The Brown family tree

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'There is no doubt about where I am,' I thought, staring at the wand resting on my bedside table.

"This is obviously the world of Harry Potter, and I am a wizard."

'I can practically hear Hagrid saying, "Yer a wizard, Harry," in my head.'

'Now, assuming I haven't gone completely mental, that means my T-shirt somehow sucked me into a swirling whirlpool of dark mist, I got struck by lightning, and now I've woken up as Benedict Brown in the Wizarding World.'

"What kind of absurd nonsense is this?"

'I don't recall a character named Benedict Brown. The only Brown I know is Lavender Brown, and as far as I can tell, she doesn't exist in this world—at least, not in the way I remember.'

"Ughh, what a bloody mess."

'I barely even know anything about Lavender Brown. All I remember is that she was the girliest girl in the series—a stereotypical teenage girl who dated Ron Weasley and called him Won-Won.'

"It's the 25th of August, 1991, and I'm eleven years old. I'll be going to Hogwarts in a week."

'If there's no Lavender Brown, that means I've taken her place. This world must be different from the one I know.'

"This is not good," I muttered, rubbing my temples.

'From what I remember, Lavender Brown's fate in the books was... inconclusive at best. In the movies, she straight-up got mauled to death by a werewolf. Not to mention, she was randomly race-swapped between films.'

"What a load of bollocks," I grumbled, glancing at the mirror. A pale-skinned, brown-haired boy stared back at me.

He looked eerily similar to the Lavender Brown from the Half-Blood Prince movie. Turns out, having 'Brown' in the name doesn't mean you have brown skin—and honestly, it would've been a bit on the nose if it did. Imagine if Sirius Black was actually a Black man who got imprisoned without a trial. Now that would be tragically ironic.

"Ahh, I'm wiped. Might as well lie down for a bit," I muttered, collapsing onto my pillow.

'Benedict doesn't seem to have been the sharpest tool in the shed. All he—or now I—seemed to care about was Quidditch and lounging around with his mates.'

There wasn't much in my memories about the Brown family history. What I did know was about my Uncle Arthur—his bravery, his sacrifice. He was only eighteen when he died, killed in the First Wizarding War while protecting a Muggle family. Just four months after joining the Auror recruitment.

'My father must've loved his little brother dearly.'

Nigel Brown spoke about Arthur often. His death had clearly left a mark—one that made my father paranoid about my safety. I wasn't even allowed to sleep over at friends' houses. I had never even touched a broom. Maybe that's why I was so obsessed with Quidditch—forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter.

'So, an overprotective father instead of an overprotective mother in this life, huh?' I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

--

In the evening, after cleaning up the attic, I still got an earful from my father about how dangerous magic could be and how I should be careful using it. To top it off, he confiscated my wand until I left for school—even though the poor thing had done absolutely nothing wrong.

My father, Nigel Brown, was a slender man, about 5'11'' in height. His figure didn't exactly inspire confidence, but his voice carried genuine concern for my safety.

"How am I supposed to learn if I don't practice and make mistakes?" I argued.

"You'll do plenty of wand-waving at Hogwarts," he shot back.

'Some things never change, huh?' I thought bitterly. 'Reminds me of when my laptop got confiscated for playing games instead of studying.'

After sulking for a bit, I made my way toward the basement. If there was any information on the Brown family history, I'd probably find it down there.

The cold, dimly lit basement wasn't exactly inviting, but I started rummaging through the old storage boxes anyway. Most of them were filled with useless junk—faded robes, broken potion bottles, and a disturbingly large collection of Hogwarts: A History editions.

There were a few covered portraits stacked against the wall. I pulled the sheet off one, only for the painted wizard inside to snore loudly, mumbling something about a "sure bet on the Hippogriff races." Another portrait, slurring his words, challenged me to a horse race before promptly passing out.

'Well, that explains why they were covered up.' I sighed, tossing the sheets back over them.

But then, something caught my eye—a wall hidden behind all the clutter. On it, a massive tree stretched its branches, each inscribed with names in shimmering gold.

"A literal family tree," I murmured.

My name—or my parents' names—weren't on it. Clearly, it hadn't been updated in a while. I did spot a "Benedicte" among the branches, but it wasn't me. That much was obvious from the sheer number of names branching off from it.

'This is enough to go on for now. I can question Mum and Dad about it later.'

As I headed back upstairs, I couldn't shake a nagging thought.

Calling them Mum and Dad felt... weird. Was I really their son? Or was I just an imposter—someone who had hijacked Benedict's body, leaving the real him to rot in the afterlife?

Not that it really mattered. I hadn't asked to be reincarnated here, but now that I was, I had to make the best of it.

Benedict was gone. If there was no reincarnation in this world, then his soul was with Death herself. And if my theory was right, then she was the one who pulled me here.

Why?

No idea. She didn't exactly leave me a memo.

Maybe I'd find out someday.

For now, though, I had bigger things to worry about.

Like surviving Hogwarts.

And not getting mauled by a werewolf.

---

A/N: Who are your favourite Harry Potter characters? Comment down below.