Hunter Training
The darkness engulfed them both, and Harry Potter’s new adventure began.
The world spun around Harry, dark and cold, before suddenly solidifying into something tangible. He stumbled slightly, still reeling from the strange sensation of being transported, but caught himself on the back of a plush leather chair. As his vision cleared, Harry took in his surroundings.
He stood in what appeared to be a comfortable, well-lit living room. A large stone fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room. The walls were lined with tall, dark wooden bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, each shelf packed with books of all shapes, sizes, and ages. The furniture—deep armchairs, a sturdy wooden table, and a soft-looking sofa—was arranged neatly, exuding an air of comfort and quiet luxury. It felt lived-in, cozy, but also mysterious, like the kind of place one could get lost in for hours.
Harry blinked, trying to process what had just happened. “Where... where are we?”
Death, who stood beside him, turned his pale, thin face toward Harry and smiled faintly. In his hand, he held a small, ornate key, which he extended toward Harry. “This,” Death said, his voice calm and measured, “is your new home.”
Harry took the key, feeling its cool metal between his fingers. It was simple, yet elegant—a slender piece of iron engraved with symbols Harry didn’t immediately recognize. “My... home?”
Death nodded, gesturing toward the space around them. “Any time you put that key into a door—any door—it will open to this place. No matter where you are in the world, this will be your sanctuary.”
Harry stared at the key, turning it over in his hand as the weight of Death’s words sunk in. A place he could always come back to. His own personal refuge. For the first time in years, Harry felt the stirrings of something close to excitement. He could go anywhere, yet always have a home to return to.
“Why?” Harry asked, glancing at Death. “Why give this to me?”
Death’s smile widened ever so slightly. “You are the Master of Death, Harry. You deserve a place where you can reflect, where you can prepare. This is where your new journey begins. Think of it as a headquarters of sorts.”
Harry took a deep breath, still unsure what to make of it all. But the thought of having something—somewhere—that was his and his alone... it was more than he had expected.
He looked around the room again, his gaze falling on the bookshelves. “And the books?”
Death’s gaze followed him. “Study them. They contain knowledge of what you will face—things far beyond what you’ve known in your world. Magic, creatures, and beings that defy even the Dark Lord’s understanding. You'll find that creatures here differ from the ones in your world. Wizards do not exist here, those who wield magic often pay a hefty price for it.”
Harry stepped toward the nearest bookshelf, running his fingers over the spines of the old, worn tomes. Some titles were in languages he didn’t recognize, others in scripts that seemed to shift under his gaze. Whatever was waiting for him in this new adventure, he had a feeling the answers—or at least some of them—were in these pages.
“Will my magic work? My wand?” Harry asked tentatively.
Death nodded, “the elder wand will work as it always has. You'll find that potion brewing is different here but that was never your strong suit. It takes less finesse here and more…power. You'll need to throw your magic into the elixirs, and breathe magic into them so to speak. But you'll learn with time.”
Harry nodded and began exploring his home, fingering the spines of the books and exploring the small potions lab. There was a greenhouse attached to the home that seemed to radiate sunlight from the ceiling though it had no windows, vegetables and fruits grew as did potion ingredients. A well stocked kitchen sat in one corner of the home right outside the greenhouse, and there were many bedrooms with blank plaques outside the doors but only one master bedroom. The master bedroom had a balcony with a dark night sky above it, but no moon. Magically created it would seem. Other than the balcony the home had no windows.
When he turned back to Death, the figure was already moving toward the front door, his steps quiet and deliberate. “Wait,” Harry called out, his voice echoing slightly in the large room. “Where are you going?”
Death paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “I have given you what you need, Harry. The rest is up to you.” He placed his hand on the door, but before stepping through, he added, “This journey won’t be easy. But you will not face it alone. When you’re ready, I'll find you.”
“Wait,” Harry called out. “If I'm not a wizard, what am I?”
Death chuckled, “you're a hunter.”
And with that, he opened the door and stepped into the darkness beyond, leaving Harry standing alone in the quiet, book-filled room.
Harry exhaled slowly, the reality of his situation sinking in. He now had a key that could open any door to this place, a sanctuary filled with knowledge that seemed to stretch far beyond anything he had ever known.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t just going through the motions. He had purpose again, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet. He would study the books, learn everything he could, and face whatever was waiting for him on the other side of that door.
Harry slipped the key into his pocket, walked over to the fireplace, and sat down in one of the armchairs. He picked up a nearby book—a worn, leather-bound tome with no title—and opened it, ready to dive into the unknown.
Whatever this new adventure was, it had already begun.
Harry had spent weeks, perhaps months, poring over the books. They were unlike anything he had encountered in the Hogwarts library or the Ministry’s archives. Detailed descriptions of monsters, demons, angels, ghosts, and creatures he’d never even imagined filled the pages. Each entry told him not only how to spot them but how to hunt them—weaknesses, strengths, behaviors. As he read, a strange fascination took hold of him. It was as if every piece of knowledge he consumed was sharpening him, preparing him for something bigger, though he still didn’t know what.
Death visited him occasionally, joining him for dinner as he always did. They would chat over meals, but when Harry tried to press for answers about what was coming, Death only offered cryptic remarks, leaving Harry more confused than before. Nevertheless, Harry could feel something building, like an impending storm on the horizon.
He learned that anything he picked would regrow overnight, and anything used from the kitchen magically replenished. The fridge always had whatever he wanted before he opened it, and he had every potion ingredient in any of the books he had required. Potions were much easier to craft in this world, not needing exactly 12 stirs clockwise and other such delicate instructions. He would only need to add the proper ingredients, prepared the proper way, and say the right incantations with enough power behind them.
After what felt like countless hours of study, Harry began to feel confident, his knowledge growing so vast that he fancied it could rival Hermione’s. He learned about demons that could possess people, creatures that could move faster than the eye could follow, ghosts trapped between worlds, and angels with power far beyond even the darkest wizard’s spells. But all of this was theory. Harry had no real idea how to put any of it into practice.
The answer came one evening during dinner, when Death, looking more satisfied than Harry had ever seen him, finally offered something tangible.
“Harry,” Death said as they finished their meal, his voice deeper than usual, “I believe you’ve learned much from the books around you. But there is more to this than knowledge. There is strength. Skill. You’ve spent enough time reading. Now it’s time to practice.”
With a wave of his hand, Death gestured to the far side of the room. The wall, which had always been solid and unremarkable, shimmered for a moment before a door appeared, opening to reveal a new space. Curious, Harry stood and followed Death through the doorway.
The room beyond was vast, unlike anything Harry had ever seen. The walls were lined with more books, but these tomes were different—he could feel it. They weren’t filled with the same type of knowledge as the others. These were about combat, about magic that could be used offensively and defensively. The air itself felt charged with potential.
The center of the room was empty except for a wide, circular platform, and on the far wall was an engraving—a spell carved into the stone.
“This is your training room,” Death said, his voice echoing slightly in the large space. “Here, you will learn to fight. The spell on the wall will allow you to summon replicas of any creature by name—demons, angels, vampires, anything that you’ve read about. You can summon as many as you wish and fight them. The replicas are lifelike. They will hurt you, and if they kill you, you will die... but only for a time. As the Master of Death, you cannot be truly killed here. You will always return, ready to try again.”
Harry blinked, taken aback. “So I can... practice fighting these creatures?”
Death nodded. “Exactly. You’ll need it. The creatures of this world are not like the ones you faced in yours. They are stronger, more ruthless. Your magic will not be as effective against them as it was against the Dark Lord’s forces. You’ll need to learn their weaknesses firsthand. And this room will let you do just that.”
Harry turned toward the engraved spell on the wall, feeling a shiver of anticipation run through him. “How do I start?”
“Simply cast the spell, and then name the creature you wish to fight.”
Harry took a breath and stepped toward the platform. He raised his wand, concentrating on the unfamiliar symbols, and muttered the spell. His voice echoed in the vast space, and for a moment, nothing happened. But then, the room shimmered, the air growing thicker, charged with magic.
“Vampires,” Harry said clearly.
Immediately, three figures appeared at the edges of the platform, their pale skin glowing faintly in the dim light. They were stronger and more menacing than any vampires Harry had ever read about. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, their fangs bared as they stalked toward him.
“Fight them,” Death said calmly. “Learn from your failures. You will need to.”
Harry didn’t need any more encouragement. He raised his wand and cast a stunning spell, but the vampires moved faster than he anticipated. His magic barely slowed them. One of them lunged at him, and though he managed to throw up a shield charm in time, another vampire came from behind, knocking him off his feet.
Before he knew what had happened, sharp fangs sank into his neck, and pain exploded through him. He struggled, casting every spell he could think of, but it was too late. Another vampire twisted his arm behind his back, and in one swift, brutal motion, snapped his neck.
Darkness swallowed him.
Harry gasped as he woke up on the cold floor of the training room. His body ached, his neck throbbed, and his head spun with the memory of his death. It had felt so real—he could still feel the weight of the vampires on him, the sharp snap of his neck.
But he was alive. He was here.
Death stood nearby, watching impassively. “Again.”
Without hesitation, Harry stood, raised his wand, and cast the spell again. “Vampires.”
The creatures materialized, and the fight began anew.
This time, Harry managed to last a bit longer. He dodged the first attack, tried to conjure fire, but the vampires were relentless. They were faster, stronger, and smarter than he was used to. And again, they overpowered him.
He died a second time.
And a third.
And a fourth.
For hours, Harry fought the vampires, each time learning a bit more, each time lasting just a little longer. But each time, they found a way to overpower him. It wasn’t until his twelfth attempt that he finally managed to kill all three. His magic, though weakened against these creatures, had started to adapt. He had learned to use fire and sunlight spells in combination, catching them off guard.
Breathing heavily, Harry collapsed to the ground, drenched in sweat, but victorious.
Death approached him, his expression unreadable. “Good. You’re learning.”
Harry wiped his brow, still panting. “They’re... they’re stronger than I thought.”
“They’re stronger in this world,” Death confirmed. “But so are the others. You’ll need to practice. There are many more challenges ahead.”
Harry nodded, determination settling into his bones. He had a long way to go, but he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he was ready.
Not until he was strong enough.
The days had blurred together for Harry. His life had become a strict routine: training, studying, eating, and sleeping. And for the first time in years, he felt the fire return to his veins. There was purpose in his steps, a goal always in sight. The sensation was almost intoxicating after years of feeling like a glorified mascot for the Ministry. This world was riddled with monsters who preyed on the innocent, and he could help.
His training had become relentless. Whether it was summoning vampires, demons, ghosts, or any other monster. Harry pushed himself to the limit every single day. He had learned their weaknesses, refined his magic, and become deadly in ways he hadn’t even imagined. His reflexes were quicker, his spell work sharper, and his instincts keener. He was transforming into a proper hunter.
One evening, while eating a simple dinner alone, Death arrived unannounced, as he often did. But this time, something was different.
"Happy birthday, Harry, you're 30 now.” Death said with an almost casual air, as if he were an old friend celebrating a yearly tradition.
Harry blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized it was his birthday, or that a few had passed. It was hard to keep track of time when every day looked and felt the same. He smiled faintly, taking a seat as Death gestured toward the meal.
"Thank you," Harry replied, his voice softer than usual. The simple acknowledgement warmed him in a way he didn’t expect.
They ate together, Death pouring out glasses of wine for both of them. The night felt strangely celebratory, like a moment of calm after months of intense training. For once, Harry allowed himself to relax. He wasn’t sure what was coming, but he could feel that he was nearing the next chapter of his journey.
As they sipped their wine, Death looked at him curiously. "Do you miss your friends?"
Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I do, but they don’t need me anymore. Hermione and Ron... they’re happy. They’ve moved on with their lives. I’m just... Well, I don’t know where I fit in anymore."
Death nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay connected.”
With a wave of his hand, a small wooden box appeared on the table between them. It was unassuming, with a simple, elegant design. Harry raised an eyebrow.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A way to write to them,” Death explained. “Place a letter inside, and an owl will deliver it to them. Any replies will appear in the box the next day. They have been led to believe you have been traveling the world to learn different ways to fight the dark arts.”
Harry’s heart leapt in his chest. He hadn’t written to his friends in ages, and now, with this opportunity, he felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He wanted to reach out to them, but he also knew he was walking a different path, one they couldn’t fully understand.
“Thank you,” Harry said earnestly, his fingers brushing over the smooth wood. That night, after Death had left, he spent hours writing letters. He told Hermione and Ron that he was traveling the world, studying magic, learning things beyond what the Ministry could offer. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but he couldn’t tell them everything.
He missed them, but deep down, he knew that while they had what they needed, he needed something more. He needed this.
Over the next few months, Harry's life continued in the same rhythm. He practiced and studied, becoming sharper and more lethal with each passing day. His letters to Hermione and Ron were met with excited replies. They were happy for him, believing he was on some grand adventure, exploring the magical corners of the world. They were supportive, though none of them realized just how dangerous the path he was on had become.
And then, one evening, after yet another grueling training session, Harry decided he was ready. He had trained long enough, honed his skills enough. Now he wanted to test himself on the real thing.
At dinner that night, Harry turned to Death, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I’m ready. I want to test my skills on the real thing.”
Death smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for this moment. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a small, black object and handed it to Harry.
It was a cell phone, death explained.
Harry turned it over in his hands, confused. “A phone?”
Death nodded. “The man on the other end will give you hunting jobs. Complete them and he'll provide another. In time you'll meet the brothers who will need your help saving the world, but first you must integrate into this world as a hunter.”
Harry frowned, curious but confused. “Who are they?”
Death only smiled and, as always, offered no answer. He stood from the table, vanishing into the shadows, leaving Harry alone with the phone.
It took Harry a few hours to figure out how the phone worked. After fiddling with the device, he found there was only one contact listed in it. The name Bobby.
With a deep breath, Harry pressed the call button. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered on the other end.
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Uh, Harry Potter,” he said, feeling slightly awkward. “I was told to call you for hunting jobs?”
“Ah,” the man said, sounding like he had just made a connection in his mind. “You must be the new hunter Jack told me about on the phone. You needin’ a job?”
Harry’s heart raced. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Bobby said gruffly. “I got one for ya. Weird stuff’s been goin’ on in Boise, Ohio. Four people gone missin’ over the last few months. Bodies found a few days later, drained of blood. Cops say it’s animal attacks.”
Harry’s mind immediately flashed to the books he’d read. “Vampire is more likely,” he guessed.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” Bobby replied. “Find it. Kill it. Then call me for the next job.”
Before Harry could ask any more questions, Bobby hung up.
For the first time since arriving, Harry opened the front door. He had no idea where he waa but the world looked similar enough to his own to assume it was still earth. Stepping outside, Harry was met with an unexpected sight. A sleek, black motorcycle was parked by the door. A souped-up Harley, gleaming in the moonlight, with chains wrapped around the frame and leather saddlebags. The keys were already in the ignition.
Harry grinned, feeling a surge of excitement. This was it. His new life was about to begin. In the saddle bags were maps and it didn't take long to route a trip to his destination. He was in America, and only a few hours from Boise.
He swung his leg over the bike, feeling the powerful engine rumble to life beneath him. With a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years, Harry took off into the night, heading toward his first hunt.
Boise, Ohio was waiting.