Harry fell through colors that had no names and spaces that had no dimensions. Time moved sideways. Gravity pointed in seventeen different directions. His body stretched and compressed, scattered and reformed, torn apart and rebuilt a dozen times in the span of a heartbeat.
His last coherent thought before the vortex claimed his consciousness wasn't fear. It was relief. Something new was happening. After years of predictable patterns—crisis, solution, sacrifice, repeat—he was finally experiencing something unexpected.
Then he slammed into hard, wet pavement.
The impact drove the air from his lungs. Pain shot through his ribs and left shoulder. His head bounced off concrete, and stars exploded behind his eyelids. The familiar weight of the Elder Wand pressed against his chest where he'd fallen on it.
So it had followed him here as well, wherever he was. A quick scan showed him the other two Hallows had also made the journey. He should have expected it.
Harry lay still for several minutes, waiting for his vision to clear. The world smelled wrong. His nostrils filled with the acrid stench of garbage and exhaust fumes instead of the clean scent of magical Britain. Car engines rumbled in the distance, and although the voices spoke in English, the accents he didn't recognize.
He opened his eyes blearily to find himself in a narrow alley between two tall buildings. The walls were brick, stained with decades of city grime. A dumpster sat ten feet away, overflowing with trash bags. Water dripped from a fire escape above, creating a small puddle near his head.
The sky was gray and overcast, but the quality of light felt different. Alien. The very air seemed to vibrate with energy that his magical senses couldn't quite interpret.
Harry pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his shoulder protested. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed broken. His powers from the Hallows which he assumed had traveled with him had protected him from the worst of whatever had just happened.
After finally catching his bearings, he looked around the alley more carefully. The buildings were tall—taller than most structures in London. The architecture was different too. More glass and steel, less stone and wood. Street sounds echoed off the walls: car horns, sirens, and the rumble of subway trains deep underground.
This wasn't London. This wasn't even Britain.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered, pulling out the Elder Wand to check if it still worked.
Magic flowed through the ancient wood, but it felt muted. Constrained. The local magical field was different—thinner in some ways, denser in others. Like trying to swim in water that was the wrong temperature and salinity.
Harry pointed the wand at the dumpster and whispered a levitation charm. The heavy container rose into the air smoothly, then settled back down with barely a sound. Magic worked here, but it required more effort than it should have.
He needed information. Fast.
Harry walked to the mouth of the alley and peered out at the street beyond. The sight that greeted him confirmed his worst fears. This definitely wasn't his world.
The cars were wrong. Not just different models, but wrong in fundamental ways. Their designs were more streamlined, more advanced than anything he'd seen in magical Britain. Some of them didn't even seem to have exhaust pipes.
The people were wrong too. Their clothes were similar to what he was used to, but the styles were subtly different. Hair cuts that were almost familiar but not quite. Shoes that looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd heard about human feet but never seen them.
And the sounds. The city hummed with an energy that felt technological rather than magical. Power lines carried electricity that seemed almost alive. Radio waves flickered at the edges of his consciousness, carrying signals he couldn't decode.
A businessman in an expensive suit walked past the alley, talking rapidly into a device that looked like a cross between a telephone and a small computer. Harry had seen similar devices before—cell phones, they were called—but this one was different. Thinner. More sophisticated.
Harry made his decision. He needed to know where he was, when he was, and what kind of world he'd landed in. There was only one way to get that information quickly.
He stepped out of the alley and fell into step behind the businessman. When they reached a less crowded section of sidewalk, Harry drew his wand and cast a silent Confundus charm.
The man stopped mid-sentence and looked around in confusion. "Sorry, I'll have to call you back," he said into his phone, then put it away.
Harry moved closer and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Just relax," he said quietly, then slipped into the man's mind with wandless Legilimency.
The technique was invasive, but Harry had stopped caring about such niceties years ago. He needed information, and this was the fastest way to get it.
The businessman's memories flowed through Harry's consciousness like water through a sieve. Most of it was useless—meetings, phone calls, family dinners, and mundane concerns. But there were nuggets of information that made Harry's blood run cold.
The date was September 15th, 2008. The location was Manhattan, New York City. The United States of America.
But not the United States Harry knew from his world's history books. This was a different America. A different Earth entirely.
Harry dug deeper into the man's memories, searching for anything that might explain how this world differed from his own. What he found made him step back in shock.
Superheroes. This world had superheroes.
Not the kind Harry was used to—wizards and witches with wands and robes. These were people with impossible abilities who wore costumes and fought crime in broad daylight. They had names like Spider-Man and Captain America. They battled villains with equally impossible powers, all while ordinary people watched and cheered.
And recently, very recently, something had happened that had changed everything.
Harry pushed deeper into the businessman's memories, following threads of excitement and fear. The man had been watching television three months ago when it happened. A live press conference that had made history.
A man in an expensive looking suit had stood before a crowd of reporters and cameras. He'd looked directly into the lenses and said four words that had changed the world forever:
"I am Iron Man."
Tony Stark. Billionaire. Genius. Inventor. And now, apparently, the world's first publicly acknowledged superhero.
Harry released the man's mind after seeing the flash of Tony Stark flying in a red and gold metal suit and stepped back. The businessman blinked a few times, shook his head, and continued walking as if nothing had happened. The Confundus charm would wear off in a few minutes, leaving him with nothing but a vague sense of having lost track of time.
Harry found a nearby bench and sat down to process what he'd learned. This world was like his own in many ways—same general history, same countries, same basic human nature. But somewhere along the way, things had diverged.
Here, people with extraordinary abilities revealed themselves to the public instead of hiding. Here, technology had advanced along different lines, creating wonders that his world's purely magical society could never have imagined. Here, the line between science and magic had blurred beyond recognition.
And here, Harry Potter was nobody.
He should have felt relieved. After years of being the most famous and feared wizard in Britain, anonymity was a gift. But instead, he felt unsettled. His magical senses were screaming warnings he couldn't interpret.
The fundamental forces of this world were different. Magic existed here—he could feel it thrumming beneath the surface of reality—but it was wild and unstructured. No wand traditions. No established schools. No Ministry of Magic to regulate its use.
And Death was different too.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the Resurrection Stone. It was warm, but not with the familiar heat he'd grown accustomed to. The stone's connection to the realm of the dead felt muted, distant. As if Death here was a completely different entity than the one he'd known.
The Elder Wand, too, felt changed. Still powerful, but its authority was diminished. The wand was no longer the master of all magic in this world because the rules of magic themselves had changed.
Only the Invisibility Cloak felt unchanged. It still whispered promises of concealment and protection. Still carried the significance of his father's legacy. It still was the Hallow closest to his heart.
Harry stood up and began walking down the street. He needed to find a place to stay, a way to acquire money and identification in this world. But first, he needed to understand what he'd gotten himself into.
As he walked, he became aware of something else. A different kind of sight, one that had nothing to do with magic or the Hallows. He could see threads of fate connecting the people around him—thin lines of possibility and probability that showed how their lives might unfold.
It was a skill he'd developed over the years as Master of Death. The ability to see the patterns that connected all living things. The web of cause and effect that determined who lived and who died.
But here, those threads were different. They were tangled with something vast and cosmic, something that existed far beyond the scope of ordinary human experience. The threads glowed with colors that were different than those in his previous world, and they connected to points of power that he couldn't identify.
Harry focused on a young woman walking ahead of him. Her thread of fate was bright gold, twisted around itself in complex patterns. She was important—would be important—to the future of this world. But her thread was also connected to something else. Something that made Harry's skin crawl with recognition.
Infinity. The concept materialized in his mind without conscious thought. This world's threads of fate were connected to forces that dealt in cosmic scales. Powers that could reshape reality itself.
He thought about the businessman's memories. Tony Stark in his metal suit. The casual way people in this world discussed impossible technologies. The matter-of-fact acceptance of beings who could fly or lift cars with their bare hands.
This wasn't just a world where magic was different. This was a world where the impossible was routine. Where cosmic forces played games with entire civilizations. Where death and rebirth were just another Tuesday.
Harry smiled for the first time since arriving in this strange place. After years of being the most dangerous person in his world, he'd landed somewhere that might actually be able to challenge him.
In the distance, he could see the skeletal framework of a building under construction. Even from here, he could tell it was going to be massive. The kind of tower that declared its owner's importance to the world.
He flagged down a passing taxi and showed the driver his handful of British pounds. The man looked at the foreign currency with confusion, but Harry cast a subtle Confundus charm that made the money look like American dollars.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"That construction site," Harry said, pointing toward the tower. "I want to get a better look at it."
"Stark Tower?" the driver laughed. "Yeah, that's gonna be something when it's finished. Tony Stark's building himself a monument to his own ego."
Harry leaned back in the seat as the taxi pulled into traffic. Stark Tower. The home of the world's first public superhero. A man who'd looked the world in the eye and announced that he was something more than human.
It seemed like a good place to start.
As the taxi drove through the crowded streets of Manhattan, Harry felt the threads of fate shifting around him. His arrival in this world had already begun to change things. Small changes, for now. But the Master of Death knew better than most how small changes could cascade into world-altering consequences.
He'd come to this world seeking an end to his story. Instead, he'd found a place where his story might finally have room to grow.
The connection to the Hallows was still there, but muted. Death here was different, but not absent. And somewhere in this city of eight million people, threads of fate were converging on events that would reshape reality itself.
Harry Potter had sought to die. Instead, he'd found a world where death was just another challenge to overcome.
For the first time in years, he was curious about what would happen next.
xXx
The real estate office smelled like coffee and pretentiousness. Harry sat across from Margaret Chen, a woman in her forties whose smile never reached her eyes. Her desk was cluttered with property listings and empty coffee cups.
"So, Mr. Potter," she said, consulting her notes. "You're looking for something upscale. Manhattan. High floor. Good views."
"That's right." Harry leaned forward slightly. "Money isn't an issue."
Margaret's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's wonderful to hear. But I have to ask—do you have proof of income? Bank statements? Credit history?"
Harry had expected this question. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Elder Wand, keeping it concealed beneath the desk. A gentle touch of magic, barely noticeable, and Margaret's eyes glazed over for just a moment.
"Actually," she said, blinking rapidly, "I think we can work something out. I have a client who's been trying to sell a penthouse for months. Beautiful place. Top floor of a building on the Upper East Side. The owner is motivated."
"How motivated?"
"Very. He's moving to London for work. Needs to sell fast. I could probably get him down to... let's say three point five million."
Harry nodded. Three and a half million dollars. In his world, that would have been an impossible sum. Here, it was just another number on a bank statement he was about to create.
"I'll take it," he said.
Margaret stared at him. "Don't you want to see it first?"
"I trust your judgment." Harry stood up. "I'll need to transfer the funds from my overseas accounts. Banking regulations, you understand. Give me forty-eight hours."
"Of course. I'll prepare the paperwork."
Harry shook her hand and left the office. The Confundus charm would fade within the hour, but by then she'd have committed to the sale. The human mind was remarkably good at justifying decisions it had already made.
His next stop was the New York Stock Exchange. Not the trading floor itself—that would have been too obvious. Instead, he found a coffee shop three blocks away where traders often stopped for their morning caffeine fix.
The man Harry chose was young, maybe twenty-five, with nervous energy and the hollow look of someone who lived on stimulants and stress. His name tag read "DEREK" and he was frantically typing on his phone while waiting for his order.
"Rough morning?" Harry asked, sliding into the seat across from him.
Derek looked up, startled. "Yeah, you could say that. Market's been insane all week. My firm's hemorrhaging money on tech stocks."
"Which ones?"
"Apple, mostly. Everyone's betting against them after the financial crisis. Saying they'll never recover from this recession." Derek laughed bitterly. "I keep telling my boss we should be buying, not selling, but he won't listen."
Harry smiled. The threads of fate had shown him glimpses of a financial crisis that had shaken the world. More importantly, they'd hinted at which companies would survive and thrive. Nothing was certain, but Harry was willing to take the chance.
Apple was trading at around twenty-five dollars a share. Within two years, it would triple. Within five years, it would be worth fifteen times what it was today.
"What if I told you I agreed with you about Apple?" Harry said.
Derek's coffee arrived, and he took a long sip. "I'd say you're either very smart or very stupid. Right now, I can't tell which."
"Let me make you a proposition." Harry pulled out a business card he'd magically created that morning. It showed his new identity: Harry Potter, Private Investment Consultant. "I represent some overseas clients who are interested in American tech stocks. We're looking for a trader who isn't afraid to take calculated risks."
Derek examined the card. The paper was thick, expensive looking, perfect to woo some materialistic fellow. The printing was perfect too. Harry had spent considerable time and magic making it look authentic.
"What kind of risks?"
"The kind that pay off when everyone else is panicking." Harry leaned back in his chair. "My clients want to put fifty million dollars into Apple stock. Immediately. They're willing to pay a premium commission to the right trader."
Derek nearly choked on his coffee. "Fifty million? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. But it has to be done quietly. No publicity. No questions. My clients value their privacy."
"Jesus." Derek stared at the card again. "I mean, I could do it. But my boss would need to approve trades that size."
"Then convince him." Harry stood up. "I'll be in touch in twenty-four hours. If you're interested, have the paperwork ready."
He left Derek sitting at the table, staring at the business card. The young trader's greed would do the rest. By tomorrow, Harry would have a contact inside one of New York's major investment firms.
The passport office was trickier. Harry couldn't simply walk in and demand documentation. The American bureaucracy was complex, layered with security measures that even his magic couldn't easily bypass.
Instead, he found a different approach.
The immigration lawyer's office was in a narrow building in Chinatown. Elena Vasquez had been practicing for fifteen years, helping people navigate the maze of American citizenship requirements. Her waiting room was filled with families clutching documents and hope in equal measure.
"Mr. Potter," she said when Harry's turn came. "Please, have a seat. How can I help you?"
Harry had prepared his story carefully. "I'm a British citizen. I've been living abroad for several years—Europe, Asia, various places. I'm looking to establish permanent residency in the United States."
"Do you have your current passport?"
Harry pulled out his British passport. It was real, issued years ago when he'd briefly considered leaving Britain. The photo was old enough to be plausible, but recent enough to pass inspection.
"And you're looking for a green card?"
"Eventually. But first, I need to update my passport. I've lost considerable weight since this photo was taken. People don't recognize me anymore."
Elena nodded sympathetically. "That's not uncommon. We can help you with the passport renewal process. But I have to warn you, it can take several months."
"I understand. But I have a business opportunity that requires me to travel frequently. Is there any way to expedite the process?"
"There are emergency provisions, but they require documented proof of urgent need. Medical emergencies, business contracts, family situations."
Harry reached into his jacket again. This time, he pulled out a manila envelope. Inside were documents that had never existed until he'd created them with magic thirty minutes ago.
"I've been offered a position with a major investment firm," he said. "They need me to start immediately. The contract requires extensive travel to meet with international clients."
Elena opened the envelope and examined the documents. Employment contract with Stark Industries. Salary: two million dollars annually. Start date: immediately. The letterhead was perfect, down to the corporate seal.
"This is quite impressive," she said. "Stark Industries is a major corporation. If they're willing to sponsor your application..."
"They are. But they need the paperwork completed quickly."
Elena made several phone calls. Harry listened to her conversations, occasionally touching the Elder Wand to ensure the people on the other end were amenable to bending a few rules.
"Good news," she said after the final call. "I can have your passport updated within seventy-two hours. The green card application will take longer, but with Stark Industries' sponsorship, it should be fast-tracked."
"Excellent. What about identification in the meantime? Driver's license, Social Security number?"
"I have contacts at the DMV. And the Social Security office owes me a few favors." Elena's smile was conspiratorial. "For the right client, the system can be surprisingly flexible."
Harry left the office with a handshake and a promise. Money was a powerful motivator that truly made people treat you differently. Within a week, he would have complete documentation as Harry Potter, American resident.
The bank was his final stop of the day. Chase Manhattan had marble floors and intimidating security guards. Harry requested a meeting with a private wealth manager.
"Mr. Potter," said the manager, a thin man named Robert Finch. "I understand you're interested in opening an account with us."
"Several accounts, actually. I'm liquidating assets overseas and need somewhere to park the funds while I establish my American operations."
"What kind of assets are we discussing?"
Harry had been preparing for this moment all day. "Real estate in London. Technology investments in Hong Kong. Some commodities trading in Singapore. Approximately two hundred million dollars in total."
Robert's pen stopped moving. "I'm sorry, did you say two hundred million?"
"Give or take. The exact amount depends on currency fluctuations and market conditions."
"Mr. Potter, I'm going to need to see some documentation. Bank statements, asset valuations, proof of ownership."
Harry pulled out his phone—a device he'd acquired that morning through a combination of cash and subtle magic. "I can have my London banker send the preliminary documents within the hour. But I need to know that Chase can handle transactions of this size without unnecessary delays."
"We can absolutely handle it. But federal regulations require us to verify the source of funds for deposits over ten thousand dollars."
"Understood. I'll have my legal team prepare the necessary paperwork." Harry stood up. "In the meantime, I'd like to open a basic checking account. I'll need immediate access to funds for living expenses."
"Of course. How much would you like to deposit initially?"
Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. "Fifty thousand dollars. Cash."
Robert stared at the money. "Sir, I have to ask—where did this cash come from?"
"I sold my car this morning. Classic Jaguar. The buyer preferred cash." Harry's voice carried just a hint of magical compulsion. "I have the bill of sale if you need it."
"That won't be necessary. Let me get the paperwork started."
While Robert processed the account opening, Harry excused himself to use the restroom. Instead, he found an empty conference room and pulled out the Elder Wand.
The magic required was complex, but Harry had years of experience manipulating financial records. Bank computers, he'd discovered, were remarkably vulnerable to certain types of magical interference. Not enough to steal money—that would have been too obvious—but enough to create convincing records of transfers that had never happened.
Within minutes, Harry had created a paper trail showing regular deposits from various overseas accounts. The amounts were consistent with his cover story. The timing was perfect. By the time anyone tried to verify the transactions, Harry would have legitimate wealth to back up his claims.
He returned to Robert's office just as the account paperwork was being finalized.
"Everything looks good," Robert said. "Your temporary debit card should be ready within the hour. The permanent card will arrive by mail in seven to ten business days."
"Excellent. And the wire transfer capabilities?"
"Available immediately. You'll need to call our international department to set up the specific routing, but we can handle transfers of any size."
Harry shook Robert's hand and left the bank. The foundation of his new life was complete. By tomorrow, he would be Harry Potter, American resident, with legitimate documentation and substantial wealth. The magic he'd used was subtle, barely detectable, but absolutely effective.
xXx
The penthouse apartment was everything Margaret had promised. Forty-second floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view that stretched from Central Park to the Hudson River. The previous owner had furnished it with expensive taste but no personality. Harry didn't mind. He wasn't looking for a home. He was looking for a base of operations.
The first thing he did was ward the apartment. Not with obvious magic that might be detected with whatever tech this world had, but with subtle protections that would discourage unwanted visitors and prevent electronic surveillance. The process took hours, but when he was finished, the penthouse was effectively invisible to anyone who might be looking for him.
Next, he established his information network. The businessman's memories had given him a basic understanding of this world, but Harry needed more detailed intelligence. He set up multiple internet connections, each routed through different servers and proxy services. His computer expertise was minimal, but magic could compensate for a lot of technical ignorance. Like gaining memories of some tech support worker with rather unsavory means.
Within hours, he had access to news archives, financial databases, and government records. The picture they painted was fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.
This world's history had diverged from his own sometime in the 1940s. The Second World War had ended differently. Super soldiers had fought alongside regular troops. Beings with impossible powers had shaped the outcome of major battles, and at the forefront of it was Captain America, one of the superheroes he had first discovered when he'd scanned the businessman's mind. The Cold War had been complicated by the presence of many enhanced individuals.
But the most significant difference was philosophical. In Harry's world, the magical community had chosen to hide from ordinary humans. Here, the extraordinary had chosen to reveal itself. The consequences were still playing out.
The financial markets also showed the strain. Companies that dealt with superhuman affairs had become major players. Damage control firms existed, specializing in cleaning up after superhero battles. Insurance companies thrived with policies covering "acts of super-villainy." Even defense contractors were keen on developing weapons specifically designed to counter enhanced individuals.
And at the center of it all was Tony Stark. The man who had changed everything by admitting what he was.
Harry spent three days studying everything he could find about Stark Industries. The company's history, its technology, its recent ventures into clean energy and advanced materials. But the more he learned, the more questions he had.
The arc reactor technology that powered Stark's suit was supposedly revolutionary. Clean energy from a source the size of a car battery. But the physics didn't make sense. The energy output was impossible according to conventional science.
Harry's enhanced senses had been picking up strange readings from the direction of Stark Tower ever since he'd arrived in the city. Energy signatures that felt familiar but wrong. Power that operated on principles that seemed to blend science and magic in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
On his fourth day in the penthouse, Harry decided to investigate.
The building site was active despite the late hour. Construction crews working under floodlights, racing to complete Stark's monument to himself. Harry positioned himself on a rooftop six blocks away, close enough for his enhanced senses to pick up detailed readings, but still far enough away to avoid detection.
He pulled out the Elder Wand and cast a series of analytical charms. The results were immediate and shocking.
The energy signature coming from Stark Tower wasn't just technological. It was hybrid. Part science, part something else. Something that resonated with the deepest foundations of reality itself.
Harry focused his magical senses, pushing them to their limits. The arc reactor—he was certain that's what he was detecting—was drawing power from sources that existed outside normal space-time. The energy patterns were similar to what he'd seen when dealing with the Hallows, but twisted in ways that suggested a completely different approach to manipulating fundamental forces.
"Interesting," he murmured.
The arc reactor was generating what appeared to be a localized space-time distortion. Tiny, controlled, but absolutely real. It was pulling energy from... somewhere else. Another dimension, perhaps. Or maybe it was tapping into the quantum foam that existed at the smallest scales of reality.
Harry had seen similar effects when working with the Resurrection Stone. The stone didn't actually bring back the dead—it created a bridge between the world of the living and the realm of death, allowing limited interaction across the boundary. The arc reactor seemed to be doing something similar, but instead of bridging life and death, it was bridging different layers of reality itself.
The implications were staggering. If Stark had stumbled onto principles that allowed him to manipulate dimensional boundaries, then the line between science and magic wasn't just blurred—it was completely meaningless.
Harry packed up his equipment and returned to the penthouse. He needed to think about what he'd discovered. More importantly, he needed to decide what to do about it.
Tony Stark had created something that defied the natural laws of physics. He'd done it using scientific principles, but the end result was functionally identical to high-level magic. The arc reactor was, in essence, a scientific approach to achieving magical effects.
Which meant that Harry's understanding of magic in this world might be woefully inadequate.
In his world, magic was constrained by tradition, by the limitations of wand-based casting, and by the collective understanding of what was possible. Here, someone had approached the same fundamental forces from a completely different direction and achieved results that wizards would have considered impossible.
Harry stood at his window, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, Tony Stark was working on technologies that could reshape reality. And Harry was probably the only person in the world who understood the true significance of what Stark had accomplished.
The question was: what was he going to do about it?
For the first time since arriving in this world, Harry felt a genuine sense of anticipation. He'd found something that could challenge his understanding of the universe itself. Something that might finally give him the answers he'd been seeking.
Soon, he would find a way to meet Tony Stark.
The threads of fate were shifting around him, and Harry Potter was ready to see where they led.
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