Standing against a circular pillar in Denver International Airport with a backpack slung over my shoulder, I flick my thumb across the e-reader screen to turn the last page of my fiftieth novel-length Harry Potter fanfiction. 

When I lift my head up to stretch a bit, a massive case of vertigo sweeps over me, and my left hand shoots back to steady myself on the pillar. 

Unfortunately, it finds nothing but air. It must be on account of the sudden onset of nausea and dizziness, but it seems like I'm falling through the pillar. 

As I shake off some of the symptoms, the sights and sounds coalesce from blurred and slurred to more distinct shapes and noises. 

I'm facing a tall, age-worn stone pillar that looks absolutely nothing like one from the airport...or anything I've ever seen, for that matter. 

My heart tries to jump through my throat as the shrill whistle of a train blares behind me.

"What theâ€"" I begin, but stop after I spin and catch sight of the old steam engine, and the throng of children with their families bustling about in odd clothing with large carts of luggage and...is that an owl? 

In a split second the familiarity of the scene hits me, and my eyes snap to the engine to verify: Hogwarts Express.

"You won't need your wand, here, son," a gruff old man says, off to my right. He's leaning over the counter of what appears to be a newspaper stand. 

I look down, and in my right hand, sure enough, is a light, slightly red-tinted wooden wand clutched in my hand where my e-reader used to be.

"Wha...uh, right, sorry," I say, and I realize with some embarrassment that I'm trying to copy his English accent. 

Yeah, that's not going to work. I look down at my clothes and find myself still in my travel attire: faded blue jeans and a white tee-shirt, with a zip-up hoodie hanging over my backpack. But something is off about them...

I turn back to the pillar, and it seems completely solid, no matter how much I try to imagine it being a gateway back to Denver International. 

At first I try to nonchalantly lean back up against the pillar, and eventually I'm openly inspecting the thing, hoping to find some kind of switch or push plate that might send me back.

I found nothing. Absently I rub my chin in thought. I appear to have been magically transported to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. 

Did I fall asleep? 

No, everything feels real enough...far too vivid for a dream, not to mention I usually wake up once I realize I might be dreaming. 

I look again at my supposed wand, then at my backpack. What else has changed? Perhaps there are more clues in there...

Rummaging through the pack I find my nicer black shoes on the bottom, a crumpled heap of nicer clothes that I'd worn for the meeting, and, in another pocket, a faded brown letter with a red wax seal. 

Perplexed, I dig it out and see it addressed to Bud A. Lerner, Gate C36 Southwest Pillar, Denver International Airport, USA. "What. The. Fâ€""

"You'd best hurry, son, it'll be off soon," the old man said.

I glance over to see him starting to pack up his newsstand. Then a newspaper headline catches my eye: "NEW LEADS IN HUNT FOR SIRIUS BLACK!" it says in big, bold, block lettering. 

The subtitle says "RESPONSIBLE FOR QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP SCARE?" The picture, sure enough, is the same one from the third movie with Sirius apparently screaming like a madman.

Holy shit, it's 1994 in the Potterverse! The Triwizard Tournament! But in 1994... Suddenly the reason my clothes seemed off hit me: I'm younger! I'm still a teenager, so the timing doesn't really work out, but I definitely lost a couple years.

"C'mon, Hurry!" a shrill voice snaps me out of my daze, and I dash off awkwardly toward the train. I have to hold my pant legs up, and my shoes are a bit too big. 

I barely made it. As I trudge toward the back of the train, every compartment appears full. 

One of those pieces of fanfiction - though I can't remember which - conjectured that the train magically expands to only leave just enough room for everybody. 

Makes sense, really, since the last ones on the train tend to be the protagonists, and they pretty much always find only one compartment open.

"Did you get hit by a shrinking charm?" a familiar, melodious voice asks behind me.

I smile and turn to see the serene visage of Luna Lovegood, peering up at me with large gray eyes flecked with only the slightest hint of blue. "Or did my clothes get hit by an engorgement charm?"

She smiles back conspiratorially. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

"Say, do you think a wrackspurt might have gotten me? Is that why I can't seem to remember?"

Her already large, slate gray eyes widen. "Oh no! I knew I should have convinced Daddy to let me take a pair of Spectrespecs! Let me get my notes!"

"It's okay, it'll wear offâ€"and she's gone." I laugh and shake my head. Oh man, messing with Luna is going to be fun. I should probably feel bad about that thought.

Continuing down the train I spot the trio in one compartment, where Hermione is gesturing excitedly, no doubt explaining something in great detail while Ron looks bored but Harry actually looks interested. 

Suddenly an odd fact strikes me. Sirius looked exactly like he did in the movie, and so did Luna. 

And here was Hermione looking just like Emma Watson. 

Now, it's been a long time since I had my own pictures of the characters in my head, but Hermione wasn't really supposed to be attractive, was she?

I open the door to their compartment somewhat loudly to get their attention, Hermione stops mid-sentence to look at me, as do Harry and Ron.