Harriet was confused. She was sick and horrified and terribly confused. She wore strange clothes and sat on a strange cot in a strange room and tried not to think. She must have been in this room for over a day, now. Several people had come in to look at her, or run little tests, or any number of things. She hadn't been able to focus on them.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dead bodies of Dudley's gang. They'd died with a violence she'd never imagined possible.
Once she was done screaming, the girl stood up abruptly amidst the gore, ignoring the painful bruises and her broken wrist, and began to stumble away. She only made it a few yards before collapsing to her knees, retching and retching, though nothing came up but bile and spit.
One of the boys must have escaped—the red-haired one who tried to stop Dudley. She didn't know why he didn't die like the others; it wasn't like she had any control when the freakishness exploded out of her.
It had ripped her cousin and the rat-faced one and that third boy apart, spilling all their fluids and lumpy bits onto the grass. But it hadn't touched their faces. It destroyed everything but their faces. Their final expressions of fear and pain remained frozen on their decapitated heads for Harriet to see.
Every time she closed her eyes.
And every time she opened her eyes, it was to the sight of a blank, white wall. It didn't do much to distract her. She tried to think about the knowledge Ada Wood had imparted to her, but of the half million things that had been dropped on her lap yesterday, she could barely process the main three: she was a witch, there were others like her, and she was apparently famous for something she'd done as a toddler.
Those thoughts wrestled with the memories from yesterday as she gazed at the whitewashed concrete wall. The concept of a new, magical world dulled the confusion and horror of the last day—but only a bit. And not much about this white room screamed "magic."
And then there was the newfound sensation in her chest, one that hadn't been there before the events in the park yesterday. It was her freakishness. It moved underneath her ribs like a serpent below the surface of a pond. When she thought about those dead boys, it writhed, leaping against her sternum. If she relaxed, she felt like it would crawl out through her throat.
The constant squirming bothered her, but it wasn't an itch she could scratch. She did her best to ignore the sensation.
The door to her room opened, and in walked Detective Ada Wood. Harriet perked up a bit at this. The witch was the only adult she'd paid attention to for the last day. She was the lady who'd told Harriet that she had pretty eyes, who said she was normal. The other adults only wanted to poke her with their sticks or inspect her or shake her hand or—in one case—even cry on her. She had no idea how to react to that.
At the moment, Harriet was a drowning person clutching at a raft. That raft was Ada Wood. The woman, with her tanned skin, athletic physique, and a bearing that always made her look self-assured no matter the situation, represented everything Harriet wanted to be.
"Harriet," she said, smiling when she saw the girl. "I have some good news."
She paused, inviting a response, but when Harriet didn't speak the detective ploughed on. "I've received a special dispensation—er, been allowed to take you home with me—for the duration of the investigations and trials, until the Ministry finds you a new guardian among the nobility. You can't be unattended, but this means you won't have to stay in this holding cell anymore."
Holding cell. The word bounced around in the girl's head for a moment.
"This is prison?" Harriet murmured, looking around. The white-walled room was well lit and furnished with a springy cot, along with a desk, sink, and toilet. It might have been dull, but it was far nicer than her former room. "But it's so big. And clean. I thought prison would be—"
Harriet snapped her mouth shut, realizing she was speaking her thoughts aloud. She never did that normally. Her aunt would have yelled at her.
The smile on Ada's face faltered a bit. "Your previous, erm, accommodations… were they much smaller?"
'She isn't angry. She isn't Aunt Petunia.'
Repeating those lines in her head like a mantra, the girl answered, "…It was a cupboard. They put a bed in."
The detective's smile froze like ice over a lake in winter. "Right," she said. "Right."
Harriet felt the woman's anger like a physical force, and she shrunk back onto the cot.
With a visible effort, Ada reined herself in, taking a few breaths before speaking. "Listen, if you like this place, you'll love my flat. I've just gotten off work, so we can leave now if you like?" She reached out her hand, offering it to the girl.
A tad reluctantly, Harriet took it and let herself be guided out of the cell. The detective walked slowly, mindful of her injuries.
Apparently, magic could heal people, but for some reason the adults were reluctant to do that for her. Something about a curse inside her that could act up? Harriet hadn't really been listening while they discussed it, but it would have been nice to not feel the dull pain of her wrist or the sharp pangs in her ribcage with every step.
They walked out into a hall, then took a funny talking elevator up to the top floor. Up there, witches and wizards in long, flowing cloaks of a dozen different colours rushed by in a dizzying whirl of motion. Aeroplanes whisked overhead, darting around people and through the legs of glowing golden statues. Harriet looked up, and up, stunned at the sheer height of the room they were in.
"It's the Ministry Atrium, Harriet. We saw it on the way in. Don't you remember?"
She shook her head. She must have been in a right state yesterday if she'd missed this.
Led by the hand, she soaked in the marvellous sights up until the moment she started to feel ill from the constant motion, at which point she firmly looked down at her two feet and just walked, letting Ada guide her into another elevator. This one went up into the ceiling, and Harriet was able to see stone passing them by on the other side of the glass windows.
'We're underground.'
They passed through what seemed like a mile of solid rock before getting let out into a phone booth in central London. It was night-time, but the city bustled all around them.
Before they departed the booth, the Auror tapped Harriet on the shoulder with her wand. Before the girl's eyes, the robes she'd been given earlier shrunk and morphed, wrapping more tightly against her body as they changed colour. In the blink of an eye, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a snug cardigan. They fit her better than any clothes she'd worn before.
"Wow," she breathed, admiring her sweater.
"Come along. We don't want to miss the bus."
Fifteen minutes later, they'd been brought out of central London and to a grimier-looking neighbourhood. There were fewer streetlights here, and those that remained flickered ominously, casting unsteady light over their route. They walked for another minute before stopping in front of the building Harriet assumed they would be staying at: a grey, five-storey apartment block. It looked run-down and likely infested with rats, but the girl wasn't put off by it. Anywhere was better than Privet Drive.
Then, Ada ignored the front entrance and entered a dark alley off to its side. Harriet couldn't help the spike of apprehension that followed.
Ada must have noticed the reluctant pull on her hand, and she turned to the girl. "Remember how I mentioned that wizardkind needs to stay hidden from muggles? This is another secret entrance to a wizarding place, like that phone booth was a secret entrance to the Ministry. Trust me, okay?"
Harriet timidly followed.
'It's fine. She isn't like other adults.'
They walked right up to the dead-end wall at the end, and Ada drew her wand, tapping twice on a random brick.
Harriet clutched Ada's hand with a death grip as the ground under their feet suddenly shifted and started to slide them sideways. Like a trick bookcase in a cartoon, the wall (and ground) spun—and the two of them spun with it—until they were brought safely to the other side. Behind Harriet were the windowless back walls of the apartments from before. Pipes dripping with grime and mossy bricks were all that remained of London here.
Because before her was an entirely new world.
A cobbled street stretched out before her, lined by buildings on either side—but they were nothing like the square grey affairs they'd just encountered. These buildings here were all built with different stones and in different styles. A four-story Georgian-style building was nestled right next to a Victorian townhouse, next to which stood a tall wooden clocktower that was leaning so steeply over the street that Harriet was amazed it didn't all come crashing down. There were dozens of increasingly eccentric buildings that reached all the way down the street until it ended before a towering, roman gothic cathedral that dominated the skyline.
"Welcome to Vertiq Alley, said Ada, sounding relieved to be in a familiar area.
'How does it all fit in London?'
The Ministry had been underground, but this was clearly on the surface. How did the muggles miss it?
"This is one of the quieter streets in Diagon," continued Ada. "I think we've had enough of people and excitement for the time being, yeah? I'll show you around at some point, but for now…" she pointed at the clocktower. "That's where I live."
"In a clock?" Harriet asked incredulously, speaking before she could stop herself. She flinched, instincts expecting a sharp reprimand, but Ada didn't seem to notice.
"In a clock," she confirmed, chuckling. "Follow me."
They entered the ground floor of the tower, and Harriet was immediately hit with the scent of coffee and fresh baked pastries. The bottom was evidently a small café, filled with small tables and chintz armchairs while a roaring fire in the far corner let out a welcoming warmth. An old woman rocked in a chair near the door.
"Evenin' Ada! How was work?" She asked, then paused upon noticing Harriet. "Whose girl have you stolen now?"
"This is Harriet. She's a ward of court. I'm looking after her for now," replied Ada. "Harriet, this is Mabel. She owns this shop."
"Oh, but she's hardly a twig!" exclaimed the lady, scrutinizing Harriet's thin frame. "Stay right there, I've just the ticket."
Ada and Harriet watched as the woman stood up and bustled her way over to the kitchen, where she rummaged around for a few moments. When she emerged, it was with a paper bag weighed down with something that smelled delicious.
"Take this up with you," she said, holding it out to Harriet. Then, noticing the girl's arm was in a cast, she frowned and handed the goods off to Ada instead.
"I'll pay for—" the detective started.
"Oh, don't be silly. Those were from this morning. They're due a trip to the bin in an hour," reassured Mabel. "But tell me—why haven't you healed this poor girl yet? I know you have the spells, seeing as what you do for a livin'."
"We can't," sighed Ada. "Harriet has a malady that interferes with magic. There are healers working on it, but for now, she's got to heal the muggle way."
The woman hummed discontentedly. "If you say so. Well, I won't hold you. Off you get! Get that child fed then put her to bed! I don't like the look of those bags under her eyes."
"Right away, Miss Mabel," said Ada.
They left the café's sweet aromas behind, trudging up a long, winding staircase. Now alone with the Auror, Harriet worked up the nerve to ask the question Ada had brought to the forefront of her mind.
"What…" She pushed out between strained breaths, "What am I sick with, Miss Wood?"
Ada didn't reply for a moment, and Harriet elaborated. "Does it have to do with my freakishn—"
"Magic," interrupted Ada. "Your magic. Don't call it freakishness, and don't call yourself a freak."
Harriet nodded and fell silent. Ada didn't answer her original question until they were at the top of the stairs, on a landing just beside a door with the number "7" on it.
Once Harriet had caught her breath, the detective finally spoke. "You've got something inside you. It's a parasite, a thing that feeds on your magic and can emerge when you're feeling scared or angry. In the magical world, we call it an Obscurus."
'Obscurus.' Harriet mouthed the word, before asking, "Do other witches have them?"
"…Sometimes. Both witches and wizards can have them, but it's rare. We've caught it early, which is good. You must never let it out, Harriet. It can hurt others, but it can also hurt you. It can hurt you very badly."
She shivered at Ada's earnest plea. "C-Can you get rid of it?"
"I think so. A very intelligent and famous wizard studied this in the past, and he believed it to be reversible," Ada said.
She didn't sound too sure on the last part, but Harriet had already connected the dots on another matter.
"That's the thing that killed Dudley. My Obscurus."
Ada went as still as a statue, which Harriet took to mean she was right.
It didn't feel real, somehow. The fact that she'd killed three boys. She'd seen their—she'd seen the aftermath. Even the delightful scent wafting from the bag at Ada's side didn't ease the sick feeling in her stomach when she remembered it.
She hadn't hated them, really. Not even Dudley. She never had the luxury of something as energy-consuming as hate. She disliked them well enough, but that didn't mean she wanted them dead. Yet now that it was done, Harriet was left tangled up in feelings she'd never had to confront before.
'Is this what guilt's like? Is wanting to forget guilt?'
Perhaps she was sad for those dead boys and their parents—but that wasn't the predominant emotion in her. No, it was fear. Chilling fear was what coursed through her veins when she remembered the park.
There was a monster inside her, one that could cause death suddenly and freely. Death.
But then, the dichotomy. When she let it out, she'd felt secure for the first time in her life—like she was a caterpillar wrapped up in a cocoon. It was similar to the times when she was at school, sitting in a toasty classroom while it poured outside. It might have been miserable on the other side of the window, but she'd just eaten lunch and was dry and sleepy, and out of reach of Uncle Vernon for at least a few more hours…
Wrapped tightly in her Obscurus, she'd been protected. But that's what she didn't understand. She didn't understand how something so evil made her feel so—
Let me out.
Harriet shivered, wrapping an uninjured arm around herself as if to keep from unravelling.
The sound wasn't a sound—it was an urging. Like her subconscious had woken up.
Let me out.
'No. I'm safe right now,' she urged. 'You'll hurt Miss Wood if you get out.'
Without warning the lantern hanging by Ada's door flickered and went out. The Auror whirled around, nostrils flaring, and a wand appeared in her hand. She scoured the small landing with sharp eyes, then took a cautious step forward and peeked down the stairs, murmuring a few words and waving her wand. After a tense moment passed, she tutted and stowed the wand, relighting the lantern with a flick of her finger.
"My nerves are getting the better of me. C'mon, let's show you the hideout."
Ada opened the door to her apartment and ushered the girl in. Harriet, still clutching herself, entered her first magical home.
Notes
Because Harriet is a nine-year-old girl and most of the story is told from her perspective, you might notice that things are going on in the background that is beyond her scope of comprehension. And even if she could comprehend these things, she wouldn't have much say in the proceedings. Seeing as she is nine.
Diagon is expanded in this universe. Though "Diagon Alley" is a specific place where a lot of shops are located, the wizarding town hidden within London is referred to as "Diagon" by the magical world. There are other neighbourhoods in Diagon (some of which are even canon, like Knockturn and Horizont), and multiple secret entrances throughout London (which aren't).
Lots of people have tried to estimate the number of wizards in Britain. I've seen numbers as low as 3000 and as high as 40,000, but most seem to settle around 10,000—which is a very small number. From that number (less than one wizard per five thousand muggles), you can extrapolate that there must have only been 1,000 wizards around 1700 when the Statute was enacted, and even fewer prior to that. And they wanted to separate from the muggles? After a couple generations of that, everyone's going to be second cousins.
There are more wizards in this version of Britain. The number will be at least thirty times higher—around 300,000, making roughly 1 in 100 humans magical. I expect this will make things like having a culture, economy, and viable gene pool possible.
And there are even more nonhuman Beings than wizards out there, living their lives in magical Britain, generally well away from wizarding civilization. Think vampires, centaurs, goblins, giants, and others not seen in canon.
Anything above is subject to change, especially specific numbers.