Disclaimer: Thing you should already know about how I don't own fiction I didn't write. This is a courtesy, I think? I don't even think I'm legally required to write this. Who knows, copyright and trademark laws are the most impossible thing to comprehend besides patent laws. And if we're on the subject of needless courtesies I could go ahead and thank people for reading (why would I do that? why do people do that?) and beg for reviews (that's really classy).

The next morning, as before, Harry's Aunt Petunia found baby Harry on her front step. But unlike before, he had a lot of perspective.

Having finally remastered the art of speech, Harry made sure to torment his foster family with questions about his parents: why there weren't any pictures of them, how they died, and why he was living with them instead of someone who cared. Petunia seemed to take the questions well enough, with just a hint of bitter denial. Perhaps her own curiosity that she hid behind an armor of apparent disinterest in others allowed her to relate better, or maybe it was the letter that Dumbledore had left her. The effect on Vernon Dursley was not as ambiguous. Vernon very clearly resented any line of questioning on any matter, much less on the "freaks" to which he was unluckily related, and responded with shouting and yelling and sometimes a slap.

Harry didn't mind these incidents as much as he did as a kid, partially because he knew there were worse things out there, and partially because he was trying a new tactic. Maybe I can wear them down to where they'll cave in and tell something akin to the truth. Or maybe they'll at least be convinced that harsh punishments don't work well.

Dudley was another matter. When they both started school, Dudley was quick to bully him. Years of worse bullies at Hogwarts made Dudley seem laughable in comparison, so Harry took to the habit of using exactly that sort of response: laughter. It seemed to bother Dudley after a year, because he stopped attacking him physically. He still talked about him behind his back, though, because none of the other kids acted any differently. It's not as if I'll remember any of them after I'm eleven anyway, thought Harry solemnly.

The second time around school work was much easier, so Harry took to showing up Dudley in the grade department constantly. Dudley, not willing to bother with violence anymore, tried in vain to think of ways to annoy Harry, including framing him for things he'd done (easily accomplished by saying "I saw Harry do it") and insulting his parents. Even the comments about Harry's parents were simply passed off with a smile and a shake of his head. It finally clicked during their last year in school together to try beating Harry's grades, but by then Harry had such a head start in the studiousness department that all Dudley could do was benefit himself, much to his own dismay.

Outside of school, Harry tried his best to do more reading. He didn't know as much as he probably should about the Muggle world, and it wasn't as if he was doing anything useful. He also took to visiting Ms. Figg often (when he could sneak away from the Dursleys, who required him and his newly questioning mouth around much less than he remembered), and tried to ask her about his parents to see how much she'd let slip. Apparently she was under Dumbledore's orders even then, because she didn't say one word about the Wizarding world. Regular contact from him seemed to make her less bitter about her Squib status, though, because she was more cordial than he remembered.

The summer of 1991 came at an astounding pace, and Ms. Figg broke her leg just as she had before. Harry wondered whether this meant his memory was reliable enough to work in the long term for little events or if it was simply random happenstance at a coincidental date. Either way, Harry was once again in the back of his uncle's car on his way to the zoo. He didn't mention any flying motorbikes on the way there this time, though he had curiously dreamed of said motorbike the night before. The day went much as before, up until the group entered the reptile house.

Harry didn't know what he was going to do. A Brazilian serpent who longed for freedom lived in there. Should he set the snake free again, or should he not risk being shut in his cupboard for so long? After a long discussion in his head, Harry finally decided to let things happen as they would. Unsurprisingly, the snake did not move when Dudley's chubby fingers hit the glass of his tank. Harry moved in front of the tank after Dudley and sadly looked at the boa constrictor.

"Sure is a shame that he's so spoiled." The snake nodded.

"I can't imagine being raised like that, could you? I'm sure you were raised closer to me. No parents of your own, a foreign environment." The snake looked at Harry rather curiously after these statements. It was almost as if it was sizing up Harry for the hidden knowledge he clearly contained.

Harry nodded, his verdict reached. "Well, I guess I'll be letting you out again." The glass faded away much slower this time, and it took a second for the snake to realize what had happened. As soon as he recognized his chance, the snake slithered off as fast as possible. Harry did something different and screamed, as the snake played around with frightened zoo-goers. When it reached the end of the hall, it stood up and hissed, "Thanks."

Dudley had been at the other end of the Reptile House that day, so he was spared much embarrassment and fright. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to think that Harry was as innocent as he appeared, however, and confined him to his cupboard for a week afterward. It wasn't as bad as it had been the first time, which gave Harry hope; it meant that other things could be changed in the same way, that this will be a second chance.

July 24th was the start of the rest of Harry's second life, he knew immediately. Harry went to get the mail after being barked at by his uncle for the fourth time that morning. Dudley had received his uniform for Smeltings already and had a habit of enthusiastically rapping his new stick on anything nearby, excluding Harry, and then blaming it on Harry, so getting the mail was a nice diversion. On the very top of the pile was a distinctive parchment envelope that was labeled in a very familiar emerald-green ink. The entire address was there, including his cupboard.

Rather than stand there startled, Harry pocketed the envelope safely before he could have it stolen. The rest of the mail was promptly delivered to Uncle Vernon, who remarked on his sister's illness and nothing more. After breakfast, Harry made an excuse as soon as he could to go see Ms. Figg.

Once he was at her house, he quickly showed the envelope to her. "Do you know what this is?" Harry said, trying his absolutely best to sound as if he didn't already know. Ms. Figg looked rather shocked, though it might have just been pain from her broken leg. She must have expected the Dursleys to be the ones he would go to with his letter, but one look from Harry sent her all the information she needed.

"Ah, yes, I think I might. But let's look at it first. I might be wrong, after all," Ms. Figg said with more than a bit of hesitation. Harry didn't waste much time opening the letter and looking at it; it was identical to the one before.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? And they await my owl?" Harry said with as much wonder as he could muster. Ms. Figg looked like she was going to faint.

"Oh, Harry, there's so much you don't know... I don't suppose the Dursleys told you much, did they? I always told Dumbledore that they were the worst people for the job of raising you, I always did. He says he has his reasons..." Ms. Figg began to ramble on and on. It took Harry shaking her a bit to get her out of her trance.

"Oh! Sorry dear. Well, I suppose we'd best send that letter, then. Oh, Terren, where are you?" A large tawny owl emerged from one of the side rooms that she had steered Harry away from when possible. Harry decided at that point that it was safe to stop acting surprised.

"Could you get me some parchment, dear? There's some on the table in there." Harry got the parchment and gave it to her. She quickly scribbled a response, which Harry rather rudely read as she wrote.

Dear Professor,

Harry has his letter and he came to me of all people with it. I don't think he trusts the Dursleys to know about this, so he'll need someone to take him to Diagon Alley. My leg is still broken, so maybe you could send Hagrid. He'd love to see the boy.

I'll try and explain what I can to him, so he won't be completely blind. He's a nice boy, so I'm sure he'll be an excellent student.

Arabella Figg

P.S. You might want to do something about his living arrangements at the Dursleys. The address said he slept in a cupboard under some stairs!

Backing away to pretend he hadn't read the letter, Harry watched Ms. Figg roll up the parchment and hand it to Terren. "Be a dear and take this to Dumbledore." The tawny owl took off out a window, leaving Ms. Figg and Harry alone together. Ms. Figg sat for a few seconds and then immediately looked like she was very cross at something.

"Ms. Figg? Why do you look so angry?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's those people you live with! The nerve! Sleeping under the stairs! No growing boy should deal with that sort of treatment. I always thought you looked a bit underfed, but I assumed you were just naturally skinny. Oh, how could they!" Ms. Figg looked furious. Harry had only seen her like this once before, when Mundungus Fletcher left his post of watching Harry to get some stolen cauldrons. At least I'll get a room again, thought Harry.

"But enough of that." She forcibly calmed herself. "You need to know where you're going. Whether or not you know it, you are a wizard, Harry. In fact, you're the most famous wizard of this age, besides Dumbledore. But before you can go out and do things that will undoubtedly gain you even more fame than you could ever need, you need to go to school. Hogwarts is the best there is, so I hear." It was a technical explanation, but Harry supposed it could suffice.

She went on to explain the reasons for his fame and who his parents were. Harry had heard all of this before, so it wasn't very interesting; he instead spent the time observing her reactions to specific parts of the story: her teary eyes when she talked about his parents' deaths, her bitterness when explaining his fame, and her longing when she talked about Hogwarts.

At some point in the conversation, Harry asked, "Who is Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore," she said as if she were talking about an old relationship. "He's a very good man, one of the most powerful wizards out there. Bit of a loon, but he's deadly brilliant. He runs Hogwarts, of course. He's the one who knew what to do with you. I'm regretting going along with it slightly, but I can't think of many others who could be trusted with raising you. You'll see him when you get to Hogwarts."

Harry had one more question to ask, one he didn't entirely know the answer to. "How much do my aunt and uncle know?"

Ms. Figg's lips pursed together. "They know most of it. They're Muggles, see, non-magic folk, so they don't know about the war or anything, but they do know your parents were wizards, and they know that they didn't die in a car crash. I think they might be a bit apprehensive about those facts, so you've grown up uneducated. I just hope they don't react to harshly to Hagrid, he's such a nice man. Furious temper though..." Ms. Figg looked thoughtfully for a moment, as if Hagrid's temper wasn't such a bad thing with the Dursleys.

"You can't tell them that I know this. They'd likely not want you coming here anymore, and I'd be disappointed in that." She paused. "You should go now, and try to act normal. You don't want them picking up that you know something until Hagrid arrives."

Harry nodded, took his letter, walked out the door, and waved farewell to the crippled old Squib who had kindly told him what he already knew. Now that he was going to reenter the Wizarding world, Harry's spirit took on a sort of flying leap into the skies. He tried his best to look sour for the Dursleys, of course, but he wasn't even the slightest bit irritated when he spent an hour cleaning the dishes because Dudley broke them with his Smeltings stick.