She woke up slowly. As she did so, she haltingly became aware of how… off her surroundings felt. Her bed was too stiff, her legs were jammed against a wall awkwardly and it felt as though she had somehow fallen asleep in a cramped space.

Still half-asleep, she sat up, blinking tiredly as though it would help her make more sense of the situation. She was sitting on some ratty, worn blankets, scratchy and too-large clothing on her frame and her eyesight was alarmingly blurry.

Did I end up having a girl's night out or something? This feels like a fever dream brought on from too much weed, she thought, disgruntled at how realistic it all felt.

She groped around blindly until she felt the edge of wire-rimmed glasses and putting them on, blinking some more, she got up. Or at least, she tried until she stumbled and fell on her knees, her head knocking painfully against what felt like a shelf.

I don't remember there being a shelf above my bed, she thought sourly, gripping at the area of hurt. Though this doesn't feel like my bed either. Maybe I'm in one of my friends' rooms? Either way, who builds a shelf right over a bed, jesus.

Giving up on standing up just yet, she carefully ran her fingers over the walls, looking for anything she could hold on to. Furrowing her brows, she shook off the odd feeling in her gut as she felt the grooves of what was clearly a closet wall. Why was she in the closet? She wouldn't have been able to explain that even if she held the secrets to the universe itself.

Finally, her hands came across a light switch and she flipped it on, bracing herself for bright light. Cautiously squinting her eyes open, she frowned, confused as the bulb only flickered before filling the tiny space with a dull light.

She inspected the newly revealed surroundings with curiosity; the shelves she had earlier felt were full of odd knick-knacks, including broken action figures, and various toys in different states of obvious disrepair. What was weirder was the lump of clothes at the foot of the 'bed'. This space was clearly meant to be inhabited by someone (or maybe something?).

That is doubtful, she thought, wrinkling her nose, this space is barely big enough for a small dog. Something about this set-up made her feel queasy. Chalking it up to after-effects (she still wasn't sure if she'd actually had any substances at all), she lay back down, trying to go back to sleep. Maybe I'll wake up and this will all be just a dream.

Before she could even attempt to drift off, however, she was jolted by a harsh knock at the closet door and the sound of yelling.

"C'mon, boy, wake up! You need to make breakfast!"

At the loud shout, she jerked back up, beyond confused. Who would be waking her up like that? None of her friends ever talked like that- and wait, hold up, had she just been called 'boy'?

Now, she was fully aware that her shorter than average hair and slim build could be confusing (if you were half-blind, that is) but her facial features were still rather feminine.

Rubbing at her eyes, she reached towards the door when it swung open to reveal a brutish face, almost purple with rage. Marvelling at how the man seemed to be on the edge of blowing up, she rose, emerging from the closet, stumbling like a fawn.

"I'm up, I'm up! What's going on?"

Watching the man's upper lip curl up into a sneer, she took a subtle step back. As she did so, she was hit by a visceral sense of deja vu, a feeling she was intensely familiar with.

"Is this another one of your plots, freak? You better wash up now and head to the kitchen right away."

Holy shit, that man's tone is frigid as hell. Or is that paradoxical? Leaving that aside, calling someone a freak isn't very nice. Especially not by a grown ass man who looks like he'd only look better if he were hit by a truck.

Shrugging, she decided to do as she had been told. If this is a lucid dream, this is a mighty realistic one, I'd say. Might as well follow the direction it wants me to follow. Although now that I think of it, that man seems awfully familiar.

She already knew the way to the bathroom almost as if she had traversed the path over many years and she found her gaze drifting over the house as she mulled over what exactly it was that she was experiencing. Was it a dream or a hallucination?

The house itself was rather pretty, in her opinion, even though it seemed a little too pristine. White walls with dark wood floors and tasteful decor clearly inspired by the insides of an interior fashion magazine. Whoever chose the displays had clearly intended on making their house seem more like a museum than a home.

As she entered the washroom, her eyes trailed up to the massive mirror over the basin and as she caught sight of her reflection, her jaw dropped.

Yesterday, she had been a girl of seventeen with short-cropped brown hair and blue eyes. Tall and slim, her friends had had a running joke about how she was the gangliest of them all. Now, she looked no older than ten, with boney limbs and a baby face. Not to mention, she now had shabby black hair and green eyes.

Most damning of all was the lightning bolt shaped scar perfectly in the middle of her forehead.

Well, fuck it all, she thought to herself, feeling faint, I'm Harry Potter. What a wonderful hallucination. Not.

It had been three days since her initial reawakening in the universe of Harry Potter (as Harry Potter himself, but that fact and its ramifications hadn't yet sunk in) and she had quite easily sunk into the routine.

The one good thing about being at the Dursleys' was that they had not noticed the 'replacement' living in their home. Though, living was an exaggeration with the questionable restrictions that Harry had apparently had on him.

Aside from the morality of letting a child sleep in the closet for about eleven years, Harry's body itself was clearly malnourished. She had initially thought he was about nine or ten, but he was closer to turning eleven, judging by the date on the newspaper she had managed to smuggle into her closet.

I had thought it was bad when I was reading the book, she thought, I didn't need a first-hand experience as well. JKR sucks.

And yes, she had chosen to blame JKR because why not? It was her franchise, after all.

And speaking of the franchise, what exactly was she supposed to do about the whole Chosen One bullshit?! Unless she spontaneously woke back up in her own world (which was a wild thought, honestly), there was no way she would be able to escape the responsibilities.

Not to mention, she had read several self-insert fanfiction and only a few of them had been able to remain completely non-confrontational and that was because they hadn't been reincarnated as the main character himself. She was still sour about that, really. Why couldn't she have been Padma Patil or Hannah Abbott or better yet, some completely unknown background character who hadn't even been mentioned in the books?

Nevermind the whiplash that came from switching genders as well. Although she responded decently enough to 'freak' or the other numerous unsavoury names, she hadn't responded fast enough to either 'boy' or 'Potter' which had warranted a lot of screaming and insults from both the adults and a lot of shrill laughter of Dudley, followed by an entire afternoon locked in the cupboard with only a meagre meal of cold canned soup. Seriously, this was a miserable situation.

Groaning, she went back to tending to Petunia's flowers as she had been instructed (more like, ordered) to do and resumed her musings on the events across the seven years of Hogwarts. Since she had read the books all in the span of two years when she had been twelve to fourteen and then never touched them again, her knowledge was beyond hazy. The fact that she had recently watched the movies did not help; she clearly remembered how she and her girlfriends had bitched incessantly about how many details and moments the movies had missed.

I could just write down the events so I don't forget, though it could fall into the hands of someone who should definitely not have that information. Maybe I could just write in another language? No one from Gryffindor knows any French or Spanish, I'm pretty sure.

She groaned, falling back into the soft grass of the lawn, but what if a teacher starts suspecting something and begins rummaging through my stuff? I doubt they'll let a damn language barrier stop them.

"Oi, boy! Don't start slacking off now!"

Restraining the urge to yell back (knowing it would only lead to more punishments, eugh), she got back up and started ripping out weeds, ignoring the ache in her prepubescent arms.

At least in Hogwarts, I won't have to make this tiny body do so much manual labour. This cannot be good for my growth, jeez.

The letters had started. Quite promptly, she had been moved from the closet to the comparatively luxurious room. Like the rest of the house, it was clearly designed for showiness rather than for comfort. It was chock full of broken toys and stuff that Dudley had clearly 'outgrown'. The only thing that kid has outgrown is his own health, she rolled her eyes.

In the entire room, the singular thing still pristine was a bookshelf, funnily enough. That suited her just well enough considering she had been a big bookworm when she had still been… herself.

Shaking off the depressing thought, she made herself comfortable on a rackety chair and began going through the books one by one. Luckily enough, she found an old notebook which she could use to write down her thoughts and ideas. Maybe she could use it as a journal and just use code words to note down important references? It was much subtler than the language idea, for sure.

Humming, she fiddled with the pen she had swiped from Vernon's desk before quickly writing down the things she remembered from Harry's first year in a list.

REMEMBER:

The fox from Zootopia loves his precious gemstone.

The snake wishes to own that gemstone and the scaredy-cat does his bidding.

The old wolf (friend to the fox) protects the gem but has his own goals.

Greenery, wings, self-sacrifice, burning off my nose-hairs, logic and the final showdown.

The fawn, the terrier and the otter get a reputation as the mcs.

The old wolf drops hints on the snake's weaknesses (empathy).

Dissatisfied, she ran her eyes over the list again and again, scanning for any possibilities where someone without any knowledge of the future could decipher the list. Her eyes aching with the strain (she still wasn't used to wearing glasses, let alone such unclear ones), she took off her glasses and pressed her palms against her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Now all I have to do is wait for Hagrid. Let's see if magic folk see if anything's wrong.

It was ridiculous how much the Dursleys feared magic. Seriously, it was not normal how far they went just to avoid Hagrid; like, renting a boat and living at an abandoned shed in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the middle of a storm? That was abnormal behaviour. Fuck the beginning of the book, the Dursleys were actually very much not normal, no matter what they'd like you to believe.

"Mr and Mrs Dudley of number four, Privet, were proud to state that they were very much normal, thank you very much." Fuck that and fuck this.

And yes, she remembered the very first line of the very first book almost perfectly. What of it? The point was, that the Dursleys were nowhere near as perfect as they wanted to seem. Go figure.

Because of this very normal and clearly well-adjusted family, she had been freezing her ass off bundled up only in cotton clothes and a tattered, hole-ridden blanket for the past few hours, waiting impatiently for Hagrid to make his entrance.

Abruptly remembering that Hagrid had torn the door off its hinges, she scooted across the floor and looked at her wristwatch. Noting that it was about 10 minutes to midnight, she impatiently tapped her foot as she strained her ears to try and catch any noise from outside.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Was it just wishful thinking or was there actually a boat docking onto the little island?

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Now she could hear soft footsteps right outside the door.

Three.

Two.

Insistent knocking, and Vernon bursting in front one of the doors with a shotgun in hand.

One.

Zero.

BOOM!

A lot happened simultaneously just as she finished her internal countdown. The door was ripped off its hinges easily enough, resulting in a sleet of rain and howling winds to enter the already dilapidated house. She drew her limbs closer to herself, shivering, as she watched Vernon gape, his grip on the shotgun slipping slightly. At the same time, in came Petunia and Dudley, him crouching behind his mother, no doubt trying to hide but without much success.

At the door stood Hagrid, the half-giant. Shrugging sheepishly and stepping inside, he put the door back in its former place and sat down heavily on the sunken-in couch.

"Well 'ello there, folks," he said cheerfully, seeming to ignore the absolute gobsmacked expressions on all three Muggles. Stifling a smile at the hilarious sight, she stepped in just close enough to be in the man's peripheral sight.

Visibly brightening up, he said " 'Arry, there yeh are! I've been looking forward to seeing yer for a long time now. This trip was a 'azard and a 'alf!"

"Hello," she greeted awkwardly, adopting a hesitant tone, "Do we know each other?"

With a sad glint in his warm eyes, he shook his head and shoved his hand into the pockets of his coat before jerking up and bringing out a somewhat squished box.

"I almost forgot, there's yer birthday gift, 'Arry. It might be a little smushed but it should taste 'ight." He said, extending the box and dumping it in her arms, almost making her fall at the unexpectedly heavy weight.

How embarrassing, she thought, regaining her footing. She flipped up the lid and gaped at the well-made cake, covered in pink frosting and the green writing on top. A little flustered, she cleared her throat to get rid of the sudden lump and spoke.

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate this, Ha- um," she froze, realising that Hagrid hadn't yet introduced himself. That was close.

"Ah, I haven't introduced meself yet, 'ave I?" Hagrid continued as she breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief at his obliviousness. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the gameskeeper of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and here-" he winked "- I have your letter of acceptance!"

"Sorry, my what?" she managed to choke out, still reeling from her almost slip. Thank god it wasn't Snape or Dumbledore or some other wizard equally as clever. They would most definitely have noticed.

She stole a glance towards the Dursleys and stifled a wheeze at the horrified looks that the dawning realisation had left on their faces. Contrasting that, Hagrid was just frowning as though he had heard something very disappointing and said, "You haven't 'eard about it? You aunt and uncle didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" she returned, trying to keep the anticipation rising within her in check. Oh, I really wanna see Dudley pig-ified.

Vernon spoke up then, valiantly ignoring the outraged look on Hagrid's previously warm and gentle face. "You aren't taking the boy to your school of… freaks and weirdos, you hear me? We've been trying to stamp out that freak stuff from his body and you won't be the reason our hard work goes to waste!"

His expression darkening remarkably fast, Hagrid's eyes tracked over her, clearly cataloguing her unhealthily slim body and the slight bruising that still peeked out from behind the rags (which the Dursleys called clothes) she wore. She was still shivering faintly from the cold and aware that she likely made a pitiful image standing in the middle of a barren shed, wrapped her arms around herself. At the gesture, Hagrid's eyes softened remotely and he draped his coat over her before turning towards the Dursleys, his body language screaming bewilderment.

"You mean you haven't even told this poor child his origin?! What about 'is parents? His Magic?" he demanded.

Appearing unaffected despite the frankly terrifying sight an angry Hagrid made, Vernon simply sniffed snobbishly and said, "We don't need that in our household. The freak should be grateful his Aunt took pity on him and took him in. If it were up to me, I would've let him stay out on the doorstep, consequences be damned."

Wiping at the tears that sprang up, she sank back into the couch and scrunched up the coat around her. Why am I even crying? These people are grade-A assholes and do not deserve anything from me, not even insults, let alone tears. Clearly, this body doesn't understand that.

"That's enough!" Hagrid roared, the volume jolting the entire shed. Briefly, she wondered if the shed would come crashing down on them before perking up at the sight of the famed pink umbrella pointed at her cousin.

"Clearly, none of yer understand what a sin it is to try an' suppress magic," he stated coldly, "Let me give yer a punishment for that."

And there was a glorious sight! She could carry simply put of contentment now; her cousin's fair skin had turned almost pink in hue and his nose had turned remarkably piggish and when he failed around in panic, she could spot a pig tail peeking out.

Giggling, she watched as Hagrid continued to threaten the other two and banished them into the bedroom. The line in his shoulders faded as he turned towards her and disappeared completely, noticing the way she had made herself comfortable on the couch, bundled up in the coat and already having eaten a portion of the surprisingly delicious cake.

Laying a giant hand softly on her head, he said "Why don't yer sleep tonight, 'Arry? T'morrow, we can visit Diagon Alley and I'll explain what our world is like, considering yer good-for-nothing relatives never did."

Even though the last part of his dialogue sounded bitter and cold, the hand on her head remained soft and comforting, and she found herself drifting off. As she closed her eyes, she felt the box of cake being taken out of her hands and the coat being wrapped around her much more snugly.

With one last ruffle of her hair, the hand lifted and just as it did, she finally fell asleep, cocooned in the sense of feeling completely safe after a very long while.

- a/n -

mc, thinking they're in a dream: haha. nice.

mc, realising they're not: haha. not nice.