As I laid there, on a too small mattress, on the floor of the cupboard of Number 4 Privet Drive, I came to a few startling conclusions. Mainly, that Dumbledore actually killed me.
He faked his death, and then he killed me! It's safe to say that I'm still well and bloody ticked over all of it.
Now I'm back, as an eleven year old, to stop Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, from wiping out all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, who are doing a damn good job all on there own, including—or more importantly—my family, who I have never actually met… Right.
But first, breakfast.
I give an experimental push on the cupboard door, it swings open, letting light into the small room. I look around, noticing the only real change is a paper sign written in crayon, in my last life it read 'Harry's Room', now it reads 'Harper's Room'.
"Harper," I whisper, testing out the name, "Harper Potter."
It's unnerving, a name doesn't seem like anything spatular, until it changes. I don't know who Harper Potter is, or would it be Harper Black? Where is Regulus anyways?
"Well?" a voice from the hallway asks, "Are you just going to stand around staring off in to space, like a freak, or are you going to cook us breakfast, girl?"
I turn around to see Mrs. Dursley in all her morning glory, wearing a white robe and slippers with her hair still in curlers.
"I want chocolate chip pancakes!" Dudley announces as he barrels down the stairs.
"You heard him, girl," Mrs. Dursley said dismissively.
So many plans, so many ambitions, and wants all swirling in my head, that it takes me a moment to comprehend what they're implying.
"No."
"What did you just say to me?" Mrs. Dursley says spinning around to face me again.
"No. Cook you're own breakfast," I tell her making my way to the front door.
"Where are you going?" She yells after me.
"I'm leaving. It'd be in your best interest not to mention that to anyone—it'd be a shame if I had to explain it was because of you," I say with a wink, before slamming the door.
I walk away from Number 4 Privet Drive and, with a snap of magic and not so much as a backwards glance, I set their pride and joy of an immaculately perfect house, on fire.
Death is the only Deity that comes when called, and oh how fun it is to call It.
I hadn't planned to, honestly, but the man was just so vexing. We were all waiting for the train heading towards King's Crossing; the man, myself, and a half dozen others. He was on his phone, with a client, yelling about how, "It wasn't his fault," and if his business partner, "wasn't such a sucker, he'd actually feel bad about swindling a half a million from him."
His yelling made a baby cry, then gave the mother of said baby an evil look—as if it was her fault. It was a civic duty to remove him from society. It was the right thing to do. When he wandered to the far side of the platform, where no one else was, I followed. When the train headed the opposite way came flying by, I gave a gentle push.
By the time anyone realized what had happened, I was already aboard the other train heading away from the scene of the crime.
But, oh, was it euphoric—a surge of power, a tingle along my spine that settled like fire in my blood. Pure, unadulterated dark energy. A better rush than flying the Firebolt.
I wanted more.
"Do you wish to speak to me master, or were you just having fun?" the familiar voice of Death asks.
"What was that?" I ask in awe.
"Power. As I said, every death you take will feed you, empower your darkness."
"It's addicting. Where is Regulus?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Healing."
"Why? Where?"
"He's with me, for safe keeping. His body was ripped to shreds by inferi. I am currently regrowing it out of magic as we speak."
"When will he be healed?"
"He will be back among the living—body and soul, by Samhain."
"Okay…"
"I will explain to him that my Master, his daughter, demanded his presence returned from the otherside. I'll leave it up to you to explain more than that."
"Yeah, about that, his daughter. You made me a girl!"
"And you do look absolutely darling, Master."
"Of course I do, but that's besides the point!"
Death chuckles, "It keeps things interesting, does it not?"
I roll my eyes, "Right. On top of that, I keep having this thought that there is something else I should be asking you about, but I don't remember what it is. So, this potion I'm to take in order to stop looking like James Potter's prodigy—where do I find it?"
Lucius Malfoy prided himself on being in-control. He was the man of the house, the Lord of the Manor. He had a seat on the Wizengamot, crafting the future of the nation. He's an important person who didn't have time to waste on peasants.
Particularly mudbloods who are determined to spread their religious filth within the Wizarding world.
"'Excuse me, sir. Do you have a moment to hear about our Lord and Savior?" a girl in a black hooded cloak asked as he walked by.
If Lucious cared, he might have thought it weird that she was dressed so dark and masking for a religious individual. But all potential for caring about oddities left him the moment she shoved one of her pamphlets into his hands.
He is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Lord to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He is not simply handed things, especially by low-lifes.
Lucius shoved the thick pamphlet at his elf to dispose of.
"Master," the elf, Dobby said from behind him, "Master has given Dobby a sock!"
"What? I didn't-" Lucius said turning to face the elf.
Dobby was holding the pamphlet open, and there in the centerfold, was a sock.
"Master has presented Dobby with clothes. Dobby is free!"
"You!" Lucius sneered at the girl, pulling out his wand.
"You shall not hurt—" the elf begins.
"If you are looking for a new employer," the cloaked girl said to the elf, "I find myself in need of a good elf."
Together, the cloaked girl and the elf disappeared from Diagon Alley, leaving Lucius standing there, holding his wand, wondering what had just happened.
Harper Potter didn't know what to what to think, as she stood in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Dobby had popped them here, and in hindsight, she probably should have guessed this was where they were headed. After all, she had set fire to the Dursley's house, and this was really the only option of places to go, since they couldn't go to Hogwarts.
Yet it was still weird to be back here again, or in this life, for the first time.
"You not be going in?" Dobby asked.
"We are," Harper said, more to herself than to the elf. "We are. I just— it's just—. Yes," she huffed out a breath. Then proceeded to jump the steps two-by-two to the front door, throwing it open with a loud bang.
Dobby scampered after her into the entryway.
"This is my family home," Harper said to the elf, "everyone lied to me."
"Dobby did not lie to Harper Potter."
"No. You never did. But, would you still be on my side if you knew the truth?" Harper asked looking at the elf.
"Harper Potter is the greatest witch ever born," Dobby said with conviction. "Harper Potter freed Dobby from nasty wizard. There isn't anything Harper Potter could do to make Dobby not be on her side."
"I'm his granddaughter."
"Who's?"
"The Dark Lord. He was my mother's father. He killed her, and I destroyed him."
The elf didn't didn't know what to say to that.
"I've got aunts and uncles, and a godfather in Azkaban, that I don't know what to do about. Dobby, will you be my elf?"
"Dobby would love nothing more than to be Harper Potter's personal elf."
"Thank you. Will you keep my secrets?"
"Dobby be keeping Mistress' secrets."
"But don't call me Mistress," Harper said with a shiver. "It's weird to be called Mistress."
"Dobby be keeping Missy's secrets."
"Perfect, and Dobby will be give his council when I need it."
"And Dobby be— what?" His eyes started to tear up. "Missy wanting Dobby's council?"
"Of course. I have plans, lots of plans, and I've got this bad habit of jumping before I look. You're a smart elf, cunning even. I'll need all the help I can get. So, what do you say? Want to help me overthrow the corrupt government and oppressive society?"
"Dobby be helping Missy," the elf swore.
The house is pretentious, with it's immaculate lawn and clean three story tall windows. Against her better judgement, Harper knocked on the front door.
An elf answered, "Yes, who may you be?"
"My name is Harper Potter, I'm here asking for an interview for the prophet."
The elf popped away for a few minutes, before answering, "He be seeing you now."
Harper followed the elf into the drawing room, where her interviewee was waiting for her.
"Hello dear, how are you?" the man asked, rising from his seat.
"I'm doing well, and yourself?"
"Things are wonderful. Thank you for asking," he gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa across from him. "I was told you are here for the prophet?"
"Yes, they thought it would be a lovely idea for me to interview you, a sort of 'Where are they now' conversation among war heroes."
The man chuckled, "Yes, that does sound like a splendid idea. Where would you like to start?"
Tea appeared on the coffee table between them.
"What have you been up to since the end of the war?" Harper asked between sips of tea.
"I've been putting my efforts towards leading the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It's been a nice, peaceful break to what I had spent my life doing," the man answered congenially, as Harper took notes.
"And what is it that you have you spent your life doing?"
"Fighting Dark Arts, of course," the man answered. "I was fighting the good fight before you're parents were even born!" he said with flamboyance as if appalled Harper didn't already know that.
"Dark Arts, such as the unforgivables?" Harper asked.
"Yes, such as the unforgivables, among other."
"Awful things, absolutely unforgivable to use them on another." Harper said.
"I agree, that is why I when I was head of the DMLE, I gave more power and freedoms to the Aurors than any other Head in our history."
"Especially, the imperious curse. Out of all of them, I believe that one is the worse. There is death, and pain, yes—but forcing your will on another, forcing them to act without their own consent, that is true evil."
"Well, yes—"
"Anyways, back to you. International Cooperation, I bet you got to travel a lot, how was that like?"
"Yes, it was lovely."
"Where was you're favorite?"
"France. My wife always loved it there."
"Right, forgive me. You have my condolences on her passing. I heard only the kindest things ever said about her."
"Thank you," the man said.
"Noble way to go."
"Excuse me?"
"Your wife."
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, setting down his tea.
Harper moved to the couch next to him.
"Of old age," Harper said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "So few get to go that route, we should be more celebratory of those who do."
She picked up his tea and offered it to him.
"You really should drink more, I heard it's good for soul, healthy even. Plus this is absolutely delicious. Don't you agree?" Harper said, as she downed the rest of her own tea.
"Oh," the man chuckled nervously, "my elf, she always did half a talent with teas. Winky!" the man called his elf.
No elf came.
"Winky!" the man barked again, his hands began to tremble, "Where is that blasted elf…"
"Dobby," Harper called.
Dobby popped into the room, "Missy called?"
"Yes, do you happen to know where Winky is?"
"Yes, Missy. Winky be sleeping soundly," the elf answered with a terrifying smile.
A smile that Harper now matched, "Wonderful."
"What?" the man asked, moving to stand only to start swaying to the point he needed to sit down again. "What did you do to my elf?"
"I didn't do a thing. Dobby here only ensured that she wouldn't get herself injured trying to interfere.
"Interfere?" the man slurred.
"Yes. You see, I'm here under false pretenses. It turns out no one really cares about a washed-up former head of the DMLE, much less do they actually want to read an interview about him. Did you not think it was weird that I was interviewing you?"
"But… But—" the man began to slump into the couch cushions, shaking his head as if to stay awake.
"On top of that, I've drugged you—a draught of the living death mixed with a poison that recreates the effect of Dementors. You are about to fall asleep, at which point I'm going to obliviate you of this meeting, and plant a command that you are not to tell anyone of your missing son."
"My son—" the man passed out.
"Yes, your son…" Harper mumbled as she began searching the house.
Quickly giving up, "Dobby!"
"Yes, Missy?"
"Can you find the other person in this house?"
"Yes."
"Can you take me to him?"
The elf popped himself along with Harper to the basement, which was lightly furnished with only a bed and a writing desk.
On the bed laid a man starring at them with unseeing eyes.
"Hello, Barty."