Chapter 2
The school day dragged on in a blur of classes and half-heard lectures. Harry's mind was elsewhere, consumed by the strange, twisted reality he was trapped in. By the time the final bell rang, releasing the students from their academic purgatory, Harry felt utterly drained. His earlier encounter with Professor Marchbanks had shaken him, and the day had only piled on more confusion and frustration.
As he left the school building, Harry spotted Ron waiting by the curb, leaning casually against the familiar blue Ford Anglia. The sight of the car—so out of place among the other mundane vehicles in the parking lot—gave Harry a strange sense of déjà vu. It was as if he was straddling two worlds, one foot in the ordinary and the other in the extraordinary, unable to find solid ground.
Ron waved him over, grinning as usual. "Hey, Harry! Need a lift? My brother's picking us up."
Harry hesitated for a moment, the morning's events still weighing heavily on him. But the thought of returning to Privet Drive on his own, with nothing but his swirling thoughts for company, was even less appealing. He nodded, managing a small smile as he approached the car.
"Yeah, thanks, Ron. I appreciate it."
Ron opened the back door for him, and Harry slid into the familiar, slightly worn seat. He was about to ask which brother was driving when he heard a voice from the front that made his heart skip a beat.
"Well, look who it is. How're you holding up, Harry?"
Harry looked up to see Charlie Weasley grinning at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes warm and full of that easy confidence Harry had always admired. Charlie's presence was a comfort, a reminder of the world Harry knew, even if things were still far from making sense.
"Charlie!" Harry exclaimed, a flicker of relief in his voice. "What are you doing here?"
Charlie chuckled as he shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the school. "Just giving my little brother a hand. I'm in town for the day and thought I'd help with the school run. Figured you might need a ride, too."
The conversation turned to the day's events as the car rolled down the road. Charlie glanced back at Harry and Ron, sensing the tension between them.
"So," Charlie began, his tone casual but with an undertone of concern, "how was school today? Anything interesting happened?"
Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. "Same old, same old. Well, except for Harry almost getting into it with Malfoy. That git is still as annoying as ever. He was giving Harry a hard time about his dreams again."
Charlie's smile slightly faded as he caught Harry's eye in the mirror. "Malfoy, huh? I can't say I'm surprised. Some things never change." He paused, then added, "You okay, Harry? Sounds like it's been a rough day."
Harry sighed, leaning back in his seat. "It's just… I don't know. Everything feels wrong as if I'm living someone else's life. I keep thinking about all the magic and Hogwarts, but no one else seems to remember. It's like I'm going crazy."
After Harry's words, the car fell into heavy silence. The only sounds were the engine's hum and the faint rush of wind through the open windows. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure what to say, but Charlie's expression remained thoughtful.
They drove in silence, the scenery passing by in a blur of suburban monotony. Harry found himself staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly out of place, but every time he tried to grasp it, it slipped through his fingers like smoke.
Before long, they arrived at Privet Drive. The car rolled to a stop in front of Number Four, the sight of the house sending a wave of dread through Harry. The Dursleys wouldn't be pleased to hear about the meeting with Professor Marchbanks, and the prospect of facing their anger was the last thing he needed.
As Harry reached for the door handle, Charlie's voice stopped him. "Harry, wait a second."
Harry turned to look at him, surprised to see a seriousness in Charlie's eyes that hadn't been there before. "Yeah?"
Charlie leaned back slightly, choosing his words carefully. "I know things seem confusing right now, like you're not sure what's real and what's not. But remember, you've always been a fighter, Harry. Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself, okay?"
Harry blinked, the weight of Charlie's words sinking in. There was something in his tone, something that hinted at more than just brotherly advice. For a brief moment, Harry wondered if Charlie knew more than he was letting on, if he understood more about what was happening than anyone else.
But before Harry could ask, Charlie smiled again, the moment of gravity passing as quickly as it had come. "Rest, and don't let the Muggle homework get you down. We'll catch up soon, yeah?"
Harry nodded, his heart feeling a little lighter. "Yeah, thanks, Charlie. I will."
He stepped out of the car, his school bag slung over one shoulder and waved goodbye to Ron and Charlie as they drove off. The Ford Anglia disappeared around the corner, leaving Harry alone in front of the Dursleys' house.
With a resigned sigh, he turned and walked up the path to the front door. He could already hear Aunt Petunia's sharp voice echoing in his mind, scolding him for any slight misstep. But as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, his thoughts drifted back to Charlie's parting words.
Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself.
It was easier said than done, but Harry clung to those words as he climbed the stairs to his tiny bedroom. Once inside, he dropped his bag onto the desk and pulled out the stack of homework assigned that day. The textbooks loomed large, pages filled with equations, historical dates, and other facts that seemed so far removed from the world he knew.
He sat down with a heavy sigh, picking up a pencil and staring at the first problem in his mathematics workbook. The numbers swam before his eyes, and the logical steps he was supposed to follow felt foreign, like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.
It didn't take long for frustration to set in. The work was challenging, far more than Harry had faced at Hogwarts. Potions, Transfiguration, and even Defense Against the Dark Arts made sense to him and felt natural like this Muggle education didn't.
He pressed on, trying to push through the fog in his mind, but the doubts lingered. What if this was his real life? What if everything he remembered—the magic, the friendships, the battles—was just a dream? The thought made him feel hollow as if the very foundation of who he was had been ripped away by dark forces.
Hours later, after struggling through his homework, Harry finally set his pencil down and rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced at the small clock on his desk—it was late, and he knew he should get some sleep. But as he lay down on his bed, the room's darkness seemed to close around him, his thoughts racing in the quiet.
He replayed the day's events over and over in his mind, from the strange indifference of his friends to the reassuring but cryptic words from Charlie. And as sleep finally began to claim him, one question echoed louder than all the others: What is real?
The next morning dawned with a bright, cloudless sky—a perfect day for the school's annual sports event. As students exited the building and onto the field, the air buzzed with excitement and anticipation. The event was a big deal; classes were suspended for the day, and everyone was expected to participate or cheer on their peers. But for Harry, the day's prospect only added to the mounting pressure and confusion that had been building since he'd woken up in this strange version of reality.
He found himself on the football team, handed a jersey and instructed to join the other boys warming up on the field. The problem was, Harry had never played football—at least, not like this. The rules, the strategies, the skills required- all of them were foreign to him. Back at Hogwarts, his sport had been Quidditch, soaring high above the pitch on a broomstick, seeking out the Golden Snitch. But here, with his feet firmly on the ground and no magic to help him, Harry felt like he was being thrown into the deep end with no idea how to swim.
The whistle blew, signalling the start of the match. Harry took his position on the field, trying to copy his teammates' movements. He could hear the cheers from the sidelines and the calls of encouragement from students and teachers alike, but it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
As the game progressed, it became painfully clear that Harry was out of his depth. The ball moved too fast, and the other players were too coordinated. Whenever the ball came his way, Harry fumbled it, tripping over his feet or sending it off in the wrong direction. His teammates shot him frustrated glances, their patience quickly wearing thin.
"Come on, Potter!" someone yelled from the sidelines. "Get your head in the game!"
Harry tried—he really did—but nothing clicked. His instincts, honed for a different sport, betrayed him at every turn. When the ball flew towards him again, he panicked, swinging his leg too early and missing completely. The other team seized the opportunity, stealing the ball and racing down the field to score.
The final whistle blew, signalling the end of the match. Harry stood there, panting and sweating, feeling utterly humiliated. His team had lost, and it was mostly his fault. He could feel his classmates' stares, his teammates' disappointed looks, and the opposing team's laughter. It was too much.
Without a word, Harry turned and bolted from the field, ignoring the coach's shouts and the crowd's bewildered looks. He didn't stop running until he found himself in the school building, ducking into the nearest restroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he leaned against the cold tile wall.
The embarrassment, frustration, and sheer wrongness of everything came crashing down on him at once. Harry slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands as the tears finally came. He cried, letting out all the pent-up emotions he'd been holding in since that first morning when he woke up in the Dursleys' house. Everything felt so hopeless, so unbearably wrong, and he didn't know how to fix it.
Harry just sat there for a long time, lost in his misery. He didn't care who might find him or what they would think. He just wanted to disappear, to escape from this nightmare where nothing made sense, and everyone looked at him like he was crazy.
He didn't hear the door open, but suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the fog of his thoughts.
"Harry?"
Harry froze, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked up, his vision blurry from the tears, and saw Charlie standing in the doorway. Charlie's expression was a mix of concern and understanding, and Harry felt a fresh wave of shame wash over him.
"I—" Harry started, his voice cracking. He didn't know what to say or how to explain his mess. But Charlie didn't push him. He just walked over and sat beside Harry on the cold tile floor, his presence solid and reassuring.
"They're all worried about you," Charlie said quietly after a moment. "Ron, Hermione, even Mum. They're out there looking for you."
Harry sniffled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I made a fool of myself out there," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "I couldn't even kick a stupid ball. Everyone's laughing at me. I'm not supposed to be here, Charlie. This isn't right."
Charlie didn't say anything right away. He just sat there, letting Harry get the words out, his silence encouraging Harry to keep talking.
"I don't belong here," Harry continued, his voice trembling. "I'm supposed to be at Hogwarts, playing Quidditch, learning magic. But now… now it's like none of that ever existed. It's like I'm the only one who remembers, and I'm starting to think I'm losing my mind."
Charlie's expression softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're not losing your mind, Harry. I don't know what's happening, but this isn't your fault. And you're not alone, okay?"
Harry looked at Charlie, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was sincerity. Charlie's reassurance was like a lifeline, pulling Harry back from the edge of despair.
Taking a deep breath, Harry finally let himself say what had been eating at him since this whole ordeal began. "Charlie, I don't know how to explain this, but… I'm not from here. I remember everything—Hogwarts, the wizarding world, all of it. But here, it's like none of that ever happened. And I don't understand why."
Charlie was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was an edge of something more profound that hinted at his struggle to make sense of things.
"I can't say I know what you're going through, Harry," Charlie began slowly. "But… I've felt it, too, in a way. Like there's something more, something just out of reach. For as long as I can remember, I've always been drawn to dragons. I feel this connection to them as if they're somehow a part of me. But that doesn't make any sense, does it? Dragons are just mythical creatures. They don't exist."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Dragons. The memory of Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback that Hagrid had raised in secret during their first year at Hogwarts, flashed in his mind. The connection Charlie described wasn't just a coincidence—it was real. It had to be.
"Charlie," Harry said, his voice shaky but filled with a new determination. I don't think dragons are just a myth. There's a reason you feel that connection. Maybe you remember too, even if you don't realize it."
Charlie looked at Harry, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the possibility. "You really believe that, don't you?"
Harry nodded. "I do. And I think—no, I know —that magic is real. It's out there, somewhere. We just have to find it."
Charlie sat back, letting out a slow breath. "This is all… it's a lot to take in. But if what you're saying is true, then we're in the middle of something much bigger than we realize."
Harry could only nod, feeling the enormity of everything pressing down on him. But now, at least, he didn't feel so alone. Charlie believed him, or at least was willing to try, and that made all the difference.
Charlie gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We'll figure this out, Harry. You're not alone in this."
Harry managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Charlie. I don't know what I'd do without you."
They sat there for a few more moments, their silence no longer heavy with unspoken fears but filled with a shared determination to uncover the truth. Eventually, Charlie stood, offering Harry a hand to help him up.
"Come on," Charlie said with a grin, "let's get out of here before Ron and Hermione send out a search party."
Harry chuckled, feeling a bit lighter despite everything. "Yeah, let's go."
As they left the restroom and stepped back into the sunlight, Harry knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. But with Charlie by his side, he felt like he could face whatever came next. They would uncover the truth together, no matter how deep they had to dig to find it.
After emerging from the restroom with Charlie, Harry was greeted by a concerned Mrs Weasley, who had been anxiously searching for him. Her eyes softened as she spotted him, and she hurried over, enveloping him in a tight hug.
"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with relief. "We were so worried about you! Are you alright, dear?"
Harry stiffened for a moment but then relaxed into her embrace. "I'm okay, Mrs Weasley," he reassured her, though his voice was still rough from earlier. "I'm embarrassed about the game, but I'll be fine."
Mrs Weasley pulled back slightly, still holding his shoulders. Her gaze was filled with concern. "It's more than just the game, isn't it? Charlie mentioned you've been having a rough time. Is this about your dreams? Have you been having more of them lately?"
Harry hesitated, his emotions swirling. He glanced at Charlie, who gave him an encouraging nod and then looked back at Mrs Weasley. "Yes, I've been having these dreams… or maybe they're memories. They don't fit with what's happening now. It's like I'm stuck between two worlds and don't know which one is real."
Mrs. Weasley's face softened with sympathy. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry you're going through this. It must be incredibly confusing."
As Mrs. Weasley began to recount stories of Charlie's childhood obsession with dragons, her tone grew more relaxed and nostalgic. "Charlie was always fascinated by dragons. Even as a child, he was obsessed. He'd carry around this enormous book on dragons and try to make his toy dragon 'fly' on its own. It was a bit mad, really, but his enthusiasm was something."
Harry listened, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of the stories. But before he could respond, Ron and Hermione, waiting nearby, approached with serious expressions.
"Harry," Ron said hesitantly, "we've been thinking… maybe you should see a psychologist. Someone who can help you figure out what's going on."
Hermione nodded, her face set in a severe expression. "It might help to talk to a professional about what you're experiencing. It's not about saying you're crazy or anything. It's just that sometimes talking to someone who's trained to help can make a big difference."
Harry's eyes widened, and his expression darkened. "A psychologist? Are you kidding me? You think I'm just imagining things?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, clearly taken aback by Harry's reaction. "No, that's not what we meant, Harry. We're just worried about you. You've been through a lot, and—"
"I don't need a psychologist!" Harry snapped, his frustration bubbling over. "I need you to believe me! You all keep acting like I'm crazy for remembering something that doesn't fit what you think is real. I'm not crazy! I'm just stuck in a world that doesn't make sense!"
The group fell silent, Harry's outburst hanging heavy in the air. Mrs Weasley's eyes widened in surprise, and even Charlie looked taken aback by the intensity of Harry's reaction.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm. "Harry, we're just trying to help. We know this is confusing and difficult. We want to make sure you're okay."
Harry shook his head, his anger and hurt evident. "You don't get it. No one does. Everyone's just treating this like it's a problem that can be solved with a quick fix. But this isn't just about feeling 'off'—this is about my whole life being turned upside down, and you're all treating it like a minor inconvenience!"
Charlie stepped forward, his expression serious. "Harry, we do believe you. We're just trying to find the best way to help you. This is a lot to handle, and sometimes talking to a professional can be a good way to work through these feelings."
Harry looked at Charlie, his anger fading slightly, but he still felt a deep frustration. "I just wish you would trust me and understand what I'm going through. It's not about whether I need therapy or not—it's about you believing that what I remember is real."
The silence that followed was heavy, and Harry's breath came in short, angry bursts. Finally, Mrs Weasley spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Harry, we do trust you. We want to help, and if this is the best way to support you right now, we're willing to try. But please understand we're doing this because we care about you."
Harry looked around at his friends and the Weasleys' concerned faces. The anger inside him began to ebb, replaced by a weary acceptance. He knew they meant well, even if their methods felt misguided.
"Fine," Harry said, his voice more subdued. "I'll consider it. But just… please don't treat me like I'm crazy. I need you to believe that what I remember is real."
Mrs Weasley nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "We do believe you, Harry. And we'll do everything we can to help you get through this."
With that, the group began to make their way back towards the school, the tension between them slowly easing. However, Harry was still frustrated and uncertain. He felt a glimmer of hope that, with their support, he might eventually find a way to bridge the gap between the world he remembered and the one he was living in now.