Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

There were no seats inside the Knight Bus. Behind the curtained doors stood six brass-framed beds, each with a candle placed on a small stand beside it. However, perhaps because it was still daytime, the candles remained unlit.

A plump young wizard was snoring loudly on one of the beds to the left. On the bed to the right, a silver-haired girl in wizard robes sat leaning against the headboard. Her vibrant green eyes curiously studied Harry, while a stubborn tuft of her long hair had escaped the rest, standing straight up before curling back down in front of her face due to gravity.

"Harry Potter?" the girl asked. Her voice was crisp, lively, and quite pleasant to the ears.

Harry nodded and sat down on the bed assigned to him by the conductor. "Judging by your age, you must be a student at Hogwarts too?"

The girl shook her head. "I was dragged here on a business trip by my superior. Unbelievable. I finally became a government employee, and my very first assignment sends me to some far-flung place. It's as tragic as Broly being exiled to the uninhabitable Planet Vampa by King Vegeta right after birth..."

Although Harry didn't quite understand the latter half of her words, he was nonetheless intrigued. Why did this girl—who looked only about fifteen or sixteen—speak with the weary tone of an overworked office employee?

"Drive on, Ern," said Stan, after shoving Harry's luggage under the bed and settling into the armchair beside the driver.

With a loud BANG, Harry was thrown backward onto his bed by the force of acceleration. Looking through the windshield, he was astonished to see them hurtling down a winding road.

"We'll be arriving at Abergavenny soon. Best wake up Mr. Dre, Stan," said the driver, gripping the wheel though never actually turning it.

The conductor walked past Harry and disappeared down a narrow staircase leading below. But Harry was quite sure that this was the lower deck of the bus.

The driver didn't seem particularly skilled at steering.

The Knight Bus frequently swerved onto the sidewalks, yet it never actually collided with anything. Street lamps, mailboxes, and trash bins all leapt out of the way as the bus barreled through, only returning to their places once it had passed.

Before long, the conductor returned, followed by a middle-aged wizard in a gray travel coat.

"Take care, Mr. Dre," the conductor said cheerfully.

At that moment, with an ear-splitting screech, the bus came to a sudden halt, causing the beds to slide forward about a foot.

Mr. Dre wobbled as he disembarked. With a BANG, Stan slammed the doors shut, and with another deafening BANG, the bus reappeared on a rural road flanked by neatly arranged fields.

Amidst the continuous BANG BANG of teleportation, Harry and the silver-haired girl engaged in a lively conversation.

From bustling cities to remote countryside roads, from busy inland towns to quiet coastal villages.

At last, after the sun had fully set, with a final BANG, the bus arrived on a road nestled within a valley.

"Godric's Hollow, Mr. Harry Potter," came the conductor's cheerful voice in Harry's ear.

--

After the International Statute of Secrecy was enacted in 1689, wizards withdrew entirely into concealment. Naturally, they formed their own tight-knit communities within larger settlements. Many small villages attracted a handful of wizarding families, who then banded together for mutual support and protection.

Places such as Tinworth in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on England's southern coast became home to wizarding households, living discreetly among Muggles—some tolerant, others under the influence of Confundus Charms.

Among these semi-wizarding settlements, the most famous was arguably Godric's Hollow. This southwestern village was the birthplace of the great wizard Godric Gryffindor and the site where the goldsmith Bowman Wright forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard bore the names of ancient wizarding families, no doubt fueling centuries of ghost stories surrounding the little chapel.

— A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot

--

The Knight Bus halted beside a village square. Bidding farewell to the silver-haired witch, Harry disembarked with his luggage and Hedwig.

The village was sparsely populated. In the center of the square stood a war memorial, while around it were scattered a few shops, a post office, a pub, a small church, and its adjacent graveyard.

After asking a local for directions, Harry arrived at the doorstep of a three-story house.

Gazing at the home, meticulously restored by Dumbledore's magic, a surge of complex emotions welled up in Harry's chest.

Unlike the red-brick or stone-built houses around it, the one his parents had constructed was made of Muggle-style concrete, its pristine white walls smooth and unblemished. Large floor-to-ceiling windows ensured ample light in every room.

As he stepped through the overgrown yard, Harry distinctly felt a pulse of magic sweeping over him. But the moment he pulled out the key Dumbledore had given him, the magical presence vanished.

Inserting the key into the lock, he turned it with a crisp click, opening the off-white front door.

Inside, wooden furniture filled the space—wooden dining table, wooden chairs, wooden paneling. Apart from the appliances and sofa, nearly everything was made of wood, even the floor beneath his feet.

The house was impeccably clean, likely thanks to Dumbledore arranging for regular upkeep. It didn't carry the air of an abandoned home.

As Harry dragged his suitcase into the living room, a gentle voice drifted from upstairs.

"Lupin? Is it you cleaning again?"

Harry froze. Someone's living in my house?

Pulling out his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and cautiously crept upstairs.

Then, he saw it—a wall covered in portraits.

The upper rows had faded into ordinary paintings, having long lost the magic sustaining them. The lower ones mostly displayed empty chairs.

Except for one.

In the nearest portrait, an elderly woman in a long, intricately patterned gown sat, her lengthy white hair pinned up neatly. She craned her neck, peering out as if searching for someone.

"Lupin, is that you?" the woman asked.

Harry hesitated, then lifted the charm concealing him.

Upon seeing a black-haired, green-eyed young wizard materialize before her, the elderly woman started in surprise.

Then, her expression changed.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"Ha...rry... is that you?"

"It's me," Harry nodded.

"By Merlin, Harry, I finally get to see you!" The old woman in the portrait gazed at Harry with excitement. "Wait right there, Harry, I'll go fetch your grandfather!"

Harry stood in the second-floor hall, looking at the portraits covering the entire wall. The people in the paintings were looking back at him.

Before long, in the once-empty frame beside the old woman's portrait, an elderly man with a head full of white hair appeared, his face alight with excitement.

"Euphemia said James's son has returned. Is it true?!" The old man's eager gaze swept across the hall before finally settling on Harry. "Ah! Your features are the spitting image of James! Except for your eyes—you've got Lily's green eyes."

"May I ask... who are you?" Harry looked at the exuberant old man in the portrait. Based on his words, Harry had a guess, but it was still just a guess.

"I'm Fleamont Potter," the old man thumped his chest proudly. "James Potter's father. Your grandfather!"

"So, the lady who called you over just now is my... grandmother?" Harry glanced around at the wall full of portraits. "And all of these..."

"That's right, little Harry. The portraits here belong to the Potter family," the old man said, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Creating these special portraits is an expensive and time-consuming process. I bet there aren't many families in the entire wizarding world who have such a complete collection... Ah, Euphemia, you're back! Did you find my father and the others?"

"I asked Katherine to check at the Wizengamot. Father is usually there," the elderly woman from before reappeared beside Fleamont. The two sat together, their eyes filled with warmth as they looked at Harry.

Before long, more figures emerged from the previously empty portraits. Elderly men and women stepped out, some curiously examining Harry, others engaging in loud conversations across the frames.

Among them, one portrait stood out. The nameplate beneath it read:

Henry Potter

July 1, 1854 – February 19, 1947

Unlike the other portraits clad in wizarding robes, the man in this frame—who, by timeline, should be Harry's great-grandfather—wore his black-and-white hair slicked back, shining neatly. He sported a meticulously groomed mustache, round metal-framed glasses, and a bowler hat atop his head. He was dressed in a well-tailored black suit with a white waistcoat underneath, crisp trousers, and polished leather shoes that gleamed as if brand new. He held an intricately carved cane in one hand, and on his chest hung a peculiar grayish-white pendant on a chain.

It resembled a miniature sphinx—with the wings of a vulture and the body of a hyena. Upon its beastly, clawed form sat an enormous humanoid head, adorned with an ominous triple-tiered crown. The strangest thing was that the statue had no face.

"Curious about my pendant?" Henry Potter asked, noticing his great-grandson's fascinated gaze. He chuckled, lifting the pendant. "I found this at a roadside stall in Egypt. It was so unique that I bought it for ten silver Sickles. If you're interested, it should still be in the basement, inside that bronze wardrobe. It was moved from the old Potter manor after this house was rebuilt—James's friend brought it over. Only members of the Potter family can open it; it's a secret vault... If only James had had this wardrobe back then..." Henry trailed off, then sighed. "Well, there's no point dwelling on what's already happened."

After chatting with the Potter portraits for a while, Harry continued his exploration.

The first floor consisted of a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a guest room. The second floor, aside from the hall of portraits, housed his parents' bedroom, a study, and a second bathroom. The third floor contained the nursery where he had once slept as a baby, another guest room, and a large balcony. Standing on the balcony, he could take in the entire village with ease. The view was breathtakingly vast.

As for the basement, at first glance, it seemed like an ordinary storage space, cluttered with assorted furniture. In one corner stood a tall brass wardrobe, quietly waiting.

Harry placed his hand on the wardrobe door and cast an Identification Charm. But before he could examine the results, the door beneath his palm rippled like a surface of liquid. His hand passed straight through the now opaque, fluid-like door and touched the cold air beyond.

Feeling an immediate chill, Harry instinctively pulled his hand back. As soon as he did, the liquid surface solidified back into a brass door.

Realizing that this wardrobe was far from ordinary, Harry decided to check the results of his spell.

--

Brass Wardrobe

Rarity: Extraordinary

Bloodline Key: Contains a hidden chamber that only a descendant of the Peverell family can unlock. To outsiders, it appears to be nothing more than an aged brass wardrobe.

Indestructible: Nearly impossible to destroy. If necessary, it could serve as a shield—if you have the strength to lift it.

This ancient wardrobe, crafted by Ignotus Peverell, has been passed down for 757 years, waiting silently for the next Peverell heir.

"Hmm? Not the Potter family, but the Peverell family?" Harry frowned at the information. "Who exactly are the Peverells?"

Still, since his ancestors' portraits had assured him that the wardrobe was safe, his initial wariness eased. Extending his hand, he activated the magic on the wardrobe door and stepped through the liquid-like surface.

On the other side, he found himself in complete darkness.

Harry tapped his clothes lightly, casting a Lumos Maxima charm.

Soft light illuminated a six-meter radius around him, revealing his surroundings. As he took in the sight, he immediately understood why his hand had felt so cold earlier—

He was standing inside an ice cave.

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