He really should’ve known better than to try a spell he barely understood.

One minute Oliver Wood was standing in the Hogwarts library, wand in hand, muttering, “It’s only a simple location-shift charm… what’s the worst that could happen?”

The next— WHOOSH. The world twisted, blurred, and spat him out onto a pavement.

A very loud, very non-magical pavement.

Cars zoomed past him, horns blaring. A bus whooshed by and nearly knocked him backward. The air smelled like smoke and metal. Oliver stumbled, looking down at himself.

Still in his Gryffindor uniform. Wand in hand.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, eyes wide. “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

He raised his wand and whispered a spell. Nothing. Tried again. Still nothing.

“What?! Why isn’t this—” He shook the wand like a broken broom handle. “Don’t do this to me now!”

He pointed it at a leaf on the ground. Not even a spark.

Oliver’s stomach dropped. No magic. No way back. And he had no idea where he was.

He took a step backward—and crashed directly into someone rushing by.

Books exploded across the sidewalk.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, dropping to your knees to scoop everything up.

Oliver immediately knelt too, flustered, brushing dirt off your books as if they were priceless artifacts. “No—no, that’s my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was—”

You looked up at him to thank him.

And froze.

Because what kind of person walked around campus wearing a cape? And a tie from some… medieval boarding school? And was that… a wand??

“Uh…” you blinked. “Why are you dressed like… that?”

Oliver almost choked on his own breath.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“This… is my uniform?” he said, as if that explained anything.

“For what?” you asked. “A theatre club?”

Oliver frowned. “No, for Hogwarts.”

You stared. “For… what?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” he repeated, slow like he thought you were the confused one.

Silence.

Then you laughed, assuming he was joking. “Oh! Haha—okay, funny. Is there, like… a Renaissance Fair nearby?”

He looked offended. “It’s not a play. I’m Oliver Wood. Gryffindor’s Keeper.” He pointed at himself proudly. “I’m a wizard.”

You blinked again.

He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t pretending. He believed every word he was saying.

And he looked so genuinely confused and lost that your amusement softened into concern