The last sound Alex Miler ever heard was the terrifying, hydraulic hiss of an eighteen-wheeler's brakes failing, immediately followed by the sickening crunch of metal and the splash of spilled, scalding-hot coffee. He had been rushing to a Monday morning meeting, running late, mind preoccupied with spreadsheets and the nagging guilt over forgetting his mother's birthday. It was a profoundly ordinary, tragically swift end.
Then came the white. Not the blinding, painful white of a hospital, but an infinite, ambient luminescence that seemed to exist inside his consciousness rather than outside it. He didn't have a body, yet he was aware of existing. He was a disembodied thought, floating in a cosmic void, until he found himself settled, somehow, in a comfortable, albeit ethereal, chair.
Across from him sat the being. Not a booming voice from the clouds, nor a stern, bearded judge. Instead, it was a relatively average-looking entity wearing what Alex could only describe as a robe tailored from a constantly shifting nebula. The sleeves ended in wisps of starlight, and the collar was a soft halo of gamma rays. He radiated immense power, but also immense, palpable awkwardness.
"My sincerest apologies, Mr. Miler," the figure said, his voice a gentle, bass rumble that somehow echoed inside Alex's non-existent ears. He scratched his beard, which was currently composed of delicate silver strands. "A monumental administrative error. Truly embarrassing, and I assure you, heads will roll in the Celestial Bureaucracy, starting with the Archangel of Filing. Specifically, the file 'Miler, Alex, Earth-508' was accidentally cross-referenced with the 'Impending Fatal Bus Collision' timeline for Earth-509. It was entirely my fault. I signed the form without double-checking the universal coordinates."
Alex's consciousness, still reeling from the sudden non-existence, processed this information slowly. "You mean... you killed me by accident? Because of a typo?"
The being, who Alex now knew must be God (with a capital G and apparently a terrible records keeper), winced. "In essence, yes. I mistook your dimension for a neighboring one where you were scheduled for a mild paper cut, not... terminal vehicular impact. Standard protocol for an untimely demise caused by Divine Mismanagement and believe me, it happens more than you'd think is Reincarnation. A clean slate, of course, and a few small boons to ensure you not only survive but thrive in your new setting. Think of it as hazard pay, plus a generous relocation bonus."
Alex felt a flicker of the pragmatic, problem-solving mindset that had defined his life before the truck. If he was getting a second chance, he wasn't going to waste it on being furious at a cosmic bureaucrat.
"Okay," Alex said, his voice now a mere mental projection. "A new life. My choice of world?"
"Indeed! We have fantasy, sci-fi, historical, even several high-stakes, hyper-realistic kitchen drama worlds. What are you looking for?" God asked, pulling up a holographic list of alternate realities that spanned the width of the cosmos.
Alex didn't need to look at the list. His mind went instantly to the world that had provided his greatest escape during college finals and stressful jobs. "Harry Potter," he stated, a thrill of pure fan excitement running through his spectral form. "I choose the Wizarding World."
"Excellent choice," God mused, tapping a celestial tablet that looked suspiciously like a giant, gold-plated iPad. "A bit chaotic, prone to dark lords and questionable plumbing, but ultimately rewarding. Though," he paused, his nebula-robe rippling slightly, "due to... persistent issues with student maturity and curriculum integration, the local magical governance in your target timeline made a small adjustment a few decades back.
Hogwarts now accepts students at the age of fifteen. It just makes more sense. Fewer children turning their peers into ferrets, more focus on NEWTs. You'll be dropping into a slightly older world, developmentally."
"Fifteen? Perfect," Alex agreed. "More time to prepare, less time being a liability."
"Precisely! Now, for the boons. I've prepared a little something special for a case of this magnitude a double-redundancy, triple-A insurance policy on your life, essentially."
With a dramatic flourish, a shimmering, ten-foot-tall Roulette Wheel of Gifts materialized between them, spinning slowly, emitting a gentle humm of cosmic energy. It looked like an old carnival game, only instead of prizes like stuffed bears, the wedges were labeled with impossibly powerful traits.
"You get two spins, Mr. Miler. One for your inherent talent, which will shape your core potential, and one for a specific, unique gift, which will define your special edge," God explained, handing Alex a glowing, golden ticket. "Your turn. Give it a whirl!"
Alex felt a childlike glee replace his earlier existential anxiety. He reached out and pushed the massive wheel with all the force his spirit could muster for the first spin. The wheel roared to life, the names flashing past at incomprehensible speeds: Perfect Memory... Unbreakable Body... Innate Elemental Mastery...
It slowed... the clicks becoming agonizingly deliberate. It paused... almost settling on Unwavering Charisma. Then, with a final, hesitant thunk, the needle clicked to a stop on a massive wedge colored deep, vibrant violet, labeled in runes that seemed to burn with power.
> Result 1: EX-Level Innate Magical Talent
>
"Ooh, an EX-Level," God whistled, beaming like a proud father. "That's above even the 'Once-in-a-Century Genius' tier. You won't just learn magic; you will instinctively understand the fundamental laws of the universe magic is based upon. You'll grasp wand movements and incantations before the instructor finishes the explanation. A brilliant foundation, Mr. Miler. Pure, raw aptitude."
"Nice," Alex breathed, feeling a satisfying glow settle over his essence. This was the "slow-burn" beginning—the innate potential was there, but he'd still have to figure out how to use it.
The second spin was for the unique gift. This one, Alex knew, needed to be something tactical, something that complemented raw talent. He spun the wheel again, a little more aggressively this time. The wheel turned, offering titles like Metamorphmagus Ability... Mind Palace Mastery... Invisibility Cloak Permanently Attached...
It finally clattered to a stop.
> Result 2: Dragon Tongue (Ability to understand, speak, and utilize the inherent magic of the Draconic Language)
>
God stared at the result, then back at Alex, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "Wow. That is... rare. I haven't seen that land in millennia. It's an ancient linguistic weapon, Mr. Miler. The primal language of creation, or at least, a very powerful subset of it. Every spoken word is a miniature spell; every sentence, a powerful enchantment. It's essentially a shortcut to raw, shouting power, bypassing the often convoluted rules of standard Wizarding magic. Talent and Power combined. You lucked out, Alex."
Alex felt a sense of purpose solidify. He wasn't just going to survive the Harry Potter universe; he was going to dominate it, not by being evil or manipulative, but by simply being overwhelmingly, inherently better at magic.
"Now for the setting," God continued, snapping his fingers. A three-dimensional hologram of the Earth appeared, zooming in on London. "We need a family for you. Since you are starting later, you need a stable environment. I'm thinking... a wealthy, non-magical family. Lots of resources, no prior magical exposure. It's the perfect cover."
"Sounds good," Alex agreed. "A rich Muggle family with no idea what's coming."
"Done. You will be born Marcus Aurelius Vance, the only son of a global tech billionaire and a former supermodel. You'll have all the wealth and lack of supervision a developing wizard needs. You'll think they're silly, they'll think you're a genius. Everyone wins." God smiled, a light radiating from his face that made the universe feel warm and slightly less terrifying. "Now, Alex or rather, Marcus it's time for you to go. Live well. And again, my deepest apologies for the truck."
With a final, polite nod, God waved his hand. The white space collapsed, replaced by a sudden, intense pressure, and the distant, muffled sound of a very human, very panicked voice shouting, "Push! You're doing great, darling! Push!" Alex Miler, the thought, was gone, replaced by a screaming baby with a very powerful destiny. The slice of life had begun.
(Word Count: 1335)