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HP:BSG - Chapter 696: Is This Real?
🕑 Added 2025-11-15 11:30:03 +0000 UTCWade had been feeling rather irritable lately.
He was about to start elementary school soon, and the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of noisy, crying kids in a few months already annoyed him.
But as a six-year-old child, there were very few things he could actually decide for himself.
It had taken a lot of effort just to win from his parents the right to choose his own clothes. Still, he couldn’t avoid bad-tasting food, the decision to attend school, or his mother’s sudden whims that might lead to an unexpected trip.
Like today — he woke up to find himself in a completely unfamiliar place. It looked like an abandoned monastery, probably another one of those “historically significant” tourist spots.
But the most ridiculous thing was — that couple had actually left him here alone! Left him with some strange kid in a strange place, while they’d gone off who-knows-where!
— Could my parents really be that unreliable?
Wade briefly doubted it, but facts spoke louder than thoughts. His heart was quickly filled with grievance, anger, and disbelief.
Maybe because he was now in a child’s body, affected by hormones or his environment, his emotional control wasn’t as steady as his rational mind used to be. His reactions tended to align more with a typical child’s level.
So when Wade finally spoke, his tone wasn’t very friendly:
“Hey, kid — who are you?”
The boy opposite him looked soft and delicate, about the same age as him, maybe a little thinner. His large green eyes were clear and bright — the kind that naturally made people feel goodwill toward him.
The child seemed startled by his tone. He shrank his neck slightly and said softly, “Harry Potter.”
Wade raised an eyebrow, thinking he must’ve misheard. “What did you say your name was?”
“Harry Potter.”
The green-eyed boy repeated, then looked around in panic and asked, “What is this place? Why am I here? Where’s Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?”
Wade fell silent. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed — through the messy hair — a uniquely shaped lightning-bolt scar on the boy’s forehead.
Then his gaze lifted — and above the boy’s head, he saw a name hovering there:
[Harry Potter]
What is that supposed to mean? A character name in a game?
Then… is this world even real?
The small boy, trembling and despairing, began to sob. “They decided to throw me away, didn’t they? I knew it… Uncle Vernon always thought I was such a burden…”
Wade didn’t respond. His lips were pressed tightly together, his expression became serious, though his eyes glimmered sharply with awareness.
His gaze moved from Harry’s forehead downward — to the pile of ill-fitting clothes and the thin wooden stick lying on the ground. His own surroundings looked similar; a few bottles and jars had rolled out of his pockets.
Wade’s pupils suddenly contracted. He realized the situation might be far worse than he had imagined.
He quickly crouched down, grabbed both wooden sticks, hastily gathered up the scattered clothes, and pulled Harry along, sprinting toward the nearby ruins of a building.
Bang!
A strange sound came from behind them. Without thinking, Wade yanked Harry down and dove forward. The two of them tumbled clumsily behind a section of an old arcade. The jagged broken stones and weeds became their natural shelter.
Gasping for breath, Wade turned toward the source of the noise.
A girl with honey-colored curls, dressed in what looked like combat gear, let out a scream and collapsed onto the ground. A terrible wound marked her back, and blood was spreading rapidly across the gray-white surface beneath her.
Wade narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what name was flickering above her head.
“She looks like she needs help,” came a hesitant voice beside him. “Can we… Can we help her?”
Wade turned his head to see Harry looking at him uncertainly, whispering, “At least… at least we could find someone to call for help?”
Help her? He didn’t even know if she was friend or foe — or if they themselves could survive.
Wade felt his nerves tighten and agitation rose within him, but he held back the urge to snap. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
In his previous life, his parents had often told him when he was young: harsh words are easy to say, but once spoken, they can never be taken back. Some wounds caused by words can last a lifetime.
So if you don’t know how to express yourself properly, or when your emotions take over your mind, it’s better to stay silent — wait until you’ve thought things through before you speak.
He’d died young in that past life and never truly mastered the art of words. But at least he’d learned when to keep his mouth shut.
Once he’d calmed down and thought more clearly, he realized that the boy beside him was roughly his own age. If this was the Harry Potter he knew of, then he was born at the end of July — a little younger than Wade in this life.
Psychologically speaking, this kid was a genuine six-year-old.
Yet despite the sudden chaos, beyond the initial fear, Harry hadn’t screamed or panicked. He hadn’t struggled when Wade dragged him away, and he was still thinking about helping others — that was rare and admirable.
Within a few breaths, countless thoughts flashed through Wade’s mind. He looked at Harry and said, “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. There might be bad people nearby.”
Harry hesitated, then nodded. He glanced sympathetically at the girl lying on the ground and moaning, but didn’t say another word and obediently crouched behind the stones.
A moment later, the boy winced, looking down at his bare feet — his shoes had fallen off while they were running, and he’d stepped on sharp gravel. His feet were bleeding.
Wade quickly rolled up the oversized trousers, used the belt to secure his shirt and pants together, folded the pant legs several times so they wouldn’t drag, and then frowned at the large boots in front of him.
He wasn’t being picky — in such harsh surroundings, not having proper shoes could easily lead to injuries like Harry’s and make it harder to move.
And when you’re running for your life, even a tiny inconvenience could be the difference between survival and death.
If only the boots could shrink a bit, he thought instinctively.
What was that spell again? Reducio?
The thought had barely crossed his mind when the boots in his hand suddenly shrank, in the blink of an eye becoming the perfect size for his feet.
It actually worked? But I didn’t even use a wand!
Wade was astonished. He began to realize that before this transformation, he must have been a truly powerful wizard.
He quickly adjusted all the clothes, then reached into his pockets to examine the strange items he’d found. Before he could figure them out, Harry poked his arm twice.
“What is it?” Wade whispered, turning his head.
Harry pointed toward the center of the courtyard, too shocked to speak.
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