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Have fun reading!
TW at end of chapter

Harriet didn't awaken suddenly, as she so often did with nightmares. Instead, it was a gradual ordeal, surges of consciousness rushing over her mind like waves on a beach. She was first aware of a sharp throbbing in her scar which felt like thousands of hot bugs scuttling across her skin. Next, she was aware of her body, still heavy with sleep, curled up tightly on the floor as if to shield her from Voldemort's curses. No, not Voldemort, but Lucius Malfoy, finally here to fulfil his promise to kill her. But as her eyes opened blearily to be greeted by a white wall, she realised that Malfoy wasn't there at all.
That's right, she was at the Dursley's for summer.
Harriet sighed quietly to herself, gingerly sitting up. She wasn't looking forwards to a parching day filled with heavy manual labour and little to no food. But, alas, he aunt would not have her slacking off.
Yet, it wasn't her small, barred room or the cupboard under the stairs that greeted her when she stumbled to her feet. Rather, it was a spacious room, filled with soft with warm colours. A bed, that looked as soft as a cloud. The Potters. She was safe.
Well, as safe as she ever really could be.
Harriet huffed as she glanced over at the small digital clock on the bedside table, realising that, once again, she had only gotten three hours worth of rest. Carefully, Harriet considered the bed, the floor, before shuddering violently. No, the dream was still too fresh in her mind. She wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.
As she climbed onto the bed, Harriet thought about her dream, so odd with its mixture of the old Riddle House and Voldemort's resurrection at the graveyard. But there had been differences to both that Harriet couldn't make sense of, no matter how hard she tried. Firstly, Snape was present, but he didn't look anything like usual. His face, much more sunken, had a quiet resign that she had never seen before. His greasy black hair was adorned with streaks of grey, making him appear thirty years older. Additionally, it had been Riddle's round face with high cheekbones and a biting grin to stare back at her when he had risen from those decomposing rags. He had looked around the room, unadulterated pleasure flitting though his face before he had stared right through her. No, not through her, but at her. He seemingly pinned her with his eyes, ensuring she couldn't escape. Only Harriet's harsh, ragged breathing had separated the two enemies.
The house around them convulsed as if its very walls were possessed, making Riddle stand straighter, prouder. A crack sounded through the room before part of the wall detached, curling around itself until it resembled a gnarled arm, slowly reaching for her. Harriet remembered trying to move, but her body had betrayed her and all she could do was watch as the wall inched forward, wrapping itself around her neck. Choking her.
Killing her.
Harriet shuddered violently as her scar gave another painful twinge. Not real not real not real not real- But it had felt so real. And Sirius and Remus had explained to her over the month she was at the Dursleys that some of her dreams, the more realistic ones about Voldemort, were real -not real not real not real not real- That she was looking at what he was doing right now- not real not real not real not real not real.
Harriet felt her breath stutter, gasp, choke as she realised the implications of her dream. She could be a dead man walking.
The room tilted dangerously as the walls crept forward just like in the vision. He had found her. He had found her and now he was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do and it was sheer dumb luck that she escaped him last time and she had had the help of her parents and Cedric but now she was all alone and there was nothing she could do and she was going to die. But Harriet didn't want to die, there was still so much she needed to do, wanted to do. She hadn't said goodbye to Ron and Hermione or told Mr and Mrs Diggory how sorry she actually was or thanked Mrs Weasley for making her feel wanted for once in her life and-
As suddenly as the walls that had crept in, encircling her in a living tomb, it had stopped. It had stopped because it had never started. Harriet was left slumped in on herself as a desperate form of comfort, heaving in breaths and trying desperately, fiercely, to hold in her racking sobs. She was okay she was okay she was okay. Not because she felt like she was okay. But because she needed to be okay.
Harriet gulped wiping away the few tears that had escaped. She couldn't stay in this room, she couldn't. She couldn't because at any moment the walls might fall in on her again and this time she wouldn't escape.
The living room was dark, the only light from a lamp in the kitchen and the full moon, just like in her dream. Harriet shook herself roughly before silently walking forwards. A glass of water would do her good. She'd just make sure to wash it thoroughly so that the Potters would never know.
Quietly, Harriet stepped past the table, opening the cabinets hesitantly before filling the cup up. However, when she went to turn around, two figures at the corner of the table caught her eye. Harriet involuntarily yelped, dumping half the water on her face as she grappled for her wand to brandish it harshly in their faces.
"Woah there!" Harry exclaimed holding his hands up in mock surrender as he grinned gently. "Just me and dad."
"S-s-sorry."
"It's no problem. Couldn't sleep?" James asked, gesturing for her to sit in the empty chair across from them.
"Erm, well, just thirsty, I suppose."
Harry frowned as if he wanted to say something.
"Harry and I couldn't sleep," James stated casually, bringing what looked like a mug a of tea to his mouth. "Mind too busy."
"That makes sense," Harriet remarked, quietly taking a sip of water.
They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted by a light comment or funny question from Harry and James. Slowly, Harriet felt the last of her tremors subside, her shoulders slumping slightly from a release of tension. The night no longer seemed as eerie, dangerous.
"D'you think fish feel wet all the time?" Harry asked suddenly as he examined his glass of water.
James rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he chuckled. There was a slight pause before his eyes widened comically.
"Oh Merlin! Do they?"
Harriet giggled, opening her mouth to reply when a sharp, piercing, all consuming pain erupted from her scar. She couldn't help but whimper as she clamped both hands over her forehead in a desperate attempt to ease the pain.
"Harriet?" A worried voice prodded from her left ear. But she was already too far gone.
She stood over a long table, filled with featureless, masked faces. All heads were bowed in submission as Nagini slithered slowly, teasingly, across the table, her tongue flicking towards each figure who displeased her. Satisfaction and a deep sense of pleasure bloomed within Harriet as she saw them cower.
"My faithful followers," she greeted, her voice low and breathy, as if hissing the words. "I believe it is time we expand our power."
The table was deathly silent. No person shifted, flinched, breathed.
"Lucius!" She asserted, lips curled into an ugly sneer as he flinched violently and bowed his head impossibly further. "I believe you have given me no new information as to where Potter has gone?"
"N-no my lord," he answered simply.
"Hmmm," she hummed. "Disappointing."
Before he could open his mouth and displease her further, she quietly uttered "Crucio!". Cold waves of euphoria ruched over her as she saw him writhe on the floo; as she felt his torture. She closed her eyes, swaying in time to his screams as they further crescendoed before growing silent. It was never as nice when they were silent.
Slowly, mockingly, she raised her wand to utter the counter-curse. Immediately, Lucius slumped forward, resting his sweaty, pale head on the contrastingly chilly table.
Harriet paid him no heed.
"Severus has reported evidence that our little Harriet," at this her lip curled further, transitioning her sneer into quiet rage, "has traveled dimensions. And, luckily for you all, I have a… contact who is willing to help us."
Bella looked up sharply, a distant, deranged smile stretching across her lips. "Who, my Lord."
"Now now, Bella, do not speak out of turn," Harriet found herself cautioning. "Details are for another time. Right now, I believe, we have guests that are in need of special attention."
At this, a young muggle couple was shoved forward by an invisible force, allowing her followers to get a good look at them. They already looked battered, with deep purple bruises marring their skin; deeps cuts ran across the entirety of the young man's face as the woman, now sobbing, held a stump that Harriet knew used to be her hand.
Dolohov scoffed, already knowing that their pain was nothing compared to what it would be in a few short hours. Harriet found herself smiling as she said "Bella, you may start."
All she felt was pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Cold as death's iron grip, her aunts hateful stare, her cupboard on a winter's night.
As hot as her rage, as the oven as she baked fresh pastries, as the stove as her uncle held her hand to it.
"-arriet! Harriet! Harriet!" A distant voice pilfered towards the front of her brain as Harriet felt her limbs twitch sporadically.
Another voice, this one distinctively calmer said "Harriet, dear. I know you are in pain right now, but I need to make sure you are alright. Can you squeeze my finger for me?"
Her… finger? But Harriet didn't have a finger… or a hand… or a body. How was she supposed to do such a thing? Harriet opened her mouth to tell the silly woman but frowned when she remembered she couldn't. She had no mouth.
However, if she had no mouth, no hands, no body, why was she in so much pain? It felt as though her whole being was being shredded into teeny tiny pieces of… something small.
Cheese, maybe?
Harriet liked cheese. Maybe if she squeezed the insistent lady's hand they would give her cheese.
"Harriet!" A firmer tone breached her broken thoughts. "We need you to listen and squeeze Lily's finger."
Merlin! How many of them were there? All Harriet really wanted to do was sleep but she didn't think she could with their jarring voices in her ear.
Maybe she should squeeze Lily's finger.
"That's good, darling! Really good!" The voice said again. "I need you to try to tell me where you're hurt."
Harriet didn't want to talk. She wanted to sleep.
"Harriet," the other, more demanding voice said. "Listen to Lily, kiddo."
Kiddo? What was a kiddo? Maybe a creature? Hagrid would know.
"Where 'agrid?" She found herself slurring.
"Hagrid? Harriet, are you asking for Hagrid?"
"Mmmm," she hummed, happy they were friends with him too.
"We don't know a Hagrid."
Oh. Traitors.
"Kiddo-"
"Wha' kiddo?"
"What's kiddo?" A voice asked that Harriet could now identify as Harry's. "What do you mean? You're kiddo."
"Mmm," she hummed again, happy this time.
"Harriet," James prodded. "We need you to tell us what's wrong. Are you hurt?"
Hurt? She was always hurt. She just told people when it was a big hurt.
"Don' wanna go Pomfrey."
"You won't have to," Harry soothers. "Mum's a real good healer. Between the three of us you'll be right as rain in no time."
"Don' 'ike rain."
"That's okay," Lily quickly reassured as a gentle hand started threading through her hair softly. "There's no rain."
"Mmmm."
All was quiet and Harriet found her pain receding slightly as her body started drifting to sleep, only to be ruined by their stupid voices.
"Harriet," James prodded sternly. "You can't fall asleep yet. We need you to tell us where you're hurt."
Huffing with both annoyance and exhaustion, Harriet slowly opened her bleary eyes to be greeted with three fuzzy faces.
She really wished one of the fuzzy faces was a cat. She liked cats.
But not dogs. Ripper hurt.
She was already hurt enough right now.
"My 'ead." She started. "'n muscles. Feel squishy. 'n bad way."
"That's a really good job, Har!" Harry smiled down gently at her.
"Really?"
"Of course," James agreed, carefully placing something cold and wet on her forehead.
Scrunching her eyes with distaste, Harriet tried to turn her head to escape it. "Nnn'," she hummed with distaste. "'old."
"Shhh," Lily soothed. "You're bleeding from your scar. James just needs to clean it up so we can see if you're hurt too badly."
Twitching her fingers to make sure they were there, that they still worked, Harriet shakily brought her hand towards the offending cloth on her forehead. Yet before she could reach it, a gentle hand grasped her wrist and brought it down again. "Don't do that Harriet.
"'raitor," Harriet murmured towards Harry. "'Upposed be my 'ide."
"And why's that?"
"Brother help 'ister."
There was a pause and Harriet worried through her clouded brain that she had said something wrong. Though, before she could apologise, Harry gave a small chuckle. "You're right. I should be on your side."
Out of her peripheral, Harriet saw Lily gently extract her wand before waving it carefully over her body, much like Madam Pomfrey would do when trying to find what was wrong with her. Harriet wasn't too sure, her vision was still too fuzzy, but she thought she saw deep creases form on Lily's forehead as she frowned.
"Wha' madder?"
"What's the matter? Is that what you said?" James asked quietly so as not to disrupt Lily's work.
"Mmm."
"She's just concentrating, kiddo."
"Mmm." Her eyes felt heavy, as if they were attached to weights. Or dragons. She was pretty sure dragons were heavy. "'m 'ired."
"I know, Har. You can sleep in just a short bit," Harry said.
Pausing her enchantments, Lily quietly asked "James. Can you please go and get me an anti-cruciartus potion along with pepper up and essence of dittany?"
"Anti-cruciartus?" Both James and Harry questioned.
"I'll explain later."
There was a pause and Harriet wondered when it had gotten so dark.
"Darling, I need you to open your eyes for me, please."
Her eyes weren't closed, were they?
"They are closed, Har. Just try for us, please."
Was Harry a mindreader?
"No, you're just talking out loud, darling. Now can you please open your eyes?"
Unsteadily, Harriet brought her hands to her eyes, making sure they were closed, before opening them.
James had apparently returned, as he held carefully in his hands three potions. They didn't look very tasty but potions never were.
She would like a potion that tasted of cheese.
But not right now, she thought, as her stomach gave a dangerous lurch.
"Don' feel good."
"We know, kiddo. These potions will help," James reassured but he didn't understand.
"Nnn," protesting weakly, she turned her head to the side. "Sick."
Harry's eyes widened as he gently took her shoulders and, with the assistance of Lily, sat her up carefully. The world tilted dramatically as her stomach gave another warning gurgle.
"Here," Harry's voice said from behind her as a bowl was thrust into her vision.
Just in time, too, as her stomach gave one final summersault. Her entire body was cramping, now, with the effort it took to expel what little food she had in her system. It seemed to last years, decades, centuries before she felt like she wouldn't fall apart if she slumped backwards a little.
Now she really, really, really, wanted sleep.
"Here, take this, darling. It'll make you feel a bit better." A potion, smelling strongly of freshly mowed grass and.. liquorice… was thrust under her nose.
"Nnno."
"It'll help with the nausea, kiddo."
"M'kay."
The potion was surprisingly thin, making it somewhat easy to ingest. Unlike the next two.
However, it must have done their jobs, as soon, Harriet was feeling better. She was still bone-weary and in an exponential amount of pain but, now, she wasn't so… floaty.
She appeared to be on the floor, facing two incredibly concerned faces of Lily and James. Her legs were cold, unlike her back, which was surprisingly comfortably pressed against something warm, soothing. Yet, as her mind worked furiously to understand her surroundings better, she realised she was propped against someone, not something.
Despite her clearer head, her words still came out slurred as she exclaimed "'m sorry!" Towards Harry. She tried to move away, to stand up, but Harry carefully pulled her backwards.
"No no no. Don't move yet, Har. "
"'m sorry," she tried again.
"It's okay," Lily shushed. "It's not your fault you're sick."
"Didn' mean t'be sick."
"Its okay," Lily repeated more firmly. "Are you in much pain?"
"No," Harriet replied, her voice wavering slightly.
"Harriet," James chastised. "We want to make you feel better but we can't if you don't tell us the truth."
"'m 'kay, really."
"Har, please tell us the truth."
"'s nothin'! Jus' bit achy."
Cursing slightly under her breath, Lily waved her wand. This time, as she spoke, her voice was unsteady and strained. "James. We need more anti-cruciartus potion."
"Shit," He muttered before standing hurriedly to retrieve it.
Harriet really didn't want to take any more of that potion. It fizzed aggressively in her mouth, sickly sweet. Harriet tried to tell Lily that but was quickly interrupted with the lip of the bottle being pushed into her mouth. Instinctively, Harriet swallowed, choking slightly as the bubbles attacked her throat.
She was feeling floaty again, as if she were a kite in the sky.
Harriet liked flying. Just not when dragons were trying to eat her.
She missed Buckbeak.
She wandered if Hagrid was okay or if his Blast Ended Skrewts had eaten him yet. Harriet sure hoped not. It sounded like a most unpleasant way to go.
However, she couldn't be too sure. It was probably better than being tortured to death by Deatheaters.
"Let's get you up and lying down," James said gently, grabbing her right elbow as Harry carefully grabbed the other. Together, they slowly traipsed to the couch with little to no help from Harriet, whose legs were too shaky to support her weight.
The couch was soft, like a cloud, or cream cheese. With the fuzzy blanket draped over her, Harriet thought she might be in heaven.
Was there such thing as heaven? Harriet hoped her parents were somewhere nice like heaven.
A cold drop of mystery liquid that spat and stung was applied to her forehead, making Harriet grumble and try to bury her face in the pillows.
"We're just healing a cut," someone murmured. Harriet was too tired to tell who.
"Sleep," a bodiless voice whispered.
So she did.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked as she walked into the kitchen. Ron was buried under several books as he scanned a page feverishly. His eyes were bloodshot, face pale. Hermione didn't think she had ever seen him stare at a book so intently. She wasn't sure she had even stared at a book so intently.
"You left some of your research out last night," Ron explained, not taking his eyes off the page. "Thought I'd help."
Hermione frowned before stepping forward to sit next ti her friend. "How long have you been up?"
"Dunno. What time is it?"
Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, Hermione muttered "Just gone half past three."
"Mmm," he hummed. "Probably two hours then?"
Hermione couldn't help but sigh. "Ron! You need to sleep!"
"So do you!" He hotly retorted.
A thick stillness entered the kitchen, the only sound coming from the quiet ticking of the clock in the corner. Hermione exhaled slowly before grabbing the closest book and opening the page.
She supposed reading would be better with company.
Mrs Weasley found the two teens as she quietly entered the kitchen at 6:30. More books than she remembered Hermione leaving last night were scattered about the room. Hermione and Ron sat side by side, leaning against each other as if their exhaustion was so great that they needed each other to keep upright. Both of them held a thick, musty book that must have been hundreds of years old.
Mrs Weasley couldn't help the small ball of resentment bubble up within her. She knew it wasn't a good idea to tell the children so much about Harriet's disappearance. She knew how much they loved her, how they would do anything to make sure she was safe. Now, it was the third morning that she had found them buried under texts despite the fact she had chastised them thoroughly multiple times. No matter what she said, the two of them wouldn't listen.
Quietly, she spelled the stove on before cracking eggs on the frying pan. Making sure the spatula was ready to remove them when they were properly cooked, she prepared three cups of tea before sitting across from the two teens and taking a book.
For the next two hours, order members would filter groggily in to the kitchen, preparing themselves breakfast or tea quietly before sitting heavily down on the table. Some would eat their breakfast before picking up a book whereas others would make a beeline for the unread stack. By 8:30, they had run out of books, much to the chagrin of Ron and Hermione. Sirius was quick to reassure them that there was more in the Black Family Library, quickly exiting the kitchen and coming back with a stack so large that they were resting against his head to keep from falling.
Each order member silently grabbed a book.
No one said anything for the rest of the day.

TW panic attacks, nightmares, gore, torture.