Tragedy avoided

Viktor took the book and began to read at once, not giving anyone much time to process the last chapter. Harri was thankful for this. She did not want to dwell on the deaths that had not happened yet. She would change the future. Their deaths would not happen this time around. They would not lay on her shoulders.

Harri lay flat on her back, breathing hard as though she had been running. She had awoken from a vivid dream with her hands pressed over her face. The old scar on her forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath her fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to her skin.

Dumbledore eyed Harri curiously. He had a theory about how Miss Potter had “dreamt” about Voldemort’s actions, but he wanted more to go on before he was comfortable moving it from a theory to reality.

Harri winced at the description. That was going to be fun to look forward to. Could Voldemort make her scar burn from a distance now? Her hand went to her scar subconsciously as worry took over her features.

Harri ran her fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. She turned on the lamp beside her, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened her wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny girl just starting to grow into herself at fourteen looked back at her,

“You can say that again,” Fred snorted teasingly.

Harri rolled her eyes at him. She ate more than he did when she wasn’t stressed out. It wasn’t her fault her body refused to gain weight or muscle mass. It was nice to know that she would start to look more like a girl soon, though. After the week spent actually enjoying being feminine, she had started to resent that if it weren’t for her lengthy hair, she could pass for a young boy. She still didn’t particularly care about looking girly the way Lavender did, but she wanted to be able to when she chose.

Harri tried to recall what she had been dreaming about before she had awoken. It had seemed so real…

“It sounded real,” Harri mumbled to herself. Was it really a dream? She didn’t think so. Her gut was telling her that dream was important, that it had happened.

“It was just a dream, Miss Potter,” Fudge cut in. “There’s no need to put any real stock into it.”

“Now hold on,” Moody objected, “writing the dream off as just a dream right now is far too hasty. If it all was real, we would have learned vital information. We need to know more before we do anything with the information.”

The dim picture of a darkened room came to her...There had been a snake on a hearth rug...a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail...and a cold, high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harri felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into her stomach at the very thought…

“So, he does scare you,” Ron exclaimed, turning to look at Harri.

“He murdered my parents and actively wants me dead,” Harri huffed. “Of course, he scares me. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over and let Voldemort have his way. I don’t care if he’s better at magic than I am. I don’t care I’d lose in a duel to him. None of that is going to stop me from fighting. I’m not going to make it easy.”

“Well said,” Moody praised, a rare grin in place. Every time Potter spoke like this, his respect for the girl rose. Not many adults could say what she just did. Potter being able to see what Voldemort was doing concerned him, but his curiosity about the girl current won over his wariness.

She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible...All Harri knew was that at the moment when Voldemort’s chair had swung around, and she, had seen what was sitting in it, she had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken her…

Harri shuddered, glad she could not remember. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t need any more nightmares about Voldemort.

Hermione squeezed Harri’s hand gently as sorrow filled her. Harri’s life didn’t seem to be looking up in this book either. She just wanted her friend to finally have the life she deserved. It frustrated Hermione to no end that there was nothing she could do right now to make Harri’s life easier other than be there for her.

Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harri could not remember the name...and they had been plotting to kill someone else...her!

“Can’t I have just one normal year?” Harri moaned into her hands. “Just one, where my biggest concern is Quidditch?”

“Obviously not. You’re Harriet Potter,” Cedric answered lightly, “and being Harriet Potter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Harri cracked a small smile and Cedric’s terrible joke based on the words she had spoken the first time they had properly met.

A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of her bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of her desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which her snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched.

Harri sent a puzzled look at her relatives. They had let her keep her things? Did Sirius scare them that much? It was nice to know it would have worked. Whatever it meant, it was still better knowing she would never have to scare her relatives into anything ever again. She had a home waiting for her, two actually.

Harri walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then she snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch - in Harri’s opinion, the best sport in the world - couldn’t distract her at the moment.

“That dream must have really shaken you,” Hermione commented, a little shocked. “You almost constantly have Quidditch on the brain.”

“Of course it did. People lives far outstrip Quidditch,” Harri snapped back. “I would never put a game over someone else's life.”

“Just your own life means less than Quidditch, then?” Sirius asked, unimpressed.

“I… That’s different,” Harri stuttered, face burning. She really wished people would let that go.

“It’s not,” Sirius denied.

And yet...and yet...Harri went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over her scar again. It wasn’t the pain that bothered her; Harri was no stranger to pain and injury.

“I could do without the reminder,” Harri grumbled.

“We’ll change that,” Remus promised. “After these books are over and we get out of here, we are going to our utmost to make sure you forget what it’s like to be injured or in pain.”

“I play Quidditch; you can’t really promise that,” Harri pointed out.

“You’re a damn good Quidditch player when nothing is tampered with,” Sirius cut in. “We have faith that if you’re allowed to play without constant interference, you’ll outfly any Bludger sent your way, and if you can’t, it sounds like you have a stellar pair of Beaters on your team who have your best interest at heart.”

Harri’s gaze cut over to Fred and George and a soft smile stretched onto her face. She could always count on them in more ways than just Quidditch she was learning. She was reminded of her chat with the voice about letting people in, and she steeled herself for another difficult conversation with Fred during the next break. Even if he wouldn’t allow her to give him her answer, Harri needed reassurance that no matter what, Fred wasn’t going anywhere, even if she never knew what she wanted from him. She did not think she could lose what they had. She felt like a piece of her would break if Fred was not in her life. It was wild to think about how important the people around her had become in just three short years, some even less than that.

She had lost all the bones from her right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year Harri had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. She was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble.

“Are you sure you want to stay at Hogwarts?” Sirius questioned hesitantly. “You could transfer. I’m sure any other school would take you.”

“You would do well at Durmstrang,” Viktor offered up.

“Hogwarts is my home,” Harri answered stubbornly.

No, the thing that was bothering Harri was the last time her scar had hurt her, it had been because Voldemort had been close by...But Voldemort couldn’t be here, now...The idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive was absurd, impossible…

Harri shuddered at the very thought the only thing that could make Privet Drive worse than it already was was Voldemort. At that point, she might as well invite Snape and Malfoy over for a cup of tea too. She was sure they all would have a grand time speaking about how much they hated her and plotted her murder.

Harri shook herself mentally; she was being stupid.

“Alert, not stupid,” Moody corrected. “If you feel something is wrong but can’t pinpoint it, it never hurts to check your surroundings. Constant vigilance. It will keep you alive.”

Asleep was the way Harri liked the Dursleys best; it wasn’t as though they were ever any help to her awake.

“That checks out,” Harri agreed. “I feel that way now. This is a little weird, hearing my future self think like me and have the same feelings as me. I know it’s well me, but it’s not me.”

What would happen when they got to parts of the books where she started to have feelings or thoughts she had not had yet, or didn’t have at all? Would they still be her feelings or thoughts? Would she eventually feel that way? Would she be required to feel or think that way?

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were Harri’s only living relatives. They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harri was about as welcome in their house as dry rot.

“It’s a good thing you’re never going back then,” Ron stated as he pressed his shoulder against Harri’s.

“Damn straight,” Charlie chimed in. “Weasleys stick together.”

The very idea of going to them when they awoke, and telling them about her scar hurting her, and about her worries about Voldemort, was laughable.

Sirius bit back a snarl at the reminder of what Harri’s life would have been like if not for this room. She would have gone back to her terrible relatives and been completely alone. He would not have been able to help her much on the run. He would have been miles away, unable to soothe Harri after such a dream. He thanked Merlin once more for whoever made this room and brought them all here. He would become the person Harri shared things like this with. He would be there from now on.

And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harri had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harri would not have had the lightning scar on her forehead. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harri would still have had parents...

“That’s enough to hate him,” Harri muttered bitterly. Though she could admit even if Voldemort hadn’t caused all of those things, she would still hate the man. How could she not? If Voldemort had no interest in her, his want for Hermione’s death and those like her would be enough for Harri. She couldn’t see any universe where she would be okay with anyone wanting to kill someone over their blood. She didn’t personally know anyone would have survived world war two, but she still knew what had been done was terrible. She could never support anyone like that, magical or not.

His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort’s followers had disbanded, and Harriet Potter had become famous.

“Must you use his name so much,” Ron moaned. “It’s already been said over ten times in this chapter alone.”

“I never actually said his name,” Harri shrugged. “They’ve all been thoughts.”

“Then stop thinking it so much,” Ron complained.

“Nope.”

It had been enough of a shock for Harri to discover, on her eleventh birthday, that she was a witch; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew her name. Harri had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed her wherever she went.

Harri looked at each and every person in the room who had stared or whispered at or about her. Most of them had stopped after actually speaking to her or after they got bored with it. But she did not appreciate how it always started back up whenever anything weird happened. To be fair, it was usually connected to her in some way, but she would appreciate it if people wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

She looked hopelessly around her room again, and her eye paused on the birthday cards her two best friends had sent her at the end of July. What would they say if Harri wrote to them and told them about her scar hurting?

“That you should talk to Dumbledore about it,” Hermione interrupted before adding softly, “er... If that’s what you wanted to do.”

“Your scar hurt? Harri, that’s really serious...Write to Professor Dumbledore! and I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions...Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars....”

Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book.

Hermione blushed as Harri had guessed precisely what she would have said. She was starting to understand how Harri had seen her before their talk. She did sound bossy and unrelenting in Harri’s thoughts.

She doubted very much whether a book could help her now. As far as she knew, she was the only living person to have survived a curse like Voldemort’s; it was highly unlikely, therefore, that she would find her symptoms listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions.

“You are a walking miracle,” Cedric agreed. Logically, from everything anyone knew about the killing curse, Harri should be dead. The fact she wasn’t had shaken the way everyone saw magic at its core.

As for informing the headmaster, Harri had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. She amused herself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full-length wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose.

“I’m afraid a Headmaster’s job is never done,” Dumbledore said, amused. “Though that does sound lovely.”

 Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harri was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harri’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would she write?

“Anything, my dear girl,” Dumbledore threw out gently. “I might not have had all the answers, but I would have done what I could. Never be afraid to tell me what troubles you. My door is always open to you or any student.”

Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harriet Potter.

Even inside her head the words sounded stupid.

“Not at all,” Dumbledore denied kindly. “Though I might have suggested more details.”

And so she tried to imagine her other best friend, Ron Weasley’s, reaction, and in a moment, Ron’s red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harri, wearing a bemused expression.

“Harri,” Ron cried as he shoved her shoulder. His nose wasn’t that long.

“Your scar hurt? But...but You-Know-Who can’t be near you now, can he? I mean... you’d know, wouldn’t you? He’d be trying to do you in again, wouldn’t he? I dunno, Harri, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit... I’ll ask Dad...”

Ron’s ears twinged as Harri accurately guessed his response, though she still could have told him. He might not have been helpful, but he would have tried.

Mr. Weasley was a fully qualified wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didn’t have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as Harri knew. In any case, Harri didn’t like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that she, Harri, was getting jumpy about a few moments’ pain.

“I promise none of us would think that,” Fred snorted. “Most of us have seen the lengths you have gone for Quidditch alone. You had your elbow broken and still won us the game. If that’s jumpy to a few moments of pain, then I’m afraid the rest of us are doomed to be terrified of pain for the rest of our lives..”

Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione,

“Someone has to fuss over you,” Molly sniffed with no real heat.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Hermione cried, smacking Harri on the arm. “I’m not sorry for caring about your well-being.”

and Fred and George, Ron’s sixteen-year-old twin brothers, might think Harri was losing her nerve.

“Is that an assumption I hear?” George sang, one eyebrow raised, offended. They would never. They knew better.

“You know what they say about assuming Harri,” Fred tsked as he wagged his finger.

“It makes an ass out of you and me.”

Harri rolled her eyes at the twins. She knew now they wouldn’t think any less of her, but it was a reasonable fear in her eyes. The twins were fearless. She could totally see them harassing someone over showing a little bit of pain because she couldn’t see them ever stopping in their goals no matter the consequences. She admired that about them.

The Weasleys were Harri’s favourite family in the world;

Harri sent a blinding smile at the Weasleys. That wasn’t exactly a secret. She adored them all. She was still getting to know Bill and Charlie, yet she still felt as if she had known them her entire life. They had welcomed her into their family with open arms, and she was grateful for that. She wanted to bond with them the way siblings would. She liked the idea of having an older sibling that would look out for her.

She was hoping that they might invite her to stay any time now (Ron had mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup),

“You won’t have to hope this summer,” Ron whispered to Harri.

“I know,” Harri beamed. “Your mum said I could stay as long as I wanted during the break. I’m leaving the station with you.”

Ron threw an arm around Harri as his chest filled with pride. His parents really were fantastic. He knew they wouldn’t leave Harri high and dry.

Harri kneaded her forehead with her knuckles. What she really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to herself) was someone like - someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice she could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about her, who had had experience with Dark Magic...

Harri’s face burned as this private thought was shared, as she received several looks of pity. She wanted to tell her book self; she did have that. She had several now. She was surrounded by people she could go to if she wanted to.

And then the solution came to her. It was so simple, and so obvious, that she couldn’t believe it had taken so long - Sirius.

A grin split Sirius’s face in half as his hope soared. If Harri had thought of him as a parental figure in the future, there was still a chance. He didn’t care what he had to do. He would get Harri to see him in that light. He would not let the rift that had them at odds grow any further. They would go at whatever pace Harri set, but he would not give up until he had her trust.

The home Harri might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been haunting her all summer. It had been doubly hard to return to the Dursleys knowing that she had so nearly escaped them forever.

Harri once again wished her book self knew what she did right now. She didn’t want her future self to continue to suffer. It had been devasting to learn she’d have to return to the Dursleys when Peter escaped.

Dudley winced at the reminder his cousin hated them.

But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harri had a dangerous murderer for a godfather - for Harri had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

Fred didn’t bother to hide his smile at this. It was just so like Harri. While he hated why she had to do it, he couldn’t help but be proud. Not for the first time, Fred wondered how much more of this Harri would have actually shown if not for her relatives. Would Harri have been prone to pranks had her parents raised her?

Harri had received two letters from Sirius since she had been back at Privet Drive. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards), but by large, brightly coloured tropical birds.

“Never could do anything the normal way,” Remus said fondly.

“Who wants to be normal?”

Sirius’s letters, which were now hidden beneath the highly useful loose floorboards under Harri’s bed, sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harri to call on him if ever Harri needed to. Well, she needed to right now, all right...

“I’ll be there anytime you need me,” Sirius nodded. He knew that even on the run, he would find a way to get to Harri if she ever needed him.

I’m okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to.

“I would do that and much more,” Sirius promised as he eyed the Dursleys, enjoying their fear.

Yes, thought Harri, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream; she didn’t want it to look as though she was too worried.

“Never be afraid to tell me what bothers you,” Sirius assured her. “I’ll listen to every concern you have without judgment, I swear.”

Harri looked down at her hands before her conversation with the Voice came to the front of her thoughts. She looked up at Sirius and gave him a hesitant nod. She would try. The grin Sirius sent back was worth it.

Then she got to her feet, stretched, and opened her wardrobe once more. Without glancing at her reflection, she started to get dressed before going down to breakfast.

“That’s the end,” Viktor announced.