He shook his head, clearing the fog. Slowly, new memories emerged. They weren't his. He was... Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Panic swelled in his chest. This has to be a joke. Did I end up in one of those reincarnation fanfics I used to read?
But as he dug deeper into the recesses of his new mind, the panic was replaced by a boiling rage. The previous Harry—a scrawny, ten-year-old boy who had never known kindness—had been beaten mercilessly by his aunt just hours ago. Why? Because he had returned home with a golden ticket he'd found in a Wonka chocolate bar. It had been the one glimmer of joy in his miserable existence, and even that had been snuffed out. The boy's soul, unable to endure the cruelty, had passed on, leaving the body for him to inhabit.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Guess it's my life now."
Pulling himself upright, Harry glanced around. The room was a dingy little cupboard under the stairs. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. A faint, golden light glinted in the corner of his eye. Reaching into a hidden crevice, he retrieved the golden ticket. It shimmered under the weak light bulb, almost as if mocking his current predicament.
No way am I staying here.
Harry gathered the few belongings he had: an oversized hoodie, a threadbare backpack, and the golden ticket. Silently, he slipped out of the cupboard, wincing every time the stairs creaked. The Dursleys were fast asleep. Not that they'd care if he disappeared. He stuffed a loaf of bread and a couple of apples into his bag from the kitchen before stepping out into the cold night.
The bus ride to the airport was uneventful, save for the odd looks he received for travelling alone. At the airport, he used a bit of clever improvisation to sneak past security—turns out a child's innocent smile can open many doors. By the time he was on a plane bound for New York, he felt a sense of freedom he'd never experienced before. He had no idea how long it would last, but he was determined to make the most of it.
New York was chaos incarnate. Bright lights, honking cars, and people rushing in every direction overwhelmed his senses as he stepped out of the terminal. He had no plan, no money, and nowhere to go. Clutching the golden ticket tightly, he wandered the streets, hoping to find something—anything—to point him in the right direction. Midnight came and went, and exhaustion began to set in.
That's when he saw it: a small, dimly lit shop tucked between two towering buildings. The sign above read, Arcana Cabana. Intrigued, he pushed open the door. A bell jingled overhead as he stepped inside. The shop was packed with shelves overflowing with oddities: glowing crystals, ancient books, and artefacts that wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy film.
"Whoa," Harry whispered, reaching out to touch a peculiar vase. It was an intricate urn, adorned with carvings of twisting serpents. As his fingers grazed the surface, it wobbled precariously.
"Careful!" a voice boomed behind him. Harry spun around, nearly dropping the urn in his panic. An older man with a scruffy beard and a long trench coat stood there, his piercing gaze locked onto Harry.
"S-Sorry!" Harry stammered, carefully setting the urn back on its pedestal.
The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you have any idea what that is? That's the Grimlock urn. One wrong move, and you'd be trapped in there for ten years."
Harry blinked. "You're kidding, right?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" the man shot back, his tone dry. "Name's Balthazar. What brings you to my shop, kid?"
Harry hesitated, then held up the golden ticket. "I'm looking for something. This was supposed to lead me to it."
Balthazar's eyes narrowed as he studied the ticket. A flicker of recognition passed over his face. "Interesting. Wait here." He disappeared into the basement, leaving Harry alone.
Of course, Harry being Harry, waiting wasn't his strong suit. As he fidgeted with the golden ticket, his eyes wandered to a peculiar nesting doll sitting on a nearby shelf. It seemed to hum faintly, as if calling to him. Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up. The moment his fingers touched it, the doll rattled and cracked open, releasing a swirling black mist.
"Oh, come on!" Harry groaned.
From the mist emerged a tall, sinister man with a sharp goatee and an elegant suit. "Finally, I'm free!" the man declared, his voice dripping with malice. His eyes landed on Harry. "And who might you be, little one?"
"Uh... just a guy who made a mistake?" Harry offered with an awkward laugh.
Before the man could respond, Balthazar burst out of the basement. "Horvath!" he shouted, his hands crackling with magical energy. What followed could only be described as a wizarding smack down. Spells flew across the shop, shattering shelves and sending artefacts flying. Harry ducked behind a counter, clutching the nesting doll tightly.
"Kid!" Balthazar yelled, blocking a spell with a flick of his wrist. "Get out of here!"
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He bolted out the door, tossing the nesting doll into the street as he ran. The sounds of battle faded behind him as he ducked into a dark alley. Curling up against the cold brick wall, he let out a shaky breath.
"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" he muttered before exhaustion claimed him.