Elliot Reeves had a gift.
Not a useful one like cooking or tax evasion. No, his gift was attracting what should be a statistically impossible amount of trouble. Like the time he accidentally joined a yoga cult, or the time he got hit by lightning while indoors.
But even Elliot wasn't prepared for the day a duck ended his life.
It all started when he tried to return a cursed toaster.
"Listen, I don't want to file a formal complaint," Elliot said, standing in the middle of a pawn shop called Granny Hex's Bargain Basement, holding a toaster that had just screamed at him in Latin. "But I think this thing summoned the ghost of a Roman centurion into my neighbour's Roomba."
He never saw the duck.
It entered from the skylight, honking with divine fury, wielding a steak knife like a javelin.
The rest was a blur of feathers, flailing, and a very confused paramedic saying "Did he just say 'delete my search history and burn my computer?'"
Then it all went black.
Somewhere Between Dimensions
A warm light.
Elliot blinked.
...
"Am I dead?"
A booming voice echoed through the glowing void.
"Congratulations. You have died in the stupidest way possible in all of the multiverse."
Confused, Elliot asked "Who are you?"
"They call me God, and you have done something that not even I could have predicted"
"Thanks?"
"As such, you have earned... A CHANCE AT REINCARNATION!"
The light pulsed dramatically.
Elliot squinted. "Wait what?"
"And what's more, you will get to have 1 Million 'Luck Points'"
"What are you talking about, oh great mysterious being?"
"LUCK! It's a metaphysical stat. Think of it like... destiny insurance. Whatever world you go to next, it will bend around your favour—unlikely escapes, convenient coincidences, mild narrative immunity."
"That sounds ridiculously overpowered. What's the catch?"
"There isn't one!"
"Right..."
"SHUT UP! Anyway, you're being reincarnated into a magical world full of danger, dragons, and—uh oh."
"What do you mean 'uh oh?'"
"You have been chosen to be born as a very famous boy. Like, the famous-est. You're gonna have a cool scar and everything."
"Wait, hold on—"
"Good luck!"
And just as a beam of celestial light whooshed Elliot away into his new life, he heard, "By the way, your name is now Harry Potter."
Godric's Hollow, Halloween Night, 1981
A baby cried.
A dark wizard screamed.
And then silence.
Harry James Potter, now host to a forgotten soul with 1,000,000 Luck, survived the worst dark lord of modern history because fate itself said, "Not today, Voldywart."
10 Years Later
"Freak! Hurry up and make breakfast, you lazy bum!"
Harry Potter (formerly Elliot) sat up in the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, his hair a mess, his glasses taped at the bridge, and his thoughts as empty as a Ministry suggestion box.
Something felt off.
He often had weird dreams. Sometimes about ducks, sometimes about talking toasters, sometimes about... being lucky?
He didn't know. He couldn't remember.
You see, shortly after being reincarnated, baby Harry had fallen off the Dursleys' kitchen counter when Petunia wasn't looking. It wasn't a bad fall—barely a bump—but it scrambled his spiritual memory like a bad virus on a USB drive.
So now, Harry Potter had no idea he was practically luck personified.
But the universe remembered.
Which is why:
He never got seriously hurt despite Dudley's best attempts.
Every time Aunt Petunia tried to cut his hair, it grew back overnight.
And why he once found a five-pound note in a spider's web, just when he needed it.
Harry, however, being as smooth brained as he is, remained blissfully unaware. He just thought life was... odd.
He had a dry sense of humour, a stubborn streak, and a reflexive distrust of ducks and the like he couldn't quite explain.
As he walked into the kitchen that morning, Dudley threw a soggy bit of toast at his head.
It somehow bounced off the air and hit Vernon squarely in the face.
Harry blinked.
He was used to this; weird things kept happening to him.
One time, when D.udley's 'gang' was chasing him, they all somehow got into a freak accident where they got their legs stuck in cement and bird poop on their heads.
From then on, Harry was known as the freak.