Chapter Text
Harry let out a long drawn-out sigh, head in his hands and elbows propped on his thighs. Across from him, sat the reason for his current despair.
A part of him felt like he should have seen this coming.
Two years after the war with no major life-threatening adventures should have clued him in on the coming shit storm. Summoned by a muggle science teacher who was just fooling around with a book that frankly, no muggle on earth should have access to. Harry scowled at said book which was laying innocently on the coffee table before him.
According to the muggle, it was a monster manual for a fantasy game.
He snorted, some fantasy game.
“Sorry, just to make sure I’m getting this right—you’re the Master of Death?”
Harry dragged his hands down to stare tiredly at the man who flinched away at the look. With another sigh, Harry mumbled, “Apparently.”
That’s another thing. The boy-who-lived hadn’t even known about his so-called title of Master of Death until he was summoned under the name. He winced; it would explain how volatile his magic had become though. Lately, Harry’s magic had been acting up, simple spells became hard to control while harder spells became a walk in the park. He had chalked it up to his magical core finally reaching maturity. He should have known. He should have known.
The muggle—Mr. Scott Clarke, chuckled sheepishly, “Sorry, I guess I expected something less…human.”
Harry’s lips twitched into a wry smile, “Yes, well, things tend to be unpredictable around me.”
Mr. Clarke laughed, “Right.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Um, so is there a time limit for this or do you just…disappear?”
Harry tapped his fingers against the armchair. He could just leave. The string of magic that led back to his world still pulsed, ready to be tugged upon and whisk him back home. But.
But.
There was the very real possibility that someone else would summon him and he’d end up right back where he started. Honestly, Harry was lucky the man who called him was a decent bloke. Imagine if a Dark Lord or some cult managed to get their hands on him? With his new title, that was just asking for trouble.
No. It was better he stayed and investigated.
Mentally sending an apology to all his friends and the Minister of Magic, Kingsley, he rose to his feet.
“Unfortunately, I need to stay and make sure something like this doesn’t happen again. I don’t want my life being interrupted like this again, you know?”
Mr. Clarke was startled, rushing to stand, “Oh, of course! I have a spare room if you’d like?”
Harry smiled, “Thanks. I don’t mean to intrude.”
Mr. Clarke waved him off, “Nonsense, it’s my fault you got thrown into this in the first place,” He led him down the hall, turning on the light in the spare room, “Here you are!”
The room was a warm crème color with a small twin bed placed in the corner.
“Sorry it’s a bit cramped,” Mr. Clarke apologized, “Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”
Harry shook his head, “No, it’s fine. I’ve been in smaller spaces before, and I can just transfigure my clothes.”
The science teacher blinked, “O-okay then I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” he turned around to walk away but the wizard stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I appreciate this Mr. Clarke.”
The willowy man grinned, “Please, call me Scott.”
X
Harry flipped the page on the so-called monster manual that Scott had given him to read right after they’d enjoyed a lovely breakfast. The illustrations were vivid and the knowledge written was very easily understood. He mused that this book format was a lot more reader-friendly than the Monster Book of Monsters Hagrid had them buy that one year. Harry laughed, and this one didn’t try eating your toes.
What was most interesting, however, was the fact that most of this information was true. The names were different and a few of the monsters hadn’t existed in centuries, but for the most part, this book was definitely written by a wizard or witch and sold to the muggle masses as a type of game manual. It was brilliant. So brilliant it was stupid.
Still.
Harry flipped back to his page—The Master of Death. He frowned, unlike the other pages, this one didn’t have an illustration, just the title, a description of the Deathly Hallows, and a vague explanation on how to summon him. Harry’s actually surprised Scott had managed to summon anything with this.
“So?”
The sound of Scott’s voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts. He turned to see the man gazing worriedly at him.
“Where did you say you got this?” Harry asked waving the book in the air.
“Ah,” Scott sheepishly laughed, “I was cleaning out my desk and found it at the bottom of a drawer. I had to confiscate it a while back because one of my students wasn’t paying attention to the lecture—not that he wasn’t a good student!” He quickly backtracked, “Just…he sometimes finds lectures boring and normally I wouldn’t mind but, well, the principal was sitting in-class taking notes. Why he was there is quite the story—”
Harry held up his hand, “Sorry, I don’t mean to cut you off but,” he gestured towards the book again.
Scotts eyes widened, “Right, right! My bad, I just totally…” he cleared his throat, “Uh anyways, after finding it I got curious because I’d never read the DnD manual before and well,” He opened his arms wide and shrugged his shoulders, “Here we are!”
The boy-who-lived gazed thoughtfully down at the cover. It was strange. Harry would think that this wouldn’t have been the first time a muggle accidentally found or summoned a being from one of these books. Especially because this was a mass-produced product sold all over the world, if Scott Clarke was to be believed. Yet, this was the first time anything like this had happened.
Unless.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat.
Unless this wasn’t the first time.
Head snapping back up, he urgently asked, “Have there been any weird occurrences or strange deaths lately?”
Scott visibly paled, “W-well,” He hesitated, “Ever since Will Byers went missing, things have been…unusual to say the least.”
Harry took a deep breath, “And since you’ve confiscated this book, has anything else happened.”
Scott swallowed thickly and quietly confirmed what Harry dreaded, “No.”
The wizard swore. This was bad. This was really bad.
Somehow, a middle schooler had stumbled across the magical equivalent of the muggle book that, quite literally, brought things to life. Why? How?
Did some witch or wizard stumble across this and decide to curse the book? Was it the people who invented the game? Or maybe it was just some sort of trick played by Fate herself?
Harry slumped down onto the couch and groaned. This was a disaster! He should bring in Hermione, she would know what to do. Maybe even the authorities! He let out a strangled laugh, what was he thinking? He was the authority.
Alright.
Lifting his head up, he ordered, “Take me to your student, I need to have a word with him.”
X
Harry gazed a bit unbelievingly at the passing scenes. He had assumed Scott just…just liked the eighties. But as they passed cars, buildings, the people all looked like they came straight out of his childhood memories. Or that one weird movie Hermione made them watch that one time—Footloose.
“Uh, what did you say the year was again?”
Scott hummed happily, “We are seven days into nineteen-eighty-six! Why you ask?”
They passed by a teen clad head-to-toe in denim.
Harry chuckled nervously, “Oh, no reason.”
It was a bit unnerving knowing that he was in a different time than the one he’d left. A time where, if he existed somewhere out there, Harry was only six. Six and living with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Or maybe…?
He shook the thought away, frustrated that he’d even dared to hope. No good would come of searching for his parents. None.
The car turned into a parking lot filled with children and teens.
“Here we are!” Scott parked the car and gestured with glee, “Welcome to Hawkins Middle and High School, home of the Tigers!”
Harry scanned the area watching as buses pulled into the lot and kids of all ages scrambled to get out, some heading towards the Middle School, others hanging back to talk to their friends. All in all, he would guess that the student population was more or less the equivalent to Hogwarts (less, Hogwarts had less, after the war—).
“Oh, there he is!”
Harry followed to where Scott was pointing to see a cheery kid with a head full of curls wearing a cap, he was followed by two others, and they all wore matching t-shirts.
The kid looked…normal. In fact, something about him reminded Harry of a certain someone back home.
He reached out to open the door but was stopped by a hand gripping his arm, Harry looked back to see Scott frowning worriedly.
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
Harry’s respect for Scott Clarke instantly rose. Despite Dustin Henderson no longer being ‘his” student, Scott still cared enough to worry about him. Harry could count on one hand the teachers that cared for their students like that back in Hogwarts.
Harry smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry. I just want to talk to him and confirm my theory.”
Scott still seemed hesitant, but let Harry go. He was halfway through the parking lot when he heard Scott yell after him, “My classroom number is 213 if you want to swing by!”
Harry waved his hand in acknowledgment, around him teens whispered and glanced in his direction, wondering who the hell he was. He expertly ignored them and confidently made his way into the building. The goal was to act like he belonged and if anyone questioned him, he’d use a little magic to smooth talk his way out of it.
Harry glanced down at the clothes he was wearing and cringed, maybe he should have transfigured his clothes before leaving the car. He looked like a kid from the 90s rather than the 80s like he’s pretending to be. Oh well, if anyone asks, he’ll just say it's British fashion.
He watched as Henderson and his friends walked into his first class of the day and moved to follow only to be stopped when he was run into.
“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!”
Harry steadied the girl, eyes still glued on the door Henderson had vanished through.
“No problem.” He replied, glancing down at the girl.
She wore a cheerleading uniform, blue eyeshadow, and had her hair up in a ponytail. She was cute in a chipmunk-y way.
“You’re British!” She exclaimed in shock, flushing when she realized how rude she might have sounded, “Sorry, I mean—no, I didn’t mean—”
Harry grinned, “Nah, it’s alright. I get that a lot when I visit the States.”
She let out a sigh of relief before turning her curious gaze back at him, “Are you a new senior student or a junior?”
“Uh,” Harry scrambled to think of a reply, he wasn’t a hundred percent familiar with muggle school years, even the British one seemed complicated to him.
Luckily or unluckily, the school bell rang. The girl’s eyes widened in panic, and she grabbed his arm, “Oh shoot! We’re going to be late!”
Harry helplessly followed her sending one last longing glance toward Henderson’s classroom. This was turning out much harder than he’d anticipated.
X
The school day went on without many hiccups. Well, except the fact that he was now a senior transfer student from London named, Harry Black (he’d panicked and picked the first name that popped into his head). Chrissy, as he’d come to learn, was a very bubbly girl who graciously took him under her wing. Introducing Harry to all her friends and her boyfriend, Jason Carver, who Harry was sure hated his guts.
“C’mon, lets go sit with the others.”
Once again, Harry found himself being dragged along by Chrissy toward the table full of jocks, much to Jason’s displeasure. As they approached, Harry caught sight of Henderson once again, he was sitting with a bunch of other students who also wore the same shirt. Now he was sure it was some sort of club thing. Unfortunately, Harry was too nice to rebuff Chrissy’s helping hand and ended up squished between two tall basketball players.
“So, Harry,” Jason began, putting a possessive arm around Chrissy, “I heard you’re from London?”
The table quieted, everyone eager to get more information on this mysterious transfer student.
Harry poked at the soggy green beans he’d been given, “Yeah.”
Another kid leaned over, “What the hell are you doing in bumfuck nowhere Indiana?”
“My parents were murdered so I was sent here to live with my uncle.”
As soon as he said that Harry wanted to slam his head on the table. He was supposed to blend in, not stand out with a sad backstory!
The table went completely silent. Harry felt his hands start to sweat, who's stupid idea was it to infiltrate a muggle school? Oh yeah, him.
Chrissy, the angel, broke the awkward silence, “I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have asked.”
Harry chuckled nervously, “No, it’s okay. I know it’s weird for a Brit to suddenly move across the pond.”
After a moment of silence, someone else spoke up, “You into sports?”
Harry sheepishly shrugged his shoulders and silently thanked Dean for all his muggle sports ramblings, “I was. I played on my school’s football team for a bit.”
“What?” One guy laughed, “You don’t look like a football player!”
Another smacked the guy, “He’s talking about soccer dumbass! The Brits call soccer ‘football’!”
“Jeez Patrick, why you gotta smack me in front of the newbie?”
The rest of lunch went on like that. The group would take turns grilling him about his past, and Harry would do his best to lie and not get tangled in the web of past lies. Meanwhile, Henderson and his crew laughed and joked a few tables down from him.
He needed another way to get close to Henderson asap because so far, he felt like he was getting nowhere.