Grandpa said: Life is like a box of Beans, you never know what you're gonna get.
Young Owen didn't take this seriously.
Beans, what could they possibly taste like?
Until one day he ate a Bean that tasted like stinky feet.
From then on, Owen refused all snacks from Zonko's Magical Joke Shop.
And the Beans of Life he tasted were different from most people's.
For example, during the time he first transmigrated into the Harry Potter world, he had nightmares every night.
He dreamt that he had transmigrated into a very 'correct' magical world.
First, in his dreams, he had no gender—he could only vaguely tell from his voice that he was probably a boy.
Second, he met Harry on the Hogwarts Express, a Latino with a lightning bolt scar on his head.
And Hermione, an African American with an excellent matching system.
Of the trio, only Ron seemed normal. Aside from his long, fiery red hair, soft voice, and constant following of the Latino Harry like Ginny, the rest were all pretty normal.
Normal? Normal,
my foot!
Owen, guessing he might have transmigrated into some strange Harry Potter world, felt utterly hopeless.
After all, his only advantage was his foresight, and who knew if the original stories he knew would still happen in this world?
Therefore, Owen decided to stick close to his professors, avoid trouble, and stay away from the main characters.
Good good study, good day up.
There weren't many days left until the OWL exams in his first year.
A little over 1300 days.
Subtracting sleep, meals, holidays, and potential disasters, he had at most 400 days to study at school!
400 days!
Rounded up, that's tomorrow!
Feeling the urgency?
Then get to studying! (Humorous)
————
But when Owen actually stepped through the gates of Hogwarts, what he saw and heard shattered his last remaining thoughts of humanity.
Hogwarts, since when did they allow students to choose their own dormitories?
And that wasn't all; the school's wizards, from black to red, were a riot of colors.
Their appearances ranged from ancient gods to elves;
their identities from vampires to Veela; (ps: this is a possibility.)
Gender wasn't differentiated by gender, but rather marked with letters, from A to Ω.
The enormous Hogwarts Castle resembled a museum of humanoid creatures.
This was unacceptable to the mere mortal Owen.
In such a 'correct' world, he didn't hesitate for a moment, practically begging the Sorting Hat to sort him into Slytherin.
Because Slytherin was the only place in Hogwarts filled with 'discrimination' and 'prejudice'.
Their ancestors had all followed William the Conqueror into the country, and they were all noble old Londoners, bearing the Union Jack.
Dare to wander into the toilets, and Snape would kill you!
And so, Owen finally found a peaceful haven.
Unfortunately, being in such a world, the tree may wish to remain still, but the wind will not cease. No matter how he tried to escape, he was inevitably drawn into the "right" war that swept across Britain and even Europe's wizarding world.
Initially, Owen, leveraging his precognitive advantage, frantically increased the power of the Slytherins.
The "anti-right alliance" he led—the Death Eaters—swept across almost all of Britain and parts of Europe.
At its peak, they could sway the political landscape of European wizarding with a single decision.
But then, their defeats snowballed.
Ultimately, they were defeated by the "despicable transgender organization," the Order of the Phoenix.
The mighty Dark Lord was defeated by the Latino Harry Potter, and Owen heroically sacrificed himself in the Battle of Hogwarts, shedding his blood for his erroneous "cause."
Then, he awoke.
The dream was over.
Or perhaps he had transmigrated again.
Owen couldn't be sure.
Even though the five-year-old begged his grandfather to drive him to 4 Privet Road in London overnight, he was still scared after confirming with his own eyes that Harry was not Latino, and even developed PTSD.
There was no way around it; the dream was just too real.
It was as if he had truly lived a lifetime in that world.
The spells in his memory had never been so clear, as if he could cast them with a mere wave of his hand.
And then he actually succeeded in casting the spell—an incredibly exquisite petrification spell. He
used his grandfather's wand.
The wand that remained—when Owen was eight years old, his grandfather contracted dragonpox, an infectious disease similar to chickenpox, but far more dangerous, potentially fatal if the condition was severe.
Because of its contagiousness, Owen didn't even get to see his grandfather one last time.
Only a cold, impersonal notification from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries announced the quiet departure of his only remaining relative in this world.
Upon hearing the news, Owen did only one thing.
He took his family's shovel and ran to Rick's grandfather's burial site in the dead of night, digging up his coffin.
His grandfather was dead?
You must be joking!
Do you even know my last name, Sanchez?!
Sanchez—
Owen Sanchez.
Grandpa Rick had definitely abandoned him and gone on an adventure with Morty in another universe.
Owen, who had dug up the coffin but found no remains, firmly believed this.
It was a pity he didn't find the teleportation gun in the coffin.
Otherwise, this wouldn't just be a Harry Potter story; it would be a multiverse.
However, Owen had to face the fact that in his world, the spotless, white-haired old man, often dressed in a black trench coat, like an English gentleman, had indeed completely disappeared from his life.
Three years had passed.
And this year, Owen was eleven years old.
August 1991, it was a Tuesday.
Heavy rain had enveloped the British Isles for a week.
A cold vortex from the Scottish Highlands continued to attack the warm, humid air from the Atlantic.
A chilly wind swept through London.
The streets were less crowded than usual.
Young Owen dragged his luggage from his suburban manor by taxi, arriving at King's Cross Station after more than an hour's journey.
The station was unusually bustling today, with many people in cloaks and strange costumes appearing out of nowhere.
Owen followed them and easily found Platform 9¾, which connected the station to the magical world.
"Oh! Don't worry, child." Suddenly, a robust red-haired woman caught Owen's attention.
"Just keep walking straight towards the ticket gate between Platforms 9 and 10. Don't stop, don't be afraid, just rush in. If you're nervous, just run. Come on. You go first, Ron will follow you."
"Okay!" Beside her stood a thin, sallow-skinned little boy, clearly malnourished.
He was timidly staring at the wall not far away.
Harry Potter! Good
heavens!
What a mistake, what a pale Harry Potter!
After being tormented in his dreams for so long, Owen was actually a little unaccustomed to seeing Harry like this now
! And Ron—short hair, looking silly, old clothes, no lace on the cuffs.
This is completely different from the guy Owen remembered who would only follow Harry around shouting "Gei!"
(End of Chapter)