There was a veil, fluttering in front of Heungsoo’s vision. Light spilled out from underneath the hem, warming his grasping fingertips. Heungsoo heard whispered murmurings, muffled laughter. It sounded like…his own? No, that couldn’t be right. Heungsoo didn’t laugh anymore; he’d forgotten what it sounded like. Normal people laugh, right? he wondered hazily. Wow, that was unnecessarily angsty, his brain supplied unhelpfully. Something dripped in front of his eyes, and slid down his face. It tasted metallic.

Blood.

Who’s?

A stabbing sensation.

Ah, it was his own. That’s why he had stopped laughing. Nothing funny about being stabbed in the back. Wait, back? Then why was it on his face?

Come here, Heungsoo-yah. It’ll be better, I promise. Come back to me.

Another sound he hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Your promises aren’t worth ,” Heungsoo wheezed, but he reached for the veil anyways. The cloth was soft and worn under his fingers. He started to pull it aside, and was blinded by the pure white light shining out.

“PARK HEUNGSOO DON’T YOU DARE!”

It was that voice again. It was coming from outside the veil, yet the whispers continued from inside. Why was he here again?

I’m dying, Heungsoo realized. His vision was going dark around the edges. It felt like something was clawing at his ankles. This must be the part where his life flashes before his eyes, no wonder he was hearing ghosts of the past. Sluggishly, he blinked, pulling weakly at the veil.

Park Heungsoo woke up with a mouth full of cotton and a head that felt like a thousand nails were splitting it open from the inside. The mattress beneath him was hard and lumpy, and his leg ached more than it had in years. That stupid, stupid case and his stupid, stupid-Heungsoo opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again, groaning at the bright sunlight that managed to leak through the dirty window, illuminating a tattered Quidditch poster of the Busan Banshees.

Suddenly, Heungsoo shot bolt upright, staring at the poster. Heungsoo hadn’t seen that poster in years, having lost it after his transfer to the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement from the hospital. Wait, he was on a mission! He had left the country to-where was it again? Heungsoo closed his eyes, desperately trying to remember. Somewhere English-speaking, for sure, he remembered struggling with the language barrier. Australia, perhaps? No, his mind supplied, too warm. Rain, mist, and cold. Teabags. Ah, England. Why was did he go to England? Mission, right. What mission?

Heungsoo shook his head. He needed to focus, force his training to kick in. Assess the situation, make a plan, try to fill in the gaps in his memory.

“My name is Park Heungsoo,” he murmured to himself. “I am twenty-seven years old and I work as a forsenic Healer on the Hit Wizard squad at the Ministry Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement.”

He opened his eyes and took a careful look around the room. The walls were bare and cracked, save for the lone Quidditch poster. A threadpack sat at the foot of his bed, clothes exploding haphazardly from within. Heungsoo felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He looked onto the nightstand, grabbing the small calendar propped there and his wand. He tapped the calendar twice, and it chirped, “Today is Tuesday, August 25th, 2013. The forecast for today is sunny with a high temperature of 30 degrees Celsius.”

Well, apparently it was Heungsoo’s birthday. His seventeenth birthday.

“ing .”

It turned out that he was staying in a muggle youth hostel of sorts, which sparked a trickle of unease in his stomach. If memory served correctly, Heungsoo had lived with his sister the summer before his final year in school, before moving out to his own place after graduation. Heungsoo tried sending a fire message to her, but the letter had reappeared momentarily after he watched the charmed flames consume it, stamped with the ashy letters RECIPIENT NOT FOUND. Luckily, the hostel was located on the outskirts of Seoul, and Heungsoo was able to catch a MagiTram into the heart of the city and pop into the Ministry of Magic. It was strange going there as a student, not as an employee, but everything seemed about the same as he’d left it, except a bit less worn with age. After a quick consultation with the Bureau of Citizen Registry, it seemed that no Park Dohee ever existed. Neither had his parents, for that matter. Heungsoo himself was listed as an orphan, parents unknown. This isn’t my timeline, Heungsoo thought rapidly as he entered the elevator with two cheery looking witches, this might not even be my universe. I need to get back. I need to get back. Heungsoo knocked his head against the wall and made a pathetic attempt to stop himself from wallowing in a pit of despair. Time travel, he could handle. Parallel universes? Not so much.

“Hogwarts, right?” one of the witches said in an undertone. Heungsoo’s attention snapped to their conversation. Something ticked in his memory. Hogwarts…Hogwarts was in England…they had been investigating Oh Jungho in England…

“Yeah,” her friend replied. “Seems like they’ve gotten sick of competing exclusively with European schools. They’ve invited Castelbruxho as well. The Tournament’s going to be interesting this year, what with the range of magical styles.”

“Hosted at Hogwarts, I presume?” the first witch sniffed. “Typical of McGonagall, refusing to leave the confines of her castle.”

“Can’t blame her for being paranoid though, poor woman, what with the war and everything. Apparently they’ve only completely restored the castle last year,” her companion said as they stepped off the elevator.

Heungsoo stepped out after them. They had, undoubtedly been referring to the Triwizard Tournament, which, in his timeline had occurred in his fourth year. At the time he had been preoccupied with Quidditch and Namsoon and getting his femur jinxed into a million pieces-better derail that train of thought before he went down another black hole. Back to what was important: he was definitely not his universe.

“Heungsoo-goon? What are you doing here?”

Heungsoo looked up sharply. A small woman peered up at him, teetering under an enormous pile of scrolls.

“Professor Jung,” he greeted her, pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face. “I was just checking in with the Bureau of Citizen Registry to see if they had properly removed my Trace.”

Professor Jung accepted his lie with a nod. “Well, since you’re here, would you mind helping me out with these?”

She hefted the scrolls and they listed dangerously. Heungsoo whipped out his wand and secured the pile with a stasis charm, then grabbed half the scrolls.

“What brings you to the ministry, Professor Jung?” he asked as they walked back into the elevator.

“Just some paperwork for the incoming first-years,” she sighed. “Everything’s been thrown for a loop this year with the-well, you’re not supposed to know, but there’s quite a surprise waiting for you when you get back to school.”

“You mean the Triwizard Tournament?” Heungsoo asked, vaguely amused by her squawk of displeasure. Heungsoo chuckled.

“Overheard a conversation earlier.”

Professor Jung sniffed disapprovingly.

“Well anyways, a bunch of teachers, including myself are going to be going to Hogwarts this year to chaperone, so we’re anticipating a spate of parental disapproval. Have to get these explanatory letters charmed so that all responses are routed back to the ministry, lord knows I don’t want to deal with any Howlers all the way at Hogwarts.”

Heungsoo hummed sympathetically. “,” was all he offered.

Professor Jung rolled her eyes. “You know I fully expect you to participate,” she sniffed. “You’re potions and transfiguration work is really getting quite advanced, and even without winning, a Tournament participation can jumpstart a lot of careers.”

Then, a bright flood of memories came crashing down on Heungsoo. He staggered into the wall, scrolls cascading onto the floor, a loud buzzing in his ears drowning out Professor Jung’s worried exclamation. 

He was standing in the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic, watching his squad leader deeply conversing with a graying Head Auror Potter, disinterestedly examining the differences between the flesh and blood man and the golden effigy in the middle of the fountain. He could only catch a few words of what Auror Potter was saying, his English was never that good.

The scene shifted, colors blurring. He was in an elevator, a cool female voice announcing something unintelligible. They headed down a long, dark hallway, wands drawn at the sight of an open door. He was angry. Why was he angry?

Colors morphed. He was in a vast storage room, shelves stacked high with glass balls, each swirling with gray smoke. Prophecies always annoyed him. “I’ve found it!” someone shouted, stupid, really, to be so obvious, as a bright red stunner shot past Heungsoo’s head.

Bleeding. A veil flickering, hazy shouting, cutting whispers.

The memories started mixing and flickering towards the end. It wasn’t perfect; there were obviously still major gaps in his recollection. But, it was a start. He murmured a quiet reassurance to Professor Jung, “Sorry, old injury acting up” and she bought it with a worried frown.

“I’d definitely be interested in trying out for the Tournament,” he said carefully after helping Professor Jung deposit the scrolls. “I assume the school will cover all the travel costs?”

Professor Jung looked surprised momentarily, before eagerly confirming, as if she’d been expecting to spend a lot more time convincing him (not that Heungsoo could blame her, he was kind of a at seventeen).  

Not that Heungsoo particularly cared about the Triwizard Tournament. But, he had no money, and the fastest way to get back home was to retrace his steps, and the arrival of the Tournament promised him a free ticket to England.