Harry
Harry awakens to the feeling of sand on his back and someone’s tongue hellbent on making its home in the back of his throat.
Opening his eyes, a surge of shock courses through him when he’s confronted by a random man on top of him who has since given up his quest of violating his throat and is instead hiking up his legs with a purpose.
He immediately puts a stop to that, lifting his foot and forcefully pushing the man away with a determined kick to the chest.
“What the fuck,” he growls, only to freeze at the distinctly feminine voice coming out of his mouth.
A confused curse slips from his lips as he glances downward, eyes widening in disbelief.
Instead of the accustomed sight of pecs and black hair, he finds himself staring at breasts and long, white hair, leaving him thoroughly bewildered.
The man across from him, now rubbing at the spot where Harry had kicked him fixes him with a look of annoyed confusion. “What the hell was that?” He hissed, “Just a moment ago you were happily kissing me back. What’s gotten into you Rhaneyra?”
His brows were knitted together in confusion, searching his face for answers, unaware of Harry’s increasing inner panic.
Questions were swirling around in his mind like a storm—where was he, who was he, and how did he arrive here? Then, like a sudden lightning strike, a vivid memory pierces through the fog: his battle with Tom, the improvised spell born of desperation to end the fight, then accidentally getting caught in the backlash, and the subsequent plunge into darkness, and now, awakening in this foreign body.
Great.
He was a woman and it was all Tom’s fault, well, maybe a smidge his fault too, but let's not get too caught up in the details – semantics, right?
After somewhat sorting out his crisis he shifts his attention back to the man in front of him still impatiently waiting for him to answer.
"Erm, maybe we should head back... home?" he suggests, the uncertainty lacing his words as if probing for confirmation. The other man's eyebrows lift even higher in response, as if he can’t believe the events happening in front of him.
Seeing that he will get no help there Harry lifts himself off the ground and begins the process of putting back on his clothing. Meanwhile, the man still sprawled on the ground squawks in indignant outrage.
Sparring him one last glance Harry starts striding across the beach toward the distant castle. The disgruntled yelling of ‘Rhaenyra’ trailing behind him is promptly ignored.
He has no time for this nonsense.
After a lengthy and windswept trek, leaving him thoroughly miffed with sand in places it should never be (who even tries to get in on at the beach anyway?), Harry wearily arrives at the castle doors. To his surprise, a harried-looking man in armor intercepts him.
“Princess Rhaenyra!" he exclaimed, his eyes almost welling with tears. "You're urgently required in the great hall; there's been an incident involving Prince Lucerys and Prince Aemond!"
Incident? Princes involved? Hold on, he was a princess? What on earth was happening? Confused, he tried to grasp the situation, only to be gently pulled by the arm, ushered down the hall, through a door, and straight into a whirlwind of royal chaos.
The room is full of squabbling adults, led by a particularly loud red-headed woman her fingers clenched like talons on the shoulders of a young boy receiving care from what appears to be a doctor, Harry immediately finds himself the target of her crazed gaze when he walks in– as swift and intense as a bird of prey zeroing in on its next meal.
His focus shifts from the intense gaze of the red-headed woman to a small brunette boy, his little nose bleeding profusely. The boy fixates on Harry with the biggest puppy eyes he's ever seen. Suddenly, a motherly instinct he didn't know he had takes over. Without hesitation, he pulls the boy close, examining his face, and asks him what happened.
In the blink of an eye, accusations start flying like rogue quaffles at a quidditch match, with both sides pointing fingers faster than a wizard casting a spell. Dragon stealing, unfair fights, and sabotage get tossed into the mix, creating a chaotic brew that leaves Harry more bewildered than a muggle in a magical creature convention.
As Harry grapples with the absurdity of dragons still being a thing in this new universe, crazy eyes snaps him back to reality. She casually suggests taking his newly acquired son's eye as payment, all while rocking the smuggest smirk in the history of smirks. It's like dealing with a potion-induced hallucination, but weirder.
Whether it's a hallucination or just some bizarre alternate reality, there's absolutely no chance he'll let this red-headed Bellatrix Lestrange knock-off lay a finger on his son.
Just as he's getting ready to unleash a verbal storm on this woman, another one of his brunet brood (seriously, what is with all his new kids having brown hair while his is stark white? Did his genes just give up or something?) tugs at his skirts and drops a bombshell, declaring, "He called us bastards."
Oh, splendid. Question answered then , and here he thought he was dealing with a Hogwarts-level enigma.
In his peripheral vision, he spots what has to be the king in this topsy-turvy universe, stiffening and fixing the red-headed woman and her son with a gaze of pure fury. Rather than cower, the woman seems to amp up her rage, defiantly raising an eyebrow in challenge. It's like a magical showdown, but with more sass and neither is backing down.
Honestly, Harry has no idea what kind of alternate reality he’s stumbled into, but one thing's for sure - shits about to go down.