I didn't realize I was Harry Potter right away, of course. Both Harry and Potter seemed to be common enough names, and who was I to judge naming their kid after a book character? I had named my grumpy black kitten Nico, for goddess' sake.
It was after the miniature broom, the spells that made household chores so easy, and my godfather turning into a dog that convinced me. I was Harry Potter, and my life would be hell.
So, I waited and remembered. I waited and remembered as Voldemort killed my parents, as I was left on the doorstep, as I grew up and wrote down everything I was sure had happened, as Dudley and his minions used me as a punching bag, as I grew older, as I suffered under the Dursleys, until, finally, I reached the beginning. Dudley's birthday.
Nearly ten years had passed since I had appeared on the Dursleys doorstep, but Privet Drive hadn't changed a lick. The only visible passage of time came from Dudley's pictures, every one showing a differently aged fat walrus.
Actually, that's rude to walruses.
My existence was wiped from the photos. But, that didn't mean I wasn't there. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived (in-a-cupboard).
Small, dark, and always locked, it was a dreary place to live. But, it was my home, at least until I could get Sirius out of Azkaban.
"Up! Get up! Now!"
Aunt Petunia's shrill voice woke me from my dream. It wasn't Harry's flying motorcycle. Instead, it was me. Not Harry, but first life me. Bits and pieces of what had happened to me came back gradually, until I could piece to together my death.
Simply, I had been walking to my local library, hadn't looked before I crossed, and had been turned into a grease spot.
I hoped someone was taking care of Nico for me.
...You know what, I'm getting a cat when I get Hedwig. Mrs. Figg's are nice (if a bit smelly), but there was nothing like having your own cat that scratches your belongings.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hated cats too, but that was just a bonus.
Anyway, the pressing matter of Aunt Petunia.
"Are you up yet?" Aunt Petunia demanded.
"Almost, you old hag," I muttered quietly. Out loud, I said, "Nearly!"
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want it perfect on Duddy's birthday."
Ah yes, Dudley's birthday. Vanishing glass and snakes, perfect. (Hey, do you think I could keep the snake?...)
I looked around for a pair of socks, found some (and a spider) under my bed, and put them on.
When I was dressed and had ran a hand through my messy hair in an attempt to tame it (It seems in both lives I had bad luck in that area. Course, brown, and quick to tangle, or messy, black and permanent bed head (and altogether shorter than I would have preferred, got to fix that soon), both a hassle), I headed down to the kitchen.
The smell of bacon filled the air. The table was covered in presents for my cousin, including what looked like the new computer he wanted, along with the bike he wouldn't use.
Uncle Vernon entered as I flipped the bacon.
"Comb your hair!" He barked.
Tricks on you, I did!
I was frying eggs when my pink faced, blonde haired, blue eyes cousin graced us with his presence. Aunt Petunia said he looked like a baby angel; I said he looked like a pig in a wig.
I set the plates on the table, which was covered in Dudley's presents. My dear cousin was counting them, and had just discovered that he had less than last year.
"Thirty-six." He looked at his parents. "That's two less than last year."
"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's right here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."
"All right, thirty-seven, then," He said, going red in the face. I began scarfing my bacon down faster in case he flipped the table.
Aunt Petunia obviously could tell he was close to a tantrum, because she quickly said, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?" Goddess, woman, that's not helping!
Dudley thought for a moment. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty... thirty..."
"Thirty-nine, sweetums." Aunt Petunia helped him.
"Oh." He sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest package. "Alright then."
I resisted the urge to hang my head on the table.
Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled the pig- child's hair.
Just then, the telephone rang, leaving me and Uncle Vernon to watch Dudley attack his presents.
She came back, anger and worry written across her face. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in my direction.
Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, while I resisted the urge to smile. Freedom! Wait, they wouldn't leave me here. Dang it.
"Now what?" She said, glaring furiously at me like I had orchestrated Mrs. Figg breaking her leg.
"We could phone Marge?"
"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."
"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"
"On vacation in Majorca."
"You could just leave me here?" I suggested.
"And come back and find the house in ruins?" She snarled.
"I won't blow the house up," I said, but she ignored me.
"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," She said hesitantly. "And leave him in the car..."
"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..."
Dudley thought this was an appropriate time to practice his fake crying skills, which, honestly, needed a lot of work.
Aunt Petunia reassured her precious Diddley-dums that nasty Harry wouldn't ruin his special day, shooting me a nasty glare.
Half an hour later, I couldn't believe my luck, even if I knew they would take me with them. I hadn't been to a zoo in years, first life included.
Before we left, Uncle Vernon took me aside to make sure I knew that if any "freakishness" happened, there would be severe consequences.
I didn't care, soon I would be free from the Dursleys and would never have to come back, if my plan worked. (And if it didn't, then I would just have to terrify them.)
While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia about everything, people at work, me, the council, me, the bank, me. Currently, he was on motorcycles.
Just to screw with him, I said, "I had a dream about a flying motorcycle."
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of us. He yelled, turning in his seat, "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"
Piers and Dudley snickered.
"Yeesh, it was just a dream," I muttered.
It was a sunny Sunday, and the zoo was crowded with people. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams. The lady there asked me if I wanted anything before they could hurry me away, I asked if I could have the same thing. Ha.
It was the best morning I'd had in a long time. I had to be careful to walk a little while away from the Dursleys, so when Dudley and co inevitably got bored, they wouldn't fall back on the habit of hitting me.
Finally, the long awaited reptile house. Dudley immediately went to the deadly snakes, quickly finding the biggest one, a beautiful brown Boa Constrictor.
"Make it move," He whined, when the beauty wouldn't move.
Uncle Vernon banged on the glass.
"Do it again."
Uncle Vernon tapped the glass, but the snake snoozed on.
I moved up to the glass. "I'm sorry about that."
The snake lifted her (if the sign was to be trusted) head slightly. A speaker?
I nodded. "What's your name? I'm Harry."
Tristeza.
"That's pretty." Hm, could I take her with me to Hogwarts, if I could get her to Privet Drive? It couldn't be that hard, she could probably hide well enough until she gets there. "Say, how would you like to get out of here?"
Tristeza lifted her head higher. You could do that, Speaker?
"Yeah, you would have to get to my home yourself, but I could get you out."
I gave her quick directions, before Piers yelled, "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT ITS DOING!"
Dudley came waddling towards us, and shoved me out of the way. I got the floor with a "Oof!" and before I could blink, the glass vanished.
Tristeza slithered past us, and hissed, Thank you, Speaker, before disappearing out the door.
The week I spent locked in my cupboard was worth it.