The Weasley couple transferred the unconscious boy to their own bedroom. Although the house was built over a long period of time--repeatedly, all of their family had occupied the available rooms. So they opted to spend the night on the makeshift bed-- transfigured from couches and chairs, in the living room.
After ensuring the comfort of Harry, they finally could rest and get some good sleep. Sleep had been disturbed by far too dangerous elements today and the arrival of the new guest would endless questions from their children and from the guest himself.
As sleep and quiet spread over the Burrow, wind occasionally rattling its windows and sounds of insects accompanying it, Harry himself wasn't having much of a peaceful and quiet sleep.
***
Before Harry fell unconscious from the violent explosion, he was sure that something had flowed through him to the umbrella. Maybe it was magic? Maybe it was something from the artifact or item whatever? But what he was sure of was that he really wanted to blow up the bloody monsters who were on their tail. He wasn't to blame, Hagrid had really got him on board on blasting 'those ruddy things'.
But boy was that violent. One moment he was kind of getting excited at getting it right and the next? He's out cold in the air and probably thrown on the ground due to the force. He didn't know. Goodness, he was tired of that phrase. The whole night he had asked himself questions and that phrase came up again and again.
Well, that was something he had to care about when or-- if he woke up. That was that.
But what in the world was he doing in front of this strange house and such a strange…street? He couldn't see both ways. It was kind of blurry. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He put them back on and looked at the house in front of him. The little front-yard with neatly trimmed grass, the little paved way to the front door.
He sighed to himself and moved forward towards the front door. He rang the bell and waited. He looked around himself and what he could tell was it was a well maintained property. After living with Dursley's for years he understood 'well- maintained appearances' very well.
After waiting for a while, no one opened the door. Now this was a dilemma. What to do? To call out or go from the back? Then again who could be in this strange house? He attempted to open the door and it opened. He was surprised. Do people in this strange place have no fear of thieves?
Now somewhat curious, he went in and saw stairs leading upstairs. From the small passage leading to other 2 rooms, he surmised they maybe living and dining rooms. Oh curses. This was eerily similar to the Dursley's house. He inched forward and looked under the stairs, and surprisingly no closet!
As he went into the dining room, there was something eerily familiar about it. He had a distinct impression that he knew the plumbing of this room. But that wasn't so. The only time he had even came close to see any kind of internal plumbing was when he was ganged up on Dudley and his little horde in school and had tried to force his head in the toilet bowl. But fortunately, he had evaded that situation with a whole lot of talking…which was a story for another time.
It was nothing special--perhaps every suburban or say normal house would have a dining room such as this. He went back and faced the another unopened door. This must be the living room, he thought. But as he tried to opened it, it wouldn't budge. He futilely tried to force it, but nope, nothing worked.
As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he froze. What was he doing? This was a stranger's house he had come into--without permission at that. And now he was going to knock again to give away his presence?
But after moments of internal struggle, he knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He waited. Was he going to face silence once more? Was there no one in this house, after all? Or perhaps some angry, old man who was going to demand his name and his parents' name. That would be awkward. Calling the Dursley's after vanishing from the middle of the night, that would be a bloody nightmare. May be they would be disappointed he returned--
"For goodness' sake, come in, will you? You've been standing there forever!" came an aged voice from inside.
Harry, for some reason, started sweating. His skin felt cold as he turned the handle. As the door opened, it revealed a small, aged and very wrinkly woman sitting on a cushioned chair, hair in curlers, wired glasses perched on her nose and mouth pressed in tight line. She had a book in her hand with a boy on a broom, flying. Strangely, the boy had glasses not like unlike himself. She circled something in the book, muttering to herself.
After a moment, she put the things in her hand on the table and looked at him.
"You're still standing? Why didn't you sit?", she said as she gestured towards the couch.
He uprooted himself from the doorway and sat on the couch. As he looked at the old woman staring at him, he felt uncomfortable and…familiar?
"So? How was it so far? Do you like your new life so far?", she asked.
He was confused. New life? Does she mean…
"Do you mean knowing I'm a wizard?", he could only guess that much.
"No! Not that. I mean in this world…As Harry Potter, of course!", she said, a little too loudly.
What in the world? He thought. How does she know his name? Why--no, How did he start a conversation with a complete stranger in whose he had broken into?
As the silence stretched on, she made an exasperated sound. She picked up her pen and pointed it at him.
"You don't remember me, do you boy?", she asked.
"No, ma'am. I think we have met for the first time."
As her pen got dangerously close to his face, she said, "Oh? Are you sure you don't know my name? Come on. Try to remember."
As he looked at the pen, very uncomfortably close to his nose, he said, "Mrs. Wyrd, I don't think so…."
She leaned back and made 'Ha!' sound and smirked.
"You just said my name, Marcus."
"My name is not--", he started to say but stopped as images after images, voices after voices filled his mind, filling his vision, his hearing….every one of his senses. It was like watching frames after frames pass by.
***
Wyrd shook her head as she watched the boy lean back on the couch and shake his head over and over. His forehead marred with sweat and breathing ragged. Losing his memories or rather not regaining them after started maturing from an infant shouldn't have happened.
***
Marcus opened his eyes and gasped loudly, sweat laden. As he lay sprawled on the couch he remembered all of it. Who he was, where did he come from, how he died and had a nasty idea where he was. As he closed his eyes and to recover his wits, he started rearranging all of it, no matter how bizarre, sad and painful it was. After some odd minutes, he exhaled and looked at the old crone sitting in front of him.
"You fucking oldies killed me." God, it was weird somehow. He had a British accent. But then again he was Harry for nearly 11 years now.
Wyrd simply shook her head and said, "Bah! Ungrateful fellow. Here I hoped you would be happier to be reborn."
He was dumbfounded by her words. "So lemme get this straight. Y'all kill-- gah, its weird to speak American in Brit accent! You killed me and hoped that I was happy to be reborn? But I hadn't lived my life! I--"
"Oh don't be ungrateful boy! Do you know where in the multiverse you are? Many would die to be have a chance like this."
He was livid at her words. "What the fuck that has got to do with what you 2 did! If I wanted to off myself I would've done that sooner! Gah I just--"
And thus continued a hour (or more? Honestly he couldn't tell.) long rant of cursing, insulting and quarreling. It was strangely cathartic. It was like slowly coming to terms with his situation. Maybe not completely there yet, but he was also another person--no, he was Harry for a long time.
As a silence settled between them, he started contemplating what to ask.
"Want tea, you brat?" The old bat croaked.
"Heck no. I don't wanna faint and wake up as fucking Naruto. Wizardry is enough."
"Humph." she grumped as she summoned a tea set for herself.
Harry (he thought, might as well right?) cleared his throat and asked, "So am I gonna get any benefits?"
"Didn't you say Wizardry is enough?" said the old bat, smirking.
A muscle in his cheeks twitched, "Fuck no. Isn't there gonna be a war or something? And I am the protagonist for fuck's sake. I 'need' all the perks you can give."
"What's with you being vague? Haven't you read all of it? You have the advantage in information."
"I was going to. My fosters were gonna lend me some of those books." He answered.
"What kind of kid are you? Even kiddies younger than you have read the books. Maybe if you hadn't wasted your computer and phone privileges on romance and porn stories, you would've had the idea read these gems!", Wyrd said as she looked at him as though was countryside peasant.
He gritted his teeth, his cheek muscle twitching. He knew that she knew what he had read, seen and watched in his past life, maybe this one too. But he reined it in and breathed deeply.
"Just get me the books so I can have some idea what's gonna happen."
She shook her head and said, "Wouldn't matter. This world is different."
Brows furrowed he asked, "What?"
"It means AU, you dumb ass. Goodness, what good did it do for you, reading all those webnovels?"
Teeth gritting, lips thinning, he asked, "Then what about perks? A system?"
"Nope." she said as she sipped the tea.
"A rare bloodline?"
"Eiiye." she smacked her lips after a sip.
"A subspace?"
"Bu." she inhaled the aroma of the tea as she replied.
"Gacha?"
"Nahi." she moved to add a cube of sugar in the cup and answered.
"Fuck, at least a daily reward?"
"Ochi." she answered as the cube made 'bloo~b' sound in the tea. She again, slowly took a sip and smacked her lips.
"Fuck, woman, stop answering 'no' in different languages and tell me--- wait, is this it? Language understanding?" he asked some hope reigniting in him.
Again inhaling the aroma of the tea, she answered, "Nei. It was my doing. Just so you can understand me thoroughly."
He just stared at her blankly.
As she stared at his face and eyes devoid of hope, she said, "Boy, you have something in you. As Marcus and Harry, in your past life and this, you still have that. You have to find those 'somethings' yourself. Figure it out, or don't. Up to you. I CANNOT interfere after this."
After hearing her serious tone, he sighed and leaned back. It seemed she was unwilling or 'unable' to help. Maybe he had himself again. No help. Heck, this time he wasn't even pitied. Oh well, different life same circumstances.
Finally, he stood up.
"Well, I guess this is it huh?"
"Chuan roi."
He shook his head. "So how do I go back? I was unconscious wasn't I?"
"Well, you'll wake up, don't sweat it."
"So is this in my head?"
As she heard that, she started laughing. Adopting an obviously fake gentle smile and tone she said, "Of course it is in your head, Harry. But why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"
He scoffed and walked towards the room's door. He stopped in the doorway and said, "Then get outta my head, you old bat." And he strode forward, going out of the main door and falling asleep, he had a life to live, he had had enough of past life figures.
***
"Ruined the scene, you brat." muttered Wyrd as she waved her hand and a new cup of tea was hovering in front of her.
As she held the cup and brought it to her lips, she said aloud, "'Death has no fear, equal and mercy', my gnarly ass. You sure act like a coward."
A voice said from the spot beside where Marcus was sitting, "Wouldn't do him any good seeing the one who killed him, even though you made it happen." And in a much smaller voice, as though to itself, "And who knows fear, pain, loneliness than Death itself?"