of what appeared to be a house—a normal house, at least on the outside. Descending the stairs, she observed the new surroundings. Photo frames of a large, blond boy littered the walls. Other photos of a middle-aged couple peered down at her.

Rachel rounded the corner and stepped into a living room, or rather, a "telly room" as she quickly deduced. Three people, a large dad, a skinny mom, and a well-built son were gathered around a bulky old-timey television. They all stopped and turned at once, their eyes widening in shock when they saw Rachel standing in the doorway.

“Who the blazes are you?!” the man bellowed, leaping to his feet, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. His hands trembled at his sides, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

She blinked, taken aback by the sheer force of his reaction. “Um, sir. I’m Rachel. I arrived in one of the rooms. I don’t know what’s going on here…”

The man looked like he was about to explode with rage. The woman beside him, who Rachel assumed was his wife, screamed at the top of her lungs, her face contorted in utter horror.

“BOY!” the woman screeched, her hands flailing at her face. “What have you done ? Who is she?!”

Rachel’s mouth fell open as she stumbled backward, raising her hands in confusion. “Who… who are you talking to?”

But before she could process any further, Vernon took a step toward her, his face twisted in disgust. “I knew it! I knew he was hiding something!”

He shook a fist at the ceiling.

“You think you can get away with this? Bringing a girl into our house— hiding her in your room like some... some...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His face was flushed with rage, and the veins in his neck stood out like ropes.

Rachel couldn’t understand the rage. It sounded like the man was yelling at someone who wasn’t in the room.

“I—I’m sorry. I’ll just go… I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered, hands raised in defense, still trying to make sense of the situation.

“Don’t you dare play coy with me!” Vernon barked, his face contorting further. “He used that freaky nonsense to get you in here! Is that it? Is that what’s going on here?”

“Wha—what nonsense?!” Rachel’s mind was struggling to keep up with the bizarre accusation.

The woman staggered backward, fainting onto the couch with a dramatic swoon.

Rachel’s mouth went dry as she watched the woman collapse. What the hell was going on?

The boy from the photographs watched in shock. He was large—blond, with a thick neck and arms like a wrestler—but his eyes weren’t filled with the same fear and anger as his parents. He simply stared at Rachel, his gaze confused and unblinking, as though he were trying to make sense of her presence but had no idea what to do with it.

“Dudley,” Vernon barked, snapping his head toward the boy. “Stay back and don’t worry! I’ll take care of it!”

Dudley only looked more baffled. “Dad. That’s just a girl.”

“I’m Rachel,” she tells the man. Then she blanches. “Wait, your son’s name is Dudley?”

Before she could process it, the man marched toward her—his hands clenched in fists, his face twisted with anger.

Rachel bolted back up the stairs. She threw herself back into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She locked it with trembling hands, pressing her back against it as she gasped for breath, her heart racing.

She could hear Vernon’s shout from the other side of the door, his voice muffled but full of fury.

“Boy! Both of you better get out here now!”

Rachel's pulse was still hammering as she slid to the floor beside the bed, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

The door rattled powerfully and Rachel winced, hiding her head under her hands.

The owl in the corner flapped her wings, alarmed. She hooted loudly and kicked open the door to her cage. She swopped out and continued hooting, loud enough for it to carry through the house.

“SHUT THAT RUDDY OWL!” the man bellowed and stomped back. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving tonight! You better take that wench with you!”

Rachel heard his heavy footfalls down the stairs. Her heart settled gradually but sweat dripped down her face and neck. The owl flew down to her, perching herself at the edge of the mattress and peered down at Rachel.

The big, angry man had called the boy Dudley. Rachel was trapped in a room that looked like it belonged to…

She breathed loudly, eyes shifting to stare at the beautiful snow-white owl.

“Hedwig?” she whispered.

The owl bobbed her head, hooting softly.

Oh no.

Rachel dropped her head into her hands. She knew exactly what was happening.

“Oh, dear,” the old man said with the same weight Rachel had. He watched her closely. Rachel swallowed and waved a hand at the most brilliant Albus Dumbledore look-alike she’d ever seen.

“Where is Harry?” he asked, observing Rachel over his half-moon glasses.

“I don’t know,” Rachel whispered. “I never saw him. I arrived in the room. He must have left at the same time.”

The wise, old wizard’s eyes widened. “And how do you know this, Miss…”

“Evans,” Rachel said, deciding not to lie. There wouldn’t be any point, this guy could perform Legilimency on Voldemort if he so desired. “I’m Rachel Evans… and I know a lot of things.”

She stumbled on the perfect disguise. Something deep in her bones (possibly the spirit of Delphi within her) told her she must not tell them that to Rachel, Harry, Dumbledore, and everyone in this world was fiction.

“What sort of things?” Dumbledore said, suspiciously. His bright blue eyes did not twinkle at her.

“I know that your arm is cursed from mistakenly trying on the Gaunt ring,” Rachel said, watching with a small thrill when Dumbledore’s blackened fingers twitched. “I know that you planned to pick up Harry and bring him to Horace Slughorn to entice him to resume his position as Potions Professor at Hogwarts. I know you want the man under your protection to ask him about a tampered memory that holds the key to understanding how You-Know-Who safeguarded his life so powerfully.”

Rachel forced her eyes to look away before Dumbledore could look into her mind.

“I come from another place, Headmaster,” Rachel said carefully. “All I wish to do is go home. But I know how dire things will grow in your world. I request refuge with the Order of the Phoenix in exchange for information, how much ever I can acquire.”

Dumbledore was not happy. “And what of my student, Ms. Evans?”

Rachel grimaced. “I’m hoping that if you send me back, he might arrive here.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

“No,” she admitted. “But we don’t have time. You don’t have time, sir. Has Snape already warned you that your days are limited?”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything.

“He has,” Rachel whispered. “I’m sorry you are in pain, sir.”

Dumbledore exhaled. “I must say… and you probably know this, you do look a lot like Lily Potter.”

Rachel gawked at him.

“Someone is playing a dangerous game,” the headmaster spoke worriedly. “Subject exchange across such unflinching thresholds constitutes great power. Damaging power. I can think of few people who can achieve this.”

Rachel was still reeling from what Dumbledore had said before. She looked like Lily Freakin’ Potter?!

She didn’t hear Dumbledore whisper to himself, “Gellert…”

If there was anything Grindelwald was thankful for his years trapped at Nurmengard, it was this. He recognized why his vision of conquering the muggles for their own betterment was wrong. In fact, in one of his many mediations on remorse, he stumbled upon old magic. Damning visions proved it. He saw that a muggle with no discernible magic of her own could pave a swifter end to the current Dark Lord.

Grindelwald passed away in his pitiful cell, having performed the perfect exchange, even without a wand. Having conquered a good chunk of the Wizarding World with the elder wand for several years, he’d picked up a few tricks.

He just hoped the subjects of the swap would forgive him for dying with the knowledge on how to reverse it.

Chapter Text

Harry sat on the porch of the Big House, dazed by Percy’s revelation. Rachel picked up Percy from New York and drove to camp. Then Harry and Rachel switched places. The exchange discharged a blast of energy, and Percy was launched out of the car, which crashed against a tree.

He listened to the other teens discuss in furious and low tones, unable to decipher anything.

“From that burnt-up copy of the Prophet paper, we know he’s from the Half-Blood Prince!”

“Like before Dumbledore picked him up from the subway?”

“No, Lou. That’s from the movie. Harry was in his room in the book.”

“And we’re sure he’s the version from the canon books?”

“Except for the glasses, he looks nothing like Daniel Radcliffe!”

“Yeah, he has the actual green eyes from the books.”

“And his wand is made of holly wood.”

“Harry Potter movies were produced by Leavesden, not Hollywood.”

“Don’t be an ass, Travis!”

“Hey! Be glad I didn’t make a wand joke.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried to relax. The forest’s fresh air helped settle his mind, but the convoluted conversation did not.

They said books and movies as though he was connected to something called the ‘canon’? And 'Daniel Radcliffe' again, Percy wasn’t the only one who brought up this name. The most startling thing was the teens were pouring over the Daily Prophet as though they’d never seen a wizarding paper before.

“Movie marathon?” a young kid asked, excitedly.

Annabeth sighed. “It differs from the novels in some ways, I think. But it’ll be faster than accessing the audiobooks. Look, I don’t want to freak him out. He still doesn’t know.”

“You’re sure?” Percy asked, before jerking a thumb in Harry’s direction. “‘Cause he ain’t actually asleep.”

The gang of mysterious teenagers stared at Harry. He watched them silently. Percy waved his hand. Harry waved back.

“We should tell him,” Percy said.

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” Harry snarked. “Keep chatting your random ideas! I’ll just spiral silently here.”

The gang gawked.

“The movies didn’t capture his sass,” one of the girls muttered.

“The books kinda did,” another said.

Harry buried his face in his hands.

A shadow fell over his face, and he blinked his eyes through the gaps in his fingers.

A centaur stood in front of him.

Unlike those from the Forbidden Forest, he wore a shirt, tweed waistcoat, and a brown blazer, complete with a neatly pressed tie. His white palomino body was large and muscular like the centaurs of the forest, but Harry doubted they had ever worn human clothes.

“Mr. Potter,” the centaur greeted him, brown eyes deep and perceptive from years of experience. Far too many years to count, Harry figured.

“Hello?” he mumbled.

“I am Chiron, the activities director of Camp Half-Blood,” the centaur introduced himself. “Let’s take a walk. I shall explain as much as I know about the situation.”

As annoyed as Harry was with the others, Chiron made him feel like a centaur version of Dumbledore, old, wise, and knowing way too much.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, getting to his feet. He followed Chiron out onto the campgrounds.

They walked over a mound, and Harry found himself blinking at a long expanse of strawberry bushes, planted in neat rows. The scent of strawberries lingered in the air, sweet and ripe for picking.

“We thought of keeping the truth from you, to be honest,” Chiron said. Harry frowned.

Chiron continued, “In 1997, a British writer published a book titled, Harry Potter and the Philospher’s Stone.”

Harry goggled, “Bloody what?!”

“The book is fiction for us,” Chiron said quietly. “It details your story during your first year at Hogwarts.”

He knows Hogwarts, was Harry’s first thought.

SASDFGHHJFGRRR, was Harry’s second thought.

“Did you just say fiction?!” he demanded.

Chiron exhaled. “Yes. It is a great shock, I can imagine.”

Harry kept walking but it felt like his brain was sizzling.

“What’s your proof?!” he finally burst. “I’m a real person, look at me! Who cares about a stupid book with my name on it? Did Rita Skeeter put you up to this?”

Chiron frowned in confusion, “I’m afraid it has been a while since I read the books. Is Rita Skeeter a reporter?”

“YES! She’s a Daily Prophet repo—wait, did you say books? Multiple books?!”

Harry had stopped moving, his trainers now stuck to the soil. Chiron paused in his tracks as well, peering down at him.

“Yes,” the centaur said carefully. “One for each year.”

“Each… each year at Hogwarts?”

“Yes. Seven books.”

“But I’m starting my sixth year now!”

“I see.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“I’m dreaming,” he whispered. “I fell asleep at the Dursleys and I’m dreaming now.”

“Harry—”

“Prove it!” Harry said. “Show me the books!”

Chiron frowned in thought. “I believe we have some copies in Cabin Six.”

“Great!” Harry marched off to the cabins with the same fervor as Hermione would in search of a book.

Cabin 6 was a large cabin with bright gray walls and columns, designed like an old temple. Will stood outside the door with a short, pale boy with dark hair. They were talking to a tall boy who looked like Annabeth’s twin brother, with the same face, silver eyes, and blond hair.

“Will, Nico,” Chiron greeted them warmly. “Malcolm, Harry would like to borrow the books for the day.”

Malcolm stared at Harry with wide eyes. “THIS. IS. SO. COOL! You’re Harry Potter! Like, for real!”

Harry was not pleased.

“Lacy locks up her set under her bed. So, you can take some of mine. I have a few of Rachel’s copies too. But I think she took one of the books last week.”

“Was it the first book?” Chiron asked.

Malcolm checked. “No, I got the Sorcerer’s Stone right here.”

Harry scowled at Chiron, “You said it was called the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“In the UK, it is,” Chiron agreed. “The American version is called Sorceror’s Stone.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the publishers.”

Malcolm offered six books to Harry. He whispered, “Could you autograph it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“... oh, right.”

“Nico hasn’t read the books either,” Will piped up, gesturing to the pale boy beside him. “Chiron, can we have a movie night?”

Chiron eyed Harry. “Well…”

“Yes!” Harry said firmly. “I want to see this. Movies on my Hogwarts years? Please, who would actually enjoy them?”

“Like a billion people,” Malcolm replied earnestly. “Your books are like the third most read story in the world.”

“What?!” Harry said, flabbergasted.

“Third?” Will asked Malcolm who nodded as said, “Well, Sherlock Holmes is in second place, and the Bible is in the first.”

Chiron smiled sadly. “Gone are the days of Gilgamesh.”

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow.
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!”

Scabbers, who was digging into a sweets box, squeaked as the box flew away with a small burst of light.

Harry (not really Harry) and Ron (somewhat like Ron) shrugged. Hermione (kinda like Hermione) side-eyed Ron.

The campers, some dryads, and satyrs sat in the home theatre in the Big House, chuckling at the movie. Harry stared, silently. He was having an out-of-body experience.

He’d read the first few chapters of the first book and then skipped to the end. Then he skimmed through the second, third, and fourth books. His heart was in his throat as he read the chapters of himself and Cedric in the graveyard.

Kill the sp—

Harry shut the book.

These stories weren’t written by Skeeter. She would have torn into every conversation and description with unflinching cruelty.

The books were set between 1991 to 1998, just like Harry’s life. There were eight movies though, the last one having split into two for some reason.

Money, Annabeth had told him.

Finally, the first thing that made sense to Harry since arriving here.

He looked at the last book. It was a black border with a graphic caricature of himself in robes. His scar stuck out comically.

The Deathly Hallows.

It didn’t sound fun.

He sighed and riffled through the other books. Then he leaned forward and tapped Malcolm on the shoulder.

“Hey, what’s the sixth one?”

“Half-Blood Prince.”

Harry raised his eyebrow. “What’s that about? Pureblood royalty?”

Malcolm grinned. “Half-blood royalty. But it’s a spoiler.”

“Don’t kid me, mate. Don’t you have it with you?”

“It’s Rachel’s,” Malcolm said, shaking his head. “She had it with her. She’s an even bigger fan than me. She remembered the most obscure facts when we did a Harry Potter quiz face-off.”

“Rachel?” Harry repeated. “The girl who swapped places with me?”

Malcolm’s smile fell. “Right… hopefully, she knows to stay under the radar. Being the Oracle, no one should be able to do Legilimency on her.”

“She’s muggle, isn’t she?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, but she has… I guess you would call her her diviner like Trelawney.”

Harry made a face.

“Rachel’s legit,” Malcolm assured him. “Only someone short of being a god could harm her.”

Strange idiom. 

They watched the rest of the movie. Harry was surprised when the movie didn’t show the knocked-out troll and the room with potions.

“They had to cut scenes for time,” Malcolm whispered.

Harry’s heart pounded when the fake Harry confronted fake Quirrell. Neither looked like the real ones, but the Mirror of Erised was pretty similar to the one Harry had seen.

“Is that how the stone looked?” Malcolm asked, eyes glued to the large projector screen.

Harry looked away from the reflections of fake Lily and James in the mirror.

“Something like it,” he nodded, seeing the blood-red stone gleam like a chunk of glass.

Harry sat back, wishing he had the sixth book. It would be nice to know what would happen this year. It couldn’t be any worse than the last year, right?

Horace Slughorn gaped at Rachel. His hands shook as he clutched his chest in shock.

“A terrible mishap,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “Her parents went missing just a few days ago, and young miss Rachel had been staying with Harry for a bit since they’re distantly related.”

“I… see!” Slughorn gasped. His eyes were watering. Rachel gave a small smile, wondering if Dumbledore was laying it on too thick.

Rachel old him, “I might be safer if I stay close by to the Headmaster for the next few weeks until they can find my parents… I hope they are alright…”

She sniffed quietly and Slughorn nearly melted. “My dear girl! Of course, Albus will help you! Yes, yes.”

“That’s good,” Rachel gasped. “Harry told me so much about how the Headmaster can set up the best protection charms and hexes and stuff! I won’t need to worry now!”

Slughorn’s expression wavered. “Ah…”

Rachel and Dumbledore walked away after the man finally relented to return to Hogwarts. They strolled down the street to a small cul de sac.

“Thank you for your role, Ms. Rachel,” Dumbledore spoke quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Rachel chirped. “Besides, you needn’t worry about getting that memory from him.”

Dumbledore paused.

“Do you know the true memory then?”

“Yep.”

“Then why did you help convince Horace?”

Rachel shrugged. “Riddle will assume he gave you the memory since he keeps running from the Death Eaters. With Slughorn at Hogwarts, he’ll be safe.”

Dumbledore smiled. “That was kind of you.”

“Thank you,” Rachel grinned. “So… are we heading to the Burrow now?”

“No. I would have escorted Harry there. But the Weasleys do not know you. I have another colleague in mind who can help keep you safe. What do you say about staying in Hogsmeade for the foreseeable future?”

Chapter Text

"Okay, I think I got it," Nico said, focusing on the book in his hand. "He's a wizard with a piece of an evil egghead's soul in his cursed scar. He has dangerous adventures every year at his magical school. He doesn't focus much on other characters around him who have nothing to do with the plot, and he survived a killing curse twice because of love sacrifices."

Will was impressed. "You got it! That was fast!"

Nico shrugged. "You explained it well. I don't get much about the Deathly Hallows thing."

"You can leave those, the story would still go the same without them," Will assured him. "The main thing is that he has more than his own soul in him. That's why your dad sent you here, I'm guessing."

"Yes," Nico said, leaning back in his. They were seated on the porch of the Big House, listening to most of the campers watch the movies. A demigods and satyrs ambled about their duties outside, not too bothered by the coming of Harry Potter.

"Harry's not real," Will said to fill up the silence. "So I don't know if you can reap the cursed soul piece."

"I'm not sure either," Nico said, frowning down at the third book. "It feels real. When I was standing next to him, I could sense it."

"Really?" Will asked, excited. "It felt off to me too! But I didn't really understand it. What's it like?"

Nico glanced up, a little taken aback. "Umm, bad."

"Ah."

A sharp shock of purple light flashed behind them. Will jumped and Nico went for his sword.

Mr. D scowled down at them. "And what are you doing in my chair, Wally?"

"Sorry, sir!" Will said hastily and got up. Nico stood up slowly and held his book to the god's face. "Harry Potter crashed into camp. Got any ideas?"

Mr. D. frowned at the book. Then he looked at Nico and Will. Finally, he said, "I haven't managed to get myself away from you runts, you think I can get a fictional character back to his world? What did you do? Use the book as a summoning conduit?"

Nico mouthed, conduit?

"So it is possible?" Will whispered, wide-eyed. "Can you send him back?"

Mr. D gave an almighty sigh. "Thirty-two more years... just thirty-two."

He fell into the chair Will had vacated and made grabby hands for the book in Nico's hands.

"Depending on the exact page and the scene," Mr. D said dolefully, "I can pinpoint his destination unless it has moved."

"Moved?" Nico asked.

"We're talking about alternate universes and dimensions. Everything spins at their own pace, some nyoom around like my father is chasing them, others trickle by like they're trying to avoid the Fates. But universes with missing souls tend to pause to maintain balance."

Will nodded as though this made complete sense. "Okay! But what about Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Rachel Dare, she's my dad's new oracle!"

Mr. D paused. "What about her?"

"Percy said that Rachel disappeared when Harry appeared," Will explained. "Lou thinks it's an exchange. Like you said, universes need balance. Since Harry is missing from his verse, Rachel took his place there."

Mr. D finally looked serious. He lowered the book and spoke quietly, "You mean to say that the newly minted Oracle is missing?"

"... yes?"

The god sat still, his face frozen in polite perplexity. As polite as Mr. D had ever been at camp.

Harry jogged out from the Big House, fuming. Percy and Annabeth were following him, trying to calm him down.

"It's alright, dude," Percy was saying, "Everyone loves you!"

"Those movies are ridiculous!"

"Yeah, but—"

"I did not practice the Lumos spell at the Dursleys!"

"We know!"

"And did they have to show Sirius like that?!"

Will winced. "Ooh."

Harry finally saw Will and Nico standing beside Mr. D.

"Are you also a director here?!" Harry demanded. "Have you figured out what's happening? When can I get home?"

Mr. D. slowly turned his head to stare at him with his glowing purple eyes. Harry blinked, alarmed.

"Um, Mr. D, we didn't tell him about the camp yet," Will said nervously.

The god sighed. “Tell Harley everything then. And find out what book he’s from.”

Percy made a face but relented. “Harry, this is a camp for demigods. We’re half-bloods because we’re half human and half god. You’re from the Half-Blood Prince, right? The sixth book?”

Harry stared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Annabeth nudged Percy. “This is gonna be more than one short conversation, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy groaned. “Come on, he’s Harry Potter! Who else gets into more impossible stuff than him?!”

Harry reeled back. “You’re serious? You’re all half… half god?”

“One half,” Will said.

“But…” Harry stared at Mr. D and then the rest of the others.

Percy waved an arm and escorted Harry out to the strawberry fields. Will, Nico, and Annabeth watched them from the porch before turning back to the camp director.

“I like him better in the books,” Mr. D said, tossing Prisoner of Azkaban onto the table. He held out a hand and snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

He glared at the demigods and said, “Am I supposed to explain every single thing?”

“Yes, sir,” Annabeth said, her eyes flashing at him.

“Give me the book,” Mr. D said slowly, “that was Harvey Pewter’s summoning conduit.”

The three watched him, confused. Nico asked, “What’s a conduit?”

Mr. D muttered something that rhymed with “Astounded by hurons.”

“A conduit is a channel to direct something,” Annabeth told Nico. She turned back to Mr. D. “In this case, it directs energy.”

“Wow, who knew you were smart, Annie Bell?”

“So here,” Will said slowly. “The sixth book must have been the conduit!”

“Wally has also understood something, I see.”

Nico frowned at Mr. D. “Aren’t you worried about fictional people being real? Why’re you so cool about it?”

“Everything’s real,” the god said, waving a careless arm. He transformed his chair into a recliner and eased back. “For all you know, you three could be fictional in someone else’s universe.”

Annabeth coughed. “Sure… Will, do you have the Half-Blood Prince?”

Will, quite startled by the idea of being unreal, blinked. “Um… no. No, I’ve been telling people it’s with Rachel. But… wait, isn’t her bag here?”

Annabeth’s eyes lit up. She rushed down the steps and ran to Cabin Nine with the boys at her heels.

“Just go without even a by-your-leave,” Mr. D mumbled, closing his eyes. “Kids today… always in a rush.”

Jake and his siblings were still working on the partly melted car. They’d taken it apart and were eagerly studying the engine when Annabeth, Will, and Nico barged in.

“Jake! Did you find a book anywhere on the seats?” Annabeth asked, huffing. “Or under the seats or anywhere?”

His siblings laughed. Jake said, “If there was a book, it’s ashes now. I’m surprised the newspaper made it out. This car was totaled before it hit the tree! Look at the flash burn marks. Something burned fast and hot. It ate through the plastic, paint, and primer in minutes. But we pieced together a part of the chassis; it’s a Nissan 370Z. Definitely Rachel’s style.”

Nico wrinkled his nose against the faint smoky smell filling the air of the garage. “So it could be magical fire when Harry and Rachel switched?”

“Could be,” Jake agreed.

“No book,” Annabeth asked, shoulder’s slumping. “What about her bag and Percy’s?”

“Got both in the back seats,” Jake said. “They were melted, especially Rachel’s. The zip was open.”

“It was?” Annabeth muttered. A gradual smile filled her face. “Her bag was open… because Percy had opened it! He said he’d taken off his seatbelt and was leaning through the gap to reach the back seat. He was taking something from Rachel’s bag!”

“You think it was the book?” Will asked, amazed. “What’re the odds that Rachel would have the sixth book and that’s where Harry’s from?”

Annabeth scoured the debris of the car. The melted forms of the bags were visible, but the fabric of the bag and the books inside had congealed to form a cohesive mess. One section was open like a jaw gaping. The zipper lines were also melted. The fire had burned the inside as badly as the out. It must have been real power.

“It wasn’t a coincidence then,” she finally said. “If the book was out of the bag that means Percy must have been holding it when they crashed. Or…”

“Or Percy gave it to Rachel just before she disappeared?” Nico asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Could be,” Jake agreed. “Remember, Harry arrived with his newspaper. Maybe Rachel does have the book. Lou said it’s all about balance, right?”

Annabeth nodded frantically. “Maybe there’s something in the Daily Prophet that can give us a clue!”

She took off again, sprinting back to the Big House before anyone could blink.

“But it’s burned,” Will shouted after her.

“Half-burned!” she called over her shoulder.

Rachel took up a room at the Hog’s Head. She didn’t even know the pub had rooms for rent. It was for the best though. Barely anyone remembered Aberforth was Dumbledore’s brother.

“I’m sure you will be comfortable here,” Dumbledore said, standing by the doorway as Rachel examined the quaint and tiny room.

She smiled. “It should be fine. Thank you.”

“I was unable to secure a room at the Three Broomsticks,” Dumbledore added, “But it is not suitable for discretion. Someone might recognize that you do not have a wand.”

“It’s fine,” Rachel said, spreading her arms. “Malfoy puts Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius curse since the first Hogsmeade visit. I don’t really want to stay in this world that long, but if I do, this is safer.”

Dumbledore fell silent, his eyes widening.

“I don’t have anything on me though,” Rachel said, hopping on the lumpy bed. “Any clothes I can borrow?”