There is a small little home at Number Four, Private Drive, Surrey that housed what seemed to be a regular family. Now, comparing them on the scale of good and evil, they were all rather bad. There were all sorts of crimes being committed in that neighborhood if one could call it that. But for the sake of simplifying it down, there were two options. Good and evil seemed to be the best of them.

The little family of four (three, if you had asked them) were rather leaning towards the bad side of the scale. Of course, in the little housing community, there were quite a lot of actions that could be considered not-good. For instance, how Mr. Pecking had encouraged his three sons to take their slingshots at Miss Figg's cats. That was terribly evil. Or how Mrs. Sunny of number Five was having an affair and spreading rumors about Mr. Johnson's wife. Of course, one not could possibly describe the amount of evil that happened at the neighborhood barbecue. It was a terrible place, really.

However, the little family that lived in Number Four, Private Drive, Surrey were really truly the worst of the lot. Rather normal, and seemingly just like their neighbors when it came down to their pride. Ultimately, these people wouldn't really amount to much in their feeble lifespans. However, the Dursley's were cruel just as much as they desired to have a normal life. Which to say is quite a lot. They had a secret that they kept hidden under their stairs. A tiny girl with unruly red hair lived in that home, although the Dursley's denied it up and down and sideways. She might be doing their garden but this little orphan didn't really live with them. No, she just helped around the house.

The Dursley's kept to themselves as much as possible, which made it more unsettling when they were so social at the neighborhood barbecue. Aunt Petunia always made sure that she was the first to hear any gossip, even if she had to make it up herself. She prided herself being one of the only few housewives on the street, as most of the other women had to take up jobs. Being a stay at home mother wasn't so much as being evil, but it was the fact that every month she got a check that was worth about a month's worth of work for basically doing nothing but locking her niece into that cupboard that made her pretty darn evil. It was repugnant to brag about how her husband Vernon managed to make enough money for them to live comfortably, but in reality, Petunia wanted their envy for having a wealthy money-making man.

Vernon would always be by the grill making jokes and talking about the latest football match. Men would laugh and jeer and have their beers while the kids ran off doing whatever. Petunia was with her gabbing society of nosy hens and Vernon was talking about how to make the best steak (even though that honor goes to the youngest member of their household). Dudley was out doing his own thing, as he was only seven years old and probably didn't know much about the ways of adults. He was probably terrorizing a poor cat or beating Miss Figg to death. Who really knows what goes on in the minds of seven-year-olds.

And thus, that is why neighborhood barbecues are designed to be nefarious.

Harriet was locked up tight in her cupboard, to her Aunt and Uncle's knowledge she'd never get out. Not if they had a say in it. However, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Harriet and long since figured out that swiping a piece of paper and folding it up so that it didn't bend under the pressure, she could slide it up and knock the latch loose. Six years old-nearly seven, Harriet had just a few more days before she became the spawn of Satan himself, she crept out of her room to the empty house. The Durselys were out doing their dastardly deeds, and Harriet softly stepped from her cupboard and eyed the kitchen.

Her hungry eyes hollowed from the starvation that plagued her calculated. Her hands shook with the emptiness from inside of her as her split and bloodied nails caught on the meat of her palm. She had gotten desperate a few days ago and had tried to claw herself out of her cupboard, in hopes that the Dursley's would give her a mouthful of water. Instead, she had been yelled at and Uncle Vernon had taken his belt off and slapped her around for daring to scar up the wood of the cupboard.

Still, Harriet could feel the hunger gnawing at her. Dizziness crept in, a constant threat looming overhead that she could just pass out. Wary green eyes danced across the room, shooting from one side to another as the soles of her feet barely made a sound. Her ears strained for any sudden noise. When it came apparent that her relatives were gone, Harriet moved onwards without being quite as cautious. She went to the garbage can first. It hadn't been taken out since she had been 'asked' to do so. The Dursley's didn't like leftovers because that meant that they could probably feed her. Harriet had seen Aunt Petunia thrown away tons of food because Dudley couldn't eat it all.

And to Harriet's delight, there were a few pieces of breakfast and dinner in the garbage bag. She leaned forward and snatched the food, a few pieces of biscuit and bacon. Within seconds she had shoved them into her mouth and barely chewed before she swallowed. She reached in and grasped a piece of half-eaten chicken and ripped off any extra meat. Grease-covered her fingers and she desperately licked and sucked at them until they were clean. Soon enough Harriet found that there wasn't any more food, which was a disappointment that went deep into her gut. She even shuffled the garbage around to see if there was any more, but sadly all there was an empty bottle of cleaner and the broken bits of a glass pan that Dudley had broken and then blamed her a few days ago.

Harriet didn't waste any more time, she hurried to the sink. She felt a little sick now, but being full felt a whole lot more than the empty shell that she once was. Although the sink was more than halfway taller than her, Harriet didn't let that dissuade her, as she opened a cupboard and lifted herself up like a ladder.

And then-

A noise.

Harriet froze. Her ears straining against the silence. She was halfway to pulling herself up and the fear- the absolute dread of her Aunt and Uncle finding her was like a two-ton weight about to pull her down. Heart-stopping seconds passed. Harriet's stomach felt sicker with the panic and fear hitting her as she listened.

Nothing.

Ten seconds turned into twenty and Harriet heard nothing. Finally, she pulled herself all the way up and paused again. Nothing once more. She was alone. Harriet didn't waste any more time, as the adrenaline was coursing through her now. She wanted to get back into her cupboard again as fast as possible. The idea of being free didn't seem so nice now that she had her near scare. She flipped on the water and cupped it into her hands and drank as soon as she could get the water near her mouth.

She felt nauseous afterward. She drank until she felt like she could throw up and then drank a little more because she knew that she had a few more days until the Dursley's would let her out of her cupboard. After feeling woozy from being filled, Harriet turned off the water and watched to make sure that there was no evidence left over. Her fear of Aunt Petunia finding out from making the sink too wet was a real concern, and Harriet jumped down with a small thump after she inspected the sink. Nothing was out of place. Closing the cupboard, Harriet made a small detour to the fridge. The crisper was almost always empty and filled with anything about to go bad. Which meant usually, vegetables. Dudley threw a fit every time he had to eat them so Aunt Petunia would hide them or trick him into eating them. Sadly, Dudley had been catching on to Aunt Petunia's dismay. Harriet dug for the item that was on the bottom, an almost full bag of half rotting shriveled celery, and held it close as she scampered back to her cupboard. Carefully hiding her spoils under her blanket in hopes that nobody would find it, Harriet curled up back on the tiny mattress and waited. Waited for when the Dursley's would come back. And hoped that they wouldn't.

And that, dear readers, is why Vernon and Petunia were considered to be the evilest lot of them all.

It was a few days past Harriet's seventh birthday when things changed up again.

Within the time frame, as all seven-year-olds know, things tend to happen. For most seven-year-olds, they get to have a party with presents and cake. Some friends might come over and wish you a happy birthday. And voila, they are no longer six but now seven. And that meant that they were a little bit more grown up. A little closer to being an actual person, rather than hellspawn in the guise of a child. It was usually a cheery time, with a bunch of little children chattering away at each other. Who knows what the kids talked about, but if there were a bunch of seven-year-olds around then it was sure to be a part of some nefarious plan. But for Harriet, things did not go like that.

Instead, Aunt Petunia, when recalling that her niece is now a little bit older decided that it was the perfect time to instill more work upon Harriet. And Harriet complied without a word of complaint. The recent time spent in the cupboard had resummoned the fear of her relatives. Her chipped nails and scabbed back still hurt as a reminder. Her head bowed down, Harriet listened to her Aunt intently. Internally promising that she'd get everything right this time. This time, they wouldn't find fault with her work.

"-and I want you to clean out the attic as well." Aunt Petunia pursed her lips. "It's gotten filthy up there and it's been filled with junk. I don't know how your uncle can sleep at night knowing all the stuff that he's thrown up there to get it out of the way."

Harriet was surprised to hear about the attic. She had never known about it. She had wanted to ask a question, but she wasn't supposed to ask those. She had all of the questions beaten out of her. At least, that was what Uncle Vernon had said anyways. Harriet didn't question him on it, so she supposed that he was right in that aspect.

"Are you even listening?" Aunt Petunia snapped. Her breathy voice bitter and sharp.

Harriet glanced up before hurriedly looking elsewhere. She nodded jerkily and hoped it was an adequate answer. Her eyes landed on the stove and she stared at it. There was a plea in her eyes that asked for forgiveness but the stove didn't give her any. Stoves don't give a shit.

"You filthy little freak." Aunt Petunia spat. "You're mocking me aren't you. You think you're so better than I am that you don't even pay attention to me."

Harriet furiously shook her head. But even at the tender age of seven, Harriet knew that once Aunt Petunia found a slight she had to ride out the rage. There was no calming her down, once Aunt Petunia was worked up.

Harriet was watching the stove, her body feeling like it was frozen. She couldn't do anything but stand there. Aunt Petunia took in a deep steadying breath, her anger coming off of her in waves. Then it came faster than Harriet expected. From the corner of her eyes, Harriet see Aunt Petunia twist around then there was a sound of metal scraping metal and-

Lights flashed before her eyes and Harriet could hear something ringing high pitched in her ears. The sudden pain came from nowhere and it felt like it encompassed her entirely. Her vision was bright and dark all at the same time and Harriet felt herself falling.

She hit the ground, her hands flying up to touch her face. It was burning, hotter than she had ever thought she could feel. Startled, confused, and unknowing, Harriet looked up with wide eyes at her aunt. Petunia was holding a frying pan clutched in her thin hand. Her face was red and white, but her lips still pursed together.

"Get up." Petunia snapped once again. This time Harriet jerked backward as if her aunt had hit her once again with the pan. "I hope you learned your lesson. Go clean out the attic, and when you are done you will come back and apologize for being disrespectful."

Harriet, although her thoughts still in a jumped mess and her hearing gone nuts, did as she was told and left. Her hands still clutched at her head as though she was afraid that it might fall off. And a part of her hoped that maybe it might drop off because then the setting pain wouldn't hurt her anymore.

She all but ran away. Her nose started to leak a bit from her bitter tears but Harriet let the snot run free. She didn't want Aunt Petunia to come after again with the frying pan. Because that's what she did, didn't she? Harriet had been hit with the frying pan. Aunt Petunia- her Aunt!- had hit her with a frying pan.

Disbelief warred within herself, Harriet wanted to cry more. But she knew that if she so much as sniffed then Aunt Petunia would be mad at her again. She hated that sound. Sniffing. Uncle Vernon had taught her that crying wouldn't get her way and if she made a sniffing noise again then he'd beat down the cupboard and bloody her back again with his belt. Harriet clambered up the stairs as fast as she could, her body shivering with the effort. The ringing in her head felt like it went sideways and she couldn't stop shaking.

Looking backward, Harriet wasn't sure how she was able to find the attic. But she supposed that looking upwards and finding a trap door wasn't that awfully hard. Perhaps it was the concussion that she had, but Harriet couldn't recall how she found herself in the cramped little space at the top of the house. It was perhaps about three feet tall and stacked up with boxes. The air was musty and hotter than the house, the heat positively baked her.

Harriet's memories were fuzzy about this time. From when she came up the stairs and how she ended up into the attic was all a blur. But she could feel the emotion that bubbled up inside of her the most, and that was what she could remember the most.

Time twisted itself up in her head. Harriet had crawled her way up into the attic and from there she had curled up in a tight ball with her head between her legs. It pounded a painful rhythm that slammed Harriet's thoughts into the ground. She clutched at her head, her fingers twisting into her hair as if she could stop the pain from hitting her. But it didn't help and Harriet sat there for a long time before the world was able to right itself in her head.

Warmth had crept up her neck at one point. It was hotter than the air itself. It didn't feel like a pain but it was uncomfortable to feel it. Harriet curled up tighter as she felt the odd sensation. But she didn't spend any thought on it as all she could do was hold herself together and hope she didn't fly apart. Holding her head seemed to be her only connection to the ground. Once the warmth reached her head the mixture between the heartbeat drumming in her head was an overload of sensations. Harriet was sure she had made a noise, but nobody was around to hear her. Seconds passed by and the warmth seeped into her brain and twisted and turned uncomfortably-

And almost instantly, like a pressure gauge being slowly released, the pain slowly vanished. It was numbing for the first few seconds, the lessening of the strain on her head was so abrupt it made Harriet question herself if she was dying. If this sensation was the end of her life and she was going to pass away in the dusty room of the attic. After a minute or two and the pain slowly lessened more, Harriet was finally able to get her thoughts under control and piece herself back together. The release of the pain almost gave her nausea for a few seconds, and Harriet silently hoped that she wouldn't throw up. But those seconds passed and so did the churning of her stomach.

A few things made themselves clear almost immediately. One, Harriet was very hot, two, she was dying to have a drink, and three she didn't know how long she had been there. She rubbed her hands across her eyes to dispell the groggy sleepiness that came after crying herself silly. At least she had perfected the art of crying silently. It was harder than what most people had thought.

Wiping away any residual tear stains from her face, the last of the pain ebbing away until it felt like she was just a little tender in the one spot where Aunt Petunia had hit her, Harriet thought hard to herself. She knew she had to work faster than before, now that time had passed. Aunt Petunia would have set a time limit, probably when Harriet had to make dinner. She had to get rid of the boxes as fast as possible. The idea of not fast enough coming to her mind, and the fear and panic swept her up into their grasp and choked her. No, Harriet couldn't fail. She couldn't fail.

Harriet grabbed the nearest cardboard box and dragged it to the opened trapdoor. The wooden stairs held her weight as she carried the bulky box. It was heavy, but not enough to make her arms tremble. And with that- Harriet did her job. One by one, the boxes heavy and large went down the hallway in between the rooms upstairs, down the staircase, and out the front door where they were placed next to the bin to be taken away by the garbage men the next morning. The first few boxes were fine, but afterward, it became a struggle. Box after box they were too heavy to really lift. But the panic and fear that drove Harriet helped her lift them, or at least drag them outside. The one positive thing was that Aunt Petunia's car was missing outside, and that meant that Harriet didn't have to tiptoe around her.

(Once Harriet had opened a box to find old clothing. It had taken her a few minutes to figure out what the clothing was. Women's lingerie. The weirdest thing was that it was way too big for Aunt Petunia at all. Harriet was puzzled, but in the end, took out the box none the wiser that she had stumbled across a rather dark secret of the Dursley household.)

The attic seemed to be forever filled with endless boxes. The sun was in the middle of the sky, beating down on the roof making the small area stifling hot. It reminded Harriet of her cupboard when it got really hot during the summer months. Coughing, Harriet pulled back another endless cardboard box and glanced up to see-

To see a box not made out of cardboard. Blinking a few times, Harriet wondered what on earth was a… lockbox? Up in the attic. Shoving the cardboard box out of her way and towards the stairs, Harriet crawled towards the small lockbox. It looked more like a trunk. But it was too small to be a trunk. Harriet grasped a handle and heaved it towards herself and nearly hit her head on the ceiling when the box came without any weight. It was oddly light as well! Harriet marveled at how easy it was to drag it when she turned it so the opening was to her. And there, inscribed in metal was the words, 'Lily Evans.'

Harriet didn't know the name. But one thing stuck out to her. Evans. She had heard that Aunt Petunia's maiden name was once Evans. She had overheard it when Aunt Petunia was signing Dudley up for school and they asked her weird questions about her. And- and Harriet's own middle name was Lily.

The connection came together faster than Harriet could think. That meant- that meant her mother's name was Lily. Her sister was Petunia. Lily Evans was her mum. And that meant this small case was her mums.

The box was hers.

Instantly Harriet decided that the trunk was not going to be thrown away. Never. She had just figured out what her mum's name was and she wasn't going to give up her mum. She didn't know what she looked like, why would she give up the one connection she had found.

Harriet ignored the cardboard box as she grabbed the small-trunk and scampered down the stairs. She had never dared run so fast in her life in the house before. Her feet banged against the ground and the tenderness in her head flared up and for a belated second, she reminded herself of Dudley moving around. But quickly discarded that thought as she opened her cupboard and- There! The perfect place. Between two beams holding up the stairs, out of the way where Aunt Petunia would never look. Nobody looked in her cupboard and if it was out of sight they'd never find it! Harriet shoved the trunk there, her hands shaking again. But this time it wasn't with pain or fear. It was with excitement.

Harriet reluctantly left then. Closing the cupboard and moving back upstairs for the cardboard box. But to her dismay and sinking stomach, she heard a car park on the driveway. Harriet hoped that if they saw her working that maybe they'd leave her alone. And so, Harriet grabbed the box and with struggling weakening arms she moved towards the front of the house. The door opened, and she heard something fall to the ground along with a screech.

"F-F-Freak! What have you done to my house!" Aunt Petunia's high nasally voice cut through the air. Harriet had the misfortune of walking to the front of the stairs just then and saw finally, why Aunt Petunia was in a rage. Dust motes floated through the air. There was a literal trail of dust and dirt going down the stairs and out the door. Probably from the boxes, Harriet realized. And the carpets had been skewed. From when she ran on them.

Red in the face, Petunia looked up at her niece. "You-," she started to say, but at that same moment, the cardboard box decided to give up the ghost. The cardboard gave away and books and old magazines fell out, sliding down the staircase and landing at Aunt Petunia's feet.

Harriet felt horror as she saw Aunt Petunia go from red to redder.

"I'm sorry," Harriet spoke for the first time in weeks. Her voice raspy and small from disuse.

"Oh, you will be." Aunt Petunia spoke through her teeth. "You will be freak."

It wasn't until later that Harriet was thrown into her cupboard. Pained and bruised, her back bloodied from the belt and hands itchy and red. Aunt Petunia had her scrubbing the carpets and rugs all day with a strong cleaner. Harriet had read that you were supposed to use gloves on the bottles, but Aunt Petunia didn't look twice before demanding Harriet to clean up everything. And she did. The chemicals stung her skin and her skin cracked and bled as she scoured the carpet clean. After that Aunt Petunia had her make dinner again. Once dinner was finished, Harriet had to stand in the corner and watch the wall and waited until Uncle Vernon came home. Once his car drew up in the driveway, Aunt Petunia went out and told him exactly what she had done.

At least he had waited until after dinner to beat her back bloody again.

Harriet pulled herself up from the floor where Uncle Vernon had thrown her. Her arms ached. Her fingertips burned. Her head hurt. And her back smarted whenever she moved. Harriet pulled herself up onto the small little mattress on the ground and fell face first. Her hair falling into her face, she stared out into the darkness and waited for it to pull her under into sleep. The ache that ran deep into her soul hurt every time she pulled in a breath of air, and it burned as she exhaled.

Harriet was used to pain. She was always used to it. Closing her eyes, she waited. Time passed as it always did. Indiscriminately it took one second to another, it never moved up nor did it slow down. Harriet heard Uncle Vernon retire and go to bed, and Aunt Petunia following him afterward. Dudley was at a playmates house tonight, Harriet vaguely recalled. At least he wasn't chasing her and hitting her with sticks.

It was past midnight and clear into the early hours of the morning when Harriet's eyes caught on the chest. She jerked and then flinched by the strain her body took by moving. That's right! She had- she had forgotten all about it. Harriet had spent the rest of the day drowning in despair and terror that she hadn't remembered about the chest that she had hidden.

Knowing herself, as an abused seven-year-old would know, Harriet understood that she probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight from the pain. But that didn't mean that she didn't have to lay in the dark doing nothing.

Aunt Petunia once had given her a single light bulb. When Harriet was younger she had been scared of the dark and stayed awake all night and she was so tired during the day that she couldn't function until Aunt Petunia had given her an old flickering light blub. Her aunt had also told her it was the 'only one she'd ever get to use it wisely' and within a few weeks, Harriet had learned that a flashing light at night was worse than the dark. It brought back vague memories of people laughing and lights coming from sticks. There were also screams. Harriet didn't like it and so learned that nightmares in the dark could be worse if there were screaming people involved.

Harriet moved slowly, trying hard not to break open the scabs on her back and to let the fresh blood to flow again. Gently she clicked on the flickering blub and set her eyes on the small box that had her mothers name on it. How it had placed in the attic of Aunt Petunia, Harriet would never know. Because she knew that Aunt Petunia hated everything that belonged to Harriet's mum, and would never have allowed it to be in her house.

Harriet crawled over, hissing in pain and having to stop every few seconds before pushing onwards. Finally, she arrived at her mum's box and her fingers traced the words. Lily Evans.

Lily Evans Potter?

Harriet wondered to herself what her dad's name was. All she knew was that it had to be Potter. She heard that dad's last names are usually what the kid's last names were. Harriet traced her mother's name again and wondered what she was like. Did she like chocolate? Did she like strawberries? Was she like Aunt Petunia?

Harriet didn't know, and she longed to find out.

Her fingertips touched the latch on the smaller trunk and gently, almost reverently, Harriet pulled up on the latch. It popped open freely, and then-

The box shivered and then it jumped. Harriet let lose a squeak of surprise as she fell backward as the small case, no larger than a bread box, jumped itself into the air and then it landed on the ground more than triple the size! The thumping noise itself made Harriet's heart race. She sat in silence, watching, and waiting to see if anybody had awoken to the sound.

She stared at the trunk. Wide-eyed and heart beating faster than she had ever felt it before, Harriet wondered if she was dreaming. She pinched herself, and when that didn't wake herself up, she did it again.

"This isn't a dream," Harriet whispered to herself. "This isn't a dream." She repeated. Again, she pinched herself. This time harder but all it did was hurt and so she stopped. It wasn't going to change. She finally moved back upright, noticing that her scabs had split open during the sudden move. She felt hot fresh blood beading up on her back, another sign that this wasn't a hallucination.

Perhaps this was what Aunt Petunia always talked about when she said drugs? Was Harriet on crack? Or whatever that was?

She nudged the trunk with her foot. It didn't budge, it was heavy now. Not light as a feather before, this thing had weight. And it took up most of the space that she had in her cupboard. Harriet gazed at it, the latch of it still popped open.

Hesitantly, she placed her hands on the lid and pushed it open. The trunk opened without any complaint from the hinges and Harriet gazed down into its contents. Neatly folded clotheslined the compartment, along with a small wooden box. Harriet reached for the box first, pulling it out and opening it. Harriet held back a gasp as she took in the sight of a beautiful lily hair clip. Smoothed and shaped white stone shaped the petals and it was inlaid with shiny silver metal. It looked expensive. Something that Aunt Petunia would never let her look at, let alone touch. Harriet touched it lightly, her fingers trailing across it as she took in the beauty. Then she picked it up. This was her mum's. Her mum had worn this in her hair. Harriet opened the clip and grasped a lock of her own hair and haphazardly clipped it into her own hair. The weight felt strange on her head, but Harriet hadn't ever felt like she had ever been this close to her own mum before.

Soft tears fell from her eyes as she held the hair clip in one hand and pressed it against her head. Harriet wasn't sure how long she was going to stay there and hold it, but the crinkle of paper had grabbed her attention. She looked down, a piece of paper was in the box where she had taken the hair clip. As she picked it up she noticed it felt different than other paper. This stuff was thicker and left more soft than other paper. Harriet opened the folded paper upside down and quickly turned it right side up.

The handwriting was awful. Harriet had to squint at it and slowly, she began to read. "My… dear Lily." Harriet spoke slowly, sounding out the words. She hadn't had to read out words since she was five, but it was hard to read this choppy handwriting.

"I saw this the other day and knew… that you had... To have it. How would…. No, it's could. How could I not give you a flower to put into your… beautiful lair. No, wait that's hair. Beautiful hair. I cannot wait... To see you graduate this year at..." Harriet paused. Trying to figure out the next word. She turned the paper at a different angle, and then she gave up. It probably wasn't a word that she knew. "Hogwarts. May my move… wait no that's love... May my love stay with you until this lily flower wilts. With love, J. Potter." Harriet's voice choked up at the last sentence.

J.

Her dad's name started with a J. What could it be? Jacob? Jeremy? The flower sitting sideways in her hair was given to her mum by her dad.

Harriet sniffled and let herself cry for a little bit. She wished she had her mum and dad. She clutched at the flower. Her dad loved her mum so much. And her mum had pretty hair and-

Harriet wished more than anything that her mum and dad were with her. Or perhaps… perhaps she wished that she was dead to be with them. She missed them so much and she didn't know them at all but they had to be better than the Dursleys. Even though Aunt Petunia said that they were drunks who died in a car crash. They had to be better than the Dursleys. She knew that they must've loved her.

She only wished that she could have them.

Harriet sat on the floor of her cupboard holding the hair clip and rereading the small note over and over again until she had it memorized. She didn't know how long she had been doing it. Not until the thumping of Aunt Petunia coming down the stairs shocked her from her stupor. Harriet panicked. Aunt Petunia was sure coming to wake her and she had a huge trunk in the middle of her cupboard. There was no way that Harriet could hide it! Harriet threw the hair clip and note back into the trunk and closed the lid with a snap.

In her panic, Harriet did only what she could think of. She closed the latch. She didn't have any time to be amazed by how the box jumped again and it shrunk. She only had enough time to throw it back into its hidey hole and threw herself back onto her small mattress.

Aunt Petunia opened the door not seconds later. The light was still on- Harriet almost panicked and then realized that no- it wasn't. It must've burned out sometime during the night and she hadn't noticed. Aunt Petunia was silent for a long moment and then to Harriet's amazement, she closed the cupboard door. Still, she didn't dare move as she heard Aunt Petunia get ready for the day. After a while, she heard Uncle Vernon come down and after he had breakfast she heard Aunt Petunia bid him goodbye.

Then finally the thought occurred to Harriet that Aunt Petunia figured that Harriet was too injured to make her do chores. It didn't happen often but Harriet was still recovering from the last time she had been beaten by the belt. Harriet guessed that she had been grounded to stay in the cupboard until she was all healed up.

And for once, Harriet was pretty okay with that now. She had other things to do than wait inside a stuffy cupboard all day. She could explore her mum's trunk, and Harriet liked that a whole lot better than doing nothing all day.

(It has to be said that on this particular day, 145,397 different universes were created. Some of the details about them were smudged, as they were the ones whos outcomes hadn't changed. Harriet still found her mothers trunk, and that was that. However, there were some drastic changes that could have still happened.

In one particular universe, Petunia had grabbed rather than the cold frying pan on the stove, the hot and recently used frying pan. The subsequent burn and brain damage that followed pulled Harriet down into the dark where in years later, she overthrew Voldemort after his resurrection, viciously took control of the remaining Death Eaters, and then burned Hogwarts down to the ground as she cackled. The Dark Lady rose, and would then overthrow several useless ministries and place actual governments in their place. Although she did rather bad things to people, Harriet ruled the wizardry world with an iron fist that ended up turning things to the better. She lived to the ripe old age of 79, when she decided to retire, and promptly burst into flames and disappeared. Where she went, nobody really knew. In reality, she went to a muggle care center and played chess with a bunch of lovely old people until she passed away due to cancer uneventfully.

The differences in the other realities were minute and fairly small. If Aunt Petunia had instead grabbed the butchers knife that she had used earlier. If Harriet's magic had instead lashed out instead of healing her. If Harriet had passed out after getting hit. If Aunt Petunia had asked Vernon to clean out the attic himself. If Harriet's magic had healed her broken ribs instead of the bleeding in her brain. If Dudley had been home that day and had tripped Harriet down the stairs whilst carrying the boxes. If Vernon had come home before Petunia. All of these small variations caused several things to happen to Harriet. As this day was a day that changed the course of Harriet's life, all of them could have taken her down to different paths. And most of them, if not all of them, caused Harriet to suffer by the hands of her relatives.

In 114,528 universes, Harriet died from the abuse. That's over 79 percent chance that actions that were taken in during that day threw Harriet over the edge. Out of the thousands, the top few instances of her death was internal bleeding, sleeping while concussed and falling into a coma (and the Dursley's didn't really notice until she had long since died), blood loss, brain damage, infection, broken bones, starvation, and getting beaten to death from Vernon's belting. And as such, the consequences in those universes were extreme. Life without Harriet, even in the grand scheme of things, would change history as we know it.)