DIAGON ALLEY
A swirl of shimmering light twisted in the shadows of a narrow, rain-slick alley. With a muted hum, a portal — vibrant with shifting colors — flared open against the cracked brick walls. Nova stepped through, boots hitting cobblestone with a soft thud as the portal snapped shut behind him, leaving only a faint afterglow and the scent of ozone.
The instant his feet touched solid ground, a sharp pulse rippled through his head. A rush of foreign memories, facts, and identity details cascaded into his mind like an unstoppable torrent. Nova grimaced, leaning briefly against the cold, damp wall as images, dates, names, and legal records slotted themselves into place one after another.
A moment later, he straightened, exhaling a long breath.
"Damn… okay," he muttered, sorting through the fresh memories.
Nova raised a brow as the final strands of information settled — this was the Wizarding World. The Harry Potter world.
Except… not quite the one he remembered.
In this version of events, it wasn't Harry Potter who bore the burden of the prophecy. No Chosen One scar, no fanfare. Here, it was Neville Longbottom who was The Boy Who Lived — the symbol of hope against Voldemort's shadow.
And Harry? Just another orphaned Gryffindor, left forgotten in the margins of history. His father and godfather dead in the war, his mother broken in St. Mungo's, tortured into madness.
According to his new memories, he is an average muggle-born student — no ancient bloodline, no secret vault of tomes, no grand inheritance like last time.
Nova clicked his tongue in mild irritation.
The skill had only granted the bare minimum this time: a legal identity, a small bundle of personal records, and his O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, neatly tucked away inside his system inventory. And — mercifully — a wand.
Or rather… something that resembled a wand.
He took it from his inventory and turned it over in his hand. Light, plain wood, unmarked and unremarkable. No intricate carvings. No notable core.
Unlike proper wands, which channeled magic, enhanced spell potency, and acted as a medium between wizard and the arcane — this one? It had none of those qualities. A stabilizer at best.
It didn't amplify spells. Didn't resonate. It existed solely to help him control his energy, little more than a focusing stick.
"Wonderful," Nova sighed dryly. "So much for overpowered freebies this time."
And worst of all? No spell knowledge. Not even a Lumos. Not a single incantation or counter-curse.
Nova tucked the wand inside his coat and glanced toward the mouth of the alley. Fine. No grimoire library, no inherited fortune, no world-shattering skills. That just meant he'd have to build his foothold here from scratch.
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Nova stepped out of the narrow alley and onto the dimly lit street, pulling the collar of his coat up against the light drizzle that clung to the night air. The familiar shape of a weathered old sign swung gently overhead, its faded lettering reading The Leaky Cauldron. Just as the memories in his head said it would be.
He pushed the creaky door open, the hinges letting out a low groan. Warm light spilled out to greet him, along with the scents of aged wood, spiced firewhisky, and something frying in a pan. The inside was dim and cozy, a mishmash of crooked tables and aging chairs, a handful of wizards and witches nursing drinks or hunched over parchment. Conversation barely paused as he entered — just one more stray in a place full of them.
Nova's sharp gaze swept the room out of habit. An old wizard in dark green robes snored in a corner. A pair of wizards argued over a parchment at the bar. Behind the counter, Tom the barman gave him a brief, curious glance but said nothing.
He made his way to the back of the room where the enchanted brick wall awaited — the passage into Diagon Alley. Nova reached into his pocket, retrieving his wand. A flick, a tap on the appropriate brick in the sequence his implanted memories recalled, and the stones shifted with a faint grinding sound.
The archway opened with a shimmer of soft golden light, revealing the bustling heart of magical London.
Diagon Alley.
Even this late in the evening, the alley was alive. Shop windows glowed with enchanted light. Owls flitted overhead. The distant sound of a street performer's enchanted violin carried through the cool air. Cauldrons, potion ingredients, broomsticks, and towering stacks of spellbooks filled every storefront in sight.
Nova stepped through, the archway closing behind him with a faint rumble.
As he walked, more fragmented memories settled into place. The timeline — this was the summer before what would have been Harry Potter's four year at Hogwarts. The Quidditch World Cup was a month away. No Death Eater attacks yet. No Triwizard Tournament. No Ministry smear campaigns. The calm before the storm.
And Nova intended to take advantage of it.
-----
Nova's boots clicked against the cobblestone as he walked past Flourish and Blotts, resisting the strong pull toward the bookshop. He had a priority first — secure a proper trunk. Not a schoolboy's chest, but something worthy of a personal stronghold.
He turned down a side alley and arrived at Spindlewarps Trunks & Cases, its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze. The shop's front window displayed a modest range of Hogwarts-standard trunks, worn-looking dueling cases, and enchanted luggage racks.
The interior smelled of old wood, tanned leather, and faint enchantments humming in the air.
A balding, sharp-eyed shopkeeper glanced up from his ledger. "Afternoon, lad. In the market for a trunk? Got your standard Hogwarts issue, five-lock security models, even a self-packing one over there."
Nova gave a half-smirk, then shook his head. "I'm looking for something… bigger."
The man blinked. "Bigger?"
"Dimensional space. Internal rooms, furnished. Something like Newt Scamander's monster trunk."
At that, the shopkeeper's eyes lit up, and a genuine grin broke across his face. Clearly, this was the kind of sale that made his week.
"Ah! Say no more, lad. Not many ask for those these days — expensive, rare work, but you've got good taste. Follow me."
He led Nova to the rear of the shop, past rows of standard cases and school trunks, and into a smaller section behind a velvet curtain. Here, the air felt charged, and the trunks gleamed like polished museum pieces.
The shopkeeper gestured to a tall, dark oak trunk bound in gleaming brass. "This here's our finest piece. Enchanted oak casing, triple-layered interior charms, keyed to a personal magic signature. Inside, you'll find a proper set of rooms."
He tapped the top, and the lid creaked open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase descending into dim, warm light.
"Six separate chambers," the man explained proudly. "A furnished bedroom with bath, a fully stocked potions laboratory — fireproof, naturally — a personal study with empty enchanted shelves ready to accept and lock away books, a greenhouse chamber for rare magical flora, a training room with reinforced walls and spell-reactive targets, and a vault room for valuables, keyed to your wand or a blood-lock."
Nova's brow lifted slightly. "Sealed against detection?"
"Of course," the man huffed. "Standard warding — anti-Apparition, privacy barriers, anti-scrying, disillusionment exterior. It even cleans itself, regulates temperature, and adjusts the light to your preference."
Nova ran a hand along the smooth oak finish, satisfaction flickering in his gaze. "Perfect. I'll take it."
"Would you like to name it? The command word binds it to you on the first activation."
Nova though for a moment and said "Sanctum Vault."
The shopkeeper nodded, tapped his wand against the trunk's brass fittings, and the entire thing shrank down to the size of a small jewelry box. He placed it inside an enchanted pouch and slid it across the counter.
"Congratulations, sir," the shopkeeper said, grinning. "You've got yourself one of the finest mobile residences in all of Britain."
Nova tossed a hefty pouch of Galleons on the counter, more than enough, and left without a word.
Thankfully, his system had the function of converting any currency into the local world's currency.
He hadn't dared to use this function in the Marvel world — it would've been a surefire way to land on SHIELD's radar. Altough he doesn't fear SHIELD but unfortunately, he is directly related to SHIELD. So if he got this early on their radar, it would've been a massive headache.
But here, in the Harry Potter world — or wait, should he start calling it the Neville World? — it wouldn't be much of a problem.
Shaking off that odd thought, Nova eagerly stepped into Flourish and Blotts.
The familiar scent of parchment, old ink, and aged wood wrapped around him as he pushed the door open.
He had one goal in mind: to buy every single magic book he could get his hands on — from the basic Hogwarts textbooks, First Year to Seventh, to every obscure, dusty tome tucked into forgotten corners of the shop. Anything that looked remotely useful or dangerous enough to catch his eye was fair game.
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CHAPTER:- [52- THEN WHAT IF... HE DIES?] IS AVAILABLE ON MY P@TREON.
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