Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter One: Oh, Come On!

She remembered being tired and having a headache.

For good reason.

She was taking a full class load at college, as well as working as a caregiver at a memory care facility - and she wasn’t as young as she used to be.

Having to ride the bus across town after class - which could take anywhere from an hour to more than two depending on how well she timed her transfers or if she missed a bus and had to wait for the next one - only added to the bone-deep weariness that came over her some days.

So though she liked to avoid it because it could make her motionsick at times, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the fogged-over glass of the transit’s window.

And that was all she remembered, until she woke up in a different place altogether.

[Welcome, Host, to the System!]  

Along with the soft blue rectangular screen that popped up in the blackness before where she found herself hunched in like the most annoying ad ever, a bubbly female voice seemed to read out the screen's message.

She couldn’t see anything beyond the darkness, it was nearly complete.

But she could feel that she wasn’t on the bus any longer, and that her body was hunched and packed into wherever - whenever - she was.

[Because of your experience in twisting fate combined with your reputation for creativity as well as kindness, you’ve been given the newest version of the System to help you adjust to your new life! In return, you will help with keeping Harry Potter Splinter Universe 52669936 from creating additional divergent worlds!] 

She didn’t know whether to be appalled - she was going to have to do this shit all over again? Or feel cheated.  Where was the promise of rest for fuck’s sake!  (The grief that threatened to overwhelm her, the resentment for not being allowed to rest - she shoved those aside.  They wouldn’t help her now.)

The system ignored her choking coughs of surprise.  And just kept going.

[Please help create your preferred life! ヾ(＠^∇^＠)ノ ]

Then before she could do anything, a screen popped up to display what looked like a character page for DnD.

Only parts of it were already filled in - the Name most significantly.

Name: [Henry “Harry” James Potter]

Age: [8 years, 6 months, 17 days, 8 hours, 13 minutes]

Gender: [Male]

She didn’t realize it, but in that moment - where she realized just how fucked over she’d been - but she screamed and passed out.

Or whatever approximation of ‘passing out’ she could manage when she wasn’t fully awake or aware or really even alive yet.

She - and she was very much a fucking she - had been transmigrated.  Into a boy.   And not only that, but some A/U version of the Boy-Who-Fucking- Lived.

The irony was not lost on her.

An annoying chiming eventually roused her from her stupor or fugue or whatever one called it when one wasn’t quite alive yet due to having apparently died from an unknown cause - though she had a System, maybe it might know and be able to tell her? - but also not quite integrated into the, ah, empty shell that the System needed filled to keep a universe from spiraling into chaos and making additional splinter universes.

Maybe.

If she understood the problem correctly.

(Fuck if she knew.  Her fanfiction specialty was alternate universes and crossovers, but the main System fic that she remembered was Scum Villain.  And she’d never actually read many of those fics or the original material because whoo boy, did she have problems with a lot of the themes.)

She didn’t know how much time passed before she snapped out of it.

It could’ve been seconds or eons with how unrelenting the darkness was and no clock to check.

But eventually her sense of fuck it, this might as well happen, kicked in and she focused back on the glowing blue screen-like System and its information, actually managing to get beyond the fact that she’d be possessing - for all intents and purposes - the body of an eight year old Harry Potter.

Name: [Henry “Harry” James Potter]

Age: [8 years, 6 months, 17 days, 8 hours, 13 minutes]

Gender: [Male]

STR : 0 (+)

DEX : [16] (+)

CON : [18] (+)

INT : 0 (+)

WIS : 0 (+)

CHA : 0 (+)

Please drag and drop the following numbers:    12, 13, 14, 15

Okay.

So.

From putting her finger - soul-finger?  Mind-finger? Physical-finger? Who knew? (Not her.) - over the various bits and pieces, she discovered that anything in italic script she couldn’t “grab” or move.  Those were frozen and inviolate.

Damn it.

Which meant she had to deal with being a woman shoved into a prepubescent boy’s body instead of Rule 63-ing it.

Fuck.

There was also no altering his age or name.

Her age or name.

(What.  Just…  What.)

And given the baked-in character traits of the original Harry Potter, or however closely this a/u splinter version kept to the OG, she wasn’t all that surprised that his - her, fuck - stats for Dexterity and Constitution were the highest and she couldn’t change them out to use in Intelligence or Wisdom.

Harry Potter was an abused kid who avoided beatings by outrunning his cousin and his band of thugs.

He survived shit that should have killed him, even if just going off of the canon neglect and bullying.

His highest stats being Dexterity and Constitution made sense for a scrawny, scrappy one-step-from-street-kid.

She wasn’t that familiar with D&D, she’d never got into it, but she thought that based on a D20 die, then ten or eleven was the baseline average human.

Which meant either Harry was benefiting from a protagonist buff in some aspects, or she was getting a benefit as a transmigrator.

Either way, she wasn’t going to question it lest the System decide to nuke her stats and make her scrape for trait points (hey, she may not have played D&D but she was no stranger to video games: it could happen.)

Dragging and dropping the available points, she tilted her head a little as the System locked them in and then applied buffs.  Honestly, at this point she was just glad that she got at least a little say, because otherwise she had a feeling that Intelligence would get the lowest number left given Harry’s jock-like build in the OG material.

Weird.

Cool.

But weird.

STR : [12] (+1)

DEX : [16] (+3)

CON : [18] (+4)

INT : [15] (+2)

WIS : [14] (+2)

CHA : [13] (+1)

She’d always valued her mind and ability for insight, so she wasn’t about to make Intelligence and Wisdom her weakest traits.  Plus she knew that Strength was probably the easiest ability for her to build on, given that she was going to be dumped into the body of an athletic boy.  And while she’d always been able to spin a story, she’d never been a great liar, so making Charisma a bit on the weaker side was fine, even if Harry traditionally had a bit of a golden boy gift for gaining a following.

This was going to be her life now, and she was going to have to live it.

With that decided, she hit the [Next] button that locked in her new ability stats for her baseline Harry Potter build.

(What the fuck even was her life now?)

Across the “screen” that was her field of vision, two new attributes scrolled, both with the same “locked-in” script as Harry’s stats.  But ones that didn’t make sense for belonging to Harry - or at least, not entirely.  Buffs from her own life carrying over, maybe?

Perception (+4); Stealth (+2)

She’d survived a lot of shit both as a child and as an adult - and even when she wasn’t using it to keep herself safe, making others do a jump-scare because of how quietly she moved never really got old - but given that she’d, you know died, she wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t getting a buff on Survival.

Damn it.

As Harry Potter, there wasn’t much that would come in more handy than a Survival buff, for fuck’s sake.

The two skill-buffs faded out, ushering in the next line of locked-in text, which made her sort and roll her potentially-non existent eyes:

Race: <Magical Being>, Empathy (+5), Deception (+2)

Yeah, based on Harry Potter’s everything, and the wizarding world in general - that checks out.

Though she was curious that HP’s race was a ‘magical being’ and not specifically a wizard or human.

Maybe it was the gender-issue or the transmigration fucking things up?

Impossible to really know unless the System was willing to answer questions once they got to a resting point in this whole character-modification/creation montage, but she did kinda wanna know.

Hitting the [Next] button again, she saw another selection screen come up, but that one of the two “special abilities” that she saw she was allowed to choose had already been locked-in, as well as a “feat” being granted, even as the chirpy female-toned voice of the System prompted her to choose skills for the three empty skill slots.

Special Abilities: [Parselmouth], [One Skill Slot Remaining]

Feats: <Prophecy Child>, [Two Skill Slots Remaining]  

But…honestly.

What the fuck was she even supposed to choose?   And how?  Her video-game knowledge had not prepared her for this, anymore than her fandom knowledge had.

“Um…System?  Is there any way you can tell me what options there are for skills?”  She decided to ask, since the two lines of text just kept hovering there, waiting for her to make a decision.

[This System cannot.  Transmigrator 1397250 must make their own choices without This System interfering.]

She resolutely ignored the implication that number-tag for herself meant, both in a dehumanizing fashion - what the hell, they could snaffle up her fucking soul and shove in somewhere else, but they couldn’t use her name? - and in how often some strange power-that-be messed around with people’s souls as well.

Though it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

It wasn’t Chuck.

Ok, then.

Skills,  skills.

What did she know about video game logic, or transmigration stories, or manga/danmei and skills?

Well, she knew if you chose wrong at the beginning with creating your character and choosing their stats and skills that you could completely nerf yourself later on once enemies and/or situations got more difficult and complex.

So there was that with a heady dose of anxiety to go with it.

But these were special skills too, not just the regular or default skills that came with a Class choice or how ability stats were distributed.

She also noticed that she hadn’t been allowed to choose a class yet.

Maybe because of Harry’s age?

Since class was similar to profession and he was basically a blank slate at this point.

Anyway.  She knew from the other text blocks that’d gone by that she (as Harry, or whatever) already had skills in Deception, Empathy, and Parseltongue.

“System?”  She tried again.  “Can you tell me if a skill is viable before locking it into my build?”

There was a long pause, almost as if the System was checking with management (ah, and there was her time in retail showing, like the Millennial she was) then at last came a confirmation:

[That is within This System’s parameters.]

Alright, that was actually helpful, so if she was stuck with a System, at least it wasn’t a punitive one - thus far.

And given that this was a Harry Potter universe that the Powers-that-Be had tossed her into like so much plot-armor, she knew exactly what she wanted to start with:

“System, can you make me immune to controlling spells and potions?  Like the Imperious Curse?”

There was another long pause, then the System offered:

[This System’s skill catalog has available: <Hard Head, Harder Will> <<Passive Ability>> which would make User impervious to all artificial magical methods of control.]

“That.”  She agreed immediately, jumping on the option even as the skill’s name made her want to laugh at the video-gameness of it all.  That was very in tune with the sort of thing she would’ve seen available when playing Guild Wars back in the day.  She clicked on the skill description and dropped it next to the Prophecy Child feat, thinking that it was more aligned to protagonist-halo type nonsense than something like Parsel.  “I want that.”

Call her paranoid, but without knowing what kind of Harry Potter a/u she was getting into - other than it was one that ended up with Harry dead before he ever received his Letter - she wanted to avoid any nasty compulsion charms or influencing potions or whatever fuckery ethically bankrupt magical people might come up with.

And she thought it might make her immune to love potions as well with how the System described it, which - bonus!

If it didn’t, like all skills she could maybe train and rank it up until it could offer her that kind of protection, which was a benefit she wasn’t about to overlook given that how casually love potions were treated in Harry Potter was the sort of thing her nightmares were made of.

Okay, what else?

Well, she was going to be effectively stepping into the role of Harry Potter, so other than the issue with the Imperious Curse and associated spells and potions, what other issues might she run into because she was, well, her and not actually Harry Potter.

Which.

Wait.

She was remembering something about Scum Villain and it’s System issues….

“System, is there an Out-of-Character skill option?”

Because she did not want to have to act like a doormat to the Dursleys, or like an adoring fanboy towards Dumbledore, or what-have-you, if at all possible.

The System made a kind of sad, bum-bum-bahhh noise that wasn’t heartening.

[Out-of-Character is a special ability only available via points purchase for completing Quests and Side-Quests from the System Store, User.  This System is sorry.]

Fuck.

That meant that potentially everytime she wanted to act out of character for Harry Potter at his current development or OG character, she’d have to either find a way to justify it to the System as in character from a certain perspective or take a punishment - if she was allowed to do it at all.

“System, is there an improved luck skill?”  She asked, trying to think of ways around the out-of-character blockade.  If she played her cards right, and used her luck wisely, then she might manage to avoid the majority of out-of-character moments while she was building her points.

That was the plan, anyway, though whether it would actually work remained to be seen.

[Luck Skills available for User Selection: <Happy Go Lucky> <<Passive Ability>> 0.5% increased average good luck; <Fortuna’s Touch> <<Passive Ability>> 2% increased average good luck with 50% odds on passing good luck to others rather than it affecting the User; <Felix Felicis In Your Veins> <<Active Ability>> 10% increased good luck for 10 minute duration, 10 day cool down; <What is Life without a Little Risk?> <<Active Ability>> 50% increased luck for 5 hours, with 50/50 odds on whether good or bad, 15 day cool down.]

She narrowed her eyes, studying all the options with care.  They all had their positives and negatives.  Mainly that the “better” initial luck skills came with a potential backlash whether in passing it to someone else - and that someone else wasn’t guaranteed to be benign let alone friendly - or actual streak of bad luck.

She hovered her hand over one of them to double check something, then nodded.  The usefulness increased with leveling them across the board, and eventually the negatives could become less severe along with having the cool-downs reduced.  But it was still a risk whichever she chose, if she went with the risk-reward options over the more benign but less powerful ones.

But she had one thing on her side: magic.

As Harry Potter, a lot of issues could probably be avoided without fancy skills or abilities.

Though before she made her decision, there was one skill that she could really fucking use to help her beat the odds on surviving as Harry Potter.

And it was one that she knew of no way to replicate with magic.

“System, is there a copy-cat skill?  One where I would only have to see a spell performed once and be able to repeat it?”

Alright, it was a massive cheat if so.

And ripping off another franchise aside.

But it would make her life so much easier if she had to play Harry Potter if she could just watch upperclassmen or teachers or even Mrs. Weasley perform a spell in front of her and then be able to replicate it.

[<Sharingan> is only available to Hosts in the Naruto splinter universes, User.]

The System sounded both amused and apologetic, even as it crushed her Kakashi of the Thousand Jutsu dreams.

Party Pooper.

[However, <Eidetic Memory> <<Passive Skill>> and <Kinesthetic Specialist> <<Passive Skill>> are both available for User from the Skill Catalog.]

Well fuck.

If she went with both of those, she’d basically be replicating Tom Riddle’s ability to learn, but…

She knew the downsides to having an eidetic memory, and they were a nightmare.  Literally.  Never being able to forget things you see or read sounds awesome - until you’re reliving your worst moments over and over and over again without respite and can’t shut your brain off.

No thanks.

She’d take being plain old smart instead.

Making a decision, she grabbed <Felix Felicis in Your Veins> and dropped it next to her <Hard Head, Harder Will> ability under Prophecy Child, and then snagged <Kinesthetic Specialist> over to her special abilities section.

Staring at that build for a long moment, she cataloged what she’d be looking at with those skills added to her stats.  She thought they lined up pretty well with what she already had going.  Improved luck and learning by doing would both align with her buffed Dexterity.  She thought choosing a learning-based skill would also probably improve both Wisdom and Intelligence as better luck improved her potential for survival under Wisdom as well.  Not being able to be magically controlled was probably aligned with Constitution so no buff towards skills there.  But it could also have a potential effect on Charisma given that she might be able to intimidate others if someone figures out she has immunity to an entire class of spells and potions.

Or maybe not and this was just a whole-ass fever dream.

Either way, she liked the way her skills looked, and Parsel was definitely aligned under Animal Handling, so she was ready to call it good and jabbed the [Next] button.

Only instead of moving her on to the next segment of character creation, instead there was a chirpy little parade trill that sounded out (and filled her with suspicion) then the System announced:

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!  Good news must be said three times!  Secret Quest Complete!  Secret Quest: Understanding the Assignment has been successfully completed by User!]

[User has successfully chosen role-aligned Special Skills and has completed the Secret Quest: Understanding the Assignment.]

[Completion Awards:

Feat: <Boy-Who-Lived>, Skill Awarded: <Golden Boy> <<Passive Skill>>, Skill Awarded: <Love ‘Em Or Hate ‘Em> <<Passive Skill>>

Completion Points: +500

+2 Stat Points]

Okkayyy then.

So that happened.

She was still waiting for an explanation regarding the points system and how the System Store worked, but she’d take the extra skills and the stat points - even if that <Love ‘Em Or Hate ‘Em> skill reminded her of how polarizing Harry Potter was in his setting.

But it wasn’t Love to Hate Him at least, so there was that.

And she’d imagine that <Golden Boy> skill made it so she’d be able to get away with more crap or benefit from HP’s fame and “golden” reputation.

It could always be worse, and hopefully (crossing her non-corporeal fingers) her System had a Help Menu or a guide or something that’d tell her about the skills in more detail.

For the moment however, she had to allocate those awarded stat points, and figured she might as well drop them both into her two lowest stats, as then if she understood the underlying mechanics properly, she’d get an extra buff-point each for advancing them.

And after she did so and hit [Next] she was pleased to see that she was getting the hang of it - sorta, she was off by one, so she only got a two-point buff to Charisma instead of two to each to Charisma and Strength, but it was better than nothing - as the System showed her new Stats line up before moving on:

STR : [13] (+1)

DEX : [16] (+3)

CON : [18] (+4)

INT : [15] (+2)

WIS : [14] (+2)

CHA : [14] (+2)

After letting her view her new Stats, the System moved on, flashing more information up for her that was locked-in:

Background: Halfblood, Muggle-Raised

Yup, no surprises there, though it did tell her that she wasn’t dealing with an alternate universe where Harry actually had different parents - probably - or was a secret pureblood or muggleborn erased to “fill in” for a dead Harry Potter or whatever.

Then everything went black once more.

[The System was successfully activated! Role bound: The Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. Starting C-points: 600!]

Chapter Text

Starspun Soul

A Harry Potter A/U

By Sif Shadowheart

Chapter Two: Your Helpful Transmigration System

[The System was successfully activated! Role bound: The Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. Starting C-points: 600!]

Opening her eyes, she slowly took in her surroundings after the System finished its chirping announcements.

She’d need to take a look at whatever passed for a Help Menu or Information, but from what she’d already gathered and/or been told, her completion points - 500 for the secret quest plus 100 starting points if she had to guess - could be used to make purchases of some kind.

Her character build screen hadn’t included spots for class or leveling, so she needed to find out what was up with that.

As well as hunt down whatever information she could get her hands on regarding how, exactly, this “splinter universe” was different than the source material.

Not a small to-do list, especially considering she was now supposed to play the part of pre-Hogwarts Harry Potter.

And on that note: fucking ow.

Yup.

She was awake and this wasn’t a fever dream after all.

She was in too much pain for that.

Fuck.

Her head was killing her - pun not intended, since she was guessing there was a head wound that had killed little Harry before his time and led to this entire clusterfuck.

The chiming noise that the System made in response to her thought - or so she assumed - was, well, sad.

[Host is correct.  In the Source Universe, main character Harry Potter Apparated to the top of his school roof as a result of accidental magic and significantly drained his magical core.  In Splinter Universe 52669936, rather than being sent directly to his cupboard, minor antagonist character Petunia Evans Dursley shoved him against the wall, leading to a concussion and brain-bleed.]

She could fill in from there - with his magic drained, it couldn’t heal him (if that was a thing his magic did, but with his Constitution score she was assuming she was right) and Harry died, forcing the System or whatever Powers-that-Be to find a soul to stuff into him and puppet around to keep from making more “splinter” universes.

She remembered seeing his age, but System, what’s the date and time?

[This System is glad Host asked!  It is: Saturday, February 18, 1989, 08:17 ]

Huh, she glanced around the dark space surrounding her, likely Harry’s infamous Cupboard Under the Stairs given how scrunched up and hunched she felt.

The darkness and tight confines made sense.

The lack of noise, however…

System, why haven’t the Dursleys woken me up?

[Mrs. Dursley opened the Cupboard when Harry Potter did not answer her summons.  Seeing him unconscious and breathing shallowly, she left then returned with items she left for his recovery before relocking the Cupboard.  The Dursley Family has left for the day.]

If she could, she would scream at the neglect.  What the fuck kind of person hurts a child - intentionally or otherwise - and then when finding them unconscious fucking leaves them.   She could fill in the blanks on what happened after that for herself: left alone and bleeding out in his brain, Harry died, and since Petunia ignored his symptoms, she never would’ve known until it was far too late.  He probably would’ve ended up buried in the backyard or taken out and dumped like so much garbage.

That was all Harry Potter meant to these people.

She couldn’t wait until she got her grubby paws on the <Out Of Character> skill, so she could start serving up payback to the Dursleys without having to pay a penalty.

Still, whatever magic or power that dropped her into Harry’s body was keeping her - them, whatever - from dying again but it could probably use help.

Gritting her teeth, she leveraged herself upright, resolutely ignoring everything about her new body that she didn’t want to think about too hard.  Like its size.  Or weakness.  Or that it belonged to a boy.  With boy parts.

Nope.

Not thinking about that right now, thanks.

First she had to survive her splitting head and living as Harry Potter in a Dursley-controlled environment.

Then she could give into the panic and dysphoria she felt bubbling up in the back of her mind.

Survival first, last, and always.

She did not want to think about what the punishment would be for failing to survive as Harry Potter, especially with the bonuses she got on being dropped into this poor fucking kid.

Shudder.

The System would probably plunk her down inside a villain next time.  Or a character she hated or found annoying like Scott McCall.  Or worse yet: Ginny Weasley.

Pass.

Hard pass.

She’d do her best to make a go of it as Harry Potter, thank-you-very-much.

Tiny body, abusive relatives, boy parts, and all.

Once she managed to leverage herself up and her head didn’t fall off of her suddenly-tiny (for her) shoulders, she fumbled around a little until she found the pull-chain for Harry’s cupboard light, then had to shield her eyes from the brightness.

That wasn’t all that bright, but - head pain.

It was a dim bulb, probably the lowest and cheapest wattage that the Dursleys could find, but it did the job well enough to let her get a picture of what kind of space she was dealing with - as well as what Petunia thought were appropriate “recovery” supplies after killing her nephew.

The cunt.

She didn’t use that word often outside of sex or writing a sex scene, growing up as she had done in the USA where it was one of the worst slurs a body could use, but sometimes one had to call a spade a spade.

Or a cunt a cunt, and Petunia Evans Dursleys was a vindictive, envious cunt.

She said envious rather than jealous for a simple reason:

Despite how often they’re confused and interchanged, a person can only be jealous of what was already theirs.  Jealousy was a possessive emotion.  Not an acquisitive one.

And Petunia had never had magic of her own to be jealous of Lily’s.  Never had a wealthy magical husband.  Or the prettiness of her little sister.

What Petunia was, was envious of everything her sister had that she didn’t, rather than jealousy wanting to keep what was actually hers to herself.

When she saw what Petunia apparently thought was appropriate “supplies” for her wounded and dying nephew, she wanted to get angry - but, honestly, she wasn’t surprised and she was tired, so…

It was a small plate and glass of what she could only call rations.

The water felt lovely slipping down her parched throat as she sipped on it, even as she glared weakly at the contents of the plate.  Two pieces of dry toast without even a slight scrape of butter or jam.  Two tiny little paracetamol tablets - which she was actually happy about, even if it was far too little and far too late for Harry - which might take the edge off her headache and let her think.  And a small red delicious apple, the really small ones that came free at school where she was from.

Wow Petunia.

Just… wow.

Without the energy or will to build up a proper head of steam over experiencing for herself how awful the Dursleys were to their nephew, she instead nibbled down one of the pieces of toast so she could scoff the pain-killer/antiinflammatories and maybe, actually, manage to think while she worked her way through the other piece of toast.

Not knowing when next Petunia was going to deign to feed Harry, she tucked the apple away behind the edge of the ratty blanket on her thin cot mattress, where she found Harry’s stash.

It wasn’t much, just an opened - but with carefully tucked ends to keep them from getting too stale - packet of graham crackers, another apple that was on the cusp of going bad, which she swapped for the new apple.  As impossible as it seemed to her, having gone through times of leanness but never actual starvation, but Harry’s stomach was already full from two pieces of toast and a glass of water.  Oh.  Oh those bastards were going to pay when she was allowed to do something about this fuckery, just you wait.

She’d eat the shriveled, almost bad apple in a couple hours, so Petunia didn’t get suspicious.

There was also a tightly sealed glass bottle, the sort that soda or juice used to come in - currently came in? Let’s add some time travel fuckery onto the transmigration, thanks - that was filled with clean water and a small flashlight with spare batteries.

Okay.

Clicking off the light as she had no idea how quick the Dursleys were at supplying new bulbs, she settled back with the idea to take a nap and hopefully Harry’s magic would further healing her head along as she rested now that it had some fuel to work with.

Maybe.

Look, the headache was fucking with her, okay?

She knew she had shit to do and find out, but with her head throbbing and the light more piercing than helpful at the moment, she needed to heal more than she needed answers.

Especially since she had a feeling that she wasn’t going to like the answers she found.

System, how long have I been asleep?   She asked as soon as she woke up and took stock, realizing in moments that she still was stuck in a tiny body in a dark cupboard.

Fuck.

It wasn’t a dream.

Though at least the headache was less deafening and she could actually think now beyond: ow, my head, gurgle, my stomach.

[Host has been asleep for three hours and forty seven minutes!]

Thanks, System.

[Host is welcome!]

Sitting up once more, she clicked the light back on and was pleased that the interjection of light into the cupboard didn’t immediately send her reeling and wishing for death.

Progress.

A shitty way to discern progress, but progress nonetheless as she chomped her way through the shriveled apple, nibbling away every last bit of edible flesh before knocking back the bare inch of water she’d left for later.

Which brought a new and delightful problem to her notice: if she was locked in - and she checked, the latch was still closed - then unless she managed to move the latch somehow, she had no way to get out and use the fucking bathroom until the Dursleys returned from wherever they’d fucked off to.

Gods, she already hated these people and it’d only been a couple hours.

Growling softly, she clicked the light back off and reclined back onto the cot mattress.

It wasn’t urgent enough to risk getting caught - yet.

There were other tasks she could handle for a while as she waited for the Dursleys to come back, mainly figuring out what the rules of her transmigration System were, and how this whole clusterfuck was supposed to work in the first place.

Alright, System, do you have any kind of user guide?

[This System is glad Host asked!]

Despite having her eyes - Harry’s eyes??? - closed, the same glowing-blue screen she remembered from the character creation montage reappeared in her range of vision, showing a menu complete with a small question mark icon in the bottom right corner that was pulsing with light to get her attention.

The Menu itself was rather basic, with options for General Information, Stats, Skills, Quest Log, Inventory - ooh, she’d have to look at how that worked, Store, etc.

But that wasn’t what she’d asked about, so before the System started getting impatient with her, she gave a mental tap to the question mark icon.

And she was glad she did.

As while it didn’t answer every question she had, like what kind of Harry Potter a/u she was in, it did provide answers on what the System itself did as well as more on her actual purpose re: being stuffed inside Harry Potter like so much stardust-soul fluff in an empty shell.

It worked something like this:

In a way to try and keep some sort of order and prevent a genuine infinite number of multiverses sprouting up, a Power decided to create transmigration and used it to fill gaps and prevent additional splinter universes - like the one she’d been inserted in.

Only, another Power discovered the Transmigrators and decided that that wasn’t working well enough and some guidelines and order needed established.

Hence: Transmigration Systems that were supposed to keep Transmigrators in important or otherwise “vital” roles from completely shattering a universe and creating a multitude of new splinter universes whether on purpose or on accident.

But, and herein was her main bitch: Free Will was A Thing.

An Important Thing.

So the Systems weren’t allowed to just puppet the Transmigrators who were chosen either through sheer luck of the draw or because (and she still wasn’t sold on it not being entirely random) they had a particular skill that would be useful.  They had to have controls on them too.  Which is where the Out-of-Character option came in, where if Transmigrator Hosts earned enough points, then they could buy the ability to behave how they wanted.  If they managed that, then the Powers-that-Be or the universe or the multiverse or whatever allowed that that was just the way things were supposed to go in that Splinter Universe and no new splinters were created - which was a win.

Or they never did manage it, and the Splinter Universe ended up following the template originally laid out for it - which was also a win, just not necessarily for the Host depending on their Bound Role.

The only way to lose was either to earn so many punishments and penalties that the Host basically fries themselves with the punishment protocols, or ends up killing their Bound Role all over again.

She didn’t know the consequences of doing that would be, but she’d read enough to figure that it would be a bit not good, and didn’t want to risk it.

She also wasn’t interested in actually living out her entire second-life as Harry Potter, so she needed that Out-of-Character hack, thanks.

Which brought her to stats, skills, quests, and points.

I.e. the more “game-play-ee” aspect of the System that incentivized Hosts to actually go along with a Bound Role they might not like rather than run the risk of frying themselves.

Stats and skills allowed character manipulation and changes without having to directly act Out-of-Character.  Along with improving the potential of, you know, surviving.   (She was far too entertained that her/Harry’s Survival stat was set to 0 despite everything else being at least an 8.  Yup, that’d be a penalty for dying alright.)  Stat points were awarded for completing major Main Quests or could be purchased for a hefty price tag at the System Store.

Skills could be improved either through slow, consistent usage and grinding - both Stat Skills and Special Skills - quest rewards, or skill point purchases again through the System Store.

Skills could also be awarded through quest completion or purchased - but gaining additional special skill slots could only be done through completion of major Main Quests, just like improving Stats.

They couldn’t even be purchased, and wasn’t that some fuckery?

Other than that, the only way to gain additional skills was to get one awarded that was a sub-skill of a stat skill - like Harry’s Empathy that was a sub-skill of Insight, or his Evasion skill that was a sub-skill of Stealth - but Harry had only managed to gain those two before his death.

And despite what she’d assumed, Parsel really was a special skill, not a sub-skill of Animal Handling and that was a bitch because otherwise she would’ve been able to free up a special skill slot if she earned/gained/purchased another specialized skill before earning another slot.

Staring at her Skills screen, and the levels out of ?/100, she felt herself want to whimper at how low everything was (but, also, sympathy and no-judgment for Harry, he had only been a kid and one without the System to help him): 

Stat Skills:

• Strength:

• • Athletics - 12/100

• Dexterity:

• • Acrobatics - 8/100

• • Sleight of Hand - 8/100

• • Stealth - 12/100

• • • Evasion - 10/100

• Intelligence:

• • Arcana - 1/100

• • History - 5/100

• • Investigation - 8/100

• • Nature - 8/100

• • Religion - 2/100

• Wisdom

• • Animal Handling - 8/100

• • Insight - 13/100

• • • Empathy - 13/100

• • Medicine - 10/100

• • Perception - 13/100

• • Survival - 0/100

• Charisma

• • Deception - 10/100

• • Intimidation - 8/100

• • Performance - 8/100

• • Persuasion - 8/100

Specialty Skills:

• Parseltongue

• Hard Head, Harder Will (anti-compulsion) [passive]

• Felix Felicis In Your Veins (luck buff)

• Kinesthetic Specialist (learning buff) [passive]

• Golden Boy [passive]

• Love ‘em or Hate ‘em [passive]

None of her specialty skills were leveled at all due to either having just been purchased/earned or Harry having no idea that he could talk to snakes - and unlike with the Stat Skills that at least slowly leveled just going about the day-to-day, special skills had to be used to improve.

It was some fuckery, but on the bright side the lower the level the easier they were to improve if they were going by video-game logic - and from what she could tell they definitely were.

Experience/skill points could be earned by going through the day-to-day grind which was familiar to any gamer, but the System didn’t have traditional levels - it was all skill leveling instead.

Quests were a different beast and as she’d already found out the hard way, they came in several different categories that awarded various items, points, skills, etc. depending on the difficulty, type of quest, and so on.

Unlike a video game, there were no currency awards - only points.

Which brought her to probably her favorite part of the fuckery she’d been dropped into: The System Store.

She felt her heart start to pound as she saw some of the items or buffs or skills or, or, or that were available for purchase - if she could earn the requisite points.

The Out-of-Character skill she wanted so desperately was an egregious 20,000 points in contrast to a simple <Kilo of Apples> that was 5 points, a <Pepper-Up Potion> that was 20 points, or a <Basic Sewing Kit> for 100 points.

She snorted at the <Muggle-Repelling Ward Stone> that promised to repel any-and-all muggles within a 100-meter radius but that had a high price of 5,000 points.  She’d only earned a tenth of that by completing a Secret Quest.  Entertaining to effectively lock the Dursleys out of their own home, but no.

At not even ten-percent of the way towards gaining her coveted <Out-of-Character> skill, she’d definitely watch how she spent points, if she did at all until she racked up the points she needed for genuine free-will as Harry Potter.

Which meant she better get to work.

System, are there any Quests available?

[Would Host like to enable <Quest: Tutorial>?]  It prompted her, which she had to admit was probably a good idea since it might give her an idea of just how much leeway she had as Harry Potter.  What was expected, what wasn’t, what would put her in danger of a point-deduction or punishment protocol for acting out of character, etc.

Sighing, already knowing that this was going to be a drag, she gave a mental tap to the floating [Accept] button and watched as the Quest parameters popped up:

[Quest Accepted!  Quest: Tutorial, now activated!  

Objectives - Complete at least ⅗ Daily Tasks for 5 Days:

Task 1: Learn to Stay In-Character! 

Successful Completion: Avoid OOC penalty for 24 hours {23:50} remaining.

Failure: Any OOC Penalty

Reward: 20 Completion Points!

Task 2: Complete the Chore List!

Successful Completion: Complete All Chores assigned by Mrs. Dursley within time limit.

Failure: Out of Time! <Potential Penalty>

Reward: 10 Completion Points, 1 <Cheese Sandwich>, 1 <Glass of Water>

Task 3: Eyes Up, Head Down!

Successful Completion: Avoid drawing the attention of the Teachers.

Failure: Troublemaker! <Potential Penalty>

Reward: +5 Completion Points, +5 Deception Exp. Points, 1 <School Lunch>

Task 4: Avoid Dudley!

Successful Completion: Run swift! Hide fast! Avoid being caught by Dudley on the way home from School!

Failure: Caught! <Potential Penalty>

Reward: 5 Completion Points, +5 Evasion Exp. Points

Task 5: Quiet as a Mouse!

Successful Completion: Stay Quiet in the Cupboard, Avoid Attention from the Dursleys!

Failure: Who’s Making That Racket!!! <Potential Penalty>

Reward: +10 Completion Points, +10 Stealth Exp. Points

<Quest Completion Rewards: +100 Completion Points, +50 Skill Exp. Points, 1 <<Change of Clothes>>, 1 <<Blanket>>, <<Inventory Upgrade>>

Failure Penalty: -50 Completion Points, -50 HP Points>

Well, on one hand by accepting the Tutorial Quest she had a good chance of earning more points and even gaining items for her Inventory as well as an upgrade from the current (barely useful) four slots.

On the other, her Health Points as an eight year old abused and neglected Harry Potter, even with impressive Constitution, could not risk the HP loss if she failed - and that was before the “failure penalties” came into play which she was willing to bet was either having food withheld and/or taking a beating.

Pass, thanks.

Though there was some grace within the tutorial: even if she failed on two of the daily tasks per day - and maybe those were like Daily Quests/Tasks in a game that she could always complete and weren’t predicated on a single specific quest or event - she would still complete the main tutorial quest.

If she could guess based on the rewards, then avoiding Dudley was probably the easiest “task” while staying in character was the hardest.

Then, as if the System perfectly timed it that way, she heard a car pull into the drive and a door slam not long after.

She slowly took a deep breath, relaxed back onto the mattress, and prepared as the sound of voices came towards her.

Showtime.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Three: The Boy in the Cupboard

She was actually surprised how quick she was to adapt to answering calls of Boy, or Freak! When she was at Number Four Privet Drive.

It never became okay.  But she learned to listen for it instead of risk getting clipped 'round the ear for not paying attention.  Corporeal punishment was cruel but dangerously effective at times, unfortunately.  And only one of the abuses that the Dursley household indulged in against their nephew.

It was certainly easier than remembering to answer to Harry at school, but also she was apparently a non-entity if she did as the Tutorial insisted: kept her head down, avoided drawing attention, and stayed out of the way unless Petunia directly wanted her to do something.

Avoiding Dudley wasn’t even that hard, as despite Harry Potter never taking advantage of it - probably because the Dursleys didn’t read and he was punished for doing better than Dudley - the fat lump of a bully probably didn’t even know the library existed.

She took a minor penalty the second day of school - which kinda sucked?  The Tutorial assigned her a school-specific Task but she could only complete it three out of five days anyway - for drawing the attention of the Librarian, but since that wasn’t strictly a Teacher, and semantics counted when negotiating with the System as she’d learned she only lost two C-points which was better than failing the Avoid Dudley Task so she’d take it.

Maybe the Tutorial was a set Quest across the board whenever an unlucky bitch got dropped into a HP-Splinter but she didn’t find staying in-character as difficult as she’d thought.

Especially with the System giving her warnings of when she was straying too close to OOC.

Maybe the System or the Powers-that-Be were just used to Hosts who were too confrontational or outspoken, not someone like her.

Not someone who’d been abused before.

Who knew the score.

And as much as it grated, could keep her head down if it meant avoiding abuses whether that was getting smacked around, being emotionally manipulated, screamed at, or having food withheld.

It might have been years since she was actively living that life - and gee, thanks PTB for dropping her back into it, really, fuck off for that - but some things, some skills, people didn’t just forget.

Harry wasn’t that hard since between her OG knowledge and the System, she knew the rules.

Do the chores.

Stay quiet.

Stay out of sight.

Do everything in her power to make the Dursleys forget she existed.

Simple.

Not good or healthy or okay by any measure, but simple when your goal was to stay alive until you could escape instead of thinking that if you’re good enough maybe your abusers would treat you better or decide to love you.

She wasn’t an abused kid - not anymore - and she knew better.

She knew to make it simple and survive.

It wasn’t easy - but it was doable.

And as the System carrolled out congratulations and doled out her new rewards for completing the Tutorial, she felt secure in one thought:

She could do this.

She could survive this.

And if she was smart enough, she could score that OOC skill before any Letters might arrive and she was really shoehorned into a role that wouldn’t be nearly as easy to navigate.

She was a little bummed that the In-Character Task went away after the first two weeks, but since as it was if she managed to complete all of her daily tasks each day for over two years without completing any Quests (and there had been no other Quests since the Tutorial) she might manage to get her OOC skill through the Store.

She won some, she lost some, and her skills at Deception, Evasion, and Sleight of Hand grew better by the week since she used them so often along with Strength/Athleticism to avoid Dudley.

Then Spring Break came and she got her first shot at a new Quest, as her daily tasks changed - <Keep the Cat in the Bag> opened up, which was basically the same thing as the tutorial but tailored specifically to keeping Mrs. Figg, aka the local Crazy Cat Squib, in the dark about anything being wrong with Harry.

It kinda sucked since the tasks were even simpler and with lower rewards, only allowing her a net-gain of 10 C-Points a day, but she was fed better so…

Anyway.

At the end of the Dursleys’s Majorca holiday, she snagged a reward for the Quest in a 50 C-Point, 5 exp. Point, and an item she was allowed to choose to keep in her Inventory.

The “items” made her both want to laugh and cry since they were basic packages of size-appropriate clothes for Harry’s body, giving her the choice between new socks, undershirts, or underpants.

She went with socks, since they were the least likely to be noticed.

Washing them without Petunia noticing - much like her blanket she’d gotten via the Tutorial - also added her to Deception and Sleight of Hand skills so - win.

She also improved her Investigation skills, along with her Performance and Persuasion at Figg’s which she’d never really had a chance to actively use before, so that was a plus.

That Mrs. Figg really was as decidedly unpleasant to be around as it’d been implied in canon was not.

She wasn’t openly abusive and didn’t withhold food, but she was determined that Harry not like spending time at her house and almost never allowed him a moment’s peace, even at night when her cats were set to watching him on her couch.

She managed to discover that Mrs. Figg had a small pot of what looked suspiciously like Floo Powder on her mantle, but otherwise she couldn’t find anything in the squib’s house that confirmed anything about the magical world beyond how smart and observant her cats were.

Not even a stray copy of the Daily Prophet or a photo that moved.

She had to give the old girl credit: when Arabella Figg dedicated herself to fulfilling Dumbledore’s purpose as his obedient minion, she went the whole nine yards.

With the Floo not viable without more time, she tried to convince her System that as “Harry” her lifting a few pounds from Petunia and getting “lost” in the muggle world until she found Diagon Alley was in-character.

No dice.

“Harry” apparently was far too afraid of his relatives to steal from them, or behave “badly” in general, so as long as the in-character monitors were in place she couldn’t investigate the magical world to see what kind of splinter universe she was living in.

Other than Harry’s premature death, what made this one different?

With every avenue other than playing the role blocked off, she ducked her head and got to grinding points and completing her daily tasks.

Months passed that way.

Chores, tasks, keeping her head down, earning points she didn’t dare to spend and modest gains on her skills.

(She couldn't look at the body in a mirror.  She couldn't touch Harry's body except to keep clean.  She...)

She stopped hesitating when someone outside of Number Four called her Harry, or when someone inside it called her Boy or Freak.

(It wasn't her name.  It would never be her name.  Harry Potter was an innocent eight year old boy who was killed by his relatives.  She was not Harry Potter and would never do him the dishonor or disservice of pretending she was when she had a choice in the matter.)

Summer came, and with it the addition of outside chores that replaced her school tasks, netting her Athletics and Nature gains rather than Deception - but also less food and more points to make up for the lack of school lunch.

And then the day came, right before Harry’s ninth birthday, that she’d been waiting for: a snake was sunning itself in the garden at Number Four when she went outside to complete the daily outside chore list.

You cannot tell me that if Harry Potter knew that he could talk to snakes, he wouldn’t have done it!

She argued with the System, trying to set up a series of events that ended with her gaining access to the Magical world one way or another before Harry’s letter arrived.

What the hell good was the knowledge she had about Harry Potter and various fanfiction universes that split off of it if she couldn’t use any of it?!

[Host…]

Boa at the Zoo!  Snake during Dueling!  Whispers in the Walls!  Until everyone called him evil for it, Harry had no problem talking to snakes!

[...but Harry Potter wouldn’t know to talk to a snake.  Talking to any snakes unless they talk first would be Out-of-Character and incur a penalty and/or the activation of Punishment Protocol.]

Damn it!

Why did she have to have a System capable of Logic???

Her System did let her slide on things sometimes, but on the big ones - like using Mrs. Figg’s Floo, stealing, and now apparently using Parseltongue - it was as stubborn as she was.

But the System was clear and she couldn’t afford point-losses before she snagged her OOC skill.

Fuck, she wasn’t even using points to purchase small food or drink items or nutrition potions or anything that would help her live a better, healthier, and/or more comfortable life due to her dedication to regaining real free will.

She wasn’t going to lose ground because she was actively trying to work around the In-Character locks that kept her from accessing the Magical World.

Back to the drawing board.

Another Dursley Holiday - this one for two weeks - meant that she scored another Cat Lady quest, this time for double the rewards since she had to keep it up twice as long, netting her extra points and both the underpants and shirts she’d had to pass on last time.

Then they were back and school started up again, and it was all the same-old, same-old with the System blocking her more egregious attempts at subverting its restrictions and her focusing on grinding and racking up points as fast as possible.

Autumn melted into Winter and another holiday meant another Cat Lady quest as “Harry” was left in Mrs. Figg’s “care” once more.

Her potential rewards were a little more interesting this time since she already chose the new underthings that were available - or maybe the System was just sensing how frustrated and about to blow she was.

Either way, a set of five Nutrition Potions that she took once per week after she won them saw her going through an actual growth spurt.

Fancy the fuck out of that, between the potions and doing everything she could to keep her head down and avoid punishments - both from the Dursleys and the System - she was growing in this puny little body.

She still didn’t have the energy reserves to exercise and try to build muscle/Strength except at night if she had the motivation left to manage it.

But it was something, at least, even if the massive hand-me-downs from Dudley always made her scrawny body look like she was swimming in fabric.

(The <Sewing Kit> from the Store was tempting, not gonna lie, but she wanted free will more than to improve the look of what she was wearing.)

The Nutrition Potions were successful enough that even though her undershirts were now a little small on her, she went for another round of them for her spring break Dursley-holiday/Cat Lady reward, which shot her up again and had Petunia giving her the side-eye.

She might still be skin-and-bones, but she was as tall as Dudley now and apparently Petunia didn’t like it if the way her cheese sandwiches were replaced with plain bread and the smallest apples she could find at the grocery.

The cunt.

The growth spurts also made her cupboard more cramped, so the next round of Cat Lady rewards - she still hadn’t managed to convince any snakes to talk near her to avoid the OOC penalty for talking first - over Summer Holiday she chose a set of Stomach Soother potions instead.

They wouldn’t help with the malnutrition Petunia forced on her, but they’d keep her stomach from hurting if she foraged enough dandelion greens, wild spring onion, or even snuck edible flower petals out of the garden to help fill the gap.

That at least wasn’t considered OOC by the System, as pre-Her Harry had also foraged when hungry, even if he hadn’t been as aware as her of what was really edible and what wasn’t.

He’d also snuck bits of food while cooking, so she’d been doing that all this time as well, or snaffling up the heel pieces of the bread loaves, and such.

She was hungry, she wasn’t going to say otherwise, and it was one of the worst sustained torments she’d ever suffered, but she was surviving.

In the end, it took her twenty-five months, two weeks, and five days after being shoved into a Harry Potter suit like so much plot stuffing before she earned the glorified 20,000 C-Points she needed to purchase the coveted <Out-of-Character> skill.

Between the occasional point loss, inability to max her point earnings, or what have you, she worked and grinded, and managed her goal.

Though sweat, blood, and tears, but she did it.

Just in time too.

As the night where she went through her routine of opening up her Menu as she laid down to sleep and discovered her point balance had crested 20,000 was April 9, 1991.

She’d made it.

By what felt like the skin of her teeth, but she’d made it.

She would not be going to Hogwarts locked into playing Harry Potter’s role precisely In-Character.

Jumping over to the Store - that she only idly noticed had new sections that weren’t grayed-out any longer - she slammed the purchase option for the <Out-of-Character> <<Passive Skill>> that would give her back her free will.

[Host should be aware that once the <Out-of-Character> <<Passive Skill>> has been equipped, This System will be down for Update to initiate OOC protocols.]

Well, that was interesting - and would also keep her from recouping points or leaning on the System to keep her going.

She didn’t know if she liked that, but appreciated the warning.

She was going to equip OOC anyway, but with how much she talked to her System - honestly, more than any of the physical people in her life - having System go away for a while would kinda suck.

She’d manage.

But it was still going to suck.

How long will you be down, System?

[Calculating…]

[Calculating…]

[This System’s OOC Update is estimated to last: 01:04:43:15]

Please tell me that’s one day, not a year or month.

[Host is correct.  Update is estimated to last just over one day.]

Alright, that was fine then.

She could survive one day at the Dursley’s without her friend to keep her sane.

She’d survived worse.

For OOC she would survive worse.

Technically, OOC was plot armor.  It kept the System from penalizing her for acting OOC against how Harry Potter behaved in canon.  But it also kept the people around her from calling her out on acting “strange” or “out-of-character” as well.

It wasn’t free will.

She’d always had that.

She could have chosen at any time to accept penalties and punishments for acting how she wanted.

It was the ability to exercise her free will without having to submit to the boundaries of the System - and that might be even better.

She almost cackled with glee as she swapped out <Love ‘em or Hate ‘em> in her specialty skill bar since with her obsessive and enduring focus on regaining her free will had kept her from purchasing additional skill slots.

[System Update initiated.  Countdown to Reset: 01:20:15:13]

Okay, so the System’s estimate was a little low-ball, but not by much.

And she still had the Menu screen with the ticking countdown to keep her from spiraling.

She’d manage.

Being able to act how she wanted was far more valuable than getting an additional Likability buff when interacting with people who were aligned with her <Boy-Who-Lived> feat anyway - especially since it also had commensurate negative interaction with people who weren’t aligned with the BWL persona which she would assume were Death Eaters or shadow supporters.

A glance at her point balance had her sighing at the lowest balance it had ever had of a whopping five points.

But she’d been grinding for points for over two years, she could do it again.

If need be.

But with her knowledge and now no penalties…there was a literal entire world calling her name.

And potentially, actual Quests to complete to help make up the difference.

Well, she hoped.

But even if not, she was still satisfied.

After two years of having to bow her head and act meek and beaten down, she could move and act and change the trajectory of the plot.

Sure, Petunia had never put hands on her again after the event that imprisoned her here, but that didn’t mean Dudley had the same qualms the blubber-butted terror.

(And she still wasn’t thinking about the male body thing or how close puberty was creeping.  No siree.  Not her.  Repression was her friend.)

Snuggling into her blankets, she let out another sigh - this one of relief.

Her days as the meek Boy-in-the-Cupboard were over.

Now an actual life could begin.

Well, when the weekend came around.

She wasn’t going to get far, let alone make it to Diagon Alley and her first target of Gringotts, if she got hauled in for truancy.

And a bit of a penalty buffer in the form of points was necessary.

Her System had never hit her with anything more than a point loss or a penalty task she had to complete like cleaning Dudley’s room, but she still remembered some of the mental/emotional trauma that a System could inflict in some of the stories she’d read.

Pass.

With the shit both she and Harry had lived through?

Hard pass, thanks.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Four: Alternate Quest Unlocked!

Saturday, April 13, 1991:

With the In-Character behavior inhibitors in place, she hadn’t been able to gain or exercise the skills that were most valuable to her as the Boy.

Like pickpocketing.

She had however, managed to increase complementary skills like Stealth, Deception, Sleight of Hand, and Evasion without violating “Harry’s” OG moral code, so there was that.

She also knew how to get herself the most space from the Dursleys - mainly by completing Petunia’s endless and inevitable chore lists as fast as possible before disappearing into the bowels of the neighborhood, usually the library since it was free and Dudley probably didn’t even know it existed.

Things that she could purchase via the System Store:

• Potions of varying strength, use, and/or effect.
• Food
• Drinks
• Clothing
• Armor
• Actual fucking weaponry
• Magical Foci
• Magical Items, Tools, and/or Artifacts
• Spells
• Specialty Skills/Abilities
• Skill Slots
• Skill Points
• Stat Points
• Books

Things that she could not purchase via the System Store? - a fucking bus and/or train ticket to London!

Which meant, unfortunately for the morale of her disapproving System, she had to pickpocket and/or steal the fare since it wasn’t like the Dursleys gave Harry an allowance or were dumb enough (unfortunately) to trust her with the shopping money.

They did however give Dudley an allowance, so when she was finished with the laundry and was taking Dudley’s clothes up to put them away, she doubled that chore with a quick sweep through his room.

And hit the fucking jackpot.

The fact of the matter was that Dudley Dursley didn’t actually need an allowance being the spoiled rotten little shite that he was.

Sure, some of it he spent on the way home from Primary School on fizzy drinks and candy, but for the most part Petunia did such an excellent job of catering to her son’s every whim, that the bulk of his allowance never got spent unless they’d recently been on holiday and he remembered to take the stockpile with him.

(He never did, instead insisting his parents buy him everything he wanted.)

Dudley Dursley at only ten years old, received an obscene weekly allowance of ten pounds.

Ten pounds per week.

And had done for several years ever since he overheard one of the older kids at school bragging about having an allowance and went sniffling to Mummy and Daddy about how come he didn’t get an allowance?

Dudley’s sock drawer was an obscene collection of pound notes in various denominations along with coins.

She didn’t even have to be greedy to get what she needed from her raid, as it was still the early ‘90s and things were a lot less expensive in the muggle world than she was used to from her first life.

A quick estimation put Dudley’s stash at well over two hundred pounds, though she’d have to take time she didn’t have without drawing Petunia’s suspicion (Dudley was downstairs watching the telly) to know how much over that it was.

She couldn’t take too much, even if she felt she deserved it for all the shit she’d put up with over the last two-plus years, because even if Dudley didn’t know how much money he had exactly, he might notice a significant drop in the amount of bills in his sock drawer when he added the next bit of overflow.

She also wasn’t sure about the muggle-magical conversion rate, so there was that to consider too.

In the end she snagged about a tenth of the bills and a handful of loose coins, ruffling up the remainder until she couldn’t really spot a visible difference, and called it a day.

Whatever she had was whatever she had.

The soft notification from her System was easy for her to ignore and carry on with her chores, even as she took note of the experience point gain of +5 points each for Deception, Evasion, and Survival.

Nice.

Also sad that even the System that was supposed to keep her from fucking this world up any further realized that stealing was a viable option for Survival in her Dursley-controlled hellscape.

[Host is This System’s priority, not arbitrary determinations of ethical values or moral superiority.]

Thank you, System, that’s good to know.

She did not want to think about how fucking ecstatic she had been to hear that chirpy, chime-y voice in her head once again after the Update was done.

The System was her lifeline to sanity in this fucked up situation.

Still, that even the literal embodiment of sunshine and fluff thinks the Dursleys had some shit coming, was good to know.

[Host is Welcome.]

Then a soft chime came and she almost laughed as she read the screen pop-up, one that she didn’t see often but wasn’t new either:

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!  Good news must be said thrice!  Host has Unlocked the Alternate Paths Hidden Quests Mod and is Now Eligible for Alternative Quests to create Host’s Best Life by Equipping the Skill: <Out-of-Character>!

Hidden Quest Unlocked: {What’s in a Name?}

Hidden Quest Unlocked: {Not in Kansas Anymore}

Hidden Quest Unlocked: {Chaos Theory}

Congratulations!  Congratulations!  Congratulations!  Good news must be said thrice!]

She had to dismiss the screen rather than learn more about the optional quests that’d unlocked but it was interesting to note that it wasn’t until she actively used the OOC skill rather than just purchasing and equipping it that the “mod” unlocked for her.

Maybe it was predicated on her choosing how she was going to use her OOC potential, since she would imagine the options were potentially limitless.

But she was who she was, and what was most important from her perspective was learning what type of a/u she was dealing with in the big picture, not settling a score with the Dursleys or what-have-you.

The Dursleys had a reckoning coming.  There was no doubt about that.  But she was mentally mature enough - despite being little more than a bundle of triggers and raw edges after living under the Dursley's dominion with the threat of the System's punishments if she stepped out of line - to know that patience often served her better than impulse.

She could wait to settle the personal score she had with the Dursleys.

Other goals had to take priority - and with what she'd figured out over the years, she needed to know what type of Harry Potter spin-off she was living in if she wanted to make it to physical adulthood in one piece, let alone die of old age.

The laundry was her main Saturday chore, but she also had to take out the trash - which was also when she tended to make a break for it.

And that day was no different, even if it meant running out into the rain without a jacket and only one of Dudley’s old sweatshirts to keep her semi-protected from the weather.

She had the rest of the day to herself now, so long as she was back by dinner, and she was going to make the most of it.

Once she was far enough away from Privet Drive that she was a non-entity instead of “that rotten Potter boy” she stopped for a breather, slipping into a Tesco to nab a juice and take stock of what her minor dip into criminality had gained her.

And the answer genuinely surprised her, coming in at eighty-two pounds and fifty pence.

What the fuck?

How much dosh did Dudley just keep lying around if she was able to steal that much of it and easily be able to cover it up with the remainder?

But with that clarified, she felt no problem at all with adding an umbrella to her purchase - after checking with the System that she’d be able to add it to her Inventory if needed, which was a yes - as well as a chicken sandwich and orange.

It was hardly a splurge for all that it seemed that way after the way the Dursleys deprived their nephew, but she had the benefit of other memories and perspective to help her along into spending her ill-gotten gains on staying dry and fully fed - for once.

A train ticket from Surrey to London only cost her four pounds, fifty pence, which was half or less than it did when she visited the UK in her first life - and was about right given what she knew about inflation.

Altogether to see herself to London, as well as dry and fed, she was only out twelve pounds and change, which left her seventy for her explorations and to (potentially, depending on what she found) get back to Surrey before the Dursleys had a collective coronary if/when they noticed she was missing.

If they did at all, which would probably happen as soon as they wanted a chore completed, the neglectful bastards.

As she sat waiting for the train, she munched away at her lunch and pulled up the information on the quests she’d unlocked which both gave her information beyond what was readily apparent as well as food for thought about what kind of HP-ish universe this was in the first place.

{Chaos Theory} was interesting since it dovetailed with her own interest in investigating what made Splinter Universe 52669936 different from canon-HP.

There wasn’t a penalty if she failed, other than not finding the information she was looking for, while the Reward was the normal points plus an enchanted necklace…but the System wouldn’t let her see the information or stats on the item until it was awarded, which, rude.  She still accepted the quest because: loot for doing shit she was already going to do.  Score.  But also: rude.

{Not in Kansas Anymore} was about what she’d expected based on the title, it was a basic sub-quest catch-all that would have her completing tasks in Diagon Alley to incentivize learning her way around.  Pretty basic video-game logic there to progress a story.  

It was how the sub-quests that were set up that actually gave her the most information beyond the bait-and-switch of dangling the notion that there was something to be found in {Chaos Theory}.  Step one was even getting access to Diagon Alley, and then continued from there.  She had to visit Gringotts and make a withdrawal - which implied she’d be able to make a withdrawal despite not having her key (fuck you very much Dumbledore.)  Then she had to make a purchase at a series of stores in no particular order, hitting at least five out of seven including Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin’s, and Florean Fortescue’s among other options.

Since it was something she’d do anyway the rewards were pretty small, with each sub-quest having its own small reward plus a bonus once she completed the entire set.  But it was also a prerequisite for a quest called: {Nooks and Crannies} which probably would help her find the more specialized or hidden stores/shops.  And that she was really interested in.

But it was {What’s in a Name?} that fucked her up and had her staring into the middle distance once she made her way onto the London-bound train.

Whether or not other people dealt with a fuck-ton of dissonance because of transmigration, she really couldn’t say.

But her?

She definitely fucking was.

{What’s in a Name} was apparently designed to force her to resolve at least part of her identity issues.  It was simple enough.  She had to choose a name, and then update her [Host Profile] with the information.

It could be anything.

With the OOC hack applied, she could call herself Bob or Rumplestiltskin for all that the System cared.

She had to choose a name, but it was more than a name.

It was…

It was acceptance.

It was bowing to the knowledge that this?  This fucked up transmigration?  This whole being stuffed like stardust and soul into the body of a fucking dead person?   That it was all real.  That it was never going to change.

She was never going to wake up one morning in her own bed in her own world and hear her own fucking name ever again.

She wasn’t going to look down - barring surgery or some kind of intervention - and see middle-aged breasts, thunder thighs, and a plump belly ever again.

She wasn’t going to look in the damn mirror - which she avoided at all costs and honestly wasn’t that hard given the Dursleys’ everything - and see a round, plump, but pretty face.  She wasn’t going to see dark, deep blue eyes.  There wasn’t ash brown hair with sun-golden and age-silvered whisps waiting in the mirror anymore.  The scar on her face was in the shape of a zig-zag on her forehead, not a dainty surgical scar on her lip from an accident when she was a child that had to be repaired.

{What’s in a Name?} wanted her to accept that she wasn’t the same her anymore…and she didn’t know when or even if she’d ever be able to do that.

The only sympathy that that particular quest seemed to have - other than the massive fucking reward that the System had thrown onto it - was that it had a long time limit.

The same as {Chaos Theory} actually.

She had to come to terms with her new life and identity by the time Harry’s body turned sixteen, down to the minute.

(Which, later, when she wasn’t in a shocked fugue, was a detail that also gave her ideas about how/when/where to start looking for information re: Chaos Theory.  But in the moment?…yeah.  In the moment she wasn’t thinking about much of anything.  It also told her that the System was capable of tailoring Quests to their Host.  The helpful demonic bastard thing that it was.)

Fugue or not, she had to move once she heard the announcement overhead on the train’s PA system that they were approaching Paddington Station.

Dipping into the convenience store on the first level, underneath the hotel that was built into the station like she remembered from her OG trip to the UK, she paid the tourist-trap price for a plain black stocking cap with a tiny Union Jack patch even as her ill-gotten gains whimpered at the inflation.

But to cover up Harry’s iconic scar, it was absolutely worth the price.

The indulgent clerk - who thought her mom had sent her in to get a cap due to being unprepared for the rain, thanks to the fact that she still remembered how to drawl like an American, though it’d taken a bit of practice in the loo to make her mouth work right - snipped off the tags and then she was off.

According to HP source material The Leaky Cauldron was found on Charing Cross Road, which meant - after refreshing her knowledge of the London Underground system by staring at one of the maps plastered all over the place - that she’d have to take the Bakerloo Line to Charing Cross Station and walk until she found the pub.

Not a problem, she remembered this, even if she’d never taken this exact route before, she thought as she pulled her new beanie down to her eyebrows.

She also wasn’t the only kid on the Tube midday on the weekend, though she imagined if she was in a female-coded body that she’d be getting a lot more side-eye.

But as Harry Potter, and as long as she acted like she knew what she was doing, everybody pretty much left her alone.

Sexist, yeah.

But useful.

By the time she hopped off the Tube at Charing Cross, she could use a snack and ended up hitting the Gregg’s outside the station once she hit street level for a bottle of orange juice and a sausage roll - which she had legitimately missed since even with using her luck skill, she didn’t find money to buy food very often.

It was more likely to help her avoid Dudley, or have her stumble on a store tossing out produce that was almost off than anything.

Felix was her favorite active skill, and she wasn’t shy about using it or leveling it up.  At first like clockwork she’d used it every ten days once the cool-down was finished to improve her chances of getting more food or avoiding Dudley.  Petunia and Vernon might content themselves with egregious amounts of child labor and neglect, but Dudley was a vicious little idiot.

She thought it might’ve been worse, before.

That maybe almost killing their nephew scared them at least a little bit, if they realized that’s what happened at all.

Either way, the adult Dursleys had never devolved down into outright abuse, but that might also be due to her knowing to keep both disobedience and magic on the down-low to keep from provoking their ire.

Orienting herself, she turned towards where Charing Cross would eventually intersect Tottenham Court Road, and started off at an easy pace as she snacked, with her eyes peeled for a run-down pub that muggles were unconsciously avoiding.

On the way, she wandered into a chemist’s and ten minutes later wandered back out with her “James Potter clone” glasses tucked into her Inventory for later and a new - and closer to her actual script, if still not perfect - pair of readers with rectangular lenses and a straight frame in black on her face.

There.

Disguise complete - and sometimes simple was better than complicated, besides which nobody should be looking for Harry Potter before he even turned eleven - she went up to the crossing and then came back down to enter the Leaky.

Pulling up her skill menu as she did so, and hitting her old friend Felix as she did so, managing as a result (she’d leveled it up to having 50% better luck with only a three-day cool-down, which was much better but still had room for improvement) to slip in with who looked like a harried group of workers straight through the pub and into the Alley.

To the triumphant tone of her System:

[Alternate Quest: {Not in Kansas Anymore} Step One Complete!

Congratulations!  Congratulations!  Congratulations!

Reward: Skill <Stealth> Level Up!

Skill <Deception> Level Up!

+10 Completion Points

+1 Item <Map of Diagon Alley> added to Inventory!]

She smiled, even as she found a quiet corner to lean in and just… take it all in.

Diagon Alley.

After years of work, and guessing, and scheming, she’d made it.

How about that?

She flicked a glance at the count-down timer on her Felix skill, taking in the amount of time she had left before it went into cool-down, and then leveraged herself up out of her corner.

She could see Gringotts at the end of the street.

It would be a shame if she failed to make it there and complete the next step of her quest - both personal and System-assigned - because she was too busy reveling in her success.

Reveling was for once she’d completed all of her objectives, not only the first.

Perspective, silly, perspective.

And with that thought driving her onward, she weaved her way through the witches and wizards populating the Alley and towards the towering edifice of the magical bank.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Five: Not in Kansas Anymore

She managed to clear the doors of the Bank - no stopping to goggle at the entrance warning poem for her, at least not this trip - just before her Felix skill ran out.

She didn’t know how high she had to level that particular skill before it lasted longer, but she had hope that at some point if she worked on it she’d get more than ten minutes of improved positive luck at a time.

Well, a body could hope, anyway.

Now that she was clear of the Alley, she had a thought poking at her re: the quests that her System had set and the particular deadline two of them shared.

It gave her an inkling that she was dealing with an Inheritance A/U of some kind, since for reasons to do with age of consent those tended to start or pivot around a character’s sixteenth birthday.  She could be wrong, of course.  Sixteen is also when Dumbledore starts Harry on the path of Voldemort’s Horcruxes in his Sixth Year, so there were variables.

But it gave her a place to start and that was invaluable considering that despite poking at her System over the years, it had never given her much background information beyond what had happened to Harry to bring her into taking his place.

First, however: Gringotts.

Depending on the world she was in, there were a whole host of tasks that she could complete at the infamous bank, but without knowing there was no way for her to safely ask.  With the goblins, knowing what she was doing was important, vital even.  Especially if she didn’t want to end up cheated, in over her head, and/or on their shit list.

Pissing off the people who handled her money had never seemed like a great idea when she was originally reading the HP source material or later fics, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way or not if that was true of Splinter Universe 52669936.

She shuffled quietly into line behind the other bank patrons, paying no mind to any side-eye that she received - which, true to form, wasn’t much given that people as a rule tended to be self-involved and she wasn’t acting like she was confused or in need of help - and waited patiently for her turn at a teller’s window.

“Greetings Teller Cragginst.”  She read the name plaque at the window before greeting the goblin.  “I would like to speak to someone regarding my account.”

“Key?”

She shook her head, knowing the risk she was taking.  They could boot her out without her key.  They could laugh her out of the bank.  What she was banking on - pun absolutely intended - was that their desire to stick it to a wizard would be stronger than their urge to humiliate a child.

She didn’t know - yet - how magical law worked.

Or what was actually going on with her legal guardianship.

There’s a lot of headcanons and assumptions that fanfic writers made about the HP world, like the Headmaster or Head of House serving as a guardian whilst students were at school - especially for muggleborn or raised children.

If that was how it worked, then getting to Gringotts before that happened was vital.

If it wasn’t, then it was probable that the Dursleys were her guardians, and in which case it didn’t fucking matter when she came to the bank without her key - they wouldn’t be helpful under any circumstances, but they couldn’t hinder her here either - since she’d have to wait until Hagrid or whoever coughed up her key and then access her accounts.

As well as making sure they don’t take it back off of her.

It was a risk, coming to Gringotts, but her Quest gave her hope that it wasn’t a futile one and that the best she could do that day was exchange some of her Dudley-supplied pounds into wizarding money.

“I’ve never had one, but I know that I have at least one account in my name at Gringotts.”  She stated as plainly as possible.

The goblin sneered down at her, unamused, so she played her trump card: reaching up and lifting the brim of her knit beanie until he could see the iconic scar on her head.

Then she was lowering it just as fast, as the goblin narrowed his eyes at her.

“Very well.”  He nearly snarled at her, turning and barking something at one of the other goblins behind the counter.  “Griphook will show you to the proper office.”

Nodding shortly, she trotted off to keep up with the runner, somewhat entertained at how things could change and stay the same all at once.

Less than an hour later, she found herself walking back out of the bank with her very own key to her vault - and this was apparently a world where Harry Potter had more than a modest inheritance going for him, which pushed her firmer towards the Magical Inheritance A/U possibility.  According to Gringotts, Harry had just the one vault that contained all the accumulated wealth of her parents as well as the Potter Family.  She was well-set for life, and wasn't that a fucking relief.  People who'd never been carefully rationing food poor, or deciding between food and meds poor, likely wouldn't understand the sheer relief and lack of stress that came with knowing money wouldn't be an issue going forward.  With a Gringotts card and checkbook that were also good in the muggle world, a new vault key, and a pouch of gold and muggle notes, she was set and wouldn't have to return to the bank for quite a while, if ever.

All for a modest fee, of course.

She managed to talk herself into a pamphlet on Gringotts’ myriad services, as she was very curious about what all a Cursebreaker could do - and what kind of curses they could find.

As she’d never had a headache or random nightmares about Voldemort, she didn’t know if she was a Horcrux or if it had died with Harry.

Or if this was a Horcrux-verse at all.

Which as far as she was concerned was a fucking important piece of information to know about oneself, especially if she wanted to manage to live to see graduation.

To complete the parameters of {Not in Kansas Anymore} she also purchased one of Gringotts’ expanded and featherweight bags that she filled with galleons before tucking it into the pockets of her too-big trousers.

They were the best of a bad lot from Dudley’s hand-me-downs, but they still left a lot to be desired, as did the way she was forced to dress in general.

As she stepped out of the bank, her System carrolled with a new announcement:

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!

Step Two of Quest: {Not in Kansas Anymore} has been successfully completed!

Reward: +5 Investigation Experience Points

+10 Completion Points

Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!]

She dismissed the announcement with practiced ease, happy about the points but happier to have access to money so that she could take care of herself and stop having to go hungry on the whim of the Dursleys.

That was the real win if you asked her.

Next, she needed a break.

And, luckily enough, Florean Fortescue’s was just what the System ordered, as it was one of her seven options for completing the shopping-spree part of {Not in Kansas Anymore}.

One ice cream purchased and enjoyed, and another minor reward dismissed, and she felt rested enough to tackle four more shops in the Alley.

(Right about now in most of the fanfics she remembered was when Harry would be plotting on how to avoid the Dursleys or make some kind of deal with them to ensure better treatment.  She wasn’t going to bother.  Not yet at least.  Her Daily Tasks were all centered around life at the Dursleys, and so long as no one noticed that she slipped off to Diagon Alley, it was a decent - if frustrating, and infuriating - way to earn points.  And then there was Figg.  If she was going to do anything about the Dursleys, it needed to wait until closer to Harry’s eleventh birthday to avoid drawing attention from Dumbledore.  It sucked: but there it was.  Quality of life was the question for the moment, not escape.)

Knowing that her clothes were a problem - and not only due to why she was dressed this way - she hit the clothing shop option on the list: Madam Malkin’s.

The bell over the door jangled cheerfully as she pushed open the door, the shop empty due to the time (after lunch) on a weekend while school was still in session.  She imagined that with how busy the entire Alley was during school breaks but mostly during school-supply shopping, the rest of the time many of the stores were much easier to navigate.  And at least on a rainy Saturday in April of no particular significance, she was right.

Other than herself and a seamstress who greeted her with a cheerful “Hello there, deary!” there wasn’t a soul in the shop.

“Hello!”  She chimed back with a sweet smile.

“How can I help you today, dear?”  The seamstress asked, so denoted by the measuring tape she saw draped around the witch’s neck.  “Are you waiting on your parents?”

“I’m running some errands on my own today.”  She smiled back, perfectly calm and content as if it was an everyday occurrence.  Which, the body was almost eleven, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question if they were a trustworthy kid.  She held out her arms and flapped a bit to show off how baggy her sweatshirt was.  “Had a bit of a mishap, so I have to wear my cousin’s clothes until I can get something that fits.”

“Oh dear,” the seamstress had a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth, trying not to smile at the admittedly-funny sight.  “Well, we can certainly help you with that dear.  Let’s get you measured and then we can sort out a few things, Mister…?”

She wanted to close her eyes and take a bracing breath, but she’d already gotten used to using the body’s OG name, even if it wasn’t her name.

And it wasn’t like she was going to admit to the fucking goblins who might withold her access to the Potter accounts for shits and giggles that she was a body-snatching transmigrator.

“Potter, ma’am.”  She told her politely, rather glad to see that other than a slight widening of her eyes, the witch didn’t react at all.  “Harry Potter.”

“Well, Merlin bless me.”  Madam Malkin murmured under her breath, eyes narrowing on the mite once she had the too-large sack he was wearing off of him and saw how…lean and stretched thin he was.  She didn’t say a word about the awful muggle cap he was wearing.  Knowing who he was…well.  People could lose their senses over the smallest things, and if he wanted to do a little quiet shopping, who was she to spoil it for him?  “What are your looking for today, Mr. Potter, other than something that fits?”  She carried on professionally.

“A full set of clothes, with a hooded jacket to keep off the rain.”  She answered, not wanting to get anything too non-muggle that she’d have to change back out of to return to muggle London.  As it was she was going to have to hit a bathroom at the train station to swap clothes once she got back to Surrey - and she wanted to put that off as long as possible.  “Do you carry shoes?”

“Atch, you’ll have to visit the cobbler down the way for that, deary.”  Malkin replied.  “But the rest we can do easy enough.”  A swish and twirl of her wand and she summoned a simple set of hard-wearing cambric shirt and canvas trousers along with a set of new underthings to go with it.  “Here, see how these suit, then we can size them and see about a jacket.”

And with that, she bustled off to give the dear boy some privacy, and decide on her best jacket options.

Maybe something in a nice dark green to play off those eyes…

After Malkin’s and the cobbler, she honestly felt like a whole different person.

Everything was made with natural fibers which just felt and wore differently than synthetics, from the real-linen undershirt to the cotton cambric long-sleeved button down in a soft blue.  Her new underpants were soft ring-spun cotton, and the trousers were a tough-wearing cotton canvas that would last for ages.  Soft wool socks, a forest green cotton-wool jacket in a pea-coat cut with an attached hood that was enchanted to keep the rain off, and a pair of simple leather ankle boots from the cobbler in black finished everything off.

Along with a shoulder/messenger style expanded and featherlight bag from a leatherworker that had their wares on commission at the cobbler, and she was about twelve galleons poorer, but mentally far richer.

Wearing good clothes - not even pretty clothes, just good ones - was an underrated part of feeling good.

Looking the part and feeling a hundred times better and more stable than when she’d rushed through the Alley originally, she made her way down to her next stop: Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, to see what her options were when it came to escaping the Dursleys.

“What can I do ya for, young wizard?”  The clerk at the equipment shop asked as she looked all around but didn’t find anything like what she was actually in search of.

“Do you carry camping equipment?”  She asked, tilting her head a bit as she studied a sign boasting that a magnifying glass contained enchantments that allowed something like x-ray vision of living creatures.  Weird.  Wizards could be so fucking weird.  “My uncle has been talking about a camping trip this summer, and was wondering if it might be time to replace some of our equipment.”

“Mmm, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong store for that, young sir.”  The clerk answered with a knowing expression.  “Muggleborn?”

“Raised.”  She shrugged, knowing that at this store at least the jig was up.  “Orphan.”

“Ah,” ah yeah.  He’d seen plenty of orphans about this ‘un’s age.  Shameful thing, what the wars had done to their young.  Shameful.  “Make sure you go and get yourself a copy of a muggleborn guide at Flourish and Blotts.  That should help you make your way around.  In the meantime, the travel shop down the way carries equipment to go along with the adventures they arrange.  Here you’ll find odds and ends for attending Hogwarts, and the odd bit of equipment for wizarding professions.”

“Thank you, sir.”  She smiled a bit sheepishly at him, feeling a bit bad for taking up his time.  Then she had a thought: “Do you carry sewing kits, or multi-knives?”

“Now that, young sir, I can surely help you with.”  The clerk stepped out from behind his counter and waved his young customer over towards a hidden corner up on the second floor.  “Let’s see what our options are.”

Score.

With her handy-dandy multi-tool that included one that opened locks, (hah!, canon lore strikes again) and a sewing kit that true to form contained far more items than it looked like from the outside, only appearing about the size of a tin of breath mints, both tucked into her bag, she was off again, this time to Slug & Jiggers.

Which unlike previous shops was a quick in-and-out.

She didn’t need ingredients, not yet anyway, but they did carry a small assortment of ready-made potions, including a first-aid kit.

She bought two, plus a full rack of nutrition potions and vitamin supplements.

And no, for once she didn’t care if she was getting a side-eye.

She knew what those potions could do from the random ones she’d gotten as rewards before, and she wanted them.

She was also far better at spinning a yarn on the spot than she used to be, thanks to the skill and attribute system that came with her System, so that helped make everything go so much smoother.

That done, she only had one more stop before she completed her {Not in Kansas Anymore} and could head back to Privet Drive - for the time being.

It was time to hit her main goal of the day, other than the bank:

Flourish and Blotts.

She felt her heart pound inside her chest as she stepped into an actual bookstore for the first time since being shoved into Harry’s body.

She loved books and stories.

She loved to read.

To lose herself in faraway places and lands, or learn something new about the world around her.

Once again the clerk at the store greeted her pleasantly, and she snagged a shopping basket from near the store - if there was anywhere on the Alley that she was going to do real damage at, it was a bookstore.

Information was life, it was increased odds of survival, and she needed more than the little she could pry out of the System like water in a desert.

“Excuse me?”  She asked, not wanting to waste a moment after the issue at Wiseacre’s of being in the wrong shop for what she was after.  “Where can I find books for muggleborns?”

The clerk looked up from the book in front of her, taking in the wizarding clothes but the muggle hat and glasses - wizards didn’t use plastic after all and those frames were definitely plastic - and saw a future Ravenclaw with some amusement.

“Over there,” she pointed towards the section with kid’s books on one side and muggleborn-targeted works on the other.  “The rear side.”

“Thank you!”  She beamed at the help, then hurried over towards the identified case of books, letting the clerk go back to reading without any fuss.

The bookcases at Flourish and Blotts were towering high overhead with the store itself having multiple levels.

She was in heaven.

Skimming titles was an old skill that she’d practiced long before she found herself taking refuge from Dudley at the school or public libraries, and she used it now to get a sense of what sort of works were marketed towards the muggleborn community.

She wasn’t all that impressed, as more than one title seemed condescending to her, but she did pull down the guide that the clerk at Wiseacre’s recommended and cracked it open to the chapter list to get an idea of what topics it covered.

I don’t suppose you have any helpful suggestions, do you System?

There was a soft, almost mechanical, hum in the back of her mind, then a new quest alert popped up:

[New Side-Quest Unlocked!

Side-Quest: {Fish Out of Water} has become available!]

[Accept] [Decline]

Huffing a soft laugh and smiling, she gave the accept button a mental tap and then studied the quest objectives and steps that popped up as a result.

Thank you, System.

The rewards were a pittance of points, barely anything, but since she’d been angling for reading recommendations, she enjoyed that her System had found a way to give her a hint without actually breaking the rules and giving her information.

[Host is welcome.]

The System tasked her with purchasing three books at Flourish and Blotts: the muggleborn guide she already had in hand (so the clerk hadn’t steered her wrong, good to know), one called A Responsible Wizard’s Guide to Great Britain that once she found it over in the Law section was a breakdown of dos and dont’s covering basic wizarding law and citizenship, and the last was Modern Magical Britain: an Overview from the Statute of Secrecy to 1981, that she could tell from finding it in the History section and looking at the date in the title would cover history up to Voldemort’s defeat.

First defeat?

Actual defeat?

She wasn’t sure but fuck if she didn’t need to know if she wanted to increase her odds of surviving.

With those three books in her basket, she let herself do a bit of a wander, chucking in a handful of other titles that looked either useful or interesting like one on magical theory that was more in depth than the text Hogwarts assigned after comparing them, a tiny volume tucked away in a corner on wandless magic, one specifically on magic that was useful to hide from muggles, another on magical survivalism that looked marketed towards explorers and/or adventurers, and a last on magical cooking and housekeeping.

Then she found what she’d been looking for without making a point of actively looking for anything as the clerk kept looking up now and again to check on where she was and/or what she was up to.

In the section dedicated to magical first aid and healing, abutting the shelf on wizarding biology and adjacent to the Magizoology section, was a lone shelf - and on it, a dozen or so books dedicated to the subject of magical inheritances.

Creature or otherwise.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

She might not only be in an Inheritance A/U…she might be in a Creature A/U.

And if so, her life role-playing as Harry Potter just got so much more complicated.

It deserved to be said once more:

Fuck.

System…am I in a creature universe???

The soft humming came again, but rather than a new quest or an actual answer, a status bar to go with the timer on {Chaos Theory} popped up instead.

[Alternate Quest: {Chaos Theory}

Status: 50/100 Complete

Time Remaining - 05: 03: 02: 05: 08: 13: 19]

Fuck!

She wanted to scream but she knew it wasn’t her System’s fault.

Her System hadn’t chosen to do this to her anymore than she’d chosen to transmigrate.

They were in this clusterfuck at the whim of the Powers-That-Be.

And she was not going to take out her surprise, and even dread - because not all Creature Inheritance A/Us had happy endings, or at least not without going through a shit-ton of angst to get there - on her only friend in this world.

She was not.

Now if she ever met the PTB that did this to her…

That was a different story.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Six: Marmite Effect

Finding out that she was in a creature inheritance offshoot of Harry Potter was sort of like Shrodinger’s Marmite Effect.

It was either and both awesome and awful all at the same time until she found out which creature inheritance a/u Splinter Universe 52669936 had diverged from with Harry’s early death.

And gave her a whole new thing to freak out about, though not before successfully (okay, this whole transmigrator thing against-her-will had its awful, depressing bits, but skills were neat) sneaking back into Four Privet Drive without the Dursleys ever noticing she was gone due to their own weekender “do the Things!” habits.

After finishing at Flourish and Blotts and getting her rewards for completing {Not in Kansas Anymore} and accepting the next quest in the chain of {Nooks and Crannies}, she’d left the Alley altogether for muggle London before she wore out her welcome and people started to wonder about the stray kid wandering around without an adult in sight.

She separated out her haul from Diagon then stashed it in her Inventory to keep it out of sight.

Thankfully whatever Tardis-Voidspace-quantum nonsense that made her Inventory work didn’t negate the space-expansion charms on her magical items like her new messenger bag or Gringotts coin purse because that would’ve been a pain in the ass to deal with working around.

As it was, after buying her ticket back to Surrey, she hit up the closest Tesco’s for the remainder of her Dudley-supplied ill-gotten funds and stocked up on beef-cucumber and chicken with salad sandwiches, fresh fruit, and even liters of milk and juice to store in her Inventory.

She loved her System, and not just for it incentivizing her survival.

It was the little things too.

Like her Inventory that kept whatever she stuck in it exactly as it was until she took it back out.

(There may have been experiments with a heel-piece of bread once she realized how to use the Inventory by touching something and then clicking an empty Inventory space in her Inventory screen.  The possibilities had been endless for ensuring she had food without having to risk being caught as long as no one saw her do it.  Stealth and Sleight-of-Hand for the win.)

She changed back into her Dursley-approved clothes once she was back in Surrey, with her Malkin’s clothes and shoes going in her messenger bag along with her coin purse while the other odds-and-ends that would be useful at Privet Drive got dedicated Inventory slots thanks to the expansion that was the main reward for {Not in Kansas Anymore}.

Books were stacked in her empty Tesco bag that made them a <Bag of Books> instead of single items.  Sewing kit, multitool, first-aid kits, potions.  Last to go in was the lone remaining ten-pound note for her next London adventure and she was ready.  Well.  As ready as she could be after a breath of freedom to go back to indentured servitude.

She needed to figure out what type of universe she was in and fast because it would make a major difference in what she did going forward.

Dumbledore was a huge example.

While she generally wasn’t his biggest fan, and having to do a verbal tap-dance with the goblins to get access to Harry’s vault hadn’t endeared him to her on his own merits, the degree to which he was a danger to her survival was starkly different depending on what universe she was in.

Especially in one centering around magical creatures.

Drackens?  Dovah? - not a problem, just mainly misguided and/or with a blindspot about potential abuse inside blood-related groups.

Naga? Dragel? - holy shitballs batman, but he’d be a big fucking problem.

Something else? Entirely possible, and could swing either way or land anywhere on the spectrum in between.

And the same with anyone in the wizarding world from people in high authority like Fudge or Madam Bones, on down to Stan Shunpike or first years at school.

Sitting up in her cupboard after the house had gone to bed, she took her flashlight out from its hiding spot at the edge of her mattress and the wall, and then clicked it on before grabbing her <Bag of Books> out of her Inventory.

She had research to do.

Thanks to her System’s Update, not only did she have new types of quests popping up, but when her daily tasks reset for the week on the Sunday after her first visit to Diagon Alley, she had new tasks as well.

Ones focused on training and exercising her magic.

And that for once, weren’t a total drag outside of how they let her exercise and improve her skills.

She steadily worked her way through hundreds of pages over the course of weeks, refraining from visiting the Alley again until she found the answer.

It wasn’t a good life playing Harry Potter at Privet Drive, but now that she wasn’t saving up for her OOC hack, once her Tesco supplies ran out she had the option of supplementing her diet from the Store if need be, which helped make it more tolerable beyond the spite-fueled grinding to reach her goal.

She read every night rather than work on strengthening exercises.

Every day when she woke up, she took her current book on magical inheritances and put it solo into her Inventory so she could grab it out at school to read in the library whilst avoiding Dudley.

Her Intelligence stat skills had never gained experience so quickly before, as only some of her prior reading choices increased that stat rather than Wisdom given that it was almost entirely dependent on magical knowledge rather than more common sources.

{Chaos Theory} gained another ten percent towards completion when she confirmed that in the wizarding universe she was living in that most witches or wizards experienced an inheritance on their sixteenth birthday.

Another book explained that the wizarding age of maturity had been set at seventeen to allow magical children to adjust to a potential inheritance before being expected to act as an adult and citizen - at least in Wizarding Great Britain.

Emancipation also came into play at sixteen, but unfortunately she wasn’t in an emancipation universe - she checked.

But at least according to the goblins, her guardian of record was still Sirius Black, so there was that - which was also food for thought.

If she never entered Hogwarts, then Dumbledore would never have an easy path towards gaining guardianship over her depending on the type of universe she was in.

She’d have to figure out a way to keep herself from being found, but it was a thought that had potential and was very satisfying to her deepest wanna-be-hermit desires.

(When did she get to be done?  When was she going to be able to grieve?  When could she rest?  When?)

It was more than a month before she finally found the answer she’d been searching for, and while it had positive potential, it was one of the worst possibilities when it came to her personal safety.

She found it in a skim of an “extinct creatures” chapter in one of her history books, rather than anything about magical inheritances, having already exhausted those to much frustration.

It was staring at her in black-and-white and an unmoving picture of a skeleton on display in a wizarding museum.

It was terror and hope and dread and fury and sanctuary all tangled together.

It was a dragel.

Holy fuck.

She was in a Dragel universe.

Oh, sweet mercy.

She was so fucked if she made even the slightest misstep.  Dragel universes were awesome.  They also had a common denominator of an aspiring evil-overlord in Albus Dumbledore as well as (generally) Lord fucking Voldemort.

Harry Potter was a dragel.

Fuck.

She had to get to Gringotts.

It was the celebratory chiming of her System that kept her from having an outright panic attack there in the middle of her primary school’s library.

She’d solved the mystery, at least insofar as she needed to for the Quest.

And her System had a few things to say about that.

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!

Good news must be celebrated!

Quest: {Chaos Theory} has been successfully completed!

Character <Race> has been updated from <Magical Being> to <Dragel, Uninherited>

Rewards:

Skill: Investigation - Level Up!

Skill: History - Level Up!

Skill: Survival - Level Up!

Item: <Aldor Peverell’s Pendant> has been added to <Inventory>!

Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!]

You’re still not out of the doghouse by buffing my skills, System.   She growled out at her friend and overlord.  This would’ve been good information to have two-plus years ago, when I was dropped into this clusterfuck!

[This System is sorry, Host.  But there are certain tasks, quests, and moments that must be completed before information is allowed by the System Laws.  Only Host’s determination to gain OOC status and complete Quest: {Chaos Theory} has allowed revelation of Host’s status as an uninherited dragel.]

She sighed, rolling her head back and then looking around before vanishing her book back into her Inventory when she confirmed that she wasn’t being watched.

I know it’s not your fault.   She told her System.  I know you help me as much as you’re allowed, even though you don’t have to do anything but keep me going so this universe doesn’t shatter all over again.  But this is definitely a Red Pill moment that can’t be undone, and while being able to act OOC is worth it, I probably lowered my chances of survival by giving myself the ability to act contrary to how Dumbledore wants me to.

Glancing at the System’s clock, she mulled her idea over before making a decision, pulling out her school notebook and writing two notes before ripping them out and adding them to her Inventory.

It was only lunch.

She ran the risk of screwing up everything with the Dursleys by ditching school and running off to Diagon Alley, but…this was worth it.

She was no Harry Potter with a saving-people-thing, but if she knew of a potential massacre and didn’t do something to try and avoid it, she’d never forgive herself for her complacency.

There was fuck-all she could do about Dumbledore except try and warn Nevarah and get them into gear handling the dangerous bastard.

But…Ryker’s Bane?

She didn’t know if they were dead yet in this universe, or even if they were ever in danger at all, but either way - she had to try.

One way or another, consequences or not, she had to try.

She couldn’t save Harry, he was dead before she was yeeted into this body by the Powers-That-Be.

But…his mentor’s circle?

Maybe, she might be able to save them, or at least give them a fighting chance.

It was Shrodinger’s theory all over again.

Until she knew what happened, in her mind Ryker’s Bane were both dead and alive.

And only acting to prove which it was would resolve it.

Maybe.

Or maybe she’d finally lost her mind.

There’s only one way to find out.

System, how many C-Points do I have to spend?

[Host’s C-Point balance is: 457.]

And how many points do I need for Polyjuice from the Store?

[A single-dose of <Polyjuice Potion> is 100 points, Host]

Fuck.

She waited for the train to pull away from the Surrey station and then ducked into the loo to change out of her school uniform and into her wizarding clothes, as well as pulling out her messenger bag.

The body that exited the loo looked night and day from the one that entered once she’d swapped out her glasses, changed clothes and shoes, and pulled her beanie on to hide the scar on her forehead.

Instead of a slightly scruffy boy, now she appeared well-kempt and tidy.

Moving down the train, she took a seat in one of the rear-most cars, and then pulled up her Inventory, studying what she’d collected over the past couple years in consideration before hovering her mental “hand” over the pendant she’d been awarded for completing {Chaos Theory}.

Her System had tagged it as “Aldor Peverell’s Pendant” and its stats were interesting - and very much valuable to her, no matter what plan to guarantee her safety she eventually ended up using.

It had a couple stat buffs, in keeping with its former owner.  Survival, Stealth, and Evasion were all increased when it was worn, but it was the single enchantment on it that made her itch to take it out and put it on.  Even if it would send alarms ringing long before she was ready for it.

The enchantment was aptly named: <An Old Friend>, and made the wearer untrackable by anyone but Lady Death.

Which rather explained how Lewis Peverell was never able to find his brother once Aldor left Neverah, and was clearly based on the Cloak Hallow.

Dumbledore would lose his damn mind if whatever means of tracking Harry - if he had any in play before he arrived at Hogwarts - suddenly blinked out, and once she put it on, it wouldn’t be safe for her to take back off as long as Dumbledore was a factor.

She had an idea percolating in the back of her mind, inspired by a fanfic plot device aptly enough, but she didn’t yet have the means to carry it out.

And, before that, she still had work to do.

She also didn’t have the points…unless she completed {What’s in a Name?}.

The reward on that quest was big enough - both in points and other rewards - that it would make what she was thinking of doing viable.

Especially combined with a little luck.

Unlike her first trip, she lost no time beelining straight to Diagon Alley, and hit her first stop: Scribbulus’s Writing Instruments where she bought a tamper-proof stationary set that was warded and enchanted to guarantee that no one but the recipient could open her letters once she sealed them with the provided wax-and-seal-press set.  It was exorbitantly expensive, as expected from something so much magic went into making, but if it kept her letters safe it was worth it.   A pre-filled quill - that was basically a fountain pen by another name and with a feather attached - was also a pretty galleon, but again: worth it with its steel nib she’d never have to sharpen.

Dipping into an out-of-the-way cafe between Diagon Alley and Carkit Market, she quickly dashed off her messages and then sealed each one, writing the recipient on the outside.

Taking a deep breath as she shoved down her panic and adrenaline rush, she carefully tucked away the letters in one pocket of her bag and the stationary supplies in another.

She had no fucking idea if this was going to work.

And if it did, then she would have no way to predict what would come next.

But she had to try.

She had to believe it was worth it.

Otherwise, why had she spent the last two-plus years keeping her head down and playing the obedient doormat to the Dursleys?

Why bother going through all of that shit to reclaim her autonomy?

If all she cared about was saving her own ass, she could’ve just gone through the motions as Harry Potter and let the System puppet her along via Quests and incentives.

She wanted her life back.

But that was one thing she couldn’t have.

Her life was gone.

Harry’s life was over.

All she had left was saving who she could and finding justice for a sweet little boy who’d never deserved everything that was done to him.

Then, maybe maybe, she could find some peace with this clusterfuck.

Until then, she’d let spite against the PTB carry her through.

She couldn’t ruin the PTB’s day.

She could, however, ruin Albus Dumbledore’s.

And she supposed, given the lack of any other option, that’d just have to do.

Far away, in a sanctuary realm, a servant of Lady Fate took a long drag off her pipe, and gasped as all at once years’ worth of visions finally came together after shattering beyond repair years before and remaining in flux ever since.

Oh.

Oh, that was interesting.

As ever with fate and destiny, neither better nor worst, but interesting.

Maia Kadel had wondered what had caused her Lady Fate’s plans to be upended, and what would have to happen for them to be righted.

But as with any servant of an Immortal, she knew it was best to wait and watch rather than to rush ahead blindly.

There you are, little one.   She thought as a pair of bright green eyes once more appeared in her mind’s eye.  I’ve been looking for you.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Seven: For a Price

There was one rule when dealing with the goblins of Gringotts: everything had a price.

She had studied the “offered services” pamphlet extensively, and knew exactly what they offered their customers - and what they didn’t.

They didn’t have healing services.

They weren’t a magical deux ex machina for instant health or solutions.

What they did do was anything to do with gold and precious metals.  From exploring and searching for lost - and thereby unclaimed - artifacts, to banking.  They existed across realms and had contact with Nevarah.

Going to Gringotts wasn’t a perfect solution to her situation, but it would handle a couple things for her, so long as she was willing to pay the price.

With the potential of needing to make it to Diagon Alley always at the back of her mind, she’d been far more conservative about using her Felix skill to keep from having it in cool-down when she needed it.

So as she was shown into the office of the Potter Account Manager, Uruk, she activated it knowing she had ten minutes to convince the cranky bastard to forward her letters to their recipients in Nevarah.

Her other potential task at the bank was secondary.

If she had a chance in hell of neutralizing Dumbledore, it was by dumping it in the collective laps of the dragels that their ancient foes were alive and thriving and plotting against them and their sanctuary realm on Earth.

She didn’t need all of her letter recipients to believe her.

She didn’t even need most of them.

She only needed one to at least be interested enough to investigate, and everything from there should snowball.

She hoped.

But as she’d been telling herself since she’d figured out Dragel! a couple hours before (in between the breathtaking waves of panic anyway), all she could do was try.

“How can Gringotts assist you today, Mr. Potter?”

“I need to send several messages to recipients in Nevarah.”  She told Uruk bluntly, not even attempting to deceive or play games with him.  Either her luck would work or it wouldn’t.  Either way, it ran better odds than trying to bullshit a goblin.

If a goblin could look surprised, then that was what she’d say Uruk was in that moment as he heard the word Nevarah come out of her mouth.

“Nevarah, you say?”  Uruk hedged cagily.  “And whereabouts might that be?”

She viciously stamped down on the urge to roll her eyes.

“It’s a Nevermore Realm that Gringotts has a connection to.  Sanctuary Realm.”  She rattled off, not stopping until he held up one hand with hoary, spindly fingers to halt her.  “Created by Dragels to escape hunts organized by an alliance of wizards and Torvaks.  Currently ruled by royals of each of the four major elements.  Only able to be accessed from Earth by someone with a link to Nevarah or an emergency portal.  The current Air ruler is…”

Uruk stopped the impetuous young wizard with a raised hand.  “Yes, yes, that’s enough.  How did you come to know of Nevarah, young wizard?  Most of your kind are unaware of it.”

Wordlessly, she reached into her bag and pulled out Aldor’s pendant, the Peverell crest shining brightly on the face of it.

“I’m aware of my family heritage, Uruk.”  She told him, then tucked the pendant safely back away.  “Will Gringotts forward my letters to Nevarah, or not?”

One long, dagger-sharp claw tapped slowly on the desk, then Uruk nodded.

“For a price, naturally.”

“Of course.”  Her smile was just as filled with teeth as her account manager’s own.  “How much?”

“Ten galleons per letter.” He named an extortionate price, halfway just to see what the oddest - and one of the richest - of his clients would do.

This time she did roll her eyes.  “That’s highway robbery.  Ten galleons total.”

“Twenty.”

“Twelve.”

“Eighteen.”

“Fifteen and not a knut more.”  She countered firmly, knowing that Uruk was completely capable of going back-and-forth all day down to the last knut.  “With a guarantee that they’ll make it to Nevarah and not be “lost” somewhere in transit.”

“You’re smarter than you look, young wizard.”  Uruk said grudgingly, then nodded in agreement.  “Fifteen galleons, for secure and guaranteed transfer of letters to Nevarah.”

A click of his fingers had a contract appearing between them, and she readed it top-to-bottom before signing it and approving the fee transfer from her trust vault, then handed over the small stack of letters.

One to each of the crown royals - not the sitting ones - plus one to Ryuusen, the alpha of Ryker’s Bane, one to Isla Gorgens, and a last ratting out Molly Weasley and what she’d done to her kids to her brothers and their circle.

Uruk had a look on his face that said he regretted not arguing a per-letter delivery fee, but as the contract was signed before she showed her hand as to the amount of letters in question, that was on him not her.

Another spell had the letters sent off to whatever holding or routing spot Gringotts used, then Uruk asked after her second piece of business.

“I’ve found myself in need of one of your cursebreakers.”

“Oh?”

Her expression was grim as she tugged off her beanie and then pulled back her hair so that the iconic scar on her forehead was revealed.

“I have reason to believe that my scar either once was, or is currently still, a Horcrux belonging to the Dark Lord known as Voldemort.  I was hoping one of your experienced and learned cursebreakers might be able to shed some light on the matter.”

“Ah,” Uruk’s face was grim indeed as the reminder of the lethal wizard and his foul magics was made clear to him.  “I see.  Yes.  Gringotts may not be able to assist if your fears turn out to be true, Mr. Potter.  But our cursebreakers will be able to tell you one way or another.  For a fee.”

“Naturally.”  She gave him a grim smile.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Fees kept the goblins bound to their word.

Without fees and a contract, she wouldn’t want to do business with one.

Respectful of other persecuted creatures or not, right now she wasn’t a dragel.

She only had the potential to become one.

Until then, she wouldn’t trust a goblin on their word alone as far as she could throw them.

Without magic.

She was ushered into a room far deeper in the caverns of Gringotts than Account Manager Uruk’s office, and left alone to wait.

Which she in turns used to unproductively thought-spiral and semi-productively figure out a plan with contingencies.

One thing she had figured out.

She’d done a pretty good job of ignoring it, but she felt a deep and unrelenting sense of guilt over taking Harry’s body.  She knew that it was for some greater cosmic purpose.  Or for the PTB to get their kicks watching her flail around and angst.  She knew that she hadn’t chosen this.

It didn’t stop her from feeling icky about it.

From feeling like this wasn’t her life and it definitely wasn’t her body.

She knew that her System was trying to help her - in the only way it knew - come to terms and/or make peace with her situation.

But until she thought that justice was done and Harry - he’d only been a baby when he died she didn’t care that eight technically was a child, he was a baby - could rest in peace, she couldn’t be at peace.

Her letters to Nevarah were only her first attempt, which meant she had to figure out a way to stick around and see if they worked or not - only without risking Dumbledore kidnapping and/or killing her, or being forcibly taken to Nevarah.

Given that they were basically symbiotic, she shouldn’t be surprised that her System chimed out a new announcement, and yet, as ever when it reacted to her thought-soup, she was.

[New Alternate Quest Unlocked!

Quest: {Where in the World is Carmen San Diego?} is now available!

Quest: {Now You See Me, Now You Don’t!} is now available!

Quest: {The Wheels of Justice} is now available!

Quest: {Notice Me Not!} is now available!]

After reviewing the quest information while she was kept waiting, she honestly wanted to laugh at how on the nose her System always was.

Three of them - all but {The Wheels of Justice} - were all the same premise.  {Now You See Me} had her hiding from Dumbledore and his agents, {Where in the World} was hiding from muggle authorities, and the last one {Notice Me Not!} was another quest that had her completing a number of sub-tasks that would make {Now You See Me} and {Where in the World} more viable for completion.

Gotta give it to the System, it was always coming through with incentives to keep her going and help her sort out her priorities, even when she was at risk of being overwhelmed.

Which all boiled down to one core action: staying in London until she knew that some form of justice had succeeded against the Dursleys - and potentially Dumbledore - for his, given that she was piloting his body around, attempted murder but not getting caught in the process.

What she found interesting was how the System always made its thoughts and preferences known, even if it never stated them outright.  In this case, it clearly agreed that staying out of the hands of Dumbledore was a good idea.  But it notably didn’t give her a task or quest to stay out of the way of dragels or avoid Nevarah.

Which said a lot of what the System would prefer to happen.

Even if she didn’t agree.

Still even without the help from the System pushing and/or guiding her to stay off the radar of Nevarah, with what she knew about the magical mechanics of the dragel multiverse, she should be able to manage it while staying away from Dumbledore and his widely-flung net.

Tricky, if she was actually a ten year old.

For the mind and knowledge of a woman almost forty, not so much, especially given that there were both muggle and magical methods of going undetected available to her.

Contingencies though.

Contingencies would be important.

Sure, she could let herself be found and most likely end up in Nevarah under the care and guidance of some well-meaning mentor or distant relative of Harry’s or even a pareyic coven.

They’d ensure that she was safe and cared for.

They would see her as a child and treat her as one too.

But she wasn’t a child.

She was an independent adult, albeit one trapped in the body of a child, and after years of trauma, abuse, burnout, depression, passive suicidal ideation, and major body dysphoria, she thought she was due a fucking break.

So she would get justice for Harry.

And then she would disappear, for however long it took her to come to terms and/or find peace with the mental/emotional clusterfuck that was involuntary transmigration.  Whether that took a year or however long she had in this second life she was living.  But she was going to do it her way.

And then…who knows?

Maybe she’ll return to the Wizarding World if the bindings remain and keep her from inheriting.  Settle down and have a dozen kids with someone.

Maybe she’ll stay in the muggle world, become a teacher or a librarian like she’d been planning to do in her first life.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The point was, that it’d be her choice and not someone else’s.

And at the moment, other than ensuring Harry rested in peace, that was all that really mattered to her.

Bill Weasley only had three months left in his cursebreaking apprenticeship with Gringotts before he could be promoted to Junior Cursebreaker, when he had one of the most unique - and problematic - moments of his entire career.

His trainer had collected him from where he was cataloging new finds from the Egypt digs, with excitement burning in his eyes.

Bill was told only the most minimal of information:

The Cursebreakers had gotten a unique request for an examination of a potential curse on a wizard.   Which in itself wasn’t that odd.  Cursebreaking on living beings was an entire subset of their profession, but it tended to be practiced by Healers far more than the sort of adventurers that were attracted to working for Gringotts.

They had a Healer or two on staff with the specialty, but it was generally so that if a Cursebreaker themselves were cursed and couldn’t counter it than a service the goblins provided to outsiders.

Still it was considered a good practice to have any apprentices sit-on on unique requests to help turn them into well-rounded - and therefore valuable - members of the cursebreaking team.

Which in turn led Bill Weasley to an examination room deep beneath the ground floor of Gringotts London, and to a sight that was baffling and shocking in turn:

That of the slight form of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who turned vivid green eyes and his infamously scarred face towards Bill, his mentor, and the head of Gringotts’ small team of healers as they entered.

They’d been stopped before entering by one of the higher-ranked goblins over the human cursebreaking team, who had them all sign a secrecy contract so air-tight it made his apprenticeship contract with the Bank look like child’s play.

Which, Bill supposed, if the client was Harry bloody Potter with no sign of his guardian in Headmaster Dumbledore in sight, made far too much sense.

The healer had been handed another contract, which per protocol would contain the exact limits and requirements of the contract between Potter and the bank, and she’d reviewed it before handing it over to Bill and his mentor and approaching the silently watchful form of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Before we begin,” Healer Hypatia began in her quiet voice, “you are aware of the exact nature of the scan you’ve asked for?”

“I asked for a Cursebreaker who could do a scan of me,” Potter replied politely enough but with absolutely no give in his tone.  Odd for such a young wizard to manage it, but then this was the Boy-Who-Lived.  “And ascertain whether or not I now, or have ever, had a soul-leech attached to me.”

Bill sucked in a silent shocked breath, wide blue eyes darting between the young boy - younger even than his youngest brother - and the implacable face of his mentor, who gave a sharp nod then handed over the contract for Bill’s own edification.

And there it was in black-and-white, signed in blood:

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, for some reason suspected that he had a soul-leech attached to him.

That he might be cursed with an affliction Bill mere minutes before would have said was impossible.

That he was a living Horcrux.

Merlin, kid.   Bill couldn’t help but think, even as he took up his position quiet and motionless against the wall to observe.  What the hell has happened to you?

And, more importantly, why did no one ever help?

As Healer Hypatia began chanting softly over the kid, having coaxed him into laying back on the exam table, Bill hoped that the kid’s fears were groundless.

For once, for all that he thrived on puzzles and problems, that there was nothing to be found.

He wasn’t even eleven years old.

Just a boy.

Harry Potter shouldn’t be worried about having a Horcrux leeched onto him, or so - clearly, given the terms of the contracts involved - worried about secrecy.

He was just a boy.

Before she could return to the upper levels of Gringotts and carry out a few contingencies after the cursebreakers had left her with the Healer - and fuck, but she’d almost passed out in sheer shock at the sight of who had to be Bill Weasley come to observe as a “teaching opportunity” - the healer stopped her.

To her relief - but not necessarily surprise, since a Horcrux was a construct of perverted soul magic, and she had her own soul, not Harry’s - there was no leech attached to her soul that the healer could find.

Not even residue or traces because again: different souls.

There were significant dark-magic “echoes” apparently around the Scar, but nothing that was still active or that she had to worry about.

That didn’t stop the healer from snagging her once the cursebreakers had gone, and quickly slapping up a privacy ward.

It made her wary, but at the same time she was willing to humor the healer if only because she knew that in most universes, magical or not, healers and doctors tended to take their do-no-harm vows seriously.

And with how deep the Healer probably had to scan her magic or soul, or what-have-you, to check for a Horcrux, she wasn’t oblivious to the possibility that Hypatia might have found something else.

“Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that you bear seals?”  Hypatia asked, darting a look at the closed door.

She took a slow, deep breath.  After the procedure, she still felt raw.  Like she’d been scrubbed and scoured on a soul-deep level.  Still, it was what she’d asked for.  And the knowledge that she wasn’t a Horcrux - that if her body itself ever way, it died away with Harry - was worth the discomfort.

“Can you tell how many? Or of what kind?”

Healer Hypatia shook her head slightly, then explained: “not without a scan designed to do so.  Seals weren’t the purpose of our work today, and while the scan I used picked up on their existence, that was the extent of it, beyond ascertaining that they’re not interfering with your soul.”

If she remembered her lore correctly, by the time Harry Potter made it to Nevarah, he had twelve or thirteen seals on him.

The catch was that none of them were placed at the same time, except for the Family Seals that’d presumably he’d either inherited or were intentionally placed at or shortly after his birth.

Which accounted for three that she knew of, but not the rest.

She hated the idea of wandering around with unknown magical blocks on her, but beyond throwing in the towel and letting the dragels take over her life, she didn’t see what other option she had.

“Is that information that’ll be covered under the secrecy contract?”  She moved on to practicalities instead of assumptions.

“It is…”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”  She gave Healer Hypatia a calm look.  “Thank you, Healer, for your care.”

As tempting as it was for her to get on a plane and disappear to the States where she knew exactly what all the laws were and how to disappear, she didn’t know when/where/how to access the magical community there.

The flip side was that while she did know how to access the magical community in London, every time she did so as Harry Potter, she ran a major risk of discovery, no matter how effective her simple methods of hiding had been so far.

That was when they weren’t actively looking for Harry Potter.

Even if her letters to Nevarah ultimately proved fruitless, she’d be discovered missing from the Dursleys.

Fanfic had given her a couple interesting options on how to get around looking like a child or even Harry Potter entirely - it was simply finding out which were possible in Splinter Universe 52669936 that was the rub.

To get access to Harry’s accounts and information as well as the Healer, she’d been exploiting a loophole: with Sirius Black in prison, Alice Longbottom insensate, and not having accepted admission to a magical school, she technically had no guardian able to stop her from doing as she pleased.

Her Account Manager had seemed entertained - if she had to guess what it was his face was doing during their first meeting - at her audacity if nothing else.

“If a legitimate magical guardian is assigned to me or otherwise appears,” she asked once she reappeared from the bowels of the Bank with her scan results in one hand.  “Can they cut me off from my account?  Or have any control over it?”

“No,” Uruk told her blunt as ever.  He did appreciate that this young one didn’t waste his time but got to the point.  Time was gold.  “Once an account is claimed, it cannot be unclaimed without it being legally turned over or willed away.”

Cool, cool.

She wouldn’t have to do something like open a new numbered account and leave a single knut in the old one or something.

Gotta love the lack of fucks the goblins gave about wizards and their bullshit.

And that the Potters apparently hadn’t left wills that would’ve controlled how her inheritance was controlled and guarded until she came of age.

Once she claimed it, it was just hers.

The Potter inheritance was pretty straight forward.  Aligned with the canon sources, the only material inheritance to deal with was Harry’s vault containing the wealth of the Potters.  There was also the ruined cottage in Godric’s Hollow and the Cloak in Dumbledore’s greedy paws, but that wasn’t exactly something that anything could be done about at the moment.

Not without a legal battle with the Ministry of Magic over them turning Harry Potter’s inherited property into a national monument or confronting Dumbledore.

And that was the sort of thing she could not afford when her autonomy was far more important than a place everyone and their mother knew was connected to Harry Potter.

“Next question: can the Ministry of Magic or another government entity demand information regarding my accounts?  Like a history of transactions on my Gringotts card, or of my comings-and-goings from the bank itself?”

Uruk’s snarl was bloodthirsty and ugly.  “Not without starting another goblin war.”

Her smile was brilliant then she nodded her head respectfully.  “Excellent.  May your gold ever flow, Uruk.”

“And may your enemies tremble, young wizard.”

The thing was, she knew she was on a clock.

The System might not have given her one to go with her new quests, but she was well aware that so long as her messages to Nevarah got through, eventually someone would come looking for her or stumble over her in the course of their investigations.

What she was counting on, foolishly or otherwise, was that Dumbledore didn’t have tracking spells latched onto her.

She thought based on what Hypatia told her that if there were, the Healer would’ve said something.

Why would he bother, after all?

Canon-Harry was an ignorant muggle-raised wizarding child who didn’t even immediately believe Hagrid when told he was a wizard.  That’s not exactly a high-priority target to keep track of.  Not until he actually entered the wizarding world.

Before that, Dumbledore seemed content to plonk Arabella Figg a couple streets over in the same neighborhood and call it good, relying on his pawns in the Dursleys to keep Harry in line.

So as she stepped out of Gringotts, she took Aldor’s pendant back out of her bag and slipped it over her head, hoping as she did so that she wasn’t shooting herself in the foot and alerting Dumbledore that something was up before Figg or the Dursleys realized she was never coming back to Privet Drive.

The pendant guarded against being tracked, not seen or simply found.

With dragels potentially imminent, she couldn’t afford to return to Surrey unless she wanted to be packed away to Nevarah.

Which meant she had some more shopping to do while she could manage it without being tagged as the “missing” Boy-Who-Lived.

Chapter Text

Being Harry Potter

(Whether She Likes It or Not)

Chapter Eight: Out of Sight, Out of Mind

The bell over the door at Akerman’s Adventure Supplies jangled cheerfully as a customer stepped into the shop that was tucked into a corner at the far end of Carkitt Market off Diagon Alley.

Looking up from where he was in the back room of the shop working on a custom order, the owner rose and wiped his hands on a rag before moving out to see who had come wandering in on that fine day in May.

Now, Mr. Akerman was wizard enough to admit that who he found wasn’t who he was expecting though also wasn’t out of the norm.

Most kids Hogwarts age or their parents preferred to get the standard Hogwarts trunk at one of the shops on Diagon Alley, but there were a few more discerning clients every year in the run up to school starting who would come his way instead.  Akerman’s bread-and-butter was outdoor supplies, yes, but that didn’t preclude that their goods couldn’t be used for other purposes.  Why, they made some of the finest pieces of luggage and bags around!

They wouldn’t see the likes of the Malfoys or Blacks, as they often shopped at the highest end stores, but Mr. Akerman liked to think that for all he didn’t charge as much as Goldenrod’s on High Street, or go in for the pure flash-and-dash charms that served no purpose beyond bragging, that his works were lesser.

Good Merlin, no.

His work, rather, was for the discerning and sensible customer, when he wasn’t dealing with his common clientele of magizoologists, aurors, and cursebreakers.

And that was the way he liked it.

So he always welcomed the odd young student who would come into his shop, finding that they were often future Ravenclaws much like his own self, and more concerned with knowing something was of a unique quality rather than merely expensive or the same as the majority.

“Hello there, young wizard.”  

She looked up as she was hailed by who she was guessing - based on the look of the shop she’d found off the beaten path of Carkitt Market, having decided that while she was collecting what she’d need to - potentially - stay off the radar of anyone searching for her, she might as well clean up a few quests off her list as well.  It wasn’t like she couldn’t use the points, fuck knew.  Polyjuice would only get her so far, especially since she couldn’t afford much of it.  Aging Potions were a better idea long-term, but even with them being less expensive in the System Store, unless she managed to complete bigger-reward quests almost daily, they weren’t sustainable.

At least, sustainable to purchase through the Store.

Polyjuice was supposed to be an extremely difficult and fiddly potion to brew, especially for someone who had no actual experience brewing potions.

Aging Potion was supposed to be easier, an OWL-level potion, but that still would require practice and ingredients - both of which, if she was careful and didn’t get herself caught, she should be able to manage.

According to the Store, an Aging Potion’s effects lasted twelve hours per dose, and enough Aging Potion to age Harry’s body up to appear well over the age of majority cost 5 C-points per year which came out to 50 points - or half the cost of Polyjuice for twelve-times the amount of time.

From what she remembered, Harry didn’t have the same baby-face issue that she did, so aging-up to twenty should be enough of a cushion combined with not wearing school or house colors that most people should just assume that she was of-age.

And if not, she could bite the bullet of the extra points expenditure and age-up to twenty-five instead.

But that was a problem for a bit further in the future.

Right now with no one actively looking for Harry Potter, she could (hopefully) buy the books, supplies, and other items she needed to make a successful break for it without having to worry about her body’s age.

(If trying to brew her own Aging Potion failed, she could always see if there was an Apothecary that stocked it, or maybe even check Zonko’s.  It wasn’t a restricted potion like Polyjuice, which was also to its benefit.  That didn’t mean it was a common one, however, or that people wouldn’t give her the side-eye for routinely purchasing it.  Especially if aging up her body ended with her looking like the ghost of James Potter with green eyes.)

“Hi!”  She plastered a cheerful, innocent look on her face and returned the shopkeeper’s greeting.  “How are you doing today, sir?”

“Quite well, quite well.”  Akerman waved off the polite question.  “Are you here for a trunk, perhaps?  Or a school bag?”  He eyed the leather satchel hanging from the younger wizard’s shoulder with a bit of disdain.

Not the bog-standard kit, that, but hardly as fine and well-constructed as his own wares, he’d dare say.

She was a bit interested with that segue, wondering about the various options that wizarding luggage might have, but not enough to be distracted from her goals.

The clerk at Wiseacre’s had suggested she check the travel agency for things like a wizarding tent, but her muggleborn guide had given a rundown on established shops in the various magical districts and streets, and Akerman’s was one of the only “outdoors” shops listed besides the likes of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

She thought it was worth checking out, as since she didn’t plan on fleeing the country - yet - and couldn’t explain what a ten year old would want in a travel agency to begin with, it seemed a less suspicious solution.

“My friend and I are going on a camping trip for my birthday, before we have to go to Hogwarts for first year.”  She chattered along like an appropriately-excited child.  “My guardians said I should come and get supplies beforehand.”

“Oh, now that’s a fine thing to hear.”  Akerman blustered along a little, more engaged now that it looked like his small customer might be after more than a simple trunk - for as simple as his wares tended to be.  “Everyone should spend time in nature, yes indeed.”  He frowned, peering out into the street beyond his shop windows.  “Did your guardians send you alone?”

It wasn’t uncommon, but the younger wizard was a bit small and clearly not quite Hogwarts age or seeking out their school supplies as was the most common case of parents or guardians entrusting their children with shopping independently.

Any reputable shopkeep wouldn’t take advantage of a young witch or wizard just beginning to spread their wings, after all, Merlin no, so doing so was relatively safe in the current era of peace.

“They’re muggles, sir.”  She told him with utter honesty, watching with some amusement as confusion - and a bit of worry - was replaced with understanding.  “They don’t particularly care for shopping in the magic district.”

“Just so.”  Akerman grumbled, though he was pleased he wouldn’t have to waste his time explaining even the simplest spells and charms to gawkers.  “Well, let’s get you kitted out then.  Muggle-friendly items, or…?”

She didn’t know whether to be amused or exasperated that she’d managed to wander into a shop that - if she wasn’t misreading Akerman - wasn’t quite as “muggle-friendly” as those on Diagon Alley.

Though whether it was a matter of pure prejudice or something else, she couldn’t say, but she knew dislike when she saw it, even if the shopkeeper was still being polite to her.

“What do you have that looks muggle and if inspected would pass as muggle, but is enchanted?”  She asked, testingly.  “Preferably something with built-in wards and enchantments for safety?”

Akerman gave the younger wizard a long look.

It was hardly the first time he’d had such a conversation, and to his frustration and anger he doubted it would be the last so long as wizarding children were placed with muggles.

“C’mon, lad.”  He sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment, and directed the young wizard over towards what was publicly tagged as the “wanderer” line but that he privately thought of as his runaway muggleborn collection.  He didn’t always sell items from it for that reason.  But it had happened enough over his fifty years as a purveyor of outdoor equipment - including enchanted tents and other transient housing solutions - that he was no longer surprised and had learned to read between the lines.  And it never failed to dismay him, even as he did what he could to help those who came seeking this particular line of merchandise.  All he could do was discreetly inform his contact in the Aurors that he had a new customer and their description, as well as whatever name they gave him - real or alias.  What he wouldn't do was try and interfere.  So long as the young ones who ran - if indeed that was what was going on with his newest customer - felt that his shop was safe then they might return and stay safe themselves rather than chance riskier options such as those found down Knockturn Alley.  It tore at him, but he'd learned the hard way that it was better to offer the help runaways would accept than to press them and end up seeing them on a missing person's poster or on an obituary.  “I wager I have just what you need.”

She found herself deeply saddened that the shopkeeper at Akerman’s had clearly seen enough abused muggleborn children over the years to have an entire kit that he set her up with without asking questions.

Like.

Honestly.

What the fuck?

She wasn’t discounting the ability of magical families or guardians to abuse and/or neglect their children either.  Neville Longbottom, anyone?  But it still said a lot that Akerman had an entire line of items that could be used interchangeably by “wizarding wanderers” or homeless muggleborn kids.

All of them were keyed to touch for activation, not requiring a wand or spell.

All of them were embedded with muggle-repelling and notice-me-not charms of varying strength.

All of them.

It was an entire line of merchandise designed so someone even without a wand but with a magical signature could disappear.

It was both convenient and fucking heartbreaking since it meant that squibs could use it too - and she knew how horrible the magical world was to squibs.

In a little less time than it took Akerman to summon a half-dozen items from within his shop, she found herself the owner of:

• A wizarding tent that was basically a studio apartment.
• A set of seven portable ward-stones that would secure a “camping space” against pretty much anything that wasn’t a direct magical attack.
• A small rucksack that had a small toggle she could flip between muggle-safe and the actual magical storage that was featherlight and expanded.
• A portable potion’s lab, complete with ventilation spells.
• And last but certainly not least, a wrist watch that had an on-demand muggle repelling/notice-me-not spell set anchored to it, but that Akerman warned was a limited use only lasting about a year, less if constantly activated in crowded spaces, more if used primarily as a precaution in vacant areas.

She had the idea that once she nailed down the Aging Potion reliably, she could use it and a little magic to finagle her way into an actual apartment or sub-let, but until then roughing it was her best plan to stay off-grid.

Akerman had given her satchel another side-eye when she stuck her haul at his shop in it rather than swapping over to the rucksack, but she still had more shopping and in the magical district rucksacks weren’t a common sight like they were in the muggle world.

Though she did like the soft pine-green color of the dyed leather rucksack, and she wasn’t afraid to tell him so before taking her leave, a soft “stay safe, young one” ringing in her ears after she paid in gold coins rather than leaving a paper trail via her key or signing Harry’s name to a check.

Gringotts wouldn’t say anything, but store owners weren’t held to the same standard of confidentiality.

Even though, if she was reading Akerman right, he wouldn’t speak to the Founders themselves about a kid who wandered into his store looking for supplies to manage going on walkabout.

She picked up food in Carkitt Market since the tent’s apartment had small expanded cabinets that would keep food fresh, and then hit the bookseller that was on the {Nooks and Crannies} shopping list.

A haul of potions manuals and primers later and she was moving even faster, the silent ticking of a clock ever-present in the back of her mind.

Whimsical Whimsies saw her three galleons poorer for a nightlight globe in a soft pink that acted as a ward for a restful sleep and good dreams.

It was marketed towards being a children’s nursery gift, but fuck if she cared.

Insomnia was an old friend, and if her body wasn’t so damn weary all the time, she wagered she’d have more problems with it since being forced to role-play as the Boy-Who-Lived in muggle hell.

It took everything in her to avoid stopping and freezing when she was turning off Carkitt and back onto Diagon Alley’s main drag and spied a group of impossibly pretty people moving through the Alley and towards Gringotts.

Fuck.

If those weren’t dragels sent to investigate what was going on, she was the fucking Queen.

She was out of time but she had to hit one of the Apothecaries for supplies and ingredients.

That was okay.

This wouldn’t be the last time she would visit the Alley.

Not by a long shot.

That night, after finding an abandoned neighborhood park that didn’t look too trafficked but was in too nice of an area to really have much of a homeless population, she set up camp.

Activating the wards on her watch, then waiting for a few minutes before moving over towards some brush and shrubs that would give cover even without all the wards packed into Akerman’s tent.

She gave the tent a one-over once it was set up - just as easily as promised - and then stepped inside, instantly feeling a sense of relief nearly buckle her knees.

She’d done it.

She’d escaped, though for how long still remained to be seen.

It was the Surrey headlines and the tucked-away journalism pieces hidden in the depths of the Prophet that eventually let her figure out it was over.

For now.

Entire Family Goes Missing in Little Whinging, Reward Offered for Information

Or:

Mass Disappearances Throughout Wizarding Britain!  Has You-Know-Who Returned?!

Then the tone changed, as she settled into a new routine after several weeks of hypervigilance:

Still No Sign of Dumbledore!!!  Victim or Murderer???

Boy-Who-Lived Missing!!!  Where is Our Savior???

And then almost three months after she’d gone into hiding, the System trilled out a new notification:

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!]

It was a double notification.

The first revealing that she’d completed {Now You See Me, Now You Don’t} which was nothing short of a relief.  She had things to worry about still, but staying under the notice of Albus Dumbledore apparently wasn’t one of them.

At least - not anymore.

But it was nothing compared to the soul-deep relief and sense of satisfaction that came with the System informing her that she’d successfully completed her quest to see justice for Harry.  Coupled with not needing to hide from Dumbledore and the headlines, she could take a reasonable stab at guessing what’d happened.  Especially if she’d been right all those months ago about that group of too-pretty people being dragels.

After all, she hadn’t just signed every message - except for the one to Alpha Ryuusen, having no idea whether he’d even get it or not, and playing on the curiosity of his circle to convince them to investigate her claims - with not only Harry’s name but also his address.

If they hadn’t managed to realize something was fucking off with the Dursleys, she would’ve been shocked as hell.

Especially without Dumbledore to bail them out.

She’d had no idea if the royals would be willing to investigate a random message from Earth - but a warning about a potential Torvak plotting to invade Nevarah?

That, she’d figured, would get their fucking attention.

But now…

Dumbledore was gone, along with the Dursleys.

Harry could rest in peace.

Now she had to figure out how to start living this life that’d been forced on her.

And she had an idea of where she was supposed to start.

Bringing up the [Profile] in her System’s menu, she stared at the [Host Name] field that was still empty aside from her randomly generated [User Number].

Months had passed since her System challenged her to choose a name she wanted to be called.  It didn’t disallow her from remaining incognito as Harry Potter.  But it was a name that wasn’t dead to her.

She couldn’t be who she was.

That person was dead and gone, she would never be them again, she wasn’t even the same species anymore.

Clinging to that name would only do more harm than good.

But she couldn’t just take Harry’s name, even now that she felt a bone-deep sensation of peace over ensuring that his soul could rest - wherever it was - with the knowledge that the Dursleys and Dumbledore had faced justice for what they did and caused.

They were both dead names belonging to ended lives.

She needed something else.

Something that could be hers but also his for the body she’d been left with.

Something… theirs.

Yeah.

Yeah, she liked that.

Something Theirs.

And in the back of their mind, she thought she heard the sound of her mom and sisters’ voices:

Hi, honey!  How was school?

C’mon sis, we’ve gotta get to the hospital!  *&^#’s in labor!

Don’t be a motherhen, *&^%$, I’m fine!

Hey hun, how’re you doing?

Clicking on the [Host Name] field, she typed in her new name.  One that wasn't her but wasn't Harry's.  Something all her own for their body.

This wasn’t changing her legal name, only the one they’d choose to be called by the System - and maybe, someday, others.

She’d convince people who knew their legal name to call them Hen, or Henny for Henry instead of Harry.  Gain that bit more distance.  Feel less like they’d stolen something from an innocent child.

But for them?

[Host Name Update Complete!  Host Name: Lark has been updated in the System!

Congratulations!  Congratulations!  Congratulations!

Good news must be said three times.]

Lark suited her just fine.

A little her, a little him, and no memories that hurt even when they were all things good and sweet.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Lark suited her, suited them, just fine.