Harry Potter and The Rise of The New White Lord

"Damn, that hurt!"

If you'd told me yesterday that my life would take such a sudden and ridiculous turn, I wouldn't have believed you. I mean, who honestly thinks about dying in a split second, right? And yet, here I am, processing my completely unexpected demise. It wasn't some grand, heroic battle or an epic finale. Nope. It was… well, let me explain how I ended up here.

Before we get into the details, let me introduce myself. My name's Hashim Rashid—or it was, I guess. I was fifteen years old, just an average kid from a normal family. My parents worked hard to give me and my little sister, Eva, a good life. Eva was seven, full of energy, and had the kind of sharp wit that made you both laugh and roll your eyes. I'd never say it out loud, but she was my favorite person in the world.

Life was pretty simple. I wasn't a genius or an athlete, but I did okay in school and had plans to become a teacher someday. Books were my escape from reality, especially fantasy and adventure stories. I was the kind of person who could get lost for hours in a good novel or a fanfiction about some alternate take on a beloved world. Don't get me started on Harry Potter because i could talk on for hours.

Anyway, it was an ordinary day when it all went wrong. My mom asked me to run a quick errand to the grocery store—just some bread and milk. The store was only a few blocks away, so I didn't mind. The sun was setting, the streets were filled with people heading home, and everything felt calm.

I was on my way back, minding my own business, when I saw her. An elderly woman stood at the edge of the road, struggling to manage a cane in one hand and a ripped grocery bag in the other. Apples were rolling onto the street as she tried to keep her balance.

"Excuse me, ma'am, do you need help?" I asked.

Her face lit up with relief. "Oh, thank you, young man. I can't bend down like I used to."

"No problem," I said, crouching to pick up the apples. Once I'd put them back in her bag, I noticed her looking at the crosswalk.

"Do you need help getting across?" I offered.

She hesitated before nodding. "If it's not too much trouble."

I smiled and took her bag, offering my arm to steady her as we started across. The crosswalk light was green, and the cars had stopped to let us through. Everything seemed fine.

That's when I heard it—the roar of an engine.

A motorbike came speeding down the wrong side of the road, zigzagging through traffic. The rider was yelling something, but I couldn't make out the words. People on the sidewalk were shouting, pointing, but the motorbike wasn't slowing down. It was heading straight for us.

My mind went blank for a second as adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, I shoved the old lady forward, out of harm's way. She stumbled but landed safely on the other side of the crosswalk.

The motorbike tried to swerve around me, but it was too late. The impact hit me full force, throwing me backward like a rag doll. I slammed onto the pavement, and pain erupted everywhere. My chest, my arms, my legs—it all felt like it was on fire.

I could hear people screaming, tires screeching, and the far-off sound of a siren approaching. My vision blurred, and my body felt cold. I managed to glance at the old woman. She was safe. That was all that mattered.

And then, everything faded to black.

Except it didn't.

I couldn't feel my body anymore, but I was still there. I wasn't breathing, yet my thoughts were crystal clear. Was this the afterlife? Limbo? Or some kind of cruel in-between? The idea of being trapped in this void forever was terrifying.

Now, here I am, drifting in the darkness with nothing but my thoughts and an endless supply of questions.