Chapter Four: In Which There Are Hacks and Head-Starts


Fangs-Glinting-in-the-Water's-Reflection — or 'Fang' as Harry had started to call him — was good for his word when he said he was sticking around. He took up permanent residence in a shallow hollow at the roots of a shrubbery on the side of the house. Whenever Harry was alone and free to chat while doing the weeding, he was right there waiting, demanding his 'lessons.'

This wouldn't have been trouble to hide from Harry's aunt if it wasn't for the veritable pit of vipers that invited themselves in as well.

§Fang, who are all these snakes and why are they here?§ Harry hissed at their freeloading acquaintance when they realised the sheer number of snakes in the yard a mere week after they met.

Fang, sunning himself in the meagre afternoon sun, gave the impression he would blink lazily at Harry if he had the eyelids to do so. If he was in any way perturbed by the serpentine theme park taking place in the yard before him, he didn't let on.

From all corners and crannies of the modest grassy area (England apparently didn't do backyards like in the United States) came whispers of conversation no human ear but Harry's could hear. There was talk of hunting spots, local predators, safe places to nest, things like that. Harry had never really considered that animals would have much to say — humans didn't usually have anything worthwhile to say no matter how they carried on, so why would 'lesser' creatures? — but these snakes apparently had lots to discuss.

§FangHarry said again, sitting up from where they'd been pulling weeds. They flicked a clump of dirt at the serpent. §Answers.§

He twitched as the clump landed, grumbling under his breath.

§Hatchling mimics the humans and has fooled a mated pair and their young into sharing their nest,§ said Fang with a huff. §The humans accept hatchling as the one that prowls the perimeter. Hatchling lives up to the title words of 'Overlord' and 'of the horde' — has shown no dislike to other serpents making use of the territory, has shown to be willing to hide us from the humans and lets us hunt the prey available. This is a good place, a safe place to rest with no threat.§

There were a number of things wrong with what was just said. Harry didn't really know where to start.

Harry looked blankly at Fang.

Fang scented the air as he looked back.

And so they didn't start — Harry just left the rest of that conversation unstarted and unaddressed. With a hum and nod, they just accepted hosting a snake hostel as their life now.

They did a damned good job of it, too — initial baulking on their side apart (and a solid week beforehand of pointedly pretending that nothing was happening), Harry eventually had the snakes that made Number 4 their hangout trained to respond to a number of cues — verbal and otherwise — with unthinking alacrity. Two months later, it was to the point where none of the Dursleys had any hint that any sort of creature frequented their parcel of property.

This obedience didn't come without its stipulations though. It didn't take more than a single brag from Fang that he was learning a new way to capture prey for the rest of the snakes to want in on the 'luring trick' Harry supposedly could do; they all demanded in on it in exchange for compliance. Harry — rationalising that since Harry didn't know if they were actually doing anything in particular that could be taught, and thus the 'teaching' of it would inevitably be unending, resulting in the snakes' promised compliance also being unending — agreed easily enough.

Funnily enough, though none had yet to succeed in recreating Harry's supposed lure, the attempts did help them on their hunts — the way it was explained to Harry, it was something to the effect that the vibration they emitted acted in a manner that sounded a lot like echolocation to Harry, helping the snakes locate hidden prey.


Having lulled the Dursleys into complacency with Harry's well-honed front of being a standard-issue girl-child, they found it relievingly low-tension as they covertly began gathering tools for their craft. Snakes and magically-enhanced singing, while diverting and amusing ways to pass the time, were not exactly mentally stimulating, and Harry was still too young to visit the library by themselves — never mind being seen reading what they'd want to — so it was a breath of fresh air to actually be doing something that was once barred from them.

On top of that, there was nothing that felt so intrinsically right as working in their field of practice, and they were eager to regain it. Thankfully, their specialisations were easy to disguise as mundane.

Dear reader, if you are at this time confused (perhaps for the first time, perhaps yet again) about what it is that's being referred to, I ask you suspend your disbelief if you've been raised to discredit the occult as nothing more than fanciful superstition. As it were, in their previous life, Harry had been that reality's version of a real-life witch — presumably your own reality's version of a real-life witch. Now, you might be duly scornful, but no matter your own personal beliefs concerning magic within your own reality, the fact of the matter was Harry had been a practitioner of witchcraft, and that aspect of them had not been left behind.

The first thing they managed to get a hold of was a deck of playing cards — plain, innocuous, a bit grungy even. They swiped it from an older kid during a break when it was left unattended. Before anyone could notice anything amiss, Harry was off in their hidey-hole with their prize.

The feel of cards in their hands again settled something within them Harry hadn't realised was restless. The glide of card-stock against their palms as the cards slid through the cuts and shuffles Harry put them through was cool and reassuring.

To be honest, despite being a diviner, Harry wasn't inclined towards cartomancy as a method, but it was something. And since these weren't even tarot cards, the Dursleys were unlikely to be suspicious should they find them in Harry's possession.

Harry pocketed the deck with relish, the spot it sat a comforting weight against their leg.

Emboldened by their fortuitous find — one that ended up not being snatched away by their aunt nor uncle when it was indeed noticed — Harry stitched a hidden pouch into the inside of their school bag and proceeded to nick whatever they could get their hands on that looked even just passingly useful.

Harry wasn't exactly proud to be appropriating belongings from unsuspecting children — Harry was only just now nearing seven years old, and all the children they interacted with were rarely more than a couple of years older than that — but they weren't anywhere close to being guilty about it either. A couple of crayons here, a few pens and such there; it was nothing anyone would really miss. And they swiped from the teachers as well, so they weren't exactly preying on the innocent.

The highlight of their five-finger discounts were a small carton of chalk, a packet of birthday candles, and a trio of dice. Oh, and an old blackboard tablet they found wedged in the back of a supply closet, but that one didn't really count as 'stolen.' These were legitimate tools in their own right, not just haphazard substitutes. They weren't anything fancy, true, but chalk was chalk, and candles were candles.

(The dice were gods-sent as well, but, again, they weren't Harry's preferred method of divination.)

The first time Harry put chalk to blackboard, their hands were shaking. Holed up for the night in their cupboard, the dim little lightbulb overhead flickering, and the Dursleys snoozing away upstairs, it felt like something momentous. They weren't sure what exactly they were expecting — they didn't have any basis of expectation for what they were attempting within this reality's magic system — but the theories they had read, the possibilities that'd been proposed. . . . Surely — surely something—!

Skrch . . . skrch . . . skrchh. . . .

Sowilo stared up at them. The whiteness of the chalk was so stark against the matte face of the tablet, it appeared to glow.

Harry's skin prickled with goose-flesh. It was likely their imagination, but their scar tingled as well.

Harry placed their hands on either side of the rune, laying their fingers and thumbs so that they contained the symbol within a triangle. They breathed in a measured breath through their nose and then released it slowly through their mouth.

"A sun, to those who trek by sea,/ be ever constant hope/ at such a time as they convey/ o'er on the fishes' bath,/ until their sea-craft carries them/ unto their earthen path." As they spoke, they cast their mind to thoughts of warmth, branching memories flickering through their head.

Harry had closed their eyes at some point without realising it, but those lids flew open again. They stared with heat into the centre of the rune before allowing their eyes to unfocus — looking into a space beyond.

One breath.

Then two.

The third passed, and disappointment pin-pricked—

A globule of light blossomed in the air above the centre line.

Harry choked on the fourth breath.

"I-I . . ." they wheezed. "Th-this. . . ."

The light trembled, jittering from side to side, but re-settled as Harry steadied their hands.

A giggle erupted from them, breathless and hysterical. They cupped their hands and brought the light up to their face.

Harry was used to witchcraft — the subtle arts, the sort that manifested as strange coincidences and turns of luck. They had also been slowly acclimating to the snake-speaking and shape-shifting, but those, too, were subtle in their own ways. This wasn't any of that — this was flash and fire, dramatic and sudden; there was no explaining this away as anything mundane.

"Wizardry," they exhaled, their breath flickering the light like a candle flame. Not the kind of their original reality that was fraught with High and Ceremonial Magick involving deities they'd been too irreverent to involve themselves with, but the kind that was unique to this one.

And they could do it.

They could do it as they pleased.


By the time Harry's seventh birthday rolled around, they were living the highest life they could live considering the situation. Snakes at their beck and call, the ability to look any way they wanted, popular amongst their peers, 'talented', and the Dursleys completely taken in — Harry was Mary-Sue-ing the shite out of this alternate universe. The only thing keeping them from being completely OP and running off to Gringotts and likely finding themselves with a vault of gold and enchanted objects — as was par for course for one of these absurd stories — was Harry themselves.

Woefully, they had not escaped their anxiety even in this reality. Harry was completely terrified of trying to find their way into Diagon and then — and then — actually talking to someone from the wizarding society. Unfamiliar human interaction? Erm, no, thanks. Yeah, sure, they knew how to call the Knight Bus, so they technically could go wherever they wanted, but calling the Knight Bus meant talking to the driver, being amongst strangers, and, whoa, they weren't ready for that. They'd just gotten comfortable around Privet Drive, they weren't eager to leave their comfort zone just yet.

It was their cowardice that would prevent them from becoming a true Mary-Sue, they just knew it. Well, Harry wasn't exactly disappointed to be forgoing that fate.

In the meantime, it wasn't like they were hard up for pocket money.

Despite being convinced now that Harry was 'normal' because of their influence, the Dursleys still didn't exactly favour Harry — being 'Lily's daughter' was still bad enough — so neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon were willing to do more than spend the minimum to feed and clothe them. On the bright side, despite the verbal abuse, the two of them left Harry to their own devices, paying no mind to what belongings Harry managed to accumulate, toys or treats or otherwise. That meant whatever money and trinkets Harry conned out of their classmates and the other kids around the neighbourhood were theirs to do with as they pleased.

Now, originally, Harry had been concerned that Dudley would be his canon greedy-arse self and take everything of Harry's he could get his hands on. Harry circumvented that by playing oblivious and generous, cheerfully offering Dudley any prizes he wanted from what Harry amassed day to day, plying him with gifts and sweets as a matter of course in front of witnesses, letting it be publicly- and widely-known that Harry happily got along with their cousin. This got Harry in Dudley's good books and prevented any possible bully from trying their luck; as someone who was so obviously aligned with the biggest and meanest bully in school, Harry was essentially untouchable despite being small and non-threatening — the sort typically picked on no matter how much others generally liked them.

And so — unhindered, safe and insured — Harry swindled their unsuspecting targets blind. They still nicked what they wanted, but they now mainly reserved that for school supplies. Being known as someone who regularly won games and wagers meant they were never suspected when seen with things they didn't come to school with originally. Their stolen goods were disguised amongst their winnings.

Ah, but how was Harry achieving this?

What other way but magic?

Alright, to be fair, Harry was naturally good at card games, and physical competitions were a breeze with their metamorphism; they did win fair(ish) and square at least half of the time! They'd go so far as to say three-fourths of the time! So, if they used a little push to get the dice to land on the numbers they wanted and added a little something in their voice to buff their bluffs, was it really anything noteworthy? They were little kids that played for sweets, toys, and a couple of pounds at most!

And it wasn't like Harry won every time — that would be suspicious! No, they threw matches when it suited them. It wasn't like it really mattered in the end. When it came down to it, they were playing for fun, and it wasn't fun to win every time — not the best way to maintain positive relations either. No, it was better to lose every once in a while and heartily congratulate the victor; nothing said laid-back and fun to hang out with than someone who celebrated your victories with you.

Okay, so they were gaming the system and manipulating people — so what? It wasn't like anyone was being harmed! Harry could be genuine and make real friends when it actually mattered.

§Such stupid prey,§ hissed a quiet voice in Harry's ear. Spring-Dew-on-Grass — Dewey, a tiny baby grass snake that liked to come to school with Harry — slithered in their riotous hair. She sniffed out the other students for Harry during games like Hide-and-Seek. §They don't smell Overlord's deception.§

They were in the last hour before the end of the day. They had a substitute (or a 'supply teacher' as it was called here), and they were playing board games because the teacher had somehow run out of material. And so they were divided up into groups and given their choices of games. Harry's group had gone with Monopoly.

Harry hummed in response to Dewey, flicking their wrist and sending a pair of dice tumbling onto the face of the table. They made a soft sound of satisfaction — twelve; doubles. They moved from a railroad they owned, passed GO, collected their Ϻ200, and landed on Chance.

'Your building and loans mature — Collect Ϻ150.'

"Of course," muttered Hafsah, a Pakistani girl that usually pair with them for class assignments. She sounded more amused than irritated.

They picked up the dice again. And doubles again — ten this time.

Piers scoffed, his nose wrinkling up.

"Are you serious?"

Harry tittered, moving to Community Chest.

'Bank error in your favour — collect Ϻ200.'

"I swear to God, Harry!" said the blonde girl sitting across from them as the rest of them laughed. "If you get one more double. . . !"

"She'd go to Jail then, wouldn't she?" said Piers.

"Oh — that's right. Please, get another double, Harry! This is completely unfair!"

Oh, you don't know the half of it, Harry thought with a smile. They picked up the dice yet again. Not a double this time — that wouldn't suit them. No, instead. . . .

Three — Free Parking.

"Nooo!" wailed Hafsah, tugging on her plaits. "I've given up so much money to that!"

"You? My entire comeback was banking on that!"

"Why is your luck so ruddy amazing?!"

Harry all but cackled, snatching up the colourful bills and making a show of counting them.

"Alright now!" called the teacher, clapping her hands over the din. "Time to tidy up! Everyone who won come get their prizes after!"

There was no question of who won when it came to Harry's group. They just sighed and grumbled and waved Harry off as they started packing away the game.

§They're not stupid,§ Harry breathed under their breath as they bounced up to the teacher. §They're just unsuspecting. I am cheating after all.§

§Why were they not all also taking advantage?§ Dewey asked. §The point was to defeat the competition, yes?§

Harry fidgeted cutely for the teacher and pointed to what they wanted. They beamed and bounced and babbled their thanks when it was handed to them, giggling when the teacher patted their fluffy head.

Harry flicked open the black bamboo folding fan with glee and hid their smirk behind it.

§ It's not like they even stood a chance either way. §