Harriet Potter
Death Eaters expect a boy so Dumbledore hid Harry, temporarily, as a baby girl. Vernon makes it stick and pimps her out. Then her letter comes. Uh oh! Where's Harry? Who IS this Harriet girl? What will Snape do? The people, scenes, and places are J.K. Rowling's, I own nothing. This is a dark story, with references to non-consensual & consensual sex. Not graphic. Various pairings.
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Some short scenes from "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" by J.K. Rowling, are excerpted in this story. They are used here with her and her publisher's kind forbearance. The characters, scenes, and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of the story except perhaps its deviations from J.K. Rowling's plot.
NOTE: This is a dark story, with references to non-consensual and consensual sex. No graphic depictions of sexual encounters are included. Be Forewarned.
Second Note: To those who don't think such things are plausible (i.e., that such activities would cause irreparable harm to the girl), primitive societies routinely view 6 and 8-year-old-girls as "ready" for sex — see the Trobrianders, ISIS, or the Christian Old Testament). As for modern-age kids age 11 & 12 being interested in sex — as I started to post this the news had a story about a 13/12 year-old couple in Britain having a baby, where the girl became pregnant at eleven. They had apparently started having relations while the girl was ten. For other examples, do a Google or Bing search for "youngest parents".
Third Note: Regarding size issues, a newborn's head is much larger than anything a male could have, so if a twelve-year-old can successfully birth a baby – well size is not an issue, is it? And remember - it's a magical world! So, magic adapts things.
Fourth Note: A frequent issue when dealing with incest survivors, based on my readings in psychology, is that they find the experience pleasurable at least some of the time, as sex is supposed to be. This makes them feel ashamed and that they are somehow "broken" for liking it, especially when told to hide their situation from everyone because of dire consequences for them or their family. Without proper counseling, those survivors tend to be aggressive in initiating sexual encounters with other individuals; they simply do not regard such activities as being "wrong," especially if they derive pleasure from doing it. Yes, the statements sound contradictory, but the human mind occasionally deals with trauma by developing coping mechanisms that at times can reinforce the trauma.
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Note: 7/1/2015, minor editorial and misspelling corrections update
1. First Year - Potions Lesson
At the start-of-term Hogwarts' banquet, Harriet had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been wrong. Snape didn't just dislike Harriet — he hated her. That was quite clear after he sneered at her during roll call — as if she knew what fame was — then asking her questions that did not have answers in the first-year book, and finally blaming Harriet for Neville's failed potion. However, as she told herself, she knew exactly how to fix this problem, only this time it would be for her benefit and not Dudley's. All it would take was. . . Mum's Confidence.
Harriet, or Harri as she asked her friends to call her, whispered to Hermione to leave as Harri cleared their table. She would catch up with her, and Ron and Neville if they got out of the hospital in time, later at the Herbology Entrance to go to Hagrid's hut at three. Otherwise, she would meet Hermione in either the Library or the Common Room.
She placed her books and materials in her shoulder bag and carefully put everything else, including her cauldron and its utensils, back where they belonged on the classroom shelves. She then thoroughly cleaned the potions table itself. She deliberately worked slowly until she was the last student in the room. Professor Snape was staring at her and about to say something undoubtedly rude, when she looked up at him, "May I speak with you in private, sir?"
Snape stared at her a moment longer, then swept his arm, and wand, towards the door, making it slam closed.
Leaving her shoulder bag at the potion's table, Harriet walked to her professor, weaving between the tables and around the stools, until she was just a step away. She looked up at him. "And no one can see or hear our conversation?" she prompted.
He sneered, but waved his wand and the room became slightly quieter, noises she hadn't noticed before were now silent. Things outside the windows became blurry and ill defined.
"Now what do you want, Pot-ter," Professor sneered, making it two distinct syllables. Only he could make her name sound like an insult, not even Aunt 'Tunia had managed that.
"I know you dislike me, sir," she started.
"How. . . discerning. . . of you," he interrupted, in a low penetrating voice, making it sound as if only an idiot would have failed to notice.
She started to continue when he interrupted her again.
"How long, Pot-ter, do you intend to continue this . . . charade?" He made a dismissive motion with his left hand.
She frowned, puzzled. "Charade?" He had thrown her off track.
"Yes, this, this," he waved his left hand again, "this pretense that you are a girl when we both know you are not. You were born a boy and we both know it. You cannot keep up the spell or glamour forever."
That again, but that didn't put her as far off track as she dreaded. She felt the urge to laugh aloud. If only she could turn herself into a boy. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, making sure that her voice reflected that she was, really and truly, regretful, "but I am a girl." She smiled wryly, "I can prove it." She reached up, popped free the top button of her robe, letting it sag open. Then she pulled off her tie, dropped it to the floor, and quickly flipped open the few buttons on her blouse. She dropped her arms to her sides and shook her shoulders to dislodge her robe. As her robe fell to the floor, she pulled her blouse open and threw her shoulders back, allowing her blouse to follow her robe to the floor. Her robe pooled around her feet with her abbreviated blouse behind her. She stood in front of him legs slightly apart, holding her arms out from her sides, her body language clearly declaring, Look! See!
Professor Snape stared at the naked girl before him. Harri knew, from the gossips in her dorm, that he had had girls infatuated with him, she knew he had had girls wanting improved grades, she knew he had even had girls hoping to please their families by dating him, all attempt a seduction as she was. But never did the rumours mention a first-year eleven-year-old girl so brazenly stripping before him. She was confident she would succeed where all the others had failed. After all, she had much more practice than those other girls did.
She watched, smiling, as almost reflexively he muttered detection spells. She was kind of surprised at this reaction, what sort of background did he have that the first thing he did when surprised was cast detection spells? It didn't matter in the end, though. They all came up null, she knew, as he failed to see through the non-existent glamour or spell he suspected her of using to hide her true, male form. She was definitely not a boy cross-dressing, under a glamour, or subject to any other external spell that would make people think Harriet was a girl when she wasn't. And her pose displayed that her confidence in that.
Harriet took a quick step forward, as soon as he stopped casting spells, before he had time to react further. She looked up into his face, "If you promise to treat me just like any other student, nothing special. . ." she pulled open the waist of his robe, "I promise to be nice to you." She pulled at his trousers.
Snape, startled at her close approach and actions, took a quick step back, but his hip hit the edge of his desk. He struggled to regain his lost balance. Harriet, pulling on his trousers was certainly a factor in his failing to remain upright and falling backwards onto the floor. Harri, belatedly letting go, fell with him, landing on her hands and knees between his legs.
She grinned as she looked up at the expression on his face. His composure lost, Snape stared at her, clearly astonished, even frightened a little. "Well," she said, "I agree the floor is more comfortable than standing, but you could have warned me, you know." She renewed her attack on his trousers, saying, "we can use a bed later, if you want." She was about to yank them lower when the command came.
"STOP!" he thundered.
She froze. Damn. Usually she was much further along before they recovered enough to start to resist. Usually it was a What are you doing? that she heard as she pulled their trousers and underwear down. She would ignore that — attempting an explanation would ruin her opportunity by giving them time to think. Then came, Wait! Stop! Those were said with more of a panic tone as she grabbed what she had exposed and began to play. That definitely interfered with their thinking. It was quite a joke to her because at that point it was obvious they were getting interested in her not stopping. Before they could get serious, though, and actually try to push her away, she would have already straddled them and any further protests were strictly an afterthought and changed to Oh my god, or words to similar effect. All thinking after that was delegated to their "little head" as Aunt 'Tunia called it.
"Stand up. Get dressed," came the orders in a tone that brooked no argument. Uncle Vernon frequently used that tone as well, so her reaction was instant.
She was dressed and standing before he had time to get to his feet. She stared at the floor. Now what? She had never been in this situation before. She missed the professor's puzzled expression fading into its customary sneer.
"What," he said in an almost conversational tone, "was that about?"
She looked up into his eyes, her face an emotionless blank, body language as submissive and non-challenging as possible. Mum's Confidence had fled the field, leaving it to Dad's Consequences. "You don't like me, you'll remove points from me and my House, and you'll unfairly knock down my grades," she said softly. "I was just trying to. . . fix that. To give you a reason to like me, to be fair."
He stared into her eyes. "Have you done that before? Would you . . . share it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
Unbidden, a stream of photo-like images flashed through her mind of different situations with men before stopping on the last day of school before this summer, before the final grades came out.
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He had locked the classroom door and the four of them were in the corner of the room hidden from the door's window. The lights were off, to make the room appear empty, but the afternoon sun coming in the windows was more than sufficient to illuminate the second floor classroom.
She was looking over her shoulder. Her hands were on the back of the chair, clutching the hem of her dress so that it stayed over her waist. Her knees and ankles were pressing against the wooden spokes of the chair's arms. She could see her teacher's belly and hip as he pressed against her from behind. Behind and to his left, still out of sight of the door, were Dudley and her last year's teacher, their pants discarded on the floor. They were anticipating their next turn. For the teachers, this would be the last time until next fall, and they wanted the most out of it. And, Dudley? Well, he was just being Dudley. He had decided to walk her home, so, he figured, why not? At least he never hit her, anymore. She had been in the chair for the better part of half an hour and her knees hurt.
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Then it was gone. Buried as it was supposed to be, buried by Confidence with all the rest. Out of sight, so to speak, out of mind. Let someone else remember it. She had never had that happen before when she was behind dad's Consequences.
Professor Snape was still staring at her eyes, but he was blinking rapidly. He looked like he had gotten paler than his normal pasty white, if that was possible.
"Do. Not. Move." He spun and walked into the supply room for the class.
What had happened? She was confused now. Why had she remembered that incident? And so vividly. She didn't want to remember such things. God, how she wished she was a boy.
The professor came striding back into the classroom, his robe billowing around him like it was in a breeze. How did he do that? He had several bottles in his left hand.
He spoke softly, as if he expected her to dash off at any moment, "Harry. . . Harriet," he amended, "I'm going to cast a spell. I'd like your permission. It won't hurt. It will help me and the other professors greatly if you do this."
She looked up at him suspiciously.
He sighed and rolled his eyes, as if giving a huge concession, "If you do this, I promise to treat you just as I do the other students."
GOOOAAAAL! as they said in football. She was doing a mental happy dance. She continued looking at him suspiciously. "Like a Slytherin," she stated, mom's Confidence helping her push.
He pressed his lips together for a moment, then reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, his wand held loosely against the side of his head. "Yes. Yes. Like a. . . Slytherin." He looked like he had just eaten something very sour.
"Okay," she said, slowly, suppressing her smile. She had gotten what she wanted, and it hadn't even required her doing anything. It took all her control not to start dancing around the room. She could hardly wait to tell mum and dad. Success at no cost!
"Close your eyes."
She did. She heard him muttering something, and then the slight pressure of the tip of a wand pressed against her temple.
"Think about the last time you did something like what you just did. How did the day start, when did this happen. . . ." His voice trailed off, getting softer and softer until she couldn't hear it
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It was early morning, the last day of August, Saturday. Tomorrow she would be going to Hogwarts. But today, today started with Uncle Vernon climbing into her bed, followed a bit later by Dudley.
"Get dressed, Whore." Whore was his pet name for her. He used it all the time in private. In public, she was simply Girl or You. "We're going to the hotel for the day. Don't shower here, you can waste the hotel's hot water," the overweight man ordered as he finally left her bed and her room. "Leave her alone, Dudley, I don't want to be late," he called from down the short hall. Dudley, grousing, complied. He stopped at the door and looked back at her sprawled on her bed. "Um, Harriet, I hope you have a good time at the new school. And, you know, you get to do what you want." Instead of what my dad forces you to do was the implied wish, she understood. He was nice sometimes, but he was still a selfish, overweight, bullying, conflicted boy. And her cousin.
Trying to dress slowly is difficult when all you wear is a slipover almost see-through summer dress that came to halfway between her knees and hips, and thin, tired sandals.
Uncle Vernon, or, TFS, The Fat Slob, made her wait by the door while he took his sweet time getting ready. Half an hour later, after the family, less her, had finished a late breakfast, the two of them left.
The hotel was nice enough, neither a luxury hotel nor a dive. Its biggest advantage was that it was within walking distance of Grunnings Drills' headquarters. They kept a permanent suite on lease and used it to put up clients and out of city or country visitors. Today the suite was Harriet's. Well, not Harriet's as such, more like Harriet was available there. TFS would bring her here once a month as a treat to clients, vendors, and his associates. It was why he was Vice President of Sales and second only to the President in salary. There was talk of making him company President in December for his part in growing the company so much over the last few years. Expenses were down and profits were up, based on his efforts. He got other perks, as well, from both clients and vendors, so he probably actually earned in trade as much as he made in salary. Although it was Harriet who did the physical work.
She had been here every day for the last week. TFS was losing her until next summer, so he had been throwing one last fling for his best customers and vendors from all over the world. Not all of them were men.
TFS let her shower at regular intervals as some of Grunnings Drills' management personnel visited in the morning (Have to go in for work Saturday, sorry honey, it's why I get the big bucks, was their excuse to their girlfriends and wives). Then in the afternoon came the vendors (Smoozing with the clients dear, a round or two of golf, take all afternoon, sorry dear was their excuse). This night, though, was reserved for his big clients in London. Lunch and dinner were simple butter sandwiches for Harriet, one each time; TFS refused to order her anything through Room Service — you cost me enough as it is, he had said.
She did get some sleep that night, but not as much as she wanted. On the other hand, she probably wouldn't have been able to sleep for being anxious about going to Hogwarts the next morning anyway, so, she figured, it was probably a wash. At least, when she did sleep, it was a deep sleep with no nightmares. That always made for a good night.
She took a long soaking bath the next morning as she waited for Uncle Vernon to show up. She could never take baths at home. He had gone home just after eight last night, to keep up appearances to the neighbors as a dutiful husband who occasionally worked late and weekends. Not that Petunia cared when or how long he worked, just as long as the money kept rolling in.
The last three clients had left early that morning, before sunrise. They had to be home to go to Church with their families. How they explained being out all Saturday night she didn't understand.
Hypocritical, lying bastards, every one of them, even the nice ones who would talk with her as a person instead of treating her as a sex doll, albeit a very compliant, living, breathing, doll. Their wives and girlfriends must be trusting idiots. Whatever. It gave her a couple of hours of additional rest, and time for a long soak in the tub.
TFS finally showed up at ten. "Lazy slut, get out of that tub. Petunia and Dudley are waiting in the car. Come over here," he dragged her to the unmade bed and made her bend over. "There's just enough time for a quickie, Whore." After, she slipped her green dress on and grabbed her shoulder bag. On the way to the station, Dudley pushed her face into his lap and tossed a blanket over her to hide what she was doing. Vernon and Petunia laughed at their son "getting some" while in reality he let her catch a thirty-minute nap. He wasn't that bad a boy.
The memory ended as she got out of the car and Vernon placed her trunk and Hedwig's cage on a King's Cross trolley and, unexpectedly, started wheeling it into the train station.
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She stood there, stunned. It had been like doing it all over again only compressed into minutes instead of an entire day. Her stomach clenched in upset. She was taking short, quick breaths, trying to keep what remained of her breakfast. That was supposed to be buried under mum's Confidence so that she would never have to remember it. For a moment she thought she might just collapse to the floor, it would be easier than standing.
"Here," a bottle appeared in front of her, "drink this." She took the bottle from Professor Snape's hand and downed it without pause. If it had a taste, she didn't notice. "Sit."
She dropped straight to the floor, whether she sat or collapsed would be difficult to say. She didn't notice his exasperated expression at the thought that using a chair simply did not occur to her.
"Stay. I shall return in a moment."
She heard the wizard stalk off to the storeroom again. After a few minutes, she started to shake off the haze. What had just happened? That had been even more vivid than the previous memory, more vivid, even, than the nightmares that plagued her. She shuddered. Hopefully, that would never happen again. Odd though, now that she thought about it, she couldn't really remember what she had just remembered, just that she had remembered something extremely unpleasant. Was it mom's Confidence belatedly acting?
As she puzzled on this, she heard a retching sound from the storeroom. Was the Professor sick? Should she go check? But he had ordered her to stay put, and she knew what happened if she disobeyed that kind of an order. Uncle Vernon and Aunt 'Tunia had beaten that one into her. They were careful to leave no marks, though, didn't want any of the clients to wonder how a little girl got scars like that! No, the wounds they left were inside, where no one could see them. And the scars she did have? Well they blamed those old scars, earned before she was big enough to be valuable, on the car accident — those liars! — that they said had killed her parents.
Professor Snape returned from the storeroom, looking shaken and unsteady.
"Are you all right, sir?" What would happen if he collapsed in here with her? The door was sealed, the windows as well, and nobody outside could hear her yelling. Maybe asking for privacy wasn't such a good idea. Taking a chance on someone walking in might have been more prudent.
He looked at her, then gave himself a shake and straightened. "I am fine, child." Child? She had never heard of him calling any student a child. Just what was going on here?
He walked over to the classroom door, silently opened it, and looked into the hall. The next class would be beginning, soon. "You," he called. There was a frightened scream from the student he had surprised. "Go fetch Professor McGonagall, she should be in her office. Tell her to come immediately. If she isn't there, tap the gargoyle doorknocker and give it the message, say it is an emergency." Then he said, apparently to the students who were waiting to enter the classroom, "Class is delayed, wait out here until I call for you." At the affirmatives from the students, he nodded and closed the door.
He turned and walked back to Harriet, staring down at her. She stared back up, confused.
"Where are the rest of your clothes?"
She blinked at the non-sequitur. "What?"
Patiently, as if dealing with a toddler, he explained, "Your robe, where are your underclothes? You have the tie and a . . . ," he frowned, "almost a blouse, but what of the rest? Where is your skirt? Or trousers? Or underwear?"
Patiently, as if dealing with a toddler, she explained, "The required list said to get: Three sets of plain work robes (black), one plain pointed hat (black) for day wear, one pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar), and one winter cloak (black, silver fastenings). It said nothing about what underclothes were required, and I was quite put out to discover I had to cut up my white dress to make a blouse to wear! Honestly," she said, disgusted. After a pause she added, "Hermione helped me with that. She brought a sewing kit to school," she added.
Professor Snape closed his eyes for several seconds. Harriet was almost positive she saw his lips move slightly as if he were counting.
She could see he was trying not to sneer, or be sarcastic, as he had been throughout the lesson today, and she wondered why he had so suddenly changed. Based on what all the other students had told her she had not expected him abruptly to be nice to her. For goodness sake, she had heard he had even docked a girl points for breathing!
"What about your own underwear? Couldn't you have brought blouses and underwear from home?" He was not quite gritting his teeth as he said this, and his intonation indicated he wanted to be more. . . emphatic. . . but was restraining himself.
"Don't have any," she said with a sniff, "I've only had two dresses, a green one and a white one since Christmas. They cost two pounds each at the used clothes store. Aunt 'Tunia was quite put out to spend that much. Says I keep growing out of whatever she buys, and says she spends far too much money getting me new clothes every year."
He stared at her, speechless. Finally, he said, "Didn't the Groundskeeper take you to a clothing store in Diagon Alley?"
She had to giggle at that. "Professor, can you picture Hagrid taking me to a woman's dress shop and suggesting I buy knickers?" Besides, she was so used to the situation that when she remembered she wanted to buy clothes with her newfound wealth, she was at home and couldn't, and when she was out of the house on her own, she had far more important things to do than that.
The potions professor stared at her again, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his left thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. He stood like that for a few moments. "Yes. Of course. It would never occur to that great oaf that a little girl might need such things. And if it did he would be too embarrassed to actually do it." He sighed. "And the school store does not carry such items."
It was a good thing that he had his eyes closed or he would have seen the blush that crept over Harriet's face at thought of embarrassing Hagrid. She had done that in the Vault. He hadn't looked her in the eyes the rest of the day. And underwear had been the least of his thoughts, and hers. She supposed she was lucky she hadn't scared him into running out on her immediately after.
"And your . . . friend, Hermione . . . didn't loan you anything?"
Harriet looked out the far windows, "She doesn't know. She only helped me with the blouse when she saw me using my teeth to cut up my sundress. I told her it was old and I had decided to recycle it into another blouse. I was wearing my other dress, so she never noticed."
The door to the Potion's Classroom flew open with a bang as Professor McGonagall rushed in. "What's this about an emergency, Professor Snape?" She glanced at Harriet sitting on the floor. "Has something happened with Harry?"
"Yes," he sneered at her, "You might say something has happened." He studied her a moment. "Come, you need to see this." He turned and started for the storeroom. "I looked and gathered this with Harriet's full permission, so you have nothing to complain about on that issue. But when you see it, you will have something to complain about. I warn you though, it is very unpleasant." Professor McGonagall stared at Harriet, trying to see if there was anything physically wrong as she followed Professor Snape. He looked back at Harriet while ushering the other professor into the storeroom. "Please wait here." Faintly, she heard him say "Professor McGonagall, drink this first. . . ."
Harriet sighed. She hoped Hermione would not be too upset at her not showing up. And Hagrid would probably be disappointed. She hated disappointing the simple giant. Heck, she was disappointed; she had been looking forward to sitting down in his company all day. She liked him.
Her time with him had been fun; she had to say it was probably the best day of her life. She smiled, thinking back to when she had first seen him.
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Author's Note: I usually do not respond directly to reviews so I am taking the opportunity here to give a blanket response: For those of you who sent me a review, thank you for doing so. I appreciate your time and effort, especially those who offered constructive suggestions and criticisms on the story.
To everyone else, please let me know what you think of the story, and where it's going. If anyone has any suggestions for pranks or things you think need more detailed explanations, do not be afraid to send them in. If you notice any grammar or spelling errors, PLEASE tell me. Again, to those who sent reviews, a very big Thank You!