Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry James Potter knew he was not a normal boy. Each day when he walked home from primary school, he was subject to the opening of curtains from each house he walked by, wives and husbands alike gathering to stare at the strange boy. At least when he walked back through the alleyways, he didn’t have to face such torment but his aunt and uncle didn’t want their delinquent ‘BOY!’ to be meeting up with anyone else suspicious.

He couldn’t blame the residents of Privet Drive, Surrey, for his problems. They were normal, heading to and from work every day, a child or two in their arms. He was not. His hair changed colour even in the same light, his eyes were never the same colour and some days he looked like a completely different boy, which was why James Evans existed.

James 'Jamie' Evans was an ordinary boy from a house somewhere in Surrey, though nobody was quite sure where. He was quiet, just as quiet as Harry Potter, in fact, but that was never cause for concern as Jamie could never do any harm. He had a similar face shape to Harry, though his eyes were a dull blue rather than the strange emerald he usually had. His hair was wild like Harry’s but everyone believed this was the result of running around with his friends, as he did in the park from 3:30 to 4:45 after school.

Somehow, he could always control his transformation into Jamie, like it was a muscle he’d strengthened over time. All it took was a quick wander through the woods by the park and he’d somehow materialise the correct eye and hair colour, free to enter the park no longer a social pariah. He didn’t even need to think about it. Such an easy transition was not the case ordinarily. But as Jamie, he was never stuck with the wrong nose, wrong hair and wrong teeth. His eyes never stared into people’s souls, flicking between colours unnaturally. As Jamie, he was perfectly normal.

“Hey, Jamie!” Lauren said, running over to him from the climbing frame with Matthew, “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Jamie wasn’t often late to the park - it was the highlight of his day, after all - but Harry hunting had gone awry after Matthew and Andrew had joined in the hunt. They’d chased him into the woods and he’d been unable to find his glasses to turn them into Jamie’s for a long time and even if his eyes were different, that didn’t mean they were fixed and the hunt for glasses without glasses was a difficult task.

“Er- Sorry, my parents made me do an extra sum before I left.” Jamie replied, “Sometimes homeschooling is bollocks.”

“Jamie!” Matthew exclaimed, “What if my mum heard!” They all turned to Matthew’s mother who was sat on a bench around a hundred metres away, the only parent at the park.

“He’d have to be a bit louder than that, Matthew.” Lauren pointed out, “Considering she’s already gone half deaf from you whining all the time.”

Harry and Lauren snickered at their friend’s expense and they walked along the field back to the climbing frame.

All things considered, it was a nice day. Mandy and Andrew couldn’t come so it was just them three today, not that Harry minded. He preferred it when there were less people - it took what was sometimes a hellish experience closely resembling Harry-Hunting into a peaceful place for Jamie to sit with his best (and only) friends.

Jamie had been alive since midway through Year Five as children in that year and above could walk themselves home and it had taken him a subsequent half a year to realise how long he could be Jamie for and practice to get better. At first, Jamie had been awkward and quiet but now he was just like the others, invited to birthday parties and days out. It was a wonder Aunt Petunia didn’t care enough to let him go for what she believed was a three hour walk but at least it worked.

Jamie was well-liked amongst his peers, so much so that they constantly pestered him to get his ‘parents’ to transfer him to their school. Perhaps if they really liked Jamie that much, they’d have stopped bullying people like Jamie had begged them to. But it was a lost cause and so Jamie made sure to never drop his guard to the point his eyes turned even a different shade. Jamie loved his friends. Harry? Not so much. But he could deal with it if it meant he had people to talk to, if it meant he wasn’t left isolated and hated all the time.

Too soon, Harry was expected at home so Jamie gave his Irish goodbye and returned to the woods. The bag he kept under the tree still hadn’t been found so he quickly took off the casual outfit he’d received for his birthday and changed back into his school uniform. Nobody ever went through his part of the woods so he was undisturbed through this quick process.

He pulled out the mirror shard (part of the mirror Dudley had smashed years ago after he was refused dessert) he kept in his pocket and noted that he was Harry without even deploying conscious effort to do so. Practice made perfect, after all.

Fortunately, he received a limited amount of stares on his walk home and found he was in a good enough mood that it warranted him wearing a fake smile so Aunt Petunia wouldn’t assign him even more chores out of spite. Perhaps if he was quiet enough, Aunt Petunia wouldn’t even notice him walk in. Wishful thinking, however, as she was always downstairs cooking dinner by the time he got home, piles of greasy food stacked up ready for Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s daily feast.

The streets were quiet at this time of day, as they ought to be. Few cars went down Privet Drive anyway; it was specifically designed to be closed-off and beautiful and as a cul-de-sac, it served it’s purpose well. Harry noticed how Privet Drive had the nicest gardens in the whole of Surrey, a raging middle-class road if Harry had ever seen one.

His parents surely wouldn’t have lived on a road so pretty if they hadn’t died in a car accident - drunken low-lifes scarcely did. Perhaps they were even homeless. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if they lived in their car considering his grandparents were all dead and unable to take him (and previously perhaps even his parents) in.

But he was here now, out of place in the docile normality of Surrey. He wasn’t meant to be in spaces like this, what with his filthy, dirty rags and his weird face stuff. He wasn’t supposed to be able to do the things he did, but he could, at the cost of any hope of ever fitting in. Even as he spoke as Jamie, Harry was constantly thinking ‘what would Jamie say’ as if Jamie were a real figure who could complain if he messed it up. Socially, Harry fit in like a sore thumb. He acted weird, looked weird and lived weirdly. Normal people didn’t pretend to be normal.

Harry wondered if his mother and father had been freaks like him. Alcoholics that died with nothing must have been, right? Outcasts like him weren’t supposed to fit in, yet somehow his parents had found each other and had him. Harry found he liked the idea of his parents being freaks soothing, motivational, even. Perhaps his mother’s hair went from colour to colour while his father’s nose changed shape at a constant pace. Perhaps they’d kissed him on the forehead: “Our freak.” they’d say, because he’d been theirs.

Harry finally arrived at the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive, made of the same bland wood as every other door of Privet Drive. It was normal, unllike him. He found the normality comforting in the sort of way people found television shows comforting, never able to live like that yourself but admiring what some people had in some distant universe. Maybe he’d someday meet a Harry (or Jamie) from somewhere else entirely that had his own bedroom and had a solid, normal face. He doubted it. No way he could be anything but a freak, not in any universe.

He pulled open the door effortlessly as Aunt Petunia never liked locking the door if she didn’t have to. Privet Drive was far enough away from the poorer roads that it wasn’t worth anyone driving over to break in, and while that sounded a bit rude to poor people, it was reason enough for Aunt Petunia to wear her unlocked door as a badge of pride.

“Boy! Get- Food!” Petunia hissed, somehow materialising directly in front of him.

Harry followed her through to the kitchen as usual, making sure to wash his hands on autopilot. Aunt Petunia never liked freaks like him giving everyone a disease, freakish or normal through freakish means. He was to keep as hygienic as possible, especially his hair which was remarkably messy for a child that was kept in a house.

“Steak and chips.” She declared, which Harry took to mean would be Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s dinner for tonight. Or, at least part of it. There were already a large amount of chicken drumsticks and chips in the oven as well as a whole plethora of similarly beige foods. Uncle Vernon didn’t like pizza or burritos or anything foreign like that. He didn’t like foreigners, either, though Aunt Petunia usually shook her head whenever he said anything about that.

Harry got to work, getting out butter and pans and a huge chunk of the meat kept inside of their freezer. Dudley would be less than appreciative if dinner was late so Harry scurried around the kitchen, careful his body wasn’t changing randomly. Harry had a lot of memories of a less-than-pleased Aunt Petunia he endeavoured to forget over time and he didn't wish for any more of them.

Harry didn’t mind cooking. Sure, the kitchen was overheated and his stomach rumbled incessantly at the sight of so much food but it was still much better than school or Harry Hunting. Into the oven, out of the oven, stir this and that- Harry could go onto autopilot, imagining what a life he’d have if he were normal by any stretch of the imagination. While he was not (and would never be) Jamie, he still liked to pretend sometimes his friends would love him if they knew.

The pan burned his hands but he hardly took note; his entire back was covered in bruises and scrapes far worse, some from being shoved into the wall by Dudley’s gang and others from the times Dudley had attacked him from behind. Though Dudley was stupid, he at least knew how to stay out of trouble. No teacher wanted to look down a child’s back, especially if said child was a known liar and delinquent. They’d never believe him even if they saw proof, the teachers didn’t like him or his unexplainable antics very much.

Perhaps the worst freakish thing he’d done was the year he’d been in Mrs. Swelter’s class for year 5. Partially blind and eighty, Mrs. Swelters had the patience to try and fix him. She’d taken him away from Dudley’s chair so they wouldn't ‘fight’, had overseen his many detentions he’d racked up over the years and hadn’t given him many detentions for the freakishness she couldn’t see.

When classmates had told on her, Mrs. Swelters had called each student ‘superstitious’ and kindly informed them it was a ‘trick of the light’. When Dudley and Piers had stolen his homework, she’d called each of them into her office and hadn’t listened when Dudley and Piers had tried to explain his freakish nature.

And then he’d had to go and ruin it by ending up on the roof. Mrs. Swelters hadn't been so sympathetic after that, though she had helped him to gain some of the social skills and confidence required to make Jamie. Mrs. Swelters would have loved Jamie if he was real.

“Boy! What do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Petunia asked.

Harry blinked, realising he’d been staring at a wall for the past five minutes. He shook his head. Freaks looked at walls like that, not normal people and he had to at least pretend to be normal at home.

“Sorry, Aunt Petunia.” Harry muttered, turning back to the steak which looked significantly overcooked. Even so, Harry poured the steaks out onto the two awaiting plates and cut a small piece off each to put on the third smaller plate; Aunt Petunia’s.

Now, Aunt Petunia was not skinny. Fat? No. She had the weight of the average person with a slender figure but by no stretch of the imagination was she skinny. But the only way one could escape the inevitability of getting diabetes in the Dursley household was to eat small cuttings of each item in the mountains of food they’d prepared.

Harry, on the other hand, would receive his food once everyone else was done, eating whatever they didn’t. And that was okay, freaks weren’t supposed to eat with other people, even if Harry did wish his Aunt and Uncle would let him pretend to be normal.

Harry adjourned to his cupboard so that Aunt Petunia knew he wasn’t stealing any food and jumped down onto his mattress on the floor. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant place what with the spiders, dirt and mould as well as the thrumming of the boiler which was only a stud wall behind Harry’s head but it was his, which was all that mattered.

Here, Harry kept his diary. The diary was not for any real events, rather to keep track of Jamie’s life so that it didn’t become compromised. Jamie would be out of town that weekend to go to his grandparent’s house (Miss Figg’s for one night, but he couldn’t have too much free time or else he’d start being invited to sleepovers) and had today informed his ‘friends’ that he’d been made to do extra sums and would be having chicken pie for dinner.

Jamie had a life of his own, so far divorced from Harry Potter it was remarkable he lived inside of Harry’s head and came from his body. Jamie was who Harry could never be despite being Harry. Not even Harry himself could define the feeling and the difference between Jamie and Harry. But there were differences, and Harry wrote them all down.

Jamie had silver, round-ringed glasses gifted to him by Lauren’s mother who’d seen him struggle to read what it said on her daughter’s birthday invitation while Harry wore the broken pieces that were left of the glasses he’d received when he was six.

Jamie was shy around new faces but confident around his friends. Harry had no friends or confidence. Jamie was a golden boy, someone who other parents seemed unconcerned about worrying around Surrey by himself and Harry was a delinquent who shouldn’t have even been allowed to leave 4 Privet Drive except for school.

Still, they were one in the same and as Harry made himself comfortable in his ratty old cupboard of a room, he knew which he’d be forced to be until the day he died, freak or not.

Chapter Text

It was a Saturday, and like most Saturdays, Harry was hungry. It was Dudley’s birthday and Mrs Figg had broken her leg which meant Harry would be going with them to the zoo, a fact neither Harry’s aunt or Uncle liked. Sure, it was an inconvenience for them, but to Dudley, it was like life and death. He’d already refused to let his Aunt or Uncle into his room (which was sure to lead to the death of the pet tortoise Dudley had somehow been allowed to keep) and refused to shower.

Thankfully, Dudley had to look good for Piers and Harry would be going to the zoo (The zoo! He could still hardly believe it!) with a far cleaner Dudley who no longer smelt like the rotting hedgehog carcass that had been left outside school after Dudley’s gang had won a battle against it.

His hair was as messy as usual (not that he could flatten it at all) but Harry had made sure to keep his eyes far less bright and his hair less striking in hopes he might find a friend at the zoo, even if it was only temporary. He’d also dug some of Jamie’s clothes out so he was looking less like a tramp than usual. It was, after all, a special occasion.

“Boy! Car!” Uncle Vernon yelled, rapping angrily on his cupboard door.

Harry obediently rose from his bed and picked up the mirror shard he usually kept in his trouser pocket. He looked...okay, actually, like the child of Jamie and Harry. Smart, elegant, even. His features matched his face more, a rarity for the starvation that ate at his bones. He turned out of the cupboard and out to the car, already feeling sick at having to spend more than a second directly next to Dudley and Piers.

He shoved the shard into his pocket before anybody could see it, though none did. He was the last in the car and he was sure that had been a conscious effort from his Aunt and Uncle as a silent reason to leave him at home. It was a shame neither were publicly willing to leave a ‘delinquent’ like him at home but Harry supposed even normal people had to pretend to be normal sometimes, even in their own home.

“Boy!” Aunt Petunia spat once she caught sight of him in the front mirror, “Is that shirt stolen?” She hissed, “We are in good company, boy, and I will not have you stealing.”

Like sharks to blood, Dudley and Piers turned to Harry, glaring right through his soul. He gulped, even feeling an eyebrow hair turn a different colour. He hoped nobody noticed.

“No, Aunt Petunia. This shirt is from the charity event at school that Dudley and Piers were too sick to attend.” Harry lied, though it was true Dudley and Piers had purposely skipped charity day. Aunt Petunia had helped them with that, actually, citing charity as unimportant so long as you upheld the values of a good man when it was needed. Harry had a different opinion.

She sniffed, turning her nose up at him sharply, “Of course freaks like you would need charity.” She hissed, “Not that it will help you, or people like you. They can try, you know, but it won’t make you any more a normal person.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry replied, dejected.

Harry knew he was by no means normal. Everything, from the hair on his head to the soles of his feet, was wrong. It moved around like snakes if he wanted it to, his teeth shifted and his face contorted to something else. He had to pretend he was solid and normal like normal people but he really wasn’t - would never be. It was a shame, but that was what Jamie was for. Pretending.

She sniffed again, “Good.”

With that, they were on their way to the zoo, an experience Harry was sure to find interesting. He’d never seen any animals that weren’t pets or normal British urban wildlife before. Snakes and pandas and monkeys and all sorts would be waiting for him, even if it would be significantly worse due to the inclusion of Piers on the trip.

Somehow, the zoo was even better than Harry had imagined. First, he’d got an icecream even after Aunt Petunia hadn’t ordered anything for him and then he’d seen all sorts of brilliant animals. Unfortunately, there were no pandas or monkeys to be seen, but he had a whole plethora of new animals to occupy his mind. So many birds, dogs and cats existed he’d not even known about before - and he’d got to see all of them ! Next to go was the reptile room which was sure to be just as intriguing.

The reptile room was quite a lot smaller than most exhibits were, in part due to the small size of the majority of the snakes. As he wandered around, he quickly identified a problem, one he wasn’t sure the zoo had before his cousin’s visit. The snakes (which were as sleepy as could be, as if sedated) were being woken up by Dudley’s loud banging on the exhibit windows. None of the snakes looked happy to be woken so rudely, exactly like when Aunt Petunia came knocking on his cupboard.

Come to think of it, none of the snakes even looked pleased to be alive. Their glass cages were left barren, only rocks to occupy every hour of the day. To Harry, it looked a miserable existence to have nothing to do but sleep and have people watch you. At least Harry’s cupboard wasn’t see-through.

“You must hate it here.” Harry muttered to one of the larger snakes who at least had a room about the size of his cupboard, as it deserved for being such a remarkable creature.

“Si, si…” The snake replied tiredly, as if it had never once got sufficient rest. Harry pitied the creature even more.

…

Wait, did the snake just speak?

Snakes didn’t speak. No animals spoke, bar parrots who were merely copying. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right for an animal to speak so he must have done something to the animal.

“Er- Hello?” Harry replied, hoping he came across more a Jamie than a Harry. If even the snake found him a freak, Harry thought he might give up.

“Hello…” the snake hissed, and Harry wasn't sure whether it was speaking or hissing.

“He- Hello?” Harry replied, not wanting to be rude, “I'm Harry. What's your name.”

The snake flaked its tail to the sign above it. Bred in captivity, its family all the way in Brazil. No wonder the snake was lonely. Harry wished he could do something about it, could save the snake from a life of being watched. He didn't want it to feel how he did every time he walked home from school every hour of the day, he wanted it to escape his cage and-

The snake lurched forwards out of the cage. The magnificent green beauty seemed to disregard the glass as it went through where the see-through glass had once been. He grinned at it, at someone- something so like him getting their freedom.

“Thanks…” It said as it slithered away, completely unnoticed as everyone seemed preoccupied with watching the caged snakes.

Harry hoped the snake was smart enough to read maps, the zoo was rather like a maze, really. Harry knew he'd get lost if he didn't have one. He hoped most desperately nobody would notice the snake’s absence. He hoped-

The glass of the cage was back, as if it had never been gone for a moment. Harry tapped on the glass window to confirm its solidity. It was there fully..

Harry knew it was him that had done it, but considering nobody else was about, it wasn't a huge concern of his. Hopefully, the snake would avoid detection.

Harry continued to another snake enclosure, letting the daze of his mind take over as he attempted to recall the name of some of the other animals he'd met. It would be fine, everything would be fine. Nobody would know. Right? If he pretended not to know?

To Harry, the day was a success, something to chat with his friends about in the park. A new place he’d found that, while fun, he’d never go again. The chances of meeting another snake, another creature that he could talk to was far too risky. Harry needed to be normal, needed to be a good mix of Harry and Jamie, someone who wasn’t running amok with animals or turning their hair a different colour or ending up on the school roof. Sure, he would never step foot in a zoo again, but it was a great experience.

That is, until he received a knock on the door.

One pleasant afternoon, Harry was cleaning up around the house, a warm breeze floating in through the open window. His baggy rags were coming in useful as they allowed Harry to perfectly absorb as much heat as he liked. His face was pale and warm, blood pumping quickly around his body.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were watching one of their crime shows on television, the ones Harry found too violent for his taste. Dudley had likely plopped himself in front of his computer upstairs - Harry wasn’t allowed upstairs to check.

All was content in the Dursley household as Harry mopped, dusted and brushed everything he could in ways that weren’t so loud he interrupted the TV or alerted his aunt and uncle to the fact he was there. He didn’t feel like fetching them a drink any time soon and felt it was a wise move to pretend he didn’t exist as he did in school.

The knock came at around 6pm, when dinner had been finished and the dishes washed, when Harry’s main duties had since ended. Harry wasn’t allowed to relax but it was enough, to know that nothing more would be asked of him than simple pottering around, cleaning what ought to be cleaned without the shrill screechings of his aunt or the hideous howls of his uncle.

And then it came - the door sounded as though it was being collapsed by battering ram. But the house didn’t shake one bit, nor did the slightest bit of dust or cobweb fall from the ceiling. Nothing about it felt normal. In fact, it twitched at Harry’s form, prodding him to change to his purest form. In an instant, his hair was more curly, his eyes a deeper green. He quickly returned to his usual form but the damage had been done. Whatever monster was touching him was sure to be dangerous.

In the end, it was he who opened the door. His aunt and uncle had surely been rendered deaf for they didn’t even stir from their position on the sofa. Well, Aunt Petunia had always said it was impolite to leave guests at the door and it wasn’t like they were going to open the door. Even if she’d said many times not to open the door, something about the knocker came across as just as freaky as him.

He marched towards the door but it swung open of its own accord before he could open the door. Behind it, a sharp, dangerous-looking man and woman stared into the house as if they were taking in the dull stairs with whimsical joy. Furthermore, these people had apparently bought their clothes at the same shop as Merlin. Both had long, sloping robes that attached themselves to their angular figure.

“Er- Hello, are you collecting for something” Harry enquired, gulping as the strangers moved a step closer to him. Harry subtly moved a step back, not wanting to be in throwing distance if they became violent. The strange people had sticks on their person, like they were going to ‘curse’ people who didn’t donate to whatever church they were collecting for.

“Oh, goodness, he knows nothing, Silverstone!” The man exclaimed, “Unless he’s a joker.” He muttered, and turned to Harry, “Tell me, Harry Potter. Are you playing a joke?”

This warranted another step back to Harry as these people definitely shouldn’t have been able to know his name. They’d definitely done something to his aunt and uncle, another to his door. These were clearly strange, freakish people. Maybe even like his parents. Perhaps they were homeless, collecting money for drugs and alcohol in the name of whatever organisation they were part of…

“Did you- Did you know my parents?” Harry whispered, “If you even know who they-”

“A very muggle house. I am quite sure he knows nothing. Shall we go in?” She asked, ignoring Harry.

“Wait!” You aren’t allowed to go into somebody’s house!” Harry pleaded, “Get out! Please!” He begged, but evidently they didn’t heed his words, instead somehow moving past Harry to end up past him, in the living room.

“Aha, a television. You must be very technology-savvy, Harry Potter.” Silverstone smiled, “Oh, nothing at all. Well, we musn’t sit and chatter, Mr Potter.”

She sat down on seemingly thin air, speaking so quickly Harry was sure he couldn't keep up.

You see, I am Charlie Silverstone, auror, and you are Harry Potter who is presently in breach of the 1893 Muggle Protection Law. It is of your best interest that you comply with all ministry action taken or risk obligation – that's removing your memories, nasty business that,” she explained (though Harry hesitated to refer to it as such), waving a fancy stick around like that had the ability to do anything.

But to Harry’s amazement, a bubble spread out around them, encompassing first the stick and then the three of them, blocking the Dursleys out.

“How did you do that?” Harry breathed, his eyes flicking between the bubble, the wand and the weird robes his company was wearing.

“Harry James Potter, are you unaware of the fact that you are a wizard?” The man asked, drawing so that it appeared he was mid–stroke.

“Err, I’m a what?” Harry answered, “I don’t know what you mean?”

“Harry, you are a wizard, one of thousands of people capable of magic. Have you ever noticed you have made things move without touching them, that strange happenings occur around you? That you change your appearance suddenly and sometimes uncontrollably?” Charlie asked.

Oh.

“There are more of us?” Harry asked, “More people like me? I’m not the only one that can do this?” He asked, switching his form to that of Jamie.

“Precisely, Harry Potter. Oh, such control for a boy so young! Silverstone, I do say someone so great as Mr Potter here should have started Hogwarts years earlier, the talent!” The man continued, “Oh! I am Alexander Pelt, auror much like my partner here and I am so excited to meet you!”

Harry made a mental note to tune this rather excitable man out and focus on the auror giving him answers.

“Yes, it is very exciting to meet you, after what you did. I say we should take you to the ministry - not that we aren’t already heading there ourselves - and see you learn more about our world,” Silverstone suggested.

“Err, isn’t that kidnapping?” Harry asked hesitantly, “I want to go, but I’m not sure the police would like it that much.”

“Oh, we shall deal with the muggle authorities. Come, boy, you aren’t in trouble.”

Silverstone outstretched her hand which Pelts held onto immediately. Harry, not willing to look stupid, grabbed onto it as well and the second he had a good hold, they were shredded into a million pieces and put back together again.

When Harry next opened his eyes, it was only a moment later but he had already been sick on the floor in something which looked like the interior of an ancient castle in its prime.

“Wow,” Harry exclaimed, unable to help himself for sheer astonishment. His mouth hung open for a few dumb moments before he noticed the small amounts of bile dripping aimlessly from his mouth.

“Yes, we thought that might happen on your first time,” Silverstone sighed,” But it’s always worse if you’re warned. Come on, we’re needed in Wizarding Abilities. We have a lot to teach you,”

The Ministry of Magic was a truly astounding place. For one, there were strangely-dressed people everywhere, berobed and behatted. The robes weren’t normal colours, either. Maroon, blue, pink and yellow robes covered the population of the ministry who each had their own sticks - wands - out doing something or other.

Messages on flying paper planes flew around of their own accord in manuevers simply impossible. The design of the atrium appeared to defy gravity, too, like nobody had ever thought to inform the architects of something as silly as gravity and physics.

But more interestingly, nobody appeared to think anything was abnormal, as if this was every day to them. And Harry knew then that it was, and that this was the place he wanted to be.

They entered a normal-looking lift and went in some direction (Harry was sure it wasn’t up nor down) and eventually they were inside a more normal, less-flashy hallway interrupted by doors and plaques for this office and that. A few others left the lift with them but the hustle and bustle of downstairs (?) was gone, allowing Harry’s mind a second to take everything in.

It was then that Harry looked up at his hair which was an astounding shade of blue, three inches longer than it ought to be. A few moments later, he was nearly bald and had the impression that his eyes were scarlet.

“Yes, it can all be a bit much sometimes - that’s why us aurors stick mostly to the streets, isn’t it, Silverstone?” Pelts asked.

Silverstone nodded, seeming preoccupied. She grabbed Harry’s hand and he was sure she would teleport him away somewhere again but no, instead she was dragging him the normal way though the hall, Pelts behind them.

Before long, they reached the ‘Wizarding Abilities’ office, which was far larger on the inside than it ought to have been. Harry wondered if every room was like that in this world. It certainly made sense, didn’t it? If Harry could do magic then he’d like to live in a cupboard under the stairs the size of a luxury hotel.

They entered, going up to the closest desk.

“We have Mr Potter here, on charges of illicit metamorphic use,” She declared, placing Harry’s arm down on the desk.

The woman at the desk looked up at him, unblinking. Until she did blink, blinking five times before rubbing at her glasses.

“Goodness, it can’t be…” The robed woman exclaimed.

“Here it is, Harry James Potter, the boy who lived. Of course, we were very excited to get the call,” Silversone grinned, like someone who knew they were winning.

“Well, I’d have thought you had. Yes, I see his name written down,” The woman declared, a piece of paper previously on the table suddenly floating in front of her, “Yes, Room 2. Pelts, Silverstone, you return to your patrol,” She ordered.

Silverstone looked at this woman like she had killed her dog, “No, I think you’ll find Mr Potter requires a chaperone for this seeing as he has no Magical guardian to speak of.”

“Oh, go on then,” the woman declared, as though she was doing them a great service.

With that, the three of them walked through the office (which looked much like a muggle office besides several strange nick-nacks) to a door aptly marked Room 2.

Room 2 was rather plain, like something in a courtroom. A great wooden desk separated two twin chairs and a third isolated chair. On the wood, an open box of tissues ripe for the plucking stared at Harry.

His chaperones gestured for him to sit down on the isolated chair while they stood, clearly waiting for something. While they waited, Harry played around with his appearance with a nature more casual than ever. Never before had he received the okay for his freakish nature, never before had he been told he was normal. So, as any ten-year-old would, he had some fun.

Silverstone and Pelts were clearly entertained by his funny facial expressions and if Harry tried hard enough, he could make strange noises by manipulating his mouth.

“What can you do?” Harry asked, eager to see the work of an adult with this power.

“Well,” Silverstone began, her face darkening, “I’m afraid we have not been blessed with the same gifts as you. We are both magical, of course, but certainly not metamorphagi. Well, there’s always our children, right, Pelts?”

“Of course, of course.” Pelts replied enthusiastically, “With a bit of good blood in our families, who knows?”

Before Harry had a moment to ask what that meant, the door opened with two stern looking people in similarly strange robes and similarly strange wands.

“Hi,” Harry greeted them, ”Why am I here?”

Three hours later, Harry had learned a lot and received a stern telling-off. He knew all about this new world he was a part of, his parents, his ability and the numerous laws he’d broken while using them. And while he wasn’t in any trouble, well…

There was no more Jamie.

“Wizards cannot and will not impersonate a different person, Harry, even if it’s just to make friends!” A witch (whose name had completely slipped his mind) had driven in.

So there he was, once again, inside Number 4 Privet Drive, lonelier than ever, counting down the days till the day he’d go to Hogwarts.