Having woken up a few minutes prior, Harry Potter is understandably upset.

  Not only did he get captured–again–he also desperately needed to scratch his nose. Since he couldn’t do that, he instead did what he had always done when stuck in a conundrum.

  First, he considered the events that followed after he awoke in what he thought was the hospital wing. Second, he thought about the magical engagement that resulted in his loss. Finally, Harry considered his current predicament of being chained to a bed in what looked like the dungeons.

  The conclusions were not encouraging.

  Far from being the only time he had ever been captured, this situation almost had him feeling nostalgic. He couldn’t say the same about the rest.

  Getting caught in a powerful illusion was his initial hypothesis, as far as Hogwarts, Poppy, and his mother were concerned. Except, something felt off about that idea, so Harry put it in the back of his mind, for the moment.

  Losing a fight wasn’t anything new, either. He certainly wasn’t arrogant enough to never consider the possibility of defeat - vanquisher of Voldemort or not. It was the way he lost that grated on his nerves. Everything that occurred was practically designed to poke at his fears, regrets, hatred, and insecurities.

  Snape, Dumbledore, Hogwarts…his mother.

  Everything.

  And he fell for the trap like a rank amateur. Mistake after mistake. Blunder after blunder. Hermoine would have boxed his ears in for losing his temper and he would have deserved it.

  Looking at things rationally, however, Harry did have to admit to a few things that contributed to his defeat. Chief among them was the state of his magic. Or his control of it, to be exact.

  It was absolute shit.

  He didn’t really notice at first, what with how quickly the day went down the toilet. But it was almost as if he was a useless civilian again. Thousands of hours training to master his power, both with a wand and without. Nearly a decade of accumulated fighting experience.

  Gone. All gone.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Fortunately, his senses were still sharp. Unfortunately, even there, he was having problems.

  Specifically, feeling out his surroundings returned information that should have been impossible. No matter how powerful the spell, ritual, or potion, discrepancies can still be detected by anyone who knows what to look for. He was trained to do exactly that.

  Yet, Harry couldn’t find any.

  It was as if this really was Hogwarts, which could not, should not be the case.

  Naturally, time-travel was considered but was then promptly discarded. Harry landed in the hospital wing at the end of his first year, so Poppy’s assertion made that idea a non-starter. Not to mention the presence of a living, breathing Lily Potter.

  So, not time-travel, then.

  What else?

  Maybe he died and chose to pass on, this time? If so, this was an absolutely rubbish afterlife.

  Hmm, this train of thought wasn’t getting him anywhere. Switching tracks, for a bit, Harry pondered the probable purpose of his capture. Yeah, no. There were far too many possible motives that he wouldn’t even know where to start.

  That left avenues for escape.

  Usually, he would wait for an opportunity provided by inattentive or thick-headed minions to make a break for it. Harry briefly contemplated waiting for a rescue, but that involved patience beyond his tolerance. He was a man of action, dammit!

  Flexing his still considerable magical muscles, despite his apparent miniaturization, Harry tested his bindings. They did not even budge. Whoever enchanted these chains knew what they were doing.

  Then there were the runic circles carved on the floor surrounding him, which he immediately knew were meant to contain highly-dangerous magical creatures; i.e. dragons, giants, etc. The hell kind of monster do they think he is?!

  Images of what he did to the castle walls flashed through Harry’s mind.

  Ah, right. That’d do it.

  Oh, the bed was fairly sturdy, as well. Thick, solid metal bars. Hardly budging despite his experimental thrashing. No pillows, bedsheet, or upholstery of any kind. Just a thick, surprisingly comfortable mattress.

  They really weren’t taking any chances with him, were they? Even during the height of the Second Blood War, no one used such extreme precautions just to keep him tied down. Death Eaters tended to be lackadaisical slobs, preferring to do the bare minimum of anything.

  That then begs the question: Who in blazes was he dealing with?

  Briefly going down a list in his mind, Harry honestly couldn’t think of anyone still remaining who could pull this off. Last he heard, Nestor the Disembowler was still trapped under the mountain of rubble that used to be his lair in Sweden.

  Buswani was still puttering around in the Saharan desert, lost in the labyrinth of his own creation. And A Anci? Verde was busy leading Brazilian aurors in a merry goose chase around the Amazon.

  Thinking on it a little more, Harry wasn’t sure if that old bastard Fuxi was still around. He was certainly canny enough to come up with something this elaborate, but there was one glaring issue: his ego. The wrinkled idiot would never stoop to using Hogwarts, of all places, as part of his illusions. It was either the Forbidden City or somewhere else that’s named something he couldn’t even hope to pronounce.

  That left…absolutely no one. At least, no one he was aware of.

  Far too many of the world’s most powerful witches and wizards died in the war. Most of those who were skilled or lucky enough to survive chose to retire, broken by their experiences. Then there are those like Harry.

  Those too stubborn, stupid, or broken to quit. Too caught up in–

  Harry wrenched his thoughts back before he got too lost in dark memories. Right, that’s enough of that. Back to wondering who, in Merlin’s holy underpants, COULD HAVE CAUGHT HIM!

  Before he could think on it any further, Harry heard clangs nearby that were immediately followed by footsteps and what sounded like heated whispers.

  Well, it looks like he’s about to get some answers.