Where am I??
Harry’s chest heaved as the world around him seemed to buckle and snap like a broken mirror. He felt sore from the blow of the sudden burst of magic. Struggling to keep his footing, he slowly pushed himself up, but it felt as though the ground itself was shifting beneath him, swirling in a dizzying vortex. His heart hammered in his chest, an almost suffocating pressure building in his skull as the air thickened. Then a flash of light blinded him.
Harry gasped for breath, his eyes flicking wildly around. The pain in his head was sharp, but slowly, the disorienting feeling began to fade. The forest had vanished, replaced by an open space that was unnervingly quiet. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he had gotten there, but the world was still. Too still.
The trees around him were tall, their trunks thick and dark, their leaves tinged with the first hints of autumn. The ground beneath his feet wasn’t the soft, mossy underbrush of the Dark Forest, but firm, with old stone paths cutting through it. In the distance, a tower loomed, silhouetted against a sky that seemed… too bright, too clear for a place still shadowed by war.
Harry blinked again, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and fresh earth—the same familiar scents of Hogwarts that had greeted him so many years ago. His heart clenched.
But this was wrong. It couldn’t be.
He scanned the landscape once more, and then his breath caught in his throat. He knew this place. The architecture—the stone walls, the massive turrets rising in the distance—was unmistakable.
The castle. It was Hogwarts.
But this was wrong. It wasn’t the broken shell of the school that had stood after the battle. It wasn’t the ruin that had been rebuilt from the ashes of war. No, this was the Hogwarts he remembered from before. Before everything had gone dark.
Before Voldemort had destroyed so much.
Before everything Harry had fought for had been lost.
The castle wasn’t in ruins, the towers standing proud and whole, the grounds unscarred. It was as if the war had never touched this place at all. But how? What had happened?
Before Harry could gather his thoughts, a voice broke through his stunned silence, cutting through the confusion like a blade.
“Not quite what you were expecting, was it?”
Harry froze. He didn’t need to see the figure to know who it was. Cursing, he spun around, of course he was here.
He whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he came face-to-face with Tom Riddle—youthful, dark, and smirking that same smug, infuriating smirk that had haunted his every waking moment.
But something was different. Harry was different. He could feel it. His body felt younger, his hands—his limbs—looked as though they belonged to a 16-year-old again. And across from him, Tom looked just as young. Gone was the pale, ghostly visage of the Dark Lord, replaced by a 16-year-old version of himself, arrogant and cruel as ever. But worse, he looked human… not ghostly.
"Riddle," Harry spat, fury rising in his chest. "What the hell have you done now?"
Tom’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his smile widening as he took a step closer. “You always were so quick to blame me, Harry. But then, who else would you blame? You summoned me, after all.”
Harry’s confusion deepened, but before he could speak, Tom continued, his voice oozing with contempt. “I’m not the one who’s been meddling with forces you don’t understand. You thought you could summon the dead, didn’t you? You thought you could bring them back?”
“I didn’t want you,” Harry snapped, his fists clenched. “I wanted my parents. My friends. Not you. Why the hell are you here, Riddle? Why did you appear and where the hell have you taken us?”
Tom’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, Harry, Harry... Did you really think the dead could just return, warm and alive, as if nothing had happened? Did you honestly believe that?” He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “You wanted them back, but this is what you get for your foolishness.”
Harry’s eyes blazed. “This isn’t what I asked for.”
“No,” Tom agreed, his tone suddenly sharper, colder. “But this is what you called.” He stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he studied Harry, his face a mask of calm disdain. “You’ve always been a fool. Even now, you think you can change things. You can’t, Potter. You can never change what’s already happened.”
“I didn’t summon you,” Harry growled. “I summoned the bloody Resurrection Stone to see my parents—my family. And instead, I get you.”
Tom’s eyes flashed with something dark, something almost predatory. “You think the dead can be returned to you as if they’re simply waiting for you to call them back? How pathetic. And now you’re trapped, Harry. This is your doing, after all.”
Harry gritted his teeth, stepping back. “This is madness. This isn’t real.”
“Oh, it’s real enough,” Tom’s voice turned colder, and for a moment, Harry could see the venom behind his words. “What do you think this is, Potter? Some sick dream? No, this is reality—your reality. You called me here, and here I am. This is what you brought upon yourself.”
Harry’s breath caught, something gnawing at the back of his mind. His heart pounded in his chest, but his instinct screamed at him to move—to get away from Tom, whatever this was. He glanced around, but before he could take another step, a strange force in the air seemed to tighten around him.
Tom’s lips curled into a grin. “You won’t be going anywhere just yet.”
Harry’s eyes darted between the surroundings and the young man before him. "What do you mean by that?"
Tom’s smile deepened. "Simple," he said, his voice laced with cold amusement. "You’re not going near Hogwarts. Not now, not ever."
Harry frowned, his voice filled with confusion and growing frustration. “What the hell are you talking about? Why the hell would I go near Hogwarts when you're here?”
Tom's smirk didn't falter. "You think you're just going to walk into Hogwarts and change things? Try to fix your little mistakes, fix everything you've lost? Not happening. I know exactly what you're up to, and I won't let you destroy everything."
Harry's chest tightened as Tom's words hit him. Confused, he responded, “And why the hell would you care?”
“Because,” Tom’s gaze turned colder, his voice dark, “I don’t plan on letting you ruin everything.”
Before Harry could respond, Tom flicked his wand in a lazy, effortless gesture. The world around Harry seemed to shift, and in an instant, they were no longer standing before the familiar, majestic spires of Hogwarts.
Instead, Harry found himself standing in the middle of a small village—Hogsmeade. The village was eerily quiet, almost frozen in time, like a snapshot of an untouched memory.
“What the hell?” Harry hissed, eyes scanning the village. It was not the Hogsmeade he remembered. There were no signs of war, no remnants of the battle that had ravaged it during the final year of the war. Everything was perfectly in place.
Tom stood beside him, his expression unreadable. “You’re not going anywhere near Hogwarts. Not yet. There are things that must unfold, and I will make sure you stay here long enough for that to happen.”
Harry’s stomach churned as he realized what was happening. He was trapped here. Trapped in this place, and Tom was controlling every moment of it. But where was this place? Why was it so alive? What was Riddle going on about?
Tom’s lips twisted into a sly grin. “Now, Potter,” he said in a low, almost playful voice, “you’ll follow my lead, whether you like it or not.”
And Harry, had no choice but to comply.