It has been a few days since I last wrote to you, but I needed to settle some things. The last day of school was yesterday. Your teachers are still confused about how exactly to handle the situation. I think more of them were concerned about you than you ever expected.

The art teacher, Miss Fleming, cried today when I said good-bye. She says gave me a small sketchbook and some colored pencils. I've seen some of your drawings, Miss Fleming kept them all, and since I know no one has told you this you should know you are a fantastic artist Harry. I remember when I was your age. Stick figures were my forte. When you get back don't be afraid to keep it up.

You are more skilled than you realize.

Marius stopped by for "tea" yesterday as well. Petunia was so confuddled. I think it's hard for her to get used to doing so much of the house work alone. She was incredibly dissatisfied with the "state of her home". I almost spilled some tea on her new white curtains out of spite, but decided to hold back on the more petty sides of revenge.

For now.

The only significant thing that happened was we got a new wardrobe that actually fit us. Still second hand stores and chain stores, but Petunia noticed that the neighbors opinions seem to have changed from "that scruffy delinquent" to "that poor boy". She can read the atmosphere that woman. She had a sort of clever viciousness and adaptive nature.

What Petunia doesn't know is that during my "wandering about" I have been making sure to meet your neighbors and help them out. I have been carrying groceries, holding babies, and conducting a one woman campaign to make you the sweetest child on Privet Drive.

The new young mother in Number Ten thinks you are a saint after I gave her some old family colic cures and volunteered to babysit a little so she can get some sleep. Her name is Audra Huxley and she has now become your most outspoken defender. On Wednesday, she and Mrs. Number One, who I am still working on, got in a very public scuffle about you.

There is a very polite little Civil War going on between the ladies of Privet Drive currently.

Audra is quite popular you see and Mrs. Number Three's cousin-in-law, so her book club has officially cut Mrs. Number One. Mrs. Number One retaliated by not inviting Mrs. Number Three and Audra to her weekly and much coveted teas. Only she didn't know I've been helping Mrs. Number Five's old mother with her groceries and sorting through her mail for over a week. So when Mrs. Number Five arrived she spent the entire evening telling Petunia, who was invited, what a "little darling" she has for a nephew.

And it spiralled down from there. I'm rather certain there will be blood as they are now getting ready to compete in some summer gardening festival against each other as well.

Meanwhile, Petunia is in the middle as both groups keep showing up to their support during the Dursleys "unfortunate" time. One side is firmly on the stance I'm a liar and the Dursleys are being framed. The other is saying it is a misunderstanding and they are sure the Dursleys are making sure I'm properly cared for. Both though are condemning the "rumors" with disgust so Petunia just gets to listen to everyone telling her how horrifying the idea of locking a child in a cupboard is. Her pinched uncomfortable face is one of the small joys in my life.

Meanwhile the men seem to remain largely oblivious of the war going down.

Audra's husband, Christopher, has also taken a special interest in you. They only have a daughter right now so he's delighted to have a "boy" to teach "manly" things to. I haven't corrected him about my gender or his assumption on my lack of knowledge on cars. But I'll include some notes so you'll be able to talk to him.

So, the first thing you need to know…

...and after we finished getting covered in oil they let me clean off. I finished your homework while having a bit of tea and cake. Baby Sally is a darling and spent the entire time pulling on your hair. Sorry about that, but expect an affectionate toddler who I have spoiled incessantly to cling to you. She is usually a very sweet, well-mannered baby and quite happy.

Petunia looked horrified when I got home, but Marius was there and I happily told him about our new friends. He seemed approving so Petunia shut it. I also mentioned how tired I was, casually, from all the "extra" work and was sent up to change out of the oil clothes. When I came back Petunia looked like she was sucking on a lemon.

I don't think they'll try violating their chore chart again.

Vernon has been oddly quiet lately. He may be sinking into a bit of a funk. Every time Dudley doesn't come with Marius he cycles through angry walrus to deflated bag. He seems to have been lingering in depressed lately, while Petunia seems to be getting sharper and angrier.

I'll write again soon.

Love,

Other Harry

. . .

Harry closed one of Dudley's unused notebooks and put it back into the hidden space under the loose floorboard so helpfully described in Goblet of Fire. She had made sure to keep carefully notes for Little Harry so he wouldn't be too confused upon his return. Her "Daily Reports" stayed in one notebook while the others, safely hidden away, had extensive notes on the plot, horcruxes, and the people Harry would meet in order to help him when she was gone. She owed it to the boy for hijacking his body even if it was by accident.

Finished with one of her daily chores she rolled back up into her back. Besides the social sabotage she had been planting the seeds for, tense interactions with her "family", and the occasional bright moment with the Huxleys her life was really quite empty.

School, which she had found was unpleasantly still in attendance, was finally over. That had been an eye opener. When Harry had said he was alone he had not been joking. The other children treated him like anathema. Not bullying but leaving him alone. The fear of Dudley Dursley the bully was strong. Dudley's gang has seemed a little befuddled without the large boy their to lead the charge. She was honestly surprised they hadn't tried anything. Teachers were yet another kettle of fish. They mostly ignored her as well, though she had noticed quite a few whispering and looking guiltily in her direction.

They seemed somewhat divided on the "truth" of matters as well. Only one, a Miss Friedman, seemed convinced she was still a "lying little troublemaker" and eyed her homework distrustfully when she turned it in completed and undamaged without Dudley there. The others had been casually horrified at her change in mood and slightly cheerful explanations to why her homework was suddenly perfect. All the work that had been lost because of Dudley or switched out with his assignments were being updated as she easily blew through new versions of them.

Miss Fleming had been a surprise. She existed as a warm, but unremarkable person in Little Harry's hazy memories. Standing out for her neutrality and occasional startling moments of kindness. She wasn't one of the boy's major teachers so he did not pay her as much mind.

Harry, with her more adult mindset, noticed the nervous woman taking a stand now and had clearly been fond of the boy. It was her, Harry noticed, who had led the change in attitude towards him.

She was very young as well, probably younger than even Harry had been "Before" only twenty-one she'd guess. While admittedly a year didn't really give Harry an edge, Miss Fleming have the impression of someone younger with her nervous speech, brittle expression, and large eyes.

Out of school now and with the woman's presents carefully hidden away for their proper receiver she wondered what to do with her free time. She was quick with her chores, so they took no time. Though Petunia had taken to following her around when she dusted eyes ready to find a mistake. The way she would run her finger along a shelf to check the dust put Harry in mind of her step-father when he was feeling like being an asshole and looking to start a fight.

Petunia Dursley wanted a fight and a reason to punish Harry, now that she had to be careful to find one.

Harry made sure not to give her one, enjoying the frustration the negative attention and helplessness caused in the woman.

Harry was a bit vindictive when she felt like it after all. Petunia squirming was a specific kind of cathartic enjoyment.

But without school it would leave her with a lot of free time. As much as she was genuinely beginning to like the Huxleys and even a few other less loathsome members of the neighborhood she was putting on an act for them. Harry wanted a place in which she could relax. If she wanted to keep this up and maintain her sanity she needed a "safe harbor".

Marius was the closest thing she currently had, allowing her to drop her guard a bit. But he was here for a purpose and not something she would have for the entire time she was here.

She also needed more books. She had read through Watership Down and The Wind in the Willows at least half a dozen times each by this point. She really hadn't realized how much constant stimulation she was used to. Stranded in the 90's without internet, her book collection, video games, and friends to fill the time.

The library could help in that regard. Now she just needed to find it.

. . .

Supper with the Dursleys was always a fraught time. It was when the absence of Dudley seemed the most prevalent.

Harry's first night Petunia had accidentally set Dudley's place out of habit. When she saw the woman had burst into tears and Vernon, looking gutted, had followed after her. Harry had her first meal in silence. Since they still weren't back by the time she'd had seconds she cleaned up, packing up the food in plastic containers and loading up the dishwasher the Dursleys perversely had despite having spent the year since they'd purchased it making Little Harry wash them.

Once there was nothing left to lollygag with she'd headed upstairs. She'd wiped the table down from sheer habit though she wasn't sure if it was hers or Little Harry's. When she had passed the main bedroom the two adults were on the bed sitting, Vernon reassuring Petunia, who was dabbing her eyes.

Harry had knocked on the open door frame and when they looked up told them their supper was in the fridge. They'd both looked startled and she'd received a nod, smiled and left them be.

It hadn't really been odd softness at distress. Harry just couldn't stand wasted food.

Since then there had not been in more tears, but certainly no warm fuzzy family moments. It had been confined to terse silence until last night Vernon had finally broken it by tentatively beginning to talk of his work. The Dursleys had settled into a quiet conversation amongst themselves ignoring Harry, but it had certainly felt better than the silence.

As Harry sat down she made sure to smile at her "family". Vernon looked away quickly and Petunia passed her a filled plate not quite making eye contact. Her smiles and friendliness unnerved them more than anything. It seemed to in particularly distress Petunia and Harry had realized, after a quick comparison, Little Harry had also inherited his mother's smile. Seeing your dead sister smiling at you from the face of her son you abused should be unnerving. Especially with the Dursleys under the impression Harry did not clearly remember the abuse. Harry hoped something about it ate Petunia up at night.

Tonight was no different. Harry kept her bright smile as she ate Beef Wellington and eventually the Dursleys settled into sullen silence. Harry waited until Vernon had finished his first serving to speak.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia may I got to the library tomorrow?" Harry asked watching their reactions.

They looked at her with shock as if she was a bit of furniture that had decided to suddenly start speaking up. She kept up an expectant smile.

Petunia pressed her lips together and cut in before Vernon could.

"No." she snapped. "Your Uncle is golfing tomorrow and needs the car. He doesn't have time to take you."

"Why would you need the library anyway?" Vernon added, face achieving some of his past confidence as he sneered. "Bloody waste of council funds. You aren't in school so you don't have homework."

"I like reading." She she said face serene in a way she had learned unnerved him. He preferred people affected by his puffing up and to react otherwise threw him badly.

He looked at her as if she had announced her hobby was eating mud.

"You have books be happy with that." Petunia said.

Harry pressed. "Yes, but I've read them."

"Well read them again. The library is Great Whinging and you shan't be going."

She nodded and went back to her food. Petunia looked grimly pleased about having denied her something. Harry decided she would need to get up early tomorrow.

. . .

Greater Whinging was approximately a mile away from Privet Drive. For some people this seemed an unreasonable walk. Harry very thoroughly disagreed. She had always been a proud owner of multiple library cards from the three counties around her hometown. When she went to college, and before her car, Frankenstein,she had walked to the county library anytime she wanted books she couldn't get elsewhere.

She woke up early, finished her chores with a determined efficiency that had the Dursleys scowling and made some sandwiches for lunch, while Petunia wasn't looking before heading out. A map had been acquired from the Little Whinging tourism bureau, a small little shop that was more souvenir shop than anything. It was beside some buildings that Harry found lovely but Vernon complained were, much like libraries, a waste of money. The telephone booth, bright red and a bit delightful to see in person, was beside the post office and helped provide her with the address. She'd carefully outlined her route using the post office as a starting point and took off with a skip in her step, hauling everything in the ratty old backpack she'd found in the back of the closet.

The morning air was warm and Harry made a point to give a friendly wave to the slightly confused drivers who passed her by. It didn't take her ten minutes to reach Greater Whinging and after stopping for directions she found the library easy enough.

Greater Whinging was a good deal bigger than Little Whinging boasting of status as a city, barely, over the smaller town. It had a library, the schools, a full grocery, a small surgery, and Smeltings Academy standing proudly in the distance.

Smeltings was built in one of those old historical building that Vernon hated and had a large fence surrounding it's grounds and athletic fields. It was up the hill from the library. Harry could see it from the parking lot as she ate a sandwich outside for a quick breakfast.

It looked like the fancy private school she'd won a scholarship to when she was younger. Somehow though it was a much less happy version. More Hill House than a Hogwarts. The building itself looked unfriendly.

As she brushed the crumbs off herself and headed into the cheerful little building she supposed there was something to be said about the "atmosphere" of a place reflecting the people there. If Smeltings turned out people like Vernon Dursley as a matter of course she doubted it was anything beyond a traditional Petri dish for growing bullies and snobs.

The atmosphere of the library, in contrast, had Harry smiling and her shoulders relaxing the moment she saw the comforting sight of the stacks.

From the outside it was a cheerful little Tudor style house, sitting squat and wide amongst flowers and a fence. Its white exterior was pristine crossed with the dark black wood and brightened by flower boxes by the window. There was a small iron sign dangling that read "Whinging Library" with an open book under it.

Inside the multitude of windows allowed for a lot of natural light that was colored by the stain glass that had replaced some of those in the back allowing for color displays against the walls opposite. It was a rather small library, but lined with shelves and tables. As she explored she found one room even boasted several old computers looking brand new. An old man was scowling at one as he slowly typed something in. Another room had lower shelving that Harry could touch the top of, patterned rugs, soft furniture and educational toys available for children. A younger woman was surrounded by four children who were eagerly listening to her read The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

It looked care worn, but had a happy air of a place well loved by its inhabitants.

Harry let out a relieved sigh as she grabbed The Hobbit and went to find a corner to relax in. She could start researching later. For now she decided she'd relax with a small slice of home in a familiar story.

. . .

Harry began to walk to the library every other day, switching off to allow her time to help Mrs. Pears with her mail and make sure to stop in to see the Huxleys. Petunia eyed her with suspicion every time she left and was clearly unhappy with how happy Harry seemed. The toss up between not having to look at Harry and Harry being happy about something was clearly a tough debate for the woman.

Apparently being around Harry was worse and she'd started to leave to go visit her friend Yvonne when Harry left for the library.

Yvonne was an interesting feature in Petunia's life. She was the complete opposite of what Harry would have pictures for such a conservative woman like Petunia's best friend. Harry had stayed with her once during the Dursleys weekly parenting classes.

Yvonne was a blonde prettier and happier version of Petunia in a lot of ways. She also seemed in many ways her opposite. Yvonne was fashionable and clearly more successful, independently wealthy. She was a trust fund baby who had worked her way up to dominate a lower level fashion magazine. She dressed well, cursed, smoked, drank, was unmarried and divorced. She had a university degree in business and seemed to be someone horrifying to a conservative Vernon and Petunia.

She was not the hyper traditional feminine image Petunia strived to maintain.

But she was just as prejudice in the same ways. She disapproved of immigrants, of different religions, of the poor. Vernon may disapprove of her not having found herself a husband, but as his own sister hadn't and any time they spoke together It was in total agreement he overlooked it.

Besides money could forgive much in the eyes of the Dursleys who were always striving for more and Yvonne had that. Harry and Petunia would always separate at Wisteria Lane and neither spoke the entire walk over.

Harry was a bit surprised by the almost peacefulness of this wordless agreement not to talk about Petunia disappearing into Yvonne's for hours on end and Harry to the library.

She had been visiting so often she was a familiar sight to the librarians who greeted her by name and with a smile. Harry had made a point to give a good first impression. She had this thing with librarians. They like friends parents and the elderly found her precious. She made sure to stay on their good side as she found the librarians liking you often lead to them asking you about books you'd been wanting to read when book ordering time came around.

Harry had yet to meet one she did not like and could not eventually woo to her side.

She was also becoming familiar with the regulars, some of which she'd seen on Privet Drive or at school.

A quiet girl who never spoke during Harry's time at school was there as much as Harry. She learned her name was Charlotte and had started sitting near the girl for quiet company. The younger girl, all nervous energy and peeking up shocked from her long fringe of blonde hair, had only recently started relaxing seeming to realize Harry wasn't going to bother her.

There was also José Jenkins, a very old man with a heavy Irish accent, who happily told her about how his mother had left Madrid for Ireland for love of his father. He was a cheerful, chatty old man she helped work the computers and find romance books for his wife.

Then there was Miss Partridge a twenty-something working on her education degree and volunteered to read to children. She looked like how Harry had always pictured Miss Honey and acted similarly. The woman reminded her painfully of one of her best friends Katie who was of a similar disposition.

Harry, after her initial visit, had devoted herself to information gathering. She dragged down old dusty English Law books and read the Children Act of 1989 until she knew it backwards and forwards. She had gotten more than a few odd looks during her initial trips, but after she also started to look through first aid, survival books, knitting patterns, and every kind of fiction imaginable the librarians accepted she had eclectic taste and read anything that interested her. Which was true, but they also did not realize exactly how practical books like basic emergency first aid and plant guides along with folklore books were about to become to her.

During her reading she had eventually stumbled upon something that almost made her choke on her lunch, which she had been allowed to have in the employee kitchen since she was there so often.

It was a blue leather book with a gold outline of a man in athletic gear wearing a Wizarding hat. It was an older book, and she'd found it in the fiction section. The front had one of those stickers indicating it had been donated by Mr. and Mrs. Hamish Bowles. It was a 1930 reprinting and then the first sign of something odd was the first page saying The Official Autobiography of Angus Buchanan. The name triggered something in the back of her mind. She knew the name but not in what context she heard it.

And then she found the title.

My Life as a Squib.

Harry choked and then laughed so hard she had to smother it with her hand. She kept giggling as she ate her lunch carefully leaning back to not get any on the book.

This book was her first sign that the Wizarding world was real and it was an incredibly comforting thought, but it also lead her down a path she had yet to look at too closely.

History.

She noticed it as she devoured the book eagerly reading of Angus's journey to Hogwarts and leaving his home. Harry had always been fond of Regency and Victorian romances and they left a very basic understanding of English parliament and history during this period with her. She noticed the difference in a throw away line listing important figures attending the rugby match.

The Prime Minister was wrong.

Gladstone had been in office. Harry had gone looking and found other names were changed or people didn't exist.

The events and certain huge names remained the same, but there were other blaring differences. And there were gaps or off explanations for huge fires or mass disappearances. Magic left gaps all through history. The folklore sections was overflowing with mentions of witches and wizards and old stories. She camped out there tracing the changes in history and discovering secret societies, that still existed, dedicated to magic and belief in its existence.

Muggles were not quite as ignorant as expected. She traced the number of deaths that came about from one particularly violent anti-magic group. They weren't all friendly either. Hidden in between she found people who were clearly in the know. Those whose childhoods were shadowed in mystery. She had a list of secret squibs and Wizarding folk she planned to compare.

She was almost certain Anne Boleyn, who existed in a slightly different incarnation, was a witch. Elizabeth though was, to her best guess, a Squib. Some of Shakespeare's plays contained new lines and there were new plays that hinted at magic. Famous authors and artists and people who hadn't existed before.

This world wasn't just her world with magic it was like stepping into an alternate history novel.

She had been going over a fascinating book on Roanoke disappearance, a surprise find in a small English library, when she looked up to find one of the librarians waiting for her.

She let out a quiet sigh, but closed her book and hovered over her pile.

"Which one?" She asked.

The woman have her apologetic smile before replying, "The Hand Maiden's Tale."

Harry nodded and passed it over with regret. She, unfortunately, could not check out books without parental permission for a library card. She refused to allow Petunia the chance to turn her down from spite though and instead was waiting to force her into giving Harry what she wanted.

She could have forged the signature, but she wanted Petunia to have to sign it. It wouldn't particularly harm the woman in any way. Forcing her to actually do something to make "Harry" happy not just meet the standards to get Dudley back after years of Little Harry's misery being a source of Petunia's happiness was the point though.

Harry would have to do it soon though, she was getting tired of having to turn books in only mostly read.

. . .

Harry got her opportunity the second to last week of July when she had began to keep her eyes out for owls. She had just finished a quiet breakfast between herself and Petunia when the doorbell rang. Harry decided to get it as she was already beside it.

When she saw who it was she began grinning.

"Marius!" Harry chirped genuinely pleased to see the man and heard a loud splash that sounded as if Petunia had dropped whatever she had been 'pre-cleaning' before filling the dishwasher.

The man laughed as Harry danced forward her good mood bubbling over into a hug. Something sharply calculating in her recognized this opportunity for what it was. Marius settled his arms around her in returning the hug and was smiling softly when they separated.

"You seem happy?" He stated though it almost seemed a question.

Harry nodded in answer and strained over her shoulder, gleefully shouting, "Marius is here!"

She grabbed the man and lead him into the sitting room despite his having been there several times before. He was in a dark blue suit today and his buttons had the same symbol as the handkerchief he'd given her.

"Aunt Petunia was just finishing up breakfast," Harry explained as Petunia rushed in looking distinctly ruffled, her blonde curls slightly eschew and her blouse wrinkled. "There she is. I'll go grab my things then!"

Marius looked at her curiously at that, but Petunia was focused on the man wearing a determined expression. Harry suppressed a smile as she grabbed her bag, made lunch, and pulled out the form. She lingered over the tasks allowing them a chance to settle before she threw something new at them.

She lingered at the door listening to Petunia recount her latest class, which focused on children's self-confidence and the duties of a guardian in building that up and on Harry's growing popularity in the neighborhood. Harry strolled in interrupting her with a cheerful "Got it Aunt Petunia!"

Both the other adults startled at that. Petunia looked at her clearly confused and wary and Marius simply curious and watching.

"What?" Petunia snapped and then quickly modulated her tone. "What have you got?" She paused. "Dear."

Watching Petunia playing adoring aunt was pretty darkly amusing in how terrible she was at it. It usually made Harry tempted to abandon her plans to do something more immediate. This one though, was almost natural sounding.

"The permission slip." Harry said, tone implying Petunia clearly knew what was going on. "You were going to sign it before I left remember? You said I could get a library card."

Marius smiled at that. "More books Harry?"

Harry laughed. "You can never have too many. I've been visiting a lot, walking with Aunt Petunia, and since I couldn't always finish them I'm getting the card to take some home. It's an early birthday present!"

Marius nodded approving.

Harry smiled and gave Petunia the same look she had the day of Harry's return. It was a look that was an order to go along and a bribe. Harry wasn't including the bribe though and she was certain Petunia understood. Harry had been pushing the boundaries slightly, but now she was making a point.

Petunia needed to sign it. If she said anything else she would be denying the beautiful lie of family harmony. Willingly spending time together? Birthday presents? All of those were good signs to Marius. Changes were good. And the meant one step closer to Dudley.

Harry made eye contact as she offered the slip.

"Right Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia met her gaze and spoke quietly. "Of course dear."

It almost sounded sincere. Harry smiled and offered Petunia a kiss on her cheek.

"Thanks Aunt Petunia." She said and wondered if anyone else heard the hiss in it.

Something must have shown on her face because Petunia shuddered as Harry lingered and their eyes met.

Harry was smiling as she leaned away grasping her prize.

"Bye Marius." She paused and said deliberately. "Bye Aunt Petunia."

The first book Harry brought home was on Changelings. She left it in the living room, opened on the page mentioning what happens when the family they are left with mistreats them. When she sat down to eat the next night Petunia looked at her warily.

Harry answered by very brightly interrupting Vernon's asking Petunia about hers to tell both of them about hers. Vernon looked shocked and appalled and Petunia, she looked as if Harry had just confirmed something for her.

The next time they were walking there was a thoughtful silence and one sentence.

"You remember."

Harry hummed, but answered. "I do hope I'm not given any reminders. I'm starting to miss Dudley."

Petunia stopped scowling at her when she did her chores. Books appeared at her bedside.

. . .

Harry had should have realized things were going too well. When the Dursleys left her with Mrs. Figg, who was designated watcher now that she was off her crutches something felt off. And not just because the Dursleys had been subdued, Harry suspected Petunia talked to Vernon.

Harry actually like Mrs. Figg and enjoyed spending time covered in cats and free to pet them. She was excited because the woman had mentioned that she had new kittens when they passed early this week. Harry was eager for a distraction from the fact no Hogwarts letter had arrived yet.

Not even one. Her birthday was tomorrow and something was wrong. The feeling had been with her all week and it had twisted her up inside with anxiety. Playing with kittens should have been a relief. But the moment she walked inside it only made her feel worse.

Mrs. Figg looked nervous as she lead her towards the sitting room instead of the laundry room where Trouble had hidden her kittens away.

"I have a...a friend visiting," the woman warned eyes flickering to the room and licking her lips. The gestures made Harry's mood drop and her back tense up.

"A friend?" She questioned suddenly wary and senses prickling. Her hair was standing up and she had a bad feeling.

"Yes," Mrs. Figg said and straightened, seeming to force herself calm. "Be polite, he's a very important man."

Harry was sure she knew who it was before she entered the room.

She was right.

Albus Dumbledore sat on the puce colored, stiff coach covered in cats, his long beard covering the front of an old fashioned purple Muggle suit. He looked up upon their entrance and smiled blue eyes twinkling.

"Ah, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said as Harry's throat closed up and her heart beat double time. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

FUCK! Harry shouted and dropped her gaze to the floor. She felt like she was going to vomit. This definitely was not the plan.