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The room in which Harry James Potter wakes up one fine morning after having spent the previous evening with Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna celebrating their successful training and master's examinations leaves a lot to be desired. On the second of May 1998, Harry's Hogwarts/Voldemort chapter ended for good. Hermione is now Minister for Magic, Ron and Harry have both passed the shortened but legitimate Auror training and exams, Neville started as Professor of Herbology, together with Luna who, — after the war, became a magizoologist, discovering and classifying many magical species that had never been encountered before, — teaches Field Studies, a new course dedicated to the study and interaction with magical creatures in the wild. Now, almost 10 years later, instead of waking up in his single bed with bed drawer and pull-out bed (solid wood, pine, lye, oiled), a hangover (Feeling nauseous/sick after drinking too much alcohol; suffering from a headache after intoxication.) so vicious that it feels like a bomb from the Second World War has detonated right next to him — hidden in the concrete of the floor of his smart two-room basement flat, — skull booming loudly, the unmistakable beeping in his ear, he wakes up in a tree house that doesn't really seem to have been built in a tree at all. Instead, it floats surrounded by bright, glaring, expansive white. The interior is also not exclusively modelled on that of a tree house. Many aspects point to a simple wooden hut, others to a more noble abode such as the Plusvillas by architect Jani Lahti, who has designed hundreds of private houses and holiday homes internationally and in Finland.
The Plusvillas are a collection resulting from the ambitious collaboration between Plusarchitects and Polar Life Haus, which offers several different models and hundreds of different variations. The size of the buildings ranges from 15 square metre saunas to villas of more than 100 square metres. The collection has attracted international attention and recognition. The house models in the Plusvilla Collection have been honoured with the Good Design Awards, which are given to the most innovative and ground-breaking industrial and graphic design products in the world.
Many have been built with fine types of wood, which are characterised by special optical properties, exotic origin or rarity. Examples include mahogany, teak, rosewood and ebony. Native alternatives with a noble appearance are walnut, pear, cherry and curly maple.
Harry had never had a thing for square, no, 'geometric' house designs. They look so... cold. Characterless and pragmatic. Some might call it modern, but to Harry they are just large, randomly thrown together, mostly grey/white/beige structures, one looking like the next. In his opinion, only psychopaths, sociopaths, rich single snobs and workaholics (self-employed people and managers are more likely to work excessively and compulsively) live in such houses. However, none of this changes the fact that this house seems to float. Shrouded in an eerie veil. "You the last one, then?" Torn from his — admittedly unnecessary — thoughts, Harry turns to the open, equally bright room. He raises his eyebrows in astonishment at the sight of the dimly recognisable furniture and the light blue walls. A modern side-wide window front — in front of which Harry had woken up; still sitting on the floor — is the only 'window' in this ballroom-sized room. The furniture, on the other hand, looks like it's from the 19th century. One wall, where a piano stands, is even covered in rotting wallpaper. His gaze then wanders with a slight smirk over the person to whom the demanding and irritated voice that had asked him the question belongs, whereupon the smile on his face simply freezes. Harry blinks slowly, then four times in quick succession. His mouth opens to... to shriek, to ask, to express his shock. In front of him stands his Doppelgänger, or something like that. Finally, Harry escapes the scream that has been stuck in his throat, followed by a choked, indignant exclamation; "What the hell are you!" He also manages to straighten up in one smooth movement and presses his back to the window front before realising the five other 'I's, two of whom are just stepping out of the fog — which is just as prevalent in here, but not as strong. The young man rolls his eyes boredly before crossing his arms. "My name is Hadrianus Peverell." Harry cannot close his mouth. What is this madness! He has definitely landed in the wrong domain (Where's Kings Cross at!), surely, he is about to wake up and realise that he has caught a cold and had a terrible fever dream! "Forget it," another voice drones from the right. This one sounds mostly amused. "It's not a dream." "Not really, anyway," Number Three interjects promptly, glaring accusingly at Number Two over his glasses before turning to Harry and smiling reassuringly. "Our bodies are in the physical world. Here, we are either our subconsciouses or souls." Harry nods slowly, not sure why he doesn't feel fear or uncertainty. Of course, confusion and surprise, a little annoyed too. But beyond that, he doesn't distrust these strange, different 'Harrys'. He feels an instinctive bond with them. Harry takes a deep breath and sits back down on the floor, while Number Four, a high-pitched female voice suddenly speaks up. "Don't worry about it. We are all a version of each other from another universe. This is the reason for the feeling of solidarity and unity." Harry doesn't even try to hide his astonishment and curiosity. A female version of him? The young woman is wearing short denim dungarees over a long-sleeved, high-necked ivory top with a waterfall collar, and white vans. Her dark, wavy hair reaches down to her shoulder blades. She grins mischievously at Harry and purrs with a flirtatious wink; "Do you like what you see?" Harry lets out a short, loud laugh. Wow. "How could I not. I'm hardly going to call myself ugly." Before she can reply, they are both interrupted. "Eyo people, the loo's gone again—" "Shut yer trap, Henricus! The adults are talking." "Fuck you, Haedus!" "If you're looking for a fight, be a man, you faggot!" "In order to insult me, I must first value your opinion. Nice try though!" sneers voice Number Five as he walks straight up to Haedus to repeatedly poke his chest with his index finger. Harry squints his eyes. Is that nail manicured? What the everloving— Whatever. Harry has long since lost track of who is who and the sight of so many people wearing his face and yet not being him turns his stomach — despite all affiliations — which is why he turns sideways and throws up noisily. The taste of his stomach acid rising in his throat brings tears to his eyes and while all hell seems to be breaking loose around him, the fog in his head continues to thicken. Neither thoughts nor voices get through to him. Everything seems to be wadded up in cotton wool. Harry stares blankly down at his hands and dimly realises that they are trembling. But he doesn't have the feeling that they are 'his' hands. At the moment, Harry is merely a spectator, standing beside himself. A passive observer. Whose body is shaking, whose heart is racing like this? A sob forces Harry back into his 'body' and he lets out a startled gasp, pushing himself off the floor and landing on his arse. He presses his hands to his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie. Eyes dart across the oak floor, blurred and unfocused.
Oh.
Harry bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to concentrate on the floor. He places his hands on it too; how smooth and gentle. A strange, yet soothing texture.
Oak wood has almost ideal properties for use as flooring, as it is hard, heavy and has a high density and resistance to wear. This is why oak parquet can be found almost everywhere - in homes, but also in commercial buildings or even gymnasiums.
It is also particularly suitable for use as wet room parquet in bathrooms or kitchens. Oak wood is ecologically harmless, as most of it comes from local forests.
Even if the first thing that springs to mind when you think of oak is the infamous "rustic oak" variant, there is now a diverse range of oak parquet in a wide variety of colours. There are over 200 variants to choose fro—
"Boy!" The voice, paired with a small but firm hand on his shoulder, snaps him out of his near-catatonic state. Harry blinks heavily. When he realises that the distraction to fixate on irrelevant facts has been successful; his heart, hands, body and head are reasonably calm and quiet, he sighs in relief and slumps slightly. "Don't call me that," he eventually grumbles, looking up into the face of another version of himself. "Sorry," he replies, his face grimacing with pity. A trace of compassion and disgust in its fine features. "Uncle?" Harry nods in confirmation and Number Six squeezes his shoulder one last time in reassurance before letting go of him and dropping to the floor next to him instead. Surprisingly, he looks quite skilful and elegant doing it. Haedus and Henricus have also stopped barking at each other. Together with the others, they sit down in a semi-circle around Harry. Number Six next to him quickly takes the floor again without further ado and raises his hand in a two-fingered salute. "Nice to meet you, I'm Harvey Potter. I come from a world where everyone has a so-called second gender and I'm a male omega. Meaning; my pronouns are he/him, but my body has the ability to reproduce in addition to the typical male genitals, which is why I am considered intersex. In fact, female alphas and male omegas are free to decide how they want to be addressed." Harry's green eyes are half-closed, languid and his expression reflects confusion and incomprehension. "Omegas... Alphas... are a second sex?" he dares to question, just to make sure he hasn't imagined it. Harvey grins unabashedly. "Absolutely right. It's hard to understand, but each of us is unique in our own way. For example, I'm one of three male Omegas who we know for a fact were born intersex. Normally, both male omegas and female alphas are considered abnormal, whose existence is completely at odds with nature and are therefore enslaved or executed as the scum of society and freaks of nature."
Well fuck.
Harry swallows and looks into the group in bewilderment, but it seems that everyone but him already knows the story, which only confirms the previous statement about Harry being the last one. "Instead, I am treated like an exhibit in a museum and must find a husband worthy of me or my 'mate', a 'soulmate' with whom I can perform the ritual of mating and mutual claiming." Towards the end, Harvey's gaze darkens noticeably and his small, pointed upper canines begin to protrude clearly above his lower lip. Clenching his fists, he exhales with a huff and shakes his head before turning his attention back to Harry. "I'm 25 and live alone." Harry draws in a sharp breath. So not only are the 'Harrys' and their stories and worlds different, in this strange in-between world they are all different ages, — or rather, someone has decided that they have to gather today, at this exact moment, for some odd reason. "Aren't alpha and omega the first and last letters of the classical Greek alphabet, symbolising the beginning and the end?" Harry mumbles, still demoralised. Harvey chuckles behind his hand. "That's right. With the addition that Alpha in our world means something like 'the perfect, infallible leaders and all-rounders', and Omega, although valuable, are weak, dainty and good for nothing more than having children." Harvey's tone has a hint of a growl in it. Meanwhile, Harry wrinkles his nose in disgust. He is well aware of the prejudices and norms of a depraved and cowardly society. "Pleased to meet you," he whispers, unsure if he will ever understand how Harvey's world is supposed to work logically. Then again, magic can't be explained logically either. It is a force, a phenomenon that simply exists. A freak of nature. Harvey wears a white and black, knee-length chequered skirt and a normal shirt. Instead of a tie, he wears a silver bowtie and black gothic boots. His hair is shoulder-length. He nods with a slight smile on his lips, whereupon Henricus eagerly takes over and waves his hand wildly. " 'ello! I am Henricus Evans. You can just call me Henry, I'm 22 years old and in my world it's 2003. James and Lily are alive and I'm a Hufflepuff."
Merlin and Morgana.
Harry has to resist the temptation to put his hand over his eyes to shield them. Who the hell is this Strahlemann! Harry would never have expected to see such a childish, carefree version of himself, let alone that it existed. And Evans? Why not Potter? As if reading his thoughts, Henry throws his arms up in the air before pulling them down with a flourish and leaning forwards onto the floor in front of his crossed legs, grinning broadly at Harry. "Evans, because I have an older twin brother and our parents weren't married when they had us. It means we were born bastards, which is why Lily and James figured that if the older one is the Potter Heir, the second one can be spared all that." He shrugs. Harry nods busily. No wonder Henry appears so carefree and unconcerned. Harry smiles. It's nice to know that there are worlds out there where he can live so and actually be free. Henricus is wearing loose dark blue suit trousers and a black long-sleeved mesh shirt with matching loafers. The third member of the group sighs tonelessly and gives Harry an irritated look. "As I already said, I'm Hadrianus Peverell. But Hadrian will do. In my world, it's 1943 and I'm in my sixth year at Hogwarts. I'm in Slytherin and an orphan. Unlike the two before me, real magic exists in my world." Harry is taken aback by this, however. Henricus' world is Muggle? Even Harvey has magic, albeit in a different way. His gaze involuntarily flits to said person and Henry tilts his head slightly. "That's right. In my world, Hogwarts is a university for the 'gifted and talented'. An elite university for geniuses and the odd scholarship student. Hufflepuff isn't a house, it's a dormitory. And we are not allocated to this dormitory according to character traits and qualities, but according to which degree programme we attend. Hufflepuff, for example, stands for the generic term 'social studies'. My brother is Heir to the Potter corporation, and the title of CEO." Harry is amazed. "Sounds extraordinary and promising," he replies truthfully, as he is actually at a loss for words. A version of Harry that is quirky yet intelligent. It takes the saying "there's a fine line between genius and madness" to a new level. Appropriate, he thinks. "Whatever," Hadrian gruffly interjects, just as Henry is about to add something else. Hadrian is wearing comfortable-looking soft pink jogging pants and a light purple short hoodie. The eye-catching outfit is rounded off with white trainers. Harry runs his fingers through his short, tangled hair, touches the bridge of his nose and massages it; lifting his glasses and closing his eyes in the process. The sex appeal of these other versions of him is really no joke. "You hold your breath, Hadrian," a female voice replies and Harry only hears the person addressed snort disparagingly before she turns to Harry, who returns her gaze. "My name is Harriet 'Harri' Potter, my parents are James and Lily Potter. James died the night of Grindelwald's attack. However, Uncle Sev and Lily had hatched a plan beforehand in the unlikely event that anyone got wind of the Fidelius. She was able to escape with me. Severus Snape and Sirius Black are my godparents. I'm well known, but Lily is even more so. Sirius killed Wormtail ratass Pettigrew and now lives with Lily to raise me. I'm 21 years old, a Gryffindor and dating Cedric Diggory." Harry's ears buzz and he swears he can hear the rhythmic chirping of the cicadas. Of all the jumbled thoughts and new, unrealistic information, one in particular stands out. "Grindelwald?" Harriet chuckles to herself. "You must be wondering, why not Voldemort?" Harry's brow furrows into deep lines of thought, which he must assume he will never get rid of if these surprises continue. "Does he still look human?" "That's what bothers you?" Harriet throws her head back and laughs unperturbed at his insensitive question. "Yes and no. He doesn't look like a healthy person at all, let alone act like one. Apart from that, yes. It's also worth mentioning that Grindelwald is the German Minister of Magic, whereas Voldemort, who is known as Thomas Slytherin, became the British Minister of Magic." "Blimey," Harry grunts gloomily. "Okay, now it's my turn," interrupts Number Four, Five(?), who is lying on his stomach with his face in both hands and looking up at Harry coolly. "My name is Haedus Potter-Black, only son of Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter née Black. The year is 1971, I am 25 years old, a proud 'n former Ravenclaw, and an excellent Rune Master. James Potter is also my cousin." Haedus is wearing the typical wizard outfit, including robes. He is also the first person not to have inherited Lily's green eyes, but the grey-blue eyes of a Black. The last of the group has not yet exchanged a single word with anyone in the room and is sitting a little apart from the others. Haedus gently nudges the daydreamer's thigh, which immediately brings him out of his trance. "I, well," he stammers breathlessly, "my name is Harold Gaunt-Potter and I'm a Concubine." Harry's heart has never slipped into his trousers as quickly as it has just done. Did he just say Concubine! Apparently he said that out loud, because Harold fucking Gaunt, flinches guiltily and avoids eye contact as he kneads his hands nervously in his lap. "Why is your bloody name Gaunt!" Harry angrily demands to know, struggling not to point his bare finger at Harold like a particularly nasty smelling pile of trash. "Tomas Riddle, uh, Gaunt, is Emperor Slytherin of the North. Archduke Gryffindor rules in the south, Queen Hufflepuff in the east and Marchioness Ravenclaw in the west. My parents are Earl Fleamont Potter and Countess Euphemia Potter née Travers. James Potter is my younger brother, so it is up to me, as Heir to the Dukedom, to ensure peace between North and South; furthermore, the previous Slytherin Emperor, Ominis Gaunt — Tom's his great-nephew 3rd degree or something — was promised the first-born child of Gryffindor. I'm 19 summers old and one of seven Concubines of the Emperor. Also, only the Concubines are allowed to have the surname Gaunt to show their importance and status." Harry, meanwhile, banged his head back against the window, making a muffled sound, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the fact that a version of him was actually having sex with Tom Marvolo Riddle. The mere thought makes him shudder with disgust and rage. Aside from the fact that Riddle seems to be a powerful and influential figure in all realities, it stands to reason that not everyone comes into contact with him or is connected to him in one way or another. Thankfully. Harold wears a kind of (green) tunic with a dark brown belt, sandals and a golden headband which seems to have the function of a crown. A so-called Laurel Crown, the design of which consists of leaves bound in the Greek style. He also has short curly hair and a necklace with a small green gemstone in the centre around his left ankle. His eyes are amber in colour. "I suppose your world is Muggle too?" he asks, rubs his face tiredly with one hand and closes his eyes for a moment. "Au contraire. There are few wizards, that's true. But Grand Duke Dumbledore, for example, is a healing wizard. Priestess Lovegood from the West has the gift of clairvoyance. Baron Black from Slytherin is a dark elf. Emperor Slytherin himself is a snake speaker and we Potters are born necromancers. I've also heard that the Bones family from Hufflepuff have the ability to tell lies from truth. A magic with which you can read either thoughts or feelings." Harry's lips curl into a first, genuinely pleased smile. It fascinates him how many different ways magic can take shape. It makes him unspeakably happy to see each version of himself enjoying freedom in the form of their own magic (or in Henricus' case, family). "Now it's your turn." Harry startles slightly, looks up and point-blank into Haedus' eyes. "Must be," he replies humourlessly and sits up straight, eyes darting over everyone present. "My name is—"