HP-A New Future

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

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Chapter 1: Displaced in Chaos

The wind carried the faint acrid scent of smoke, mingled with the earthy tang of grass crushed underfoot. Harry Potter opened his eyes to an endless stretch of fields, the blue sky above tainted by the faint haze of distant fires. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish, as if he had been asleep for years. The world around him pulsed with an unfamiliar energy, and yet, it was disarmingly real.

He sat up slowly, brushing the grass from his bare skin, and scanned the horizon. Nothing but rolling hills and open fields, save for a plume of smoke rising in the distance. No signs of life, no voices, only the ominous silence broken by the occasional rustle of the wind. His muscles tensed as he searched his memory, but the fragments refused to align.

There had been a battle. A fierce one. Magic tearing through the air, curses flying faster than thought. The cries of the wounded, the roar of fury and desperation. And then—nothing. A void.

Harry stood, his movements deliberate as he fought the surreal disconnection that threatened to overwhelm him. His sharp eyes glowed faintly, emerald irises shimmering as his magic unfurled like an invisible net, sweeping across the landscape. Every blade of grass, every particle of dirt, every distant sound—it was all real. There was no illusion, no enchantment clouding his perception.

His lips pressed into a thin line. The detachment he felt wasn't natural. Something was wrong—not just with where he was, but with when.

With a flick of his wrist, he conjured clothes—a plain black shirt, dark trousers, and sturdy boots. The fabric hugged his frame as if it had always been there. His wand appeared in his hand, the Elder Wand thrumming with familiar power. It steadied him, a tangible reminder of who he was, even in this strange place.

Harry turned toward the distant smoke, his instincts tugging him toward answers. But this place wasn't safe, and every moment wasted exposed him to danger. He exhaled slowly and focused on a familiar destination. Without a sound, he vanished.

When he reappeared, the air was thick with tension. The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley were alive with activity, but not the cheerful hum he remembered. Instead, there was an edge to every movement, an urgency in every conversation. Witches and wizards hurried past, their heads low, their wands clutched tightly. A flicker of fear was etched into every face.

Harry took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping over the scene. The once-vibrant shopfronts were fortified with charms and wards, their windows covered in thick iron bars. Posters lined the walls, many bearing the distorted faces of wanted Death Eaters. Others showed desperate pleas for information about the missing.

The war.

He felt it in the air, an oppressive weight pressing against his chest. He had lived through Voldemort's first rise to power in stories and memories, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely. This was chaos.

His eyes caught the flicker of movement at a nearby stand—a news vendor hurriedly stacking fresh copies of the Daily Prophet. Harry approached, picking up a copy, his fingers tightening as he scanned the date at the top of the page.

September 12th, 1978.

The headline screamed of an ambush on a wizarding village, dozens killed or taken. The war was raging, Voldemort's forces striking fear into the heart of the wizarding world.

Harry's mind raced. This wasn't just time travel. This was displacement into one of the darkest chapters of history, and he was in the thick of it.

He folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm, his mind already running through his next steps. He needed information, allies—or at least the names and faces of those he could trust in this era. He would need to tread carefully. The war was a minefield, and he was already at risk of being pulled into its path.

A sharp scream echoed down the street, breaking Harry's thoughts. Without hesitation, he turned toward the sound, his wand slipping into his hand like a reflex.

The past wasn't safe. But if it had dragged him here, there had to be a reason.

And if there wasn't, Harry would make one.