Safety is not an accident; it is a choice.
That was the thought circulating in my nine-year-old brain as I made my nightly rounds. I moved through our London terrace house with practiced efficiency, my small hands reaching up to click off the lamps one by one. I also checked the curtains twice to ensure no sliver of light escaped into the street.
My father, a lawyer who often works overtime, always said, "If the house looks empty, Robert, the trouble looks elsewhere," . Tonight, he was again stuck at the office, buried under files for a hearing tomorrow. He wouldn't be home until the milkman arrived.
I was alone, but I wasn't afraid. As this wasn't the first time and my home is in a safe area as up till my 9 years in this life there hasn't even been theft in this area. .
I climbed into bed at 9:00 PM as there weren't many entertainment options now except books. My mind again started drifting through the memories that awakened in my mind at the age of five of a common university student of 2025 who while reading novels late at night suddenly died. It was a very ordinary life except for the relatives that always plotted for my inheritance that my parents left me but it's good that I had written a will to donate all the assets to different nursing homes and foundations .
All I now knew was that I was Robert Williams, born April 23, 1962, with a workaholic but kind father named Ethan Williams who in this life I decided to give him good life so that he doesn't have to work so much , with these memories i believe at least they should somewhat help but that too when those companies rise till that I would have to study which i have decided for computer science as they are the future .
The world was getting darker and darker and I fell asleep to the rhythmic ticking of the hallway clock.
2:14 AM.
Ahhhhhhhh!
I wake up to the smell of smoke and noise.
Smoke. Not the cozy scent of a fireplace, but the acrid, choking stench of melting plastic and burning wood and mild noise coming from next door.
I sat up on the bed removing the blanket and put on my sleepers while cautiously crept to the window, staying low so my silhouette wouldn't be visible from the street. I peeled back the edge of the heavy curtain just an inch and suddenly
Ahhhhh!
The neighborhood was screaming.
'What the hell is happening here?' I was frightened stupid by what i saw.
The house across the street—the Millers' home—was an inferno. But the fire wasn't orange; it was licked with flashes of a sickening, electric purple. 8-9 Figures in long, midnight-black medieval robes were moving on the road. They held a small wooden stick setting fire with a terrifying,maniacal laughter.
Two men in robes , one with his stick in air was levitating Mr. Miller out of his house then lanked him heavily on the street .Mr Miller's face that was wide in terror had a contorted expression due to pain now.
One of them raised a stick—a wand—and a jet of green light erupted from the tip. Mr. Miller, who had been trying to crawl out of his front door, went still. Just... still.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Green light. Robes. Sticks,1970.
Then, I looked up.
Floating in the sky above our quiet street was a colossal, glowing emerald image. A skull, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue.
The blood drained from my face. My knees hit the carpeted floor..I remembered a children's movie in the memories of my past life I had seen in my childhood .
"Harry Potter," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It's real. It's all real."
This wasn't 1970s London. This was the Second Wizarding War. This was the height of Lord Voldemort's shadow, and I was a Muggle-born—or worse, just a Muggle—in the path of a Death Eater.
I saw one of them turn. The silver mask he wore glinted under the light of the Dark Mark. He began walking toward my front door, his wand tracing a lazy path through the air. He was coming to finish the row. He was coming for me.
Move. You have to move.
The basement. It was the only place. My father had reinforced the door for the sake of his legal archives. It wouldn't stop a blasting curse, but it was better than being a sitting duck in a bedroom.
I scrambled out of the room, flying down the stairs in total silence. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest in apprehension of what I may face if I got caught. I dived into the basement, pulling the heavy oak door slowly shut and sliding the bolt home as carefully as possible so that no noise came. I crawled behind a stack of heavy law crates, curling into the smallest ball possible.
CRACK.
It sounded like a gunshot from upstairs. Then another. CRACK. CRACK.
"Ministry! Put it down!" a voice roared from the street.
Suddenly, the house shook. Flashes of red and blue light strobed through the cracks in the basement ceiling. I heard the muffled sounds of shouting, the shattering of glass, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floorboards above me.
The "Pops" of apparition were constant now, like popcorn in a pan. The Aurors had arrived.
Hope ignited in my heart but I still remained apprehensive of their capability to protect me so I stayed where I was, curled up in a ball taking deep breaths to calm my mind and focus all my attention on hearing to see who won.
I don't know how long it took for them to finally settle in silence. The adrenaline eventually gave way to the crushing weight of shock. In the cold, dark silence of the basement, surrounded by the smell of old paper, my eyes grew heavy.Maybe I survived but I decided to stay here till dawn.
As I drifted into an exhausted, fitful sleep,suddenly in my mind voice came:
Detected host has come into contact with magic , the knowledge system activated.