Prologue
It was a cold and dreary morning, and Remy had exams.
And not just any exam. This particular one was worth an entire sixty percent of her term grade, something Remy deemed terribly unfair and inhumane.
Yet here she was, walking willingly toward her doom, shivering violently from the dampness that had infiltrated her heavy coat. As she stomped along the sidewalk, she idly pondered what she would do if she were someone with power — someone like the Prime Minister.
All exams, Remy decided, would be made illegal.
This decision was in no way related to the fact that Remy had essentially slacked off the entire term and had failed spectacularly at cramming for everything in one night, nor was it because Remy had forgotten that today was the day of the exam until her friend had reminded her yesterday. Nope. It was simply because Remy thought they were damaging to the students' mental health … or something.
It was probably best that Remy wasn't the Prime Minister.
With an unhappy grunt, Remy quit her idle daydreams and instead focused on remembering the path to her university – something that was necessary as she had the worst sense of direction out of everyone she knew, barring her ninety-year-old grandma with dementia.
Usually, it wouldn't be a concern since she usually drove her blue Toyota Camry to school, with the bossy GPS AI nagging her to turn at the right places. Unfortunately, it had broken down on her the other day despite her careful maintenance – a concerning development since she was studying mechanical engineering.
To make the matters worse, it had been raining all morning with no signs of stopping despite Remy's fervent prayers. It was on days like these that she wondered if coming to the UK was worth it. Perhaps staying behind in the States to help her dad with the family business would have been the better choice – not that there was anything she could do now.
Remy's sense of foreboding only grew as her campus drew near, and she silently recited all the equations and theorems she had tried to memorize the previous night. In that moment of inattention, the bleary-eyed student failed to notice the bus that was careening towards her at an alarming speed.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
She briefly registered being slammed on the ground. Then pain. Lots of it.
Did she die? Was that really it? All the studying and late-night cramming sessions, what were they all for? She didn't even get the chance to test her luck with the lucky die she was going to use on the multiple-choice section of the test, assuming it got past the testing security people.
What a damn shame.
She couldn't bring herself to be angry though, as she felt an odd sort of calm spread through her comfortingly before her senses faded into oblivion.
She was so going to sue.
After days of nothingness, or perhaps mere seconds, Remy's senses returned. The transition was horribly jarring, and a sense of vertigo harshly swept through her as a flood of sensations streamed back into her consciousness all at once. It was all too much, and she shut her eyes for a second to regain her bearings.
Once she felt like she wasn't going to vomit, she opened her eyes once more to take stock of her surroundings. It seemed like she was in a tiny room, with what looked to be a small door to her left. A musky scent filled the air, causing her to scrunch up her nose in mild disgust.
It was dim, with only a few soft rays of light permeating through the cracks of the door. Remy had to squint in order to make out the objects carelessly strewn around the room, and even then, she could only make out their general outline.
The rudimentary investigative work she had been conducting was rudely interrupted by somebody rapping against one of the walls she had been leaning on, and she instinctively scrambled away in alarm. The flimsy door rattled violently under the force, sending dust and debris showering down from the ceiling.
"Up! Get up! Now!" a shrill voice of what Remy assumed to be a woman screeched, followed by another sharp rap. When Remy didn't respond immediately, she screeched the word 'up' once again. Remy thought the rude lady was being rather redundant. Thankfully, she seemed to have left as Remy heard footsteps going away from her.
If this was the afterlife, Remy was sorely disappointed. She hadn't been expecting much, but this was a bit pathetic. She watched as a couple of spiders paraded across the ratty mattress she had been sitting on, feeling very cross. Where were the singing angels? The pearly gates? Or even the flaming fires of hell?
"Are you up yet?" The lady had returned, much to her displeasure.
"Uh…yes," Remy said. To her great surprise, her voice came out oddly squeaky and shrill — like that of a child's. The lady plowed on before she could digest that nugget of information.
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."
Duddy? Who the hell was Duddy? Who names their kid Duddy?
With great reluctance, she decided it was high time she went out and faced the music. It was probably best to play along for now – she needed more information. Perhaps finding out the identity of the banshee outside the door might even help her figure out what had happened.
Slowly and carefully, she gave the door a tentative push, inwardly cringing at the loud creaking noise it made. The harsh fluorescent light flooded the small room, painfully stabbing into her not yet adjusted eyes.
Blinking hard, Remy noticed for the first time just how blurry her vision was. My vision wasn't that bad, was it? Frowning, she turned back toward the room in search of glasses, or contacts, for she knew she wouldn't be able to walk without tripping in this state.
There! A pair of battered-looking glasses were sat on an equally battered-looking cardboard box, and she put it on without much enthusiasm. The glasses seemed to be held up by an ungodly amount of tape and looked to be one light tap away from crumbling into dust. Remy put 'replace glasses' on her mental to-do list before moving on.
As she exited, she noticed that the small room she had been in was not, in fact, a room. It was a small cupboard under the stairs instead. How Remy had even fit in there was beyond her, however, a quick glance down at her own body had told her everything – she had the body of a child, a small one at that. What on earth?
"Well, what are you waiting for? The bacon isn't going to cook itself," the obnoxious lady urged.
"Right," Remy said, swallowing her swiftly growing irritation. She would have to ruminate on her transformation later, shocking as it is.
Following the smell of bacon, she was able to find the kitchen easily. Oddly enough, the kitchen looked to be prepared for her already, with a stool placed in front of the stove. Carefully climbing on the stool, Remy grabbed the spatula on the table and began tending to the bacon.
"Comb your hair!" an unfamiliar voice barked from behind her, almost causing her to jump off the stool in shock.
Turning around, she found herself face to face with a rather large man with a comical-looking mustache. Said man lumbered over to the dining table, grabbing the newspaper lying on the counter as he went.
What a rude greeting, Remy thought, but still did as she was told and ran a taming hand through her hair. Unexpectedly, she found that her hair was short and messy – like a boy's. Given the kind of day Remy was having, she hadn't been too shocked at the discovery.
Turning her attention back to the sizzling bacon, Remy expertly flipped them onto a nearby plate, her mouth-watering with anticipation. Her college diet had insisted of crappy Tesco ramen with the occasional Kraft Dinner on good days, so she was excited to have something different for once. She deserved it, after the kind of day she had been having. Remy spied a carton of eggs on the counter and decided to make some scrambled eggs as well. Bacon was hardly a balanced meal by itself, after all.
After putting on the finishing touch of black pepper, Remy painstakingly placed the plates on the dining table. There were a ton of neatly wrapped presents on the table, making her job way more difficult than it had to be. Just as she had sat down and was ready to start inhaling the food, the lady from earlier entered the kitchen with yet another unfamiliar face. This time, it was a boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to the man sitting at the dining table. Remy assumed them to be father and son, making the lady his mom.
A pit of terror appeared in her stomach at the thought. What would that make her, if she was also living under their roof. What if she was the boy's brother? Remy quickly waved the nauseating thought away, unwilling to even entertain the idea for even a second. Perhaps she was in hell after all.
The boy, who she'll dub 'Duddy' for now, began rifling through a pile of presents and counting them as he did.
"Thirty-six," Duddy said, looking up. "That's two less than last year."
Remy resisted the urge to congratulate the boy on his ability to do basic arithmetic.
"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."
Remy watched their exchange with barely concealed wonder – she had never seen such entitlement in her life, especially not from kids his age. She continued staring, bacon long forgotten, as the boy proceeded to unwrap several expensive-looking gifts, one of which was a VCR – something Remy never sees anymore unless she was at her grandparents'.
The loud ringing of the phone permeated the room, and the mom went and answered it. When she returned, she wore a pinched look on her thin face.
"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Remy's direction.
Remy's eyes widened at her words as the pieces of the puzzle came together in her head.
Vernon. Mrs. Figg. Aunt Marge. The cupboard under the stairs. The spoiled boy named Duddy, or Dudley rather. The crappy glasses. It was all too much to be a pure coincidence. She couldn't believe it took her this long to put it together – she was a huge Harry Potter fan. She almost felt ashamed at her slow revelation.
The two adults continued their discussion, but Remy wasn't paying attention anymore – she needed to know for certain.
Heart pounding, Remy hurriedly snatched up an unused spoon from the table and with shaky hands, raised it to her face. Right there, on the polished surface of the back of the spoon, was a clear image of a young boy with bright green eyes and messy black hair. A sweep of her bangs revealed, to no-one's surprise, the iconic lightning-bolt-shaped scar.
She was Harry Potter.
She paused and looked away for a split second before looking back to make sure she wasn't having some sort of hallucination; who knew what sort of side effects being dead had?
Nope. The lightning-bolt-shaped star was still there, clear as day.
Her spoon dropped to the floor with a soft clink, as did the bottom of her jaw.
A/N: This is an idea my friend and I came up with. It'll start deviating from canon pretty soon, and since we had different ideas as to how we want it to deviate, we decided to write separate ones. When they start uploading as well I'll probably link her fic on here too. Anyway, that's it for now. Next chapter should be up in about a week.