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... /p>

It was covered in this layer of red liquid that seemed to be some kind of paint.

As for where this red liquid came from...

I looked down at the tile that was under me that had sunk once I had stepped on it.

It was another trap that was just like the trap in the previous corridor, but the difference was that there wasn’t a spear that was sent flying at me. This time, it was this ball of red liquid that had dropped from above me.

But no matter how one looked ...

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[A Harry Potter Fanfiction]

Follow Quinn West, who finds himself in the world of Harry Potter, but are things as they seem, is the world he has landed in the same as the one he once read about.

Will Quinn able to find his way in this new world? Will he ever be able to feel like he belongs here?

What opportunity would the magic of this world provide him? Will it lead him to the light or drown him in the dark?

Tag along as Quinn makes his way into the world of magic as he discovers the secrets behind the infinite potential behind the magic that is within his grasp.

****

This novel is my escape from the burnout that I suffered from my other novel. I have no solid plotline planned, there will be no definite release schedule. The reason for me writing is to improve my writing skills, light my brain cells.

As you know that there are so many Harry Potter Fanfictions out there, it is the largest FanFiction community out there, and as I write this novel, I don't have anything in my mind that isn't already out there, but I am trying to create a piece of transformative work that would pick up ideas from that wide community and create a work that would be enjoyable to read.

So, give this content a chance, and I hope that this novel would stand up to your expectations.

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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