I woke up to the sound of an explosion. I rolled out of bed and onto my feet, heading to my dresser to at least cover my dangly bits before I went to see what the matter was. Or at least, that was my plan. Instead of rolling out of bed, I just sort of rolled across the ground, which was exceedingly hard. I was already fully clothed, minus shoes, though the clothes didn't fit too well. I was also extremely clumsy, as none of my limbs seemed to work correctly. Did I get drunk last night? Am I still drunk? I'm not much of a drinker, but I do tend to over-indulge on occasion.

I stood, wobbling slightly. Huh, brain seems to be working fine. Maybe I'm just buzzed. But I can't stand properly? Everything was blurry, and I cast about with a squint, looking for my glasses. A child's voice squeaked nearby, "Where's the cannon?" What the fuck? Why is there a kid here? And why's he got an accent? Fuck this is confusing.

An obviously overweight blur came out of a previously unseen room holding a blurry something, and shouted "I warn you - I'm armed!" Who's that? Is that a gun? I started to swear under my breath. There's some fairly rigorous research that supports the idea that swearing helps reduce stress and pain, and I was certainly beginning to feel stressed. I hate not knowing what's going on. No one could hear me, thanks to the storm outside. Wait, a storm in the Valley in July?

There was one more titanic "boom" before a door I hadn't previously seen exploded out of the wall and fell to the floor. A police raid? In the doorway was a man who nearly filled the gap. He was about twice as tall as a normal man, and nearly three times as broad. He stepped inside, picked up the door, and set it in its previous position. He then turned to address the room. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait. Storm outside. "Where's the cannon?" Fat guy with a gun. Giant dude who broke the door down. British accents. I smiled. I'd solved the mystery. I was hallucinating, or having a lucid dream. Preferably the latter. Because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I'd been (heh) magically transported into Harry Potter's body, on his eleventh birthday.

I cast about, not for my glasses, but for Harry Potter's glasses. There, on the floor. I picked them up, put them on, and made a moue of dissatisfaction. His prescription was even worse than mine and these glasses weren't good enough to cover it. I then looked around and took stock.

The fat man against the wall with the gun was obviously Vernon Dursley. The bony-looking woman hiding behind him (with a fantastic rate of success) was Petunia. I looked around for Dudley and holy shit that kid is fat. I then glanced up at who had to be Rubeus Hagrid. Yup, giant beard, tiny eyes, voluminous coat, the works. I then took a deep breath, and looked at myself.

Hands first. No hair anywhere, but considering that I'm in my late twenties and Harry's eleven, that's not terribly surprising. What was surprising was the sheer amount of burns, scars, and calluses on the kid's hands. That was actually kind of creepy. I'm not the most creative type, and this kind of elaborate dream is usually beyond me. I pinched my arm (Harry's arm?), hard, and failed to wake up. Definitely felt the pain though. Well, that didn't work. I tried snapping my fingers, saying "Change dream!", and even closing my eyes and tapping my heels together. Nothing. I was starting to worry. I looked up, and was taken aback by everyone staring at me like I'd gone insane.

"What?"

"Have you gone mad, boy?" asked Vernon, with a kind of incredulous disbelief.

I sighed slightly, and responded "I think I might have." Clearly, not the response he expected. Explanation time.

"Well, I thought I was dreaming at first. This is way too weird to be real life. So, I started looking at details to snap myself out of the dream. But everything's internally consistent, so that didn't work. Then I went for the pain route, and pinched myself. I felt pain, but didn't wake up. So that didn't work. I'll admit that I was kinda grasping for straws after that, what with the snapping and tapping my heels together. But the end result is, I'm not dreaming. So, I must be hallucinating. Ergo, I might have gone mad." This had everyone in the room gaping slightly. Oh, right. Eleven-year old child. Not twenty-eight year old man with an interest in science and rationality.

Dudley spoke up then, with a remarkably germane and, to me, dangerous question. "Why do you sound like a Yank?"

I had a decision to make. I could either play along with the delusion, and risk my sanity and entire identity. Or, I could try and blow the entire thing up from the inside out by acknowledging that it definitely was a hallucination and revealing my identity to everyone. Yeeah, I'd rather not be crazy, thanks.

"Probably because I am one, kid." I turned to the rest of the room at large, and proceeded to explain who I was. "Hey everyone. You can call me Donovan. I'm apparently hallucinating right now, because in reality I'm a twenty-eight year old from California in twenty-seventeen. None of this is real. Where I'm from, you are all fictional characters from a children's story written by a depressed housewife."

More gaping. Hm. "Well, I might as well play along for now, at least until the nice men in the white coats come to take me away. So." I turned to Hagrid. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Ground at Hogwarts, right? Pleasure to meet you." I stuck out my hand, and gave my "meeting new people" smile.

"Now wait just a bloody minute!" Vernon blustered. "How did you know about that bloody school? We never told you a damned thing about all that freakishness!"

"Vernon, remember what I just said about the children's story? I read those books when I was a kid. They're really good books, second-best selling books of all time, actually. Hogwarts and magic are a huuuge part of the story. I know the reason you took Harry in, how his parents actually died, how he got his scar, all of it." I thought that my use of logic here was actually kind of impressive, but everyone was staring at me again. It was actually getting pretty irritating. How could I wake up from this?

"Righ', well Harry, all sorts o' great wizards are mad, you're just startin' early then." I blinked in surprise, and addressed the half-giant in the room.

"Hagrid, I'm not Harry Potter. I'm Donovan, remember? I already introduced myself. This is all a hallucination." I explained slowly. I knew Hagrid was a bit slow on the uptake, but this was a bit much.

"You also said you were gonna play along, righ'?" "Good point." I admitted. "All right then, call me Harry I guess. Let's get this show on the road. You've got a cake for me, right?"

"How- Oh. Righ', you know everythin' Yeah, I think I sat on it a bit at one poin', but it should be good."

Petunia spoke up then, with a tone that could only be described as waspish. "Dudley, don't you eat a thing he gives you."

Hagrid laughed a bit. "Lad's already fat enough, don'cha think Dursley?"

I decided to speak up here. No reason to leave my morals behind, even if this was a hallucination. "Hagrid, that was rude. You should apologise." I gave him my best "stern look." After he shamefacedly mumbled something that could be construed as an apology, I said, "He does have a point, however. Vernon, Petunia, obesity can lead to a wealth of health problems, not just heart disease, but joint and back problems too. If Dudley doesn't do something about his weight, he won't be able to do sports, and girls won't want to date him when he gets older. Dudley." I addressed the child in question. He didn't seem to be as dim as portrayed in the books. Maybe I'd get through to him. "Have you ever seen boxing on TV? I mean, on the telly?"

He got excited, then. He was actually kinda cute, for a butterball of a kid. "Yeah! I think Eubanks has a shot at the middleweight title this year, don't you?"

I smiled a bit. "I don't really know enough about boxing to tell you, but I know you'll like doing it. But Dudley, you know how boxers have to fit in a weight class? You'll never be able to do that if you just eat whatever you want all the time. You should ask your school nurse about a diet, so that if you want to do sports in the future, you won't have to lose a lot of weight all at once. That's not healthy either, and it's hard to do. It's easier to lose a little bit at a time, while you're younger, and stay fit while you're young. Am I right, Vernon?"

Vernon was startled that I'd asked his opinion, given that he'd been swelling up for a while like he was going to start shouting. "What the ruddy hell are you talking about boy?"

"Well, you look like you used to be in great shape. Office jobs take their toll over time, but I bet you were a holy terror in a boxing ring back in the day. Wasn't it easier back in university and secondary school to stay in shape?"

"I never boxed." Said Vernon absently. "Rugby was more my speed. I liked working with the team. But yes, it was easier, now you mention it. I could eat whatever I liked while I was still playing, and I'd never gain weight."

"See what I mean Dudley? If you eat a little less, and exercise a bit more, you'll be in great shape in no time. And it's not like you have to go to the gym and eat nothing but salad, just play some football with your friends or bike around town, and have more vegetables and less sweets. It's all good fun, and good exercise." Now everyone was staring at me again. It was really starting to get irritating.

"Why are you being so nice? We treated you like a freak." Petunia asked. Her expression was a study. Shame, curiosity and even a little fear. I think. They really were shitty glasses.

"Petunia, you haven't done anything to me yet. We just met. Now you might have treated Harry poorly, but I've already established that I'm not Harry. So as far as I'm concerned, you all and I have a blank slate." I had a gentle smile at first, but I think my face blanked next. "However, I do know what you did to Harry. And it was reprehensible. Whether or not he was magical he was still a child. He was utterly blameless for what happened to anyone, and you treated him like garbage. Tell me, if Child Protective Services, or whatever the British equivalent is, came to your home, what would they find in the cupboard under the stairs? If they interviewed Harry, and he answered the questions honestly, would you or would you not be arrested and tried for child abuse?" I let my voice drop a bit. "If it had been you that died and Lily lived, do you think she would have treated Dudley like you treated Harry?"

Petunia seemed ashamed of herself, and at my last statement she started to sniffle, turned away and buried her face in her hands. I hated making women cry, but the phrase "tough love" seemed to apply here. She had been completely in the wrong to treat Harry the way she had, and she knew it. Vernon was at a loss, and though I knew he was furious at me, he couldn't decide whether to castigate me or comfort his wife. I made eye contact with him, and gestured at Petunia as if to say "Give her a hug, moron." He got the gist, I think.

I took a deep breath, and said "Right. I think I've disrupted your lives enough. Hagrid, is Gringott's open right now?"

He looked confused, and responded with a slow "Yeh, but we shouldn't leave just yet, it's the middle of the night."

"Hagrid, look at them." I gestured at the Dursleys, who'd had their nice quiet lives utterly shredded in the last week. "They need some time to come to grips with what happened tonight. Let's just head to Gringott's, I'll make a withdrawal, and we'll get a couple rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sure Tom won't mind putting us up. Then in the morning we'll get my school things."

"Yeh, you're righ'. I'm sorry 'bout the door, folks. I'll just take Harry here and leave." And so began my hallucinatory life as Harry James Potter.

I hadn't realised the main issue with being in an eleven-year-old body until I tried to really use it. I was small. I was weak. More than that, all of my bodily proportions were off, and I haven't even gone through puberty yet. Consequently, I was extraordinarily clumsy for a good long while. At least I didn't need the Talk.

As I staggered my way down to the boat that took the Dursleys and Harry to this wretched little island, I was wracking my brains as to what was going to happen next. Hagrid said he flew here, but how were we getting to Diagon? Was it a Portkey or the Knight Bus? It wasn't Floo or Apparition, I knew that much. Wait, if he flew here, why were we taking the boat?

"Hagrid, you flew here, right?"

"Yeh. Why?"

"If you flew here, why are we taking the boat back?"

"Well, I'm not suppos' to use magic now I've got ya."

"Why not?"

"Well, I got expelled from Hogwarts in me third year, so I'm no' allowed."

"Oh, right, you got framed by Riddle. Well, I won't tell if you won't."

Hagrid turned and stared at me, his mouth agape. "'Ow did you know tha'?"

I sighed, just a little, and said, "Hagrid, you're fictional, remember? I know pretty much everything that's going to happen in the next seven years, so long as I don't… change… Shit."

"'Arry, watch your language!"

"I'm twenty-eight, Hagrid. Deal with it." I had more important things on my mind. I was basically in a self-insert fanfiction, wasn't I? And I had no idea what I was going to do. The cat was already out of the bag as regards to my identity, because Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life and I didn't know how to modify memories. He was definitely going to go straight to Dumbledore with that information. And I had no idea what kind of person Dumbledore was. What could I do?

Okay. I needed to know more about the society I was in. Was it pureblood dominated by economic might, or inherited political power? Were the children at Hogwarts realistic eleven-year-olds, or were they canny political opponents? Was Dumbledore A: a kindly old man with Harry's best interests at heart, B: a chessmaster doing what he had to in order to preserve Wizarding Britain, or C: an evil bastard posing as option A? I needed to do research. Wait, did I?

As Hagrid removed a truly massive broomstick from one of his pockets (figures, I didn't think a run-of-the-mill Cleansweep would be able to lift him) I had another decision to make. Since everything around me was affecting me as if it were real (and the realism of the situation was really starting to bother me. The sea breeze felt authentic, I could smell the brine, there was something in my shoe, and there were entirely too many scratches on my glasses), I didn't really have a choice but to proceed as if it actually were real. Or... I smiled. Like a video game. No saves, on Hardcore mode. And I was going to munchkin the shit out of it. All those exploits, plot holes, and plain 'ol fantastic things about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter were mine to take advantage of, as I saw fit.

But, if I screwed up, if I died… What was going to happen to Harry? I couldn't afford to let that happen. Even if I fucked up and suffered, I don't know what was going on with Harry himself. For all I knew, he was riding shotgun in his own head, unable to control his own body. Assuming, of course, this was all a hallucination. God, I hope it was a hallucination. But, just in case…

"Harry." I spoke softly, having clambered onto the broom behind Hagrid and holding on for dear life. Hopefully the wind and rain would drown out my words. "If you're in there, kid, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you have a charmed life. I'm not sure if this is even real, but if it is and I end up leaving your body, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that the Second Blood War never even starts. You'll be able to play pro Quidditch or be an Auror or whatever you want, with just a minor case of famousness to deal with. I just need to do some research first."

So. To start with. I knew that there was going to be an attempted robbery of the vault the Stone was in. 713, if I remembered correctly. And Harry's trust vault was 687. Hm, if he had access to more vaults, I could munchkin my way into way more power, but the money wasn't mine. So I needed to first make a way to make money. I grinned, knowing that celebrity endorsements were lucrative in the extreme, and you didn't get much more famous than Harry James Potter.

We finally touched down on the side of a deserted stretch of highway, and Hagrid gently pushed me back. "I'm callin' the Knight Bus, best stay back." I took a couple healthy strides back, having a good idea of how the Knight Bus operated. It was a good thing I didn't get motion sick. Or, that Harry didn't get motion sick. Now that was an interesting question. Was it the mind or the body that mattered more with autonomic responses? Harry didn't have a fear of heights, but I did, and the broom ride bothered me less for the height than for the possibility of being drenched in freezing water if I fell off.

In the moonlight, in the pouring rain Hagrid held out his umbrella/wand and waited. There was a loud BANG that managed to make me jump, even though I was expecting it, and there the Knight Bus was. The doors opened, and out stepped Stan Shunpike, if I remembered right. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor for this evening."

"'Ello Stan, two for Diagon. With some 'ot chocolate, please, it's beastly out."

"'Ello 'Agrid, tha'll be one galleon, thirteen sickles. 'An oo's this?"

This was it. This would determine how I would approach the wizarding public for the rest of my time here. I did my "meeting people" smile again, and extended my hand. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Shunpike. I'm Harry Potter." I did what I could to imitate a British accent, but I needed more exposure to mimic it properly. Best keep it quiet for now. Polite, soft spoken, intelligent. That was what I was going for.

Stan's reaction was pure gold. His eyes bugged out, his jaw dropped, and his gaze glued itself to the scar on my forehead. "Well I'll be buggered! It really is you! 'Ere, Ern, take a look at this, it's 'Arry Potter!"

I remembered the driver's first name, but not the second. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.-?"

"Prang." Ah. A man of few words. "Get in." And apparently not a night owl.

"Righ', let's get you settled." A few moments of bustling later, and Hagrid and I had our mugs of steaming chocolate, and were settled. I braced myself a bit, and had a moment of panic when I realised I was holding an open container of very hot liquid on what was basically a roller coaster. I was about to set it down when the bus "banged" into motion, and I squeezed my eyes shut in preparation for a scalding.

Nothing.

I opened my eyes, and glanced at my mug. The liquid inside was sloshing about as you'd imagine it would, but it never splashed past the upper rim. It was as if it were covered by an invisible membrane. I cautiously tipped it sideways, then entirely upside down. Still contained. I started to grin. Magic was cool.

Another few "bangs" later, Hagrid and I and Harry's body (I'd decided that I should think of myself as "not Harry" for as long as I possibly could, to avoid possible psychosis) dismounted the Knight Bus, with relief bordering on ecstasy on Hagrid's part and mild disappointment on mine. Magic was turning out to be utterly fascinating, and the Knight Bus was choc-a-bloc full of it.

Hagrid made a beeline toward a rather weedy-looking pub with "The Leaky Cauldron" in peeling paint emblazoned on the front. I leaned slightly to the side and yup, it even had one of those little signs hanging off the front with a cauldron dripping some golden fluid. The sign was animated, of course.

We ambled into the pub, and every head turned our way when the little bell above the door jingled. I suppose we made an awkward-looking pair. Hagrid, ten feet tall if he were an inch, had to duck down and turn sideways to make it through the door. I wasn't even five feet tall (No, Harry's body wasn't even five feet tall. This was going to be difficult, wasn't it?), and could probably fit two of myself (Harry's self! Shit.) through the door and our elbows wouldn't touch. A bit "Mutt and Jeff" really.

The pub itself was almost disappointingly mundane. It was a nearly stereotypical English pub, with dim lighting, wooden tables, wooden bar, and quietly murmuring conversation. The only thing out of the ordinary were the robes worn by the lion's share of the customers and the rag behind the counter that was polishing glasses by itself.

Hagrid made a left through a door I hadn't previously noticed, and I hurried after him. We emerged into an alley, with a brick wall just past a row of trash cans. "Watch close now, 'Arry, you'll need to do this yerself sometime." Hagrid withdrew is pink umbrella, and tapped a specific brick with a massive finger. "Tha' brick righ' there is the one you'll need to get in the Alley. Tap it three times with your wand an' the portal will open. Jus' count three up an' two across from th' bin." Hagrid tapped the brick three times, and the wall sort of melted away. Not at all like the movies, but that was alright with me. I never liked them much anyway.

I was rapidly accumulating questions about why things were done certain ways, but I suspected the answer would be something along the lines of "tradition." "Why doesn't the Knight Bus fly? Why don't we just mark the brick to tap with an arrow or something?" "We've always done it this way, why should we change?" If that was the case, dealing with wizards was going to be absolutely infuriating. I never could stand people that were willfully ignorant.

Hagrid and I strode out into Diagon. Well, he strode, I had to jog. Each stride of his was about three of mine. It was nearly deserted at this time of night, leaving me thankful I wouldn't have to deal with my...host's celebrity. We strode and jogged all the way down Diagon to the gates of Gringotts and I took the opportunity to examine the goblins outside the doors. They were about three and a half feet tall, and nearly covered in plate mail. Their skin was a light brown that reminded me of pie crust, and wrinkly. Their fingers were long, and I was pretty sure I spotted an extra knuckle. They were both holding polearms of some sort, and the weapons looked extremely functional. The blades were covered in scratches, and the armor the goblins were wearing was covered in scratches and pits as well. Clearly, they were used often. As I passed the one on my side, I looked him (her?) in the eye, and gave a nod. The creature just glowered at me. I clearly needed some etiquette lessons, or at least something to consult.

Thankfully there wasn't a line inside, so we went to the nearest open register. The being behind the desk smiled a grin full of sharp teeth at us, and I fought down the urge to give my "meeting people" smile. I could practically feel the disdain in that expression. I decided to take charge, as best I could.

"Greetings, Teller. I am here to make a withdrawal from my trust vault, and my associate here" I gestured at Hagrid "has some business of his own." I leaned in closer, and said quietly,."I also have information about an attempted theft that will take place later this day."

The goblin's eyes widened slightly, and he slammed a "Next Window" sign down and snapped "Follow me." The goblin walked, Hagrid strode, and I jogged down a narrow, winding hallway into what looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a modern police office. There were three cells off to the right, and a series of desks to the left. Another door at the other end of the room said "SECURITY" in a no-nonsense font. Each desk was manned by either a human or a goblin. None of them looked up when we entered until the goblin we'd followed barked something in a different language, I assumed Gobbledygook.

The biggest goblin there fixed me with a vicious glare, and spat something else out in the same language. He pointed at the door behind him. Well, that was obvious enough. I started forward, and nearly shit myself when a blade appeared at my throat. "Jesus FUCK! What the hell?"

"Just what do you think you are doing, human?" It was the biggest goblin. It had somehow managed to cross the room past five desks, grab a sword on the way, and put it to my throat in an instant. Fucking Christ these beings were scary.

"I thought you wanted me to go through the door over there! I mean, shit, I assume the teller here told you why I was here, and you said something back and pointed at the door. What was I supposed to think?"

Apparently logic was a thing that wizards just didn't do. The goblin looked surprised at my use of gradeschool body language interpretation, and snapped "Fine, just don't try anything or we'll see how much blood your body holds."

"About a gallon, if I remember correctly." Jesus. Apparently my mouth still works faster than my brain. Every being in the room was now looking at me strangely, Hagrid included. I attempted to explain. "Well, I probably have about half a gallon, because the gallon measurement is for a fully sized adult, and I'm definitely not fully sized." Still with the strange looks. "The Muggles made that measurement like a hundred years ago. I'm pretty sure they used executed criminals because it wasn't like they were using the blood anyway." Still with the strange looks. I decided to quit while I was ahead. "Sorry, just a little gallows humor."

After a pregnant pause, the goblin sighed and just pointed to the door. "Get in and tell him what you know."

The being behind the desk in the office was clad in armor like the rest of the security team, and the walls were festooned in weapons. The being barked at me as soon as I walked in. "Sit down and tell me what you know, and I'll consider not confiscating the contents of your vaults."

Oh hell no. I try to do these bastards a favor and this is what I get? "If this is how you treat humans that try to give you advice, no wonder they all hate your guts." The being looked taken aback, and I decided to keep going. "See, this is the way I see it. I came across some information. This information meant that your bank has a security hole. My money is in your bank. If I gave you the information, my money would be more safe, and Gringotts' reputation would remain unsullied." I leaned forward, placing my hands on the edge of the desk. "Now, with you threatening to confiscate the contents of my vaults, what reason do I have to give you my information? I have no desire to improve the lot of my enemies, and if you were to confiscate my vaults we would be enemies.

"So. You will give me assurance that Gringotts will deal with me fairly and honestly in all matters from this day forward; and I will give you the information I hold. Considering that you already should be dealing with your clients fairly and honestly, you are still coming out on top. What say you?"

I could hear Hagrid behind me saying "Shit shit shit shit" in a terrified little voice as the goblin in front of me scowled right into my eyes. I held his gaze for what seemed like a long time, before that goblin broke into snorting laughter.

"Oh, you've got a pair on you! Fine, human. I give my word that I'll deal fairly and honestly with you from this day forward. Now, what's this information you have for me?"

A short explanation, two cart rides, and a really heavy bag of gold later, Hagrid and I were on our way back to the Leaky Cauldron. I had some definite pep to my step. I had struck the first blow against Voldemort already. With any luck, he would be deprived of his servant Quirrel, and we would even have a competent DADA instructor. I was practically patting my own back for a job well done. Hagrid, the poor bastard, was not doing well. Apparently he was not an aficionado of roller coasters.

We entered the Leaky, I paid for two rooms for the night, and we said our "good night's". Hagrid stayed downstairs for "a for'ifying dram." I had requested silencing spells around my room, citing light sleeping habits, but I had a different purpose in mind.

I stepped into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. It was...wrong. I wasn't supposed to look like that. I was little, and pale, and my hair was too long, and my eyes were the wrong color and fuck. I closed my eyes, and fought down nausea. What was this? Was this body dysmorphia? I felt a sudden wave of sympathy toward the trans community as a whole, if this was what they had to deal with all the time. The mental separation I'd determined to maintain earlier in the evening had lasted hardly an hour. I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes again. I could do this. I would get used to the way this body looked eventually, I just needed time. At least he wasn't a girl!

I started speaking quietly, my gaze fixed on those eyes that certainly weren't mine. It was easy to pretend I was talking to someone else, as the person in the mirror was definitely not me. "Harry, I'm going to be doing some things that you probably won't like. I know your fame makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to be using it to do things to improve your lot in life, make money, and hopefully improve the world as a whole. I know you don't understand a lot of what's going on, but I also don't know how I can start to understand you. So, I'm going to be taking some time every once in a while to talk to you like this, to hopefully educate you on what I'm doing and why."

I began a long-winded recitation of everything I knew about wizarding culture. Blood purity, the makeup of the government, the Statute of Secrecy, the underage magic restrictions, wizarding travel, Quidditch, everything. I mentioned people he had to be careful around, people I was (fairly) sure he could trust, and people to avoid at all cost. I told him about Snape and his irrational hatred of James Potter, how people all over Great Britain worshipped at Dumbledore's altar, and Fudge's insecurity. I made certain to emphasize that Sirius Black had been wrongly imprisoned, and deserved his day in court. I wasn't painting a very positive picture of wizarding Britain, but I wanted him to have the best shot he possibly could if I "checked out" unexpectedly.

I'd been talking for nearly half an hour before I slowed to a halt. "And that's it for now. If I can think of more, I'll be certain to let you know as soon as I can. Right now though, I'm dead tired." I divested myself of the fucked-up shoes the Dursleys had given Harry, and looked around for the light switch. There wasn't one. I looked up for the light fixture. There wasn't one. "Well, shit. Uh, lights off?" Ah. "Lights on." Got it. I clambered into bed, and with a final "Lights off!" I damn near passed out. It'd been a long four hours.