Harry slipped out the front door of No. 4 Privet Drive, carefully closing it behind her without a sound.
In a few hours Petunia would be having the other neighborhood wives over for tea and desserts (baked by Harry all yesterday) and Harry was to "get gone and stay gone until dark."
She headed towards the park, keeping lookout for any signs of Dudley. It was still too early for his gang, but constant vigilance and all that.
Her scuffed shoes against the cement. She tried to not to think of anything but the ground beneath them.
To not think of another summer rotting away at the Dursley's, doing chores from morning to night until her fingers bled, and only let free when they needed to erase any sign or sound of her very existence. To not think of another summer without letters or hope. To not think of Cedric, of Sirius, and all the future deaths from the coming war.
It was a quiet Sunday morning and the park was still empty.
Harry sighed in relief. Most residents thankfully ignored her, but others always made sure to turn up their noses at the sight of her and herd their children away. She idly wondered what scandalous tales of her delinquency the Dursleys had added on this year while she was away.
She was making her way towards the swings when all the leaves on the trees shook. A rough wind whipped around Harry. She looked around frantically, getting ready to duck at any hint of a spell, and wishing that she had dared to bring her wand just in case.
Just for one single moment, reality rippled.
A loud boom reverberated throughout the park and Harry heard the shattering of glass from nearby windows. The wind died down in a sudden rush, stray leaves dropping from the air like rocks.
Two arms surrounded her, squeezing tight in an unmistakable, desperate hug. The unexpected weight knocked her off her feet and the body sprawled over hers held her in place.
Harry lay frozen, unsure of what to do. She wanted to both push this stranger off her and melt into the hug. This had to be some weird case of mistaken identity because there was certainly no one in all of Little Whinging that would want to hug her.
There was hair in her mouth and Harry blew against it, trying to dislodge it so that she could say something and clear this all up before it got any more awkward.
A forehead nuzzled against her neck, back and forth, like a cat.
"Harry, you're here, you're here," said a voice from the vicinity of Harry's shirt collar, repeating it over and over again like a prayer.
Harry gently pushed against the body until they were at least in a sitting position now. Whoever it was relaxed slightly, but the hands maintained a surprisingly crushing grip on Harry forearms.
It was a girl around Harry's age, but a full head taller. Strands of dark brown hair had slipped out of a low messy ponytail, covering bits of her face. Her clothes were rumpled and looked slept in. Her blue eyes were wild, popping out like jewels against the dark circles under them. They roved over Harry, looking like they were trying to memorize every detail.
"Are you…are you a muggle?" the girl whispered. She held Harry at arms-length, eyeing Harry's dirty and too-big clothes.
Well, at least that question was answered. Definitely not someone from Little Whinging.
"It's okay. We'll sort it out. I found you. You're really here," she rambled on.
"Err, no, I'm not a muggle. But who are you?" Harry finally asked. This was getting too weird. She had seemed to recognize Harry and clearly knew about magic but not the whole "Harry Potter the most famous (and most currently reviled) witch in wizarding Britain"…thing. Which was at once refreshingly nice and very confusing.
"You have glasses," she said in wonder and finally let go of Harry, only to then grab the glasses off Harry's face.
"What the hell?! Give those back!" Harry yelped, outrage at the girl's audacity finally snapping her out of her bewildered stupor.
The girl had brought them up backwards to her own eyes, closing one as she examined each lenses' prescription. She fingered the cellophane tape that held them together in the middle, flicking the edge where it was peeling away. Harry grabbed back the glasses and quickly shoved them back on her face.
Harry's previous words finally seemed to register with the girl. Despair flickered across her face face before she schooled it into a neutral blankness that seemed even more unsettling.
Her heart sunk. Harry had the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. Or maybe it already had a while ago but she was just now finding out about it.
"It's…my name is Tamsin," the girl said. She paused, looking at Harry's confused face for any sign of recognition, before nodding to herself and continuing in a steadier voice, "I might look different here. Or I could have a different name."
"You do look familiar, but I don't think we know each other," Harry said kindly. And it was true. Something about Tamsin looked awfully familiar and Harry racked her brain trying to place her. They looked about the same age, but it could be a year or two off. Was she in another year, a different house? Had there been an accident and she had been hit by a confundus or other memory charm? Should Harry call...someone?
"You – another you – died. I've been searching throughout the parallel universes to find you again," Tamsin said with complete calmness like she was discussing the weather or a homework assignment.
"Oh," was all that Harry could manage to say to that.
A/N: "I would know you anywhere" is a line from Eavan Boland's poem "Eurydice Speaks"
Riddle is pretty OOC this chapter, but she's also been up for days doing various highly illegal rituals that may or may not involve blood sacrifice. Don't worry, she'll get back to her normal evil self shortly.