Alistair Vance felt as though he had been trapped inside an impossibly long dream.
Countless scenes, unfamiliar faces, places, and names flashed through his mind one after another, moving so quickly that he couldn’t make sense of any of them.
The pressure building inside his skull became so intense that he felt as though his head might split apart.
Then, amid the chaotic flood of memories, a single word suddenly surfaced with startling clarity.
Hogwarts.
That familiar name cut through the confusion and brought a sliver of awareness back to his clouded mind.
When Alistair finally managed to force his blurry eyes open, the first thing he saw was a tall man standing directly in front of him with a mocking expression.
The stranger held something thin and polished in one hand, and in Alistair’s still-confused state, it looked almost like an unusually elegant wooden stick.
Seeing him regain consciousness, the man casually moved the object between his fingers and sneered, “You really are worthy of sharing that man’s blood.
After being hit with the Cruciatus Curse, you actually regained consciousness this quickly.
Impressive.” As Alistair’s vision cleared, his eyes widened.
The object pointed directly at him wasn’t a stick at all—it was a wand.
Alistair had dreamed of holding one countless times in his previous life.
He had been a devoted Harry Potter fan for years, and there had been a time when owning a real wand would have ranked near the top of his childhood wish list.
Now, for the first time in his life, a genuine magical wand was only inches from his face.
Under normal circumstances, that would’ve been enough to make him ecstatic.
Unfortunately, the wand’s owner was aiming it directly at him, which made celebrating seem like an exceptionally poor idea.
Alistair forced himself to stay alert and quickly examined the room instead.
Several other men stood behind the stranger, opening drawers, searching cabinets, and tearing through anything that looked as though it might conceal something valuable.
Not far from Alistair lay a small, ugly creature with thin limbs, long bat-like ears, and enormous green eyes nearly the size of tennis balls.
He recognized it immediately from the Harry Potter books and movies.
It was a house-elf.
More importantly, it wasn’t moving.
The last thing Alistair clearly remembered from his previous life was going to the premiere of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with several friends.
He had been sitting inside a crowded American movie theater waiting for the film to begin when a sudden wave of dizziness struck him.
The lights blurred, the voices around him became distant, and then everything went black.
Somehow, instead of waking up in a hospital or having his friends make fun of him for passing out, he’d opened his eyes here.
Before he could process that properly, another surge of unfamiliar memories crashed into his mind.
Suppressing the pain, Alistair gradually understood that the dead house-elf on the floor was named Libby.
She wasn’t some random creature but the Vance family’s house-elf, and after Alistair’s parents died in a car accident years earlier, she had been the one who stayed beside him.
Libby cooked his meals, maintained the house, looked after him, and made sure he didn’t grow up completely alone.
Now she lay motionless only a short distance away, and judging by the unnatural stillness of her body, she had already been dead for some time.
The inherited memories attached to her were strong enough that Alistair felt an unexpected heaviness settle in his chest.
“Hey, brat!
Are you listening to me?” the man in front of him snapped impatiently, waving his wand directly before Alistair’s eyes.
“Where’s the Prophecy Skull?
Hand it over, and maybe I’ll give you a quick death.” Those words finally made the situation painfully clear.
Alistair hadn’t simply woken up somewhere strange—he had somehow transmigrated into the Harry Potter universe, and his timing couldn’t possibly have been worse.
He had arrived in the middle of a home invasion carried out by Dark wizards.
Worse, they seemed convinced he knew the location of some magical object he’d never even heard of.
Smack!
The stranger suddenly slapped Alistair across the face.
His head snapped sideways, and a sharp burning pain spread across his cheek.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” the man growled, lowering his wand until it nearly touched Alistair’s forehead.
“Where is the Prophecy Skull?
Keep refusing, and I’ll let you taste the Cruciatus Curse again.
You remember how good that felt, don’t you?” Alistair almost wanted to tell him that technically, he had no idea what the Cruciatus Curse felt like.
The person who had truly experienced the curse had been the original consciousness inhabiting this body, and judging by everything Alistair had inherited, that unfortunate boy had probably died from the torture or its aftermath.
Alistair himself had merely awakened in the body afterward.
Explaining transmigration to a murderous Dark wizard, however, seemed unlikely to improve his situation.
Before he could decide whether silence was safer, another voice suddenly came from beside him.
“I believe I just saw you slap him.” Both Alistair and the intruder froze.
An elderly woman had appeared beside them seemingly out of nowhere.
She wore an elegant hat over silver-white curls, and although age had left deep wrinkles across her face, her eyes remained bright and piercing.
Her clothes carried the refined style of an older aristocratic generation, and the calm way she held herself made her seem completely unconcerned by the armed men surrounding her.
More importantly, there was already a wand in her hand.
The intruder reacted almost immediately and tried to turn his own wand toward her.
“Expelliarmus!” The elderly witch moved first.
Her spell struck before the man’s arm had fully risen, sending his wand spinning across the room and leaving him staring at his empty hand in disbelief.
Without showing the slightest concern, she shifted her wand toward the remaining intruders and said calmly, “Don’t move.
You’re surrounded.” Her gaze swept over the room.
“I’m leaving this one alive because he may still be useful.
If the rest of you so much as twitch, I’ll use something considerably less forgiving than a Disarming Charm.” A faint smile appeared on her face.
“Oh, right.
I suppose introductions are in order.” Her eyes became cold.
“Vinda Rosier, of the Alliance.” Alistair stared at everything unfolding before him, his heart pounding.
Magic he had only ever seen through movie screens or imagined while reading was now happening directly in front of him.
A real wand had been pointed at his face, a genuine house-elf lay dead nearby, and he’d just watched someone cast Expelliarmus only a few feet away.
No matter how clearly the inherited memories told him that this world was real, part of his mind still struggled to accept it.
Then the elderly witch suddenly turned toward him.
“Alistair?
What’s wrong?” Vinda called.
“Don’t you recognize me?
Alistair?” Hearing his name pulled him sharply back to reality.
Another memory surfaced, and Alistair finally recognized the woman standing protectively beside him.
Vinda Rosier had operated a clothing shop not far from the Vance residence for years, and the original Alistair had seen her often enough to regard her as a familiar neighborhood figure.
She had always treated him kindly, though the store had unexpectedly closed and she’d disappeared not long ago.
Apparently, running a clothing shop hadn’t exactly been her real profession.
“Mrs.
Rosier?” Alistair asked cautiously.
Vinda’s expression softened with unmistakable relief when she heard him recognize her.
Then her gaze settled on the bright red handprint across his cheek, and something cold flashed through her eyes.
Her grip tightened slightly around her wand, although her voice remained gentle when she spoke to Alistair.
“You’re safe now.
Don’t worry.” Then she turned back toward the disarmed wizard, and every trace of warmth vanished from her face.
“If you managed to find this place, then you must already know who this child is,” Vinda said sharply.
“Which means you knew exactly what you were doing when you came here.” Her eyes narrowed.
“You have remarkable courage.” Fear flashed across the man’s face, but after glancing at the companions behind him, he apparently recovered enough confidence to force out a laugh.
“Put that wand down, old woman.
Do you really think you can handle all of us by yourself?” His companions exchanged quick looks and slowly reached for their wands.
Vinda watched them without moving.
Then she laughed.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it immediately made several of the intruders hesitate.
“I don’t know which faction sent you,” Vinda said, “but clearly your teachers and predecessors never bothered telling you who we were.” Her eyes moved slowly from one wizard to another.
“If they had, you would’ve attacked the moment you recognized me.” She paused.
“Or you would’ve Disapparated while you still had the chance.” Vinda’s smile widened slightly.
“Unfortunately for you, that chance is gone.” Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Several sharp sounds exploded through the room as figures Apparated into existence one after another.
Most of the newcomers were elderly, their hair gray or completely white, but there was nothing weak about the way they carried themselves.
Their eyes remained sharp, their hands were steady, and every wand was already raised before their feet had fully settled on the floor.
The intruders panicked and immediately tried to lift their own wands.
They never got the chance.
“Avada Kedavra!” Green light tore through the room.
One flash followed another.
Within seconds, every attacker except the wizard Vinda had deliberately disarmed lay motionless across the floor, their faces pale and their eyes empty.
The lone survivor stood frozen, staring at his dead companions as though his mind had stopped functioning.
Behind Vinda, the newly arrived members of the Alliance showed no shock, hesitation, or regret.
Vinda calmly lowered her wand and looked at the surviving intruder.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” Her gaze turned cold.
“Dark magic was always our specialty.” End of Chapter 1