Warmth. That was the first thing I noticed. Not comfort—just the absence of cold. My eyes fluttered open. Leaves stretched above me. Twisted roots. Pale morning light filtering through a forest canopy I had never seen before. My body hurt. Everywhere. But I was alive.I tried to sit up and failed, a weak groan escaping my throat. My arms were thin. My legs were wrong—too small, too light. I stared at my hands. Child's hands.
"No… no no no…" Panic bubbled up again, weaker this time, dulled by exhaustion. "I'm… alive," I whispered. "But I'm not—" The sound came again. Not loud. Not urgent.
Thadum. Steady. Present. Something shifted behind my eyes.
Words appeared—clearer than before, calmer.
[TRIAL ONE COMPLETE]
Survival Achieved.
External interference avoided.
Vessel integrity: STABLE.
[IDENTITY SYNC INITIATED]
I frowned. "Identity…?"
Another line formed.
Current Designation: Raj
World-Assigned Name: Kyle
Age: 1 year, 3 months
Status: Orphan (unregistered)
Magical Signature: Uncatalogued
I froze. "Kyle…?" I whispered, testing the word. It felt unfamiliar. Like clothing that didn't fit yet. Raj was me. Kyle was… this body.
This life. Before I could process it, the system continued—merciless, neutral.
Notice:
You were selected as a sacrifice. The ritual partially succeeded. A fragment of intent has attached to you.
Attention. Who ? Voldemort..Dumbledore
My stomach twisted "So he's looking for me," I said quietly.
The Drum did not answer. It only beat—slow, patient, waiting. Far away, in places I couldn't imagine yet, powerful people argued, searched, feared. And I lay there in the dirt—a child with a borrowed future, no wand, no protection, no plan—alive only because I refused.
I closed my eyes. "Okay," I whispered to no one. "Okay. I'll live."
The Drum agreed. Thadum.
I learned who I was before I learned how to survive.
Not through some dramatic revelation—
but because memory doesn't ask permission.
I lay beneath a hedgerow for hours, shivering, staring at unfamiliar clouds, while two lives overlapped inside my skull.
Raj. Twenty-six. Indian. Advocate. Failed. Dead. And this body—small, aching, hungry in a way I had never known before.
Harry Potter. The realization didn't arrive with awe. It arrived with exhaustion.
"So… I died," I whispered hoarsely.
The words didn't echo. The world didn't care. There was no light. No voice. No explanation.
Just cold earth under my cheek and the steady thadum inside my chest. I didn't cry at first.
I cried later—when I accepted that no one from my old life could hear me anymore.
Hunger teaches faster than fear. By the time the sun dipped low, my stomach hurt so badly I couldn't think straight. My body felt hollow, like it was eating itself from the inside.
I crawled out of the bushes and followed instinct— not magic. People meant food.
People meant trash. I found it behind a small shop at the edge of a town whose name I didn't know yet. Bins overflowing. Cardboard boxes soaked with rain. The smell of rot and grease thick in the air. I gagged. Then I remembered my mother's voice.
Never waste food.
Respect what you're given.
Even crumbs are blessings.
My hands shook as I tore open a bag. Inside—cold leftovers. Grease-soaked paper. Bones.
Meat. I froze. In my old life, I was Hindu. I had never eaten meat. Not once.
My throat tightened. I told myself it wasn't me eating. It was this body. That was the lie I used.
I stuffed a piece into my mouth. Chewed. The taste hit me like betrayal. I retched violently, vomiting onto the pavement, tears streaming down my face. My stomach cramped painfully—but it was still empty.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry." Then I picked it up again. And ate. Crying. Gagging. Swallowing. Not because I wanted to. Because I refused to die again.
It happened that night.
I curled up behind the bins, weak, filthy, shaking. My thoughts spiraled.
Where am I?
Who knows I exist?
Is Voldemort looking for me right now?
The fear became too much. I hugged my knees and whispered, "Please… just let me be invisible." I didn't mean magic. I meant desperation. Something answered anyway. The air around me dulled. Not vanished. Not cloaked. Just… wrong. A stray cat passed the alley mouth, paused, then continued as if nothing was there. A man walked by, glanced directly at where I sat—and frowned, confused, before moving on.
I didn't feel powerful. I felt sick. My head throbbed. My nose bled. The world tilted violently and I collapsed onto my side, gasping. The effect vanished immediately. I lay there trembling. "That wasn't… me," I whispered. But part of me knew the truth. It was. And it scared me more than hunger ever had.
I learned the rules quickly. Don't stay anywhere too long. Don't attract attention. Don't steal unless starving. Beg where faces are tired, not cruel. I didn't use magic again. Not because I was noble. Because I was terrified of what might happen if I did it, the stories were lies its not easy to control something which you never knew felt. I begged. Hands out. Head down. Silent.
Coins fell sometimes. Sometimes nothing. Once, a woman pressed bread into my hands and whispered, "Poor thing," before hurrying away—as if kindness itself was dangerous.I slept under bridges. In parks. In abandoned sheds. Every night, the Drum beat softly—never guiding, never helping. Only reminding me I was still here.
High above the castle, Albus Dumbledore paused mid-step. He felt it again. A flicker. Small. Erratic. Like a candle guttering in a storm. Not dark. Not light. "Curious," he murmured, adjusting his spectacles. He traced the sensation with wand and mind—westward, then nowhere. The signature slipped through his grasp like water. Too weak to pinpoint. Too alive to ignore.
"A child," he said softly. "And alone." But by the time he reached the window—the rhythm was gone.
It didn't begin with a warning. It began with rain. Cold. Relentless. Soaking through my clothes until my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I was curled beneath a collapsed fence when the words appeared, calm and cruel.
[TRIAL TWO INITIATED]
Objective:
Remain undiscovered for 72 hours.
Restrictions:
• No intentional magic use
• No external protection
• No identification
Failure:
Relocation.
My heart dropped. "Relocation?" I whispered. "Where?" No answer. The Drum did not speed up. It slowed. This trial wasn't about survival by force. It was about disappearing.
And as footsteps approached in the distance—voices, laughter, people—I pressed myself into the mud, holding my breath, understanding something vital for the first time in this new life:
This world doesn't reward heroes. It rewards those who know when not to be seen.
And for now—I would survive by being nothing at all.