Harry awoke with a start, his senses overwhelmed by an expanse of blue—blue, and... fish?

Water. He was underwater.

Without the need for words, Harry activated the Bubble-Head Charm, inhaling deeply to steady himself before pushing upwards with his legs, intent on reaching the surface.

But something was terribly amiss. His arms—his hands—were nowhere to be seen. In their place were hooves, encased in some strange, unfamiliar flesh.

Ignore the hooves for now, he thought, gritting his teeth. Get to the surface, find solid ground, and only then may you panic.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he kicked his legs harder, propelled upwards by some strange instinct. Thanks to the charm, he was able to swim without difficulty, and within moments, his head broke the surface of the water.

The blue sky stretched overhead, flecked with wispy clouds, and Harry could make out the outline of land in the distance—a thick, green mass that could only be a forest.

But he was not quite ready to celebrate. Looking down, he was reminded once again of his hooves. Frowning, he tried to concentrate, gathering his magic, hoping against hope that the arcane force would respond as it once had. To his astonishment, it did.

With no small amount of effort, Harry managed to push himself upright, as if pulling himself from the edge of a swimming pool. The process was slow but steady, and after some struggle, he was kneeling on solid ground. He tried standing and took a step—but promptly toppled forward, landing face-first back in the water.

A few more attempts, and Harry found himself sitting on the shore, water dripping from his now fur-covered body. Fur the colour of midnight black, followed by hooves. He glared at his reflection, seeing not his familiar face, but that of a creature—horse-like, but distinctly not human. A black mane streaked with white framed his face, and his sharp, green eyes glinted with a feline-like intensity.

Oh, and the fangs. He could see them now, prominent and sharp.

A long spiral horn protruded from his forehead, gleaming faintly in the light.

In an exasperated huff, Harry felt his wings twitch—wings?—and turned to see a pair of bat-like wings folded against his back.

What in Merlin's name...?

But despite the ridiculousness of it all, Harry had one goal: Get to shore. Then you can collapse, tear your hair out, and curse everything in sight.

Thus began the painfully awkward process of learning to walk on four legs. And not just on land—on water, no less, floating out in the open sea.

It was a long, grueling ordeal, taking several hours until, at last, with the sun sinking low in the sky, Harry made it to dry land, weary but unscathed.

A quick drying charm, followed by a brief spell of self-pity and a torrent of curses—both for Voldemort and the fates that had cursed him—allowed Harry to take stock. He needed shelter, and quickly.

It was only thanks to Mad-Eye Moody’s relentless insistence that Harry had memorised so many survival tips—both magical and mundane—that he was able to move forward, albeit in a state of utter disbelief.

And, it seemed, his tail had developed a mind of its own—waving irritably behind him.

A deep sigh escaped him as he trudged onward, the unfamiliar weight of his new form throwing him off balance as he stumbled over roots and stones.

He continued moving inland, hoping to find a place to rest. It wasn’t long before he spotted a river, and recalling the old wisdom of Moody, Harry decided to follow it. As the grizzled Auror used to say: “Where there’s water, there are people. And where there are people, there’s civilisation.”

Or perhaps a tribe, Harry mused dryly.

True to his Gryffindor nature, he broke into a brisk jog along the riverbank, determined to get accustomed to his new form.

The forest was thick and wild, but Harry pressed on, foraging for food. He ate wild berries, mushrooms he recognised as safe, and even caught fish—using a rather inventive application of magic. "Accio edible fish," he muttered, and several plump specimens flew obligingly towards him.

It was then that Harry realised something rather curious: he didn’t need a wand to perform magic. His horn was now his wand.

An intriguing, if somewhat unsettling, discovery. It would have to wait, though. More pressing matters demanded his attention.

More remarkable, however, was the newfound flexibility of his front limbs. Though they were clearly equine in form, their range of motion was far more human than he’d expected—almost as if they could function like arms.

Before he could dwell on that too long, a sudden, familiar impulse seized him. The Seeker within demanded he learn to use his wings. Harry agreed, if only for the thrill of it. He scaled a nearby tree and, with the sort of reckless abandon that had always defined him, launched himself into the air.

He did not fly—not yet, at least—but he managed to glide for a short distance, easing his descent with an agility he had never expected. Falling to his death, it seemed, was no longer a worry.

As the day wore on, Harry’s new body proved itself remarkably resilient. In one of his earlier, ill-advised experiments, he had fallen face-first into a rock. To his amazement, the rock had shattered, not him.

Later, after some reflection, Harry extended a hoof and closed his eyes, willing the items he so desperately needed to appear before him. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, with a rush of magic, two familiar objects appeared at his hooves.

The Deathly Hallows. The Cloak of Invisibility and the Sword of Gryffindor.

His breath caught in his throat. He had not expected to see them here. Not like this.

Without hesitation, Harry draped the cloak over his shoulders, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort of the ancient artefact. To his surprise, it did not vanish from sight as it once had. Instead, it simply acted as a beautifully crafted silver hood. A disappointment, to be sure, but as he focused, he managed to activate its magic with a pulse of power. The cloak disappeared from sight.

Well, that’s something, Harry thought, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

Next, he turned his attention to the sword. After a brief moment of contemplation, he transfigured a nearby rock into a sheath, cast a simple anti-edge charm on the sword, and placed it within. Securing it to his side, he was careful to hide it beneath the cloak, though his heart swelled at the sight of the familiar blade.

A few quick spells ensured that his campsite would remain undisturbed by any pests, and Harry lit a fire with the Bluebell Flames.

The soft, purple glow of the flames brought a sense of nostalgia—memories of times long gone. Of Ron and Hermione, of Hagrid and the twins. Of simpler days, when his biggest concerns had been homework and Quidditch matches.

With a sigh, Harry allowed his thoughts to drift as the fire crackled. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to confront the enormity of his situation. But for now, he allowed himself to sleep, marking the end of his first week in this strange new world.

Elsewhere, in a distant kingdom, a midnight-coloured mare stood, gazing down at the land with emerald eyes full of surprise and quiet contemplation.

It seems my sister was right... Even after a thousand years, someone still remembers me.

Not as the princess, nor the tyrant she had once been, but as a guide. A protector.

She closed her eyes and allowed her magic to surge from her horn.

May you rest beneath my light, weary traveller. May your nightmares be few, and your rest peaceful.

With that, she smiled, knowing that, for the first time in millennia, someone—someone still needed her in this realm.

Spell Translation: “Rise up, edible fish.”

Author's Note

Once I get matched with my main accounts most of my chapters will be short although most will be over 1,000 words.
I just have a hard time working with long chapters.