Wow! I am Harry Potter

Chapter 1: I am Harry Potter

I was a 19-year-old college student in the second year of my undergraduate B.Arch program. Despite my orphaned background, I'd grown into a reasonably happy young man, though romance had eluded me thus far. Life was comfortable enough, but somewhere deep in my heart lingered a persistent wish—what if the world wasn't so painfully ordinary? What if tales of dragons, elves, and magic were more than just fiction?

It seems God, if there is one, has a peculiar sense of humor.

Last night, I fell asleep in my dorm room after cramming for a structural design exam. This morning, I awoke in the frail body of an 11-year-old boy, my head splitting with a torrent of foreign memories cascading through my mind like a violent river breaking through a dam.

I've transmigrated. Not into just any world or any body, but into Harry Potter's—skinny frame, lightning scar and all. Once the initial shock subsided and the headache dulled to a manageable throb, I took stock of my surroundings: the cold stone floor of the dilapidated shack, the thin blanket barely providing warmth against the howling storm outside, and the distinct absence of anything resembling comfort or care.

According to the memories settling in my head like puzzle pieces finding their places, today is my eleventh birthday. Which means—I sucked in a breath—Hagrid will arrive within minutes to deliver my Hogwarts letter. The realization sent adrenaline surging through my undersized body.

Time crawled by with excruciating slowness. Every creak of the old shack, every gust of wind and crash of waves against the rocky shore made me jolt with anticipation. I tried to compose myself, to prepare for what was coming, but how does one truly prepare for meeting a half-giant wizard when just yesterday you were worrying about calculus?

Then it happened—a thunderous BANG shook the tiny shack, followed by another that nearly unhinged the door. The Dursleys awoke with startled cries, Vernon fumbling with a rifle I hadn't noticed until now.

The door crashed to the floor, and there he stood.

Hagrid.

I knew he was big—the books described him as twice as tall as a normal man and nearly five times as wide—but literary descriptions failed to capture the sheer presence of Rubeus Hagrid in person. I felt minuscule, like he could indeed carry me in his coat pocket without noticing the extra weight.

"Sorry 'bout that," the giant said, casually lifting the door and fitting it back into its frame.

Vernon Dursley pointed his rifle with shaking hands. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"

"Dry up, Dursley, yeh great prune," Hagrid replied, bending the rifle upward with one massive hand as if it were made of tin. The gun discharged with a deafening blast into the ceiling, sending woodchips raining down.

Then those beetle-black eyes found mine, crinkling at the corners as he smiled beneath his wild beard.

"An' here's Harry!" he exclaimed. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

I stood frozen, processing the surreal moment. This wasn't just a character anymore—this was a real person standing before me, someone who had known my parents—Harry's parents. The distinction between Harry's life and my own was already beginning to blur.

"Made a bit o' tea, if yeh don't mind," Hagrid said, pulling out a squashed box from one of his many pockets. "An' I might've sat on it at some point, but they'll still taste all right."

Inside were slightly squashed but delicious-looking cupcakes with green icing that spelled "Happy Birthday Harry."

My first birthday cake. No—Harry's first birthday cake. I needed to keep that straight.

"I've brought somethin' for yeh," Hagrid continued, reaching into another pocket. "Seems I mighta sat on this as well, but it's all there."

He handed me an envelope made of yellowish parchment, addressed in emerald-green ink:

Mr. H. Potter

With slightly trembling fingers—partly from the character's physical condition, partly from my own excitement—I broke the purple wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest.

"What is that?" Petunia's shrill voice cut through my wonder.

Before I could answer, Hagrid's booming voice filled the small space. "It's his acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as if yeh didn't know!"

"Hogwarts?" I whispered, playing my part while my mind raced with the knowledge of what was coming.

"Blimey, Harry, did these Muggles tell yeh nothin'?" Hagrid looked genuinely shocked. "About who yeh are? About yer parents? About our world?"

"Our world?" I echoed, finding it easier than expected to sound confused when confronted with the reality of magic existing.

Hagrid turned to the Dursleys, his expression darkening. "Yeh never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left for him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" I asked, letting a note of anger enter my voice.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Vernon yelled in panic.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," Hagrid dismissed them. He turned to me, his expression softening as he took a deep breath.

"Harry—yer a wizard."

The hut fell silent. Despite knowing this moment was coming, hearing those words in Hagrid's real voice sent a thrill through me unlike anything I'd experienced before.

"I'm a... what?"

"A wizard," Hagrid repeated, settling his massive frame onto the sofa, which groaned alarmingly under his weight. "An' a thumpin' good one, I'd wager, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be?"

He proceeded to tell me about Hogwarts—about the four houses, about the classes where I'd learn to control and harness magic, about the sprawling castle with its secret passages and moving staircases. With each detail, my excitement grew. This wasn't just knowledge from books I'd read in another life; this was my future.

"But what about my parents?" I asked, knowing I needed this information directly from Hagrid. "What really happened to them?"

Hagrid's face darkened. "It's not right that yeh don't know yer own story, when every child in our world knows yer name."

He told me then—about Voldemort, about the night my parents died, about how I had somehow survived the Killing Curse with nothing but a lightning-shaped scar to show for it.

"That's why yer famous, Harry. That's why yer the Boy Who Lived."

I touched the scar on my forehead, feeling a strange connection to it for the first time. This wasn't just a fictional character's trademark anymore—it was now a part of me, a physical reminder of a sacrifice I had never personally experienced but would now have to honor.

"Load of old tosh," Vernon interrupted, finding his courage again.

What followed was a heated exchange about my magical heritage, with Vernon and Petunia revealing their long-standing jealousy and fear of the wizarding world. When Hagrid discovered I knew nothing of magic, of Hogwarts, or even how my parents really died, his fury was something to behold. When Dudley couldn't resist the birthday cake Hagrid had brought and began to devour it, Hagrid pointed his pink umbrella at my cousin, and suddenly Dudley had a curly pig's tail poking through his pajamas.

The Dursleys retreated in terror, dragging a squealing Dudley with them.

Alone with Hagrid, I finally allowed myself a genuine smile. "So... when do we leave?"

"First thing tomorrow," Hagrid said, throwing his black coat over me like a blanket. "Got lots ter do. Gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer equipment for school."

As I lay there on the dusty floor of the shack, with the storm still raging outside and the enormous coat providing more warmth than I'd felt all night, my mind raced with possibilities. I possessed knowledge that could change everything—knowledge of horcruxes, of betrayals to come, of deaths that could be prevented.

The question wasn't whether I could change things, but whether I should. And if so, how much?

Sleep came eventually, but not before I made my first decision in this new world: whatever lay ahead, I would approach it not just with the knowledge I carried, but with purpose. After all, how many people get a second chance in a world they've only dreamed about?