Harry Potter: A Typical Man(SI OC)

I stared down at the letter again, even though I'd already read it.

I let out a slow breath and set the letter down on the clean oak desk in my room. It was still dark outside—hours before sunrise—but I hadn't slept since I left Daphne's room.

She had clung to me like she never wanted to let go. The ring I gave her was more than a token. It was a promise. One I had no intention of breaking.

I double-checked everything laid out on the bed.

Zaergrim, my mythical wand, hummed faintly with its own brand of sentience, attuned to my magic and my will.

Then came the serious gear. The tools I used in the two years before Hogwarts when I was an assassin:

A fully customized and tactically modified HK 437 assault rifle.

A custom-built Mossberg 500 shotgun, reinforced for durability and fast-action reloading.

Two heavily modified Desert Eagles—a black one with recoil suppressor and a white one with dual mode settings for armor-piercing and magic-coated rounds.

A fully customized M24 sniper rifle, long-range scope tuned to magically enhanced clarity.

Every bullet, every blade had been coated with obsidian—preparation for the Game of Thrones world, where White Walkers would laugh at conventional lead.

And last, my ace in close quarters: a hidden blade forged from 1095 high-carbon steel mixed with titanium. Thunder and poison runes were engraved into the steel by my own hand. The result? A whisper-quiet killer that stunned and infected at the same time.

I stored them inside the rune in my body.

My clothes were ready too. Reinforced magically with protective runes, tailored to look inconspicuous in modern America. Cargo jeans, black combat boots, and a fitted jacket over a plain shirt. I also transfigured a rock into a fine leather bag—inside, 250,000 USD I'd taken out of my storage rune.

Finally, I picked up the letter, clicked the quill, and signed my name: Jon Bonds.

The world blinked.

White. Endless, humming white. A room that had no edges, no ceiling, no corners. Just an expanse of smooth marble-like surface beneath my feet.

A figure waited for me, dressed in a clean black suit that looked like it belonged to some celestial government agent. Tall, elegant, with silver-blonde hair braided down her back. Her eyes glowed faintly blue. She smiled with an air of practiced professionalism.

"Welcome, Jon Bonds," she said. "My name is Freyja. I'm your liaison from the Department of After Life Management."

"You're the one who sent the letter?"

She nodded. "Correct. Thank you for accepting the missions."

"I don't do this for free," I said, stepping forward. "Let's hear it."

"Of course. As outlined in your briefing, your first world is 'Twilight.' You'll be sent to 6th September 2011. That's five days before the birth of Renesmee Cullen."

"And the target?"

"Helena Thorne. Vampire. Allied with the Volturi under the guise of an advisor. But her true objective is global domination."

"And she's… another reincarnated soul."

"Yes. Her template card is based on Hermione Granger—raw magical ability on par with the greatest witches of your origin world."

I didn't even flinch.

"Noted."

Freyja handed me a thin file. I flipped it open. Photos, old parchment sketches, timelines, and details of her planned attack: December 8, 2012—the same day as the Breaking Dawn Part 2 battle.

"You have fifteen months to prepare," she said. "You may interact with the world, train allies, and gather intelligence. However, no major interference with world balance."

"Got it."

"You will receive your reward after completing each mission. You're also allowed to take anything from the worlds you visit—as long as it doesn't break balance."

"Fine. I've got one request."

She arched a brow. "Go on."

"Make me twenty-one. Chronologically. Physically. I'll revert back to thirteen when I return to my original world."

Freyja smiled slightly. "Approved."

I nodded. "Drop me near a car dealership. I'll make my own way to Forks."

"Very well. Good luck, Jon Bonds. And remember: when your mission is complete, say my name three times and I will send you to your next destination or you can spin the wheel of first and don't worry you just have to think about the time and place about where you want to appear in GOT universe and You will be sent there."

"Like a magical interdimensional Beetlejuice."

Freyja actually chuckled. "Something like that."

She raised her hand.

Light swallowed me.

I arrived in this world on the sixth of September, 2011, stepping out of a rippling fold of dimensional magic onto the damp asphalt of a side street in Seattle. The clouds above were as brooding as ever in the Pacific Northwest, a dull gray veil cast over a city buzzing with a level of life and technology I hadn't experienced in… well, ever.

After months cloaked in Hogwarts robes, medieval customs, and spell-lit hallways, this new world was blinding. Cars. Phones. Electric coffee machines. Glowing billboards with vampires on them—which felt painfully ironic, considering my mission.

I had five days until Renesmee Cullen was born. Five days before this world went full soap opera with fangs. Five days before my real work began.

But first, I needed wheels.

[Location: Prestige Motors Seattle | Time: 1:22 PM]

The dealership practically oozed smug wealth—glass walls, polished tile floors, salesmen whose hair gel cost more than an average wand.

I stepped in looking like a weirdly intense exchange student who'd just stepped out of a stormcloud—black Ravenclaw hoodie, jeans, slightly scuffed boots. I might as well have walked in with a sign that said "Do not take seriously."

Sure enough, I didn't make it ten feet before the wolves of capitalism descended.

"Hey, uh—welcome to Prestige Motors," said Chad—or Brad, or Tad. He was all teeth and fake tan. "Can I help you find the used section, or are you just here to—y'know—look around?"

I deadpanned. "I'm here for the GT-R R35. Gunmetal grey. Black leather interior. I want the twin turbo kit, tuned suspension, titanium exhaust, and I want the underbody plated with reinforced steel."

Chad blinked. "I… uh…" he glanced at my hoodie. "Right. Well, that's a very… ambitious car. Maybe we start with something a bit more… achievable?"

Without a word, I reached down and lifted the leather duffel I had slung over my shoulder—dark brown, well-worn, but freshly transfigured from a river stone I'd picked up just a block away. Simple, solid, and real. Inside? A quarter of a million dollars in clean U.S. bills, withdrawn from my storage rune earlier that morning.

I unzipped it just enough to let the bricks of cash glint in the fluorescent light.

Chad blinked. Then blinked again. "Oh."

I added casually, "All mods included. I want it ready in three hours."

Silence.

Then chaos.

Suddenly, Chad was sweating. Another salesman materialized like he'd been summoned by a dollar-scented summoning charm. "Sir! Of course, sir. Please, this way—private showroom, mineral water? Pellegrino? Tap? Evian? Sparkling? Flat? Blessed by monks?"

"Still water's fine," I said, amused.

"We'll bring the car around, have our top technician work on it. Full tuning. No charge for labor."

I smirked. "There's always a charge. The question is who pays it."

Brad—maybe Chad—laughed nervously.

[3 hours later – Showroom Bay]

I stood before my Godzilla. The 2012 GT-R gleamed like a predator waiting to pounce. Sleek curves. Cold silver paint. The twin-turbo under the hood purred like a charmed beast.

I climbed in, ran my fingers over the wheel, and whispered a quiet enchantment that would link the car to my magical essence.

The moment I turned the key, the engine snarled to life like it liked me.

And that's when I felt it.

The pull.

A slow, invisible thread yanked at my chest. No. Not my chest. My soul.

I gritted my teeth.

"Of course," I muttered. "Mate bond."

The closer I drove toward Forks, the stronger it grew. An itch beneath my skin. A voice I couldn't hear but somehow felt. Somewhere out there… was someone.

A soulmate.

But I didn't give a damn.

This wasn't a bloody anime.

I wasn't some overpowered teen protagonist with seven girls and a harem beach episode. I had already made my choice.

I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the photo.

Daphne Greengrass.

We had taken it the night before I left. Her eyes were glowing in the flash, that rare full smile breaking her usual calm mask. Her hair had been tied up in a bun, and I'd slipped my arm around her waist just before the timer clicked.

I kissed the photo gently.

"No matter what this world throws at me," I whispered to the picture, "I'll always be yours. And only yours."

The mate bond tugged again. Stronger. Closer. I could feel it practically screaming now. It wasn't a human. No—no heartbeat. Cold. Vampire.

And probably one of the Cullens, still single in this timeline.

"Too bad," I said with a smirk. "You're not getting this Bond."

I stuffed the mate bond into a metaphorical box, padlocked it, and shoved it to the back of my mind like an annoying mosquito.

Let fate cry about it.

[Current Time: 6:40 PM | Highway 101, Forks Bound]

The GT-R screamed down the winding roads, forest trees blurring past like the streaks of war. I tuned out the radio. I tuned out the pull.

Only one mission mattered now.

Kill Helena Throne.

A witch like me. A reincarnated soul. Except she wanted dominion. Power. Worship.

She had Hermione's raw magical strength. But she didn't have me.

I wasn't intimidated. Just… irritated.

Man like really what can Hermione Granger do in front of a person who trained with 2 dark lords, Dumbledore and Merlin himself with a animagi form that is a guardian wolf which is at least 10 times faster than a regular vampire even if I am not mentioning about my other skills.

Still, I'd play it smart.

Phase 1: Help the Cullens. Deliver the child.

Phase 2: Empower the wolves. Reinforce their bodies. Train them.

Phase 3: Slay the witch. And make sure the world didn't burn.

I would save this world, enjoy my ride, finish my missions, and return to Daphne.

No distractions.

No mate bond drama.

No fate's manipulative tricks.

I am Jon Bonds.

And I already belonged to someone.