Chapter Text
One of your earliest memories was speaking to a snake for the first time. You had been so young, in preschool or kindergarten, out to recess when you noticed a group of older boys huddled together on the grass. There was a crowd beginning to form, and you joined, slipping through the gaps as girls began to scream and run away, and you were soon at the front and saw why. A snake was curled in the grass. It was small, only a little gopher snake, but it still had almost every girl and a few of the boys running to tell a teacher.
When the older boys noticed you, they closed ranks, circling you and trapping you next to the snake, hoping to scare you, but you just felt bad for the snake, she was so scared, looking for an exit to escape the sticks the boys were poking her with.
You knelt in the grass, “It’s okay,” you soothed, hoping to calm her down.
Her head jerked towards you, “They’re going to kill me.”
“No, I won’t let them. Come with me, I’ll keep you safe.”
“What the heck?” One of the boys said, and you looked up. They were frightened.
“Boys, get away from that snake!” All heads turned to see several teachers marching across the field, and you held your hand to the snake. Fast as lightning she curled up your arm, hiding beneath your sleeve, and you got to your feet as the boys broke apart.
“Where did it go?” one of the teachers asked.
“It ran away,” you said, pointing towards the fence at the edge of the lawn, “It went that way.”
The teachers started scolding the boys for trapping you with the snake, while one started looking you over for bites.
“I’m okay,” you insisted, taking a step back and tucking your arm close to your body, “It didn’t get close.”
“She was talking to it!” One of the boys said, pointing a finger at you.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” One of the teachers said, and the boys were all sent inside for the rest of recess, and everyone was forbidden from going on the lawn, while you asked to go to the bathroom.
A teacher escorted you but stayed outside while you went in.
“Are you okay?” You asked softly, and she shifted around under your sleeve, sticking her head out against your palm.
“Yes.”
“Where do you live?”
“On the other side of the fence.”
“I’ll take you home, but it has to wait until tomorrow. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you home with me tonight, you’ll be safe, you just have to stay in my sleeve until school is over.”
She agreed and curled under your sleeve again.
Your mother knew the second she picked you up, and she helped you take the snake back right away. Then she explained being a parselmouth to you. You visited that snake every day until she went into hibernation, then again when spring hit. You explained the weekends, and summer break to her. When she had children she brought them to you to meet, and the first time you returned to America you went back to the school. She was still alive, and she still looked for you every day when there were children on the playground. You explained what happened, and she curled around your arm once more, her weight a familiar comfort. She took you to her nest and you saw her every day you were in America, saying goodbye before you left. By the next year, she was gone.
This was where you were as you waited for the school bell to ring, sitting on the other side of the fence next to her long-empty nest and speaking with her children. You bid them goodbye, saying you would not be returning again when the bell rang, and they slithered from around your fingers and ankles, out of your hair and down your arms, and you stood, pulling a flask from inside the oversized prison robes, and drinking it down, pulling a face as you finished the last of the polyjuice potion and washing it down with a bit of pumpkin juice, and moving from the wood fence of the alley to the chain-linked fence separating the schoolyard from the road, and you waited, fingers looped through the links as you watched the children play with your best ‘dangerous serial killer’ glower, and waited. It didn’t take long.
A few children noticed you, pointed you out to teachers, the teachers recognized you from TV, the news stations had increased the report MACUSA had given the No-Maj government as sightings flooded in. The children were hurried inside, and you waited until you heard sirens before returning to the alleyway and shifting form.
Oddly enough while on Polyjuice Potion with Sirius’s hair in it you didn’t turn into a sleek black crow, but instead a shabby black dog, and you walked off, pausing a few blocks away to scratch your ear.
You’d have to ask Sirius how he could stand the fleas. You’d picked them up somewhere in Florida, and no matter what you tried you couldn’t get the damn things out of the prison clothes, the only solution you could come up with was shedding your clothes every night and dousing yourself in a potion you’d designed before slipping into your case, which remained thankfully devoid of the pests. After a few more ‘sightings’ the potion wore off, and you returned to where you’d stashed the case, this time burning the prison robes before you set to work cleaning yourself off, and climbed into the case, happy to be finished with your task, and a little proud of yourself.
You’d managed 31 sightings spread out over every mainland state. You’d have liked to do Hawaii simply for the humor of it, but couldn’t find a way to get there, and Alaska seemed more trouble than it was worth. You did , however, fly over the border for a few sightings in Canada and Mexico, sufficiently stirring up every government involved, and slipping away unseen every time, and as you climbed into your case, you couldn’t restrain a delighted laugh before going to your experiments. You hadn’t stopped moving since you landed in America, shrinking down your case so it was light enough to carry as you flew to cover as much ground as possible, and you were glad you’d worked out how to keep the contents of your case stable as it was jostled in your flight, especially as you sat down to your latest experiments, and Snape’s mile-long reading list.
Not that you were complaining, the books you’d added to your ever-growing collection had been fascinating, introducing you to new ideas and concepts that you were eager to test for yourself, especially since you’d finally worked out the ventilation spell that automatically cleared the air inside the case whenever fumes or smoke got too heavy, going off like a silent smoke detector so you could continue working, and none too soon as you were almost out of gas mask filters.
Sirius had sent you two letters that you kept hidden in the most No-Maj sounding book you owned, knowing your aunt was fairly allergic to No-Majes you’d also beefed up the security on the case, designing a select few keys that could access it, making it impervious to even the strongest Alohomora spell, and certainly to your aunt’s prying habits, not that you’d be in her apartment long. You’d secured a ticket to the Quidditch World Cup on your own, and planned to spend the rest of the summer after you got back with Ginny Weasley and her family.
For now, you ensured your potions were stable and progressing correctly, and curled up on the little cot to pleasantly pass out for the night.
***
When you arrived at your aunt’s apartment, it was, much to your surprise, to a letter. Not from your aunt, mind, and nothing your aunt had ever lain eyes on, courtesy of her house-elf, Zeekey. Zeekey may have been indentured to your aunt, but she had been more loyal to you than your aunt for many years, and you’d come to tentatively trust her with a few secrets, knowing there wasn’t much she could keep from your aunt due to the magical laws of her kind. But in any mail you received while you were gone she could carefully maneuver her way around telling your aunt if there was any for you. And this was a particularly sensitive letter.
Not from Sirius Black, the convicted mass murderer you’d helped escape custody the year prior, no, all of his letters came directly to your case, leaving you in serious awe of the owl post. No, this was sent in a reused envelope hastily taped shut, addressed to Vernon Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive, likely scrounged from the trash so its sender didn’t alert his aunt and uncle of the fact he was sending mail. You read it, gave Ink, your pure black cat, an affectionate scratch behind his ears before stuffing the letter into your case and setting off, shrinking your case down with the press of a button you’d installed so you didn’t alert the Ministry to the fact you were using magic underage, and you shifted into Animagus form and took to the sky.
You knew where the wretched house was, having looked it up in case of emergencies, and you landed in a nearby alleyway, dressed in No-Maj clothes, and you fetched a regular purse from inside the case to then store the shrunken case in, and slung it over your shoulder, stepping out of the alleyway looking like a completely ordinary No-Maj girl.
You knocked on the door to Number 4 Privet Drive and smiled brightly up at the tall, thin woman who answered the door, leaning in to your American accent when you spoke, and giving it a bit of a southern twang, “Howdy, you must be Mrs. Dursley, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.” you said, offering your hand.
She looked down at you, but didn’t take it, “We aren’t looking to buy anything.” she said stiffly.
“Oh, no, I’m not sellin’ girl scout cookies or anythin’, I’m here to see Harry, is he home?”
She blinked in surprise and narrowed her eyes, “And how exactly do you know Harry?”
“We’re pen pals, ma’am, program fer school. My family’s here on vacation, and they said I could come and meet him. Beggin’ yer pardon fer not callin’ in advance, but I didn’t have a number fer ya.”
“And where exactly is your family?”
“At the park just down the road,” you pointed with a thumb, “I was hopin’ Harry could join me fer a walk. If that’s alright with you, ma’am.” you paused, hoping you were managing the blush, “Er, I’m sure sorry, this is Number 4 Private Drive, right?”
“Privet Drive.” she corrected.
You did your best to look bashful, “Sorry, ma’am, I’ve only ever seen it written.”
“And exactly what kind of school is it you attend?”
“Public. I know Harry’s in that St. Brutus’s place, but there aren’t really any private schools where I’m from,” you said, scratching the back of your head.
“St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys,” she said as if the full title would scare you off.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And your parents aren’t concerned about you going off on your own to meet a boy who attends such a school?”
“No, ma’am, like I said, they’re just up the street, and we Texas gals know how to handle ourselves.” you adopted a confused expression, “Is Harry not home right now? Because I can come back later-”
“No, no, that’s quite alright.” Mrs. Dursley said, looking stiffly around the suburb as if checking for any neighbors that might pop out of the hedges and ask questions about the girl asking after their Incurably Criminal nephew, “Please, come inside.”
She stepped aside, and you did, wiping your feet on the welcome mat before coming inside. You let out a low whistle as you looked around, trying not to scowl at all the pictures of the three Dursleys, every last one devoid of the boy who had been living with them for the past 13 years, “You sure do have a nice home, Mrs. Dursley.”
“Thank you,” she said, brightening proudly.
“Mum, who is it?” a boy called from another room.
“There’s a nice girl here to see Harry.” And though you weren’t particularly pleased that such a woman liked you, you couldn’t help but be a little proud that your performance had worked so well.
The boy who called immediately came running in to have a look, and you smiled and gave a little wave.
His brow knit, and you could tell he was trying to discern what level of freak you were.
“Diddykins, why don’t you keep her company while I go get Harry.”
His eyes flicked from you to his mother, as if worried you’d jinx him the second he was left alone with you, but Mrs. Dursley was already walking up the stairs.
“Howdy,” you said, offering your hand, which he quickly shook and stuffed his hand in his pocket, very poorly trying to hide the fact he was wiping it off.
“So, are you, normal?” he asked, smooth as chunky peanut butter.
You knit your brow, and tilted your head, the perfect picture of innocent confusion, “What do you mean normal?”
“Y’know, are you… like Harry?”
Your face cleared in faux understanding, “Oh, no, I go to a regular school, not Juvenile Detention.” and that seemed to satisfy him as Mrs. Dursley returned, Harry shortly behind her, looking surprised as hell to see you.
“You must be Harry,” you said, offering his hand, “It’s nice to put a face to the name, I’m (Y/N), your pen pal. I hope you don’t mind me popping in unannounced.”
“Uh, not at all,” he said, shaking your hand, and you looked at Mrs. Dursley.
“Would it be okay if we took a walk down to the park? My family didn’t want me dawdlin’ too long.”
“Of course, have fun.” Mrs. Dursley said, sending you on your way, and Harry waited until you were in front of the next house to speak.
“Care to fill me in?”
You dropped the exaggerated accent, “Sorry, figured the best way to talk to you was to make your aunt think I’m a No-Maj. If she asks we’re pen pals for your Muggle Studies class, and I think you’re going to that school they made up.”
“Okay, but, why are you here?”
“I just got back from America, and I got your letter. Are you okay? You said it was an emergency, is it something to do with Sirius?”
“No, not that, I don’t know what it means, but last night I woke up with my scar hurting. I didn’t know who else to tell, Hermione would want me telling Dumbledore, and I’m pretty sure if I told Ron he’d start panicking about Voldemort.”
“Does it hurt often?”
“That’s the thing, the only time it’s hurt before is when Voldemort was near in my first year.”
“Do you remember what you were dreaming about?” You asked as you reached the playground, going to sit at the swingset together.
He told you about his dream, about the old man going into a house, seeing Wormtail talking to Voldemort, about the snake, and the other man who Harry didn’t recognize.
Your brow furrowed in thought as you chewed on a thumbnail, “Have you ever had dreams about Voldemort before?”
“Not like this.”
“Look, Harry, I hate to say this… But he could be getting more active. Dumbledore’s said he’s heard about him still being alive, and if Wormtail went to him…”
Harry’s face fell, and you knew what he was thinking about. The year before the Divinations professor, Trelawney, had a vision in front of Harry about a servant of Voldemort’s returning to him, that servant had been Wormtail, and Harry had saved his life just a few hours before he’d escaped to go find Voldemort.
“Why is it you don’t want to tell Dumbledore?”
“It could be nothing, just a bad dream. I was kind of hoping there could be a non-magic answer.”
“Nightmares are perfectly normal.” you agreed, standing and going over to an empty playhouse and pulling your shrunken case out of your bag, checking no one was around before you ducked into the playhouse and led Harry into the case, immediately going to your bookshelves in search of a volume, while he paused at the base of the ladder, looking around.
“This place got bigger.”
“New expansion spells, you murmured, walking out from the stacks, “This could be a few different things compounding into a particularly bad episode, stress, PTSD, guilt, it isn’t uncommon for people to wake up with phantom pain in trauma-related injuries. Did you actually see Voldemort? Did he look the same as the last time you saw him?”
“I know I saw him, but I don’t remember it. Has anything like this ever happened to you?”
“Don’t tell anyone, but Ginny, Abbie, Haley, and I all had horrible nightmares for most of last year, so bad we couldn’t sleep without a sleeping draught.”
“Nightmares about what?”
“Well, for me it was a few things, the night my family died, and the night in the Chamber mostly,” your hand wandered to your side where Tom Riddle had broken a few ribs kicking you before casting the Cruciatus Curse on you.
“So what did you do?”
You disappeared back into the stacks, grabbing one of the many empty journals you kept, and handing it to him, “If you keep having nightmares, write them down in here, right as you wake up, and in as much detail as you can. Once it’s full I can send it to a friend in America. He’s a Native American Medicine Man and a trained psychologist, he can make you a dreamcatcher like the four of us have. In the meantime…” you trailed, going to your potion stores and pulling out a few sleeping draughts, and placing them in a bag for Harry, “If you have trouble sleeping the blue ones will get you into a regular sleep, and the green ones will get you into a dreamless sleep.” you grabbed a box, pulling out the stack of shirts you’d had inside, quickly fashioning a false bottom out of another box to cover the potions and journal, replacing the shirts, and giving it to him.
“You can sneak it in like this, it’s your present from America, I guessed at the size, so I’m sorry if they don’t fit quite right, I tried to get things I thought you’d like.”
He blinked at the gift in surprise, “You got me a present?”
“A souvenir, really, thought you’d like some shirts that weren’t Dudley sized- er- no offense. I’ll give you your birthday present later, it’s magical, so probably best not to give it to you just yet.”
“You didn’t have to-”
“Just shut up and take the damn thing. Let’s get you back to your Aunt and Uncle’s before they get suspicious.”
“Have you told anyone else?” you asked on the walk back.
“I wrote Sirius, but I haven’t sent it out just yet.”
You nodded, “Good thinking.”
“And, (Y/N), thank you. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t immediately freak out whenever Voldemort is mentioned.”
“Honestly, once you see a guy melt it’s hard to stay intimidated. And my mom never taught us any of that You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense. He’s just a man, Harry, less than, from what you tell me.”
Harry smiled, looking a lot better.
“How’s Dudley’s diet going?” Apparently, Dudley’s school had sent a report home which, upon other things, contained a note about his weight, and when you saw him you could easily see why they’d had to put him on a diet, one Mrs. Dursley insisted the whole family partake in. Harry had sent word for help, and you’d been sure to send him only the most decadent of American non-perishables. The owl post had a shipping lane for sending packages between countries since magic tended to gunk up No-Maj technology, so you’d send plenty of food and snacks for an owl to pick up at port, and you’d gotten Zeekey to send him dinner every night.
Harry snickered a little, “You saw him, what do you think?”
“Oh, I’m sure dearest Duddykins is being a good boy and sticking straight to it.”
“They caught him smuggling doughnuts into his room, and threatened to cut his pocket money if it happens again.”
“I was almost tempted to bring you a straight-up cake just to see his face, but I figured he’d probably steal it.”
“He’s done it before.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, first birthday cake I ever got, Hagrid brought it, and when he caught him he gave Dudley a pig’s tail.”
“Really?”
“They had to have it surgically removed.”
You both cracked up laughing.
“Are you going to the World Cup?” He asked.
“Yeah, I got a ticket, and my aunt is letting me go with the Weasleys.”
He grinned, “I’m going with the Weasleys too if it’s okay with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”
“Hell yeah!” you enthused, “I might need you to start quizzing me, I’m more of a Quodpot type of girl.”
“What’s Quodpot?”
You pressed a hand against your chest in mock offense, “Thou doth not know about the great American pastime that is Quodpot?”
“Um, to be fair until my first year I never heard of Quidditch either.”
“Yeah, it’s kinda like Quidditch, but the ball explodes.”
“It what?”
You laughed at the look on his face, but that’s when you reached the sidewalk leading up to where Mrs. Dursley already had the door open, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Harry like he might’ve broken the International Statute of Secrecy just to make them look bad in front of what was essentially a complete stranger to them.
You walked him up to the door, said your polite goodbyes, and promised to write Harry as soon as you got back to America, and left the Dursleys’ doorstep, hoping your visit didn’t stir up any trouble with them.
***
You received Harry’s letter the next morning, Hedwig tapping on your window to be let in, and you gave her one of the treats you kept for whenever Haley’s owl, Athena, delivered you letters, transforming the sugar mice into actual ones, which she happily chowed down on, allowing you to stoke her feathers as you led her over to the rest stop you’d set up and sat down on your bed to read, nearly choking with laughter when he told you about the envelope Mrs. Weasley had sent, every inch of it covered in stamps, how he’d gotten Mr. Dursley to agree, and Ron’s letter informing Harry they’d planned on picking him up regardless of what the Dursleys had said.
Then you glanced up when Hedwig bristled in irritation as a tiny ball of feathers zoomed happily into your room, zipping around until you caught Ron’s owl, Pigwidgeon, or Pig for short, and took the letter with Ginny’s handwriting from him, trying to find the smallest mouse you could to transform, and turning your attention to the letter before he started eating. He tended to get his feelings hurt when someone laughed at him trying to eat a whole mouse.
Dear (Y/N),
Dad got our tickets! And even better they said you could come stay with us for the rest of the summer, Harry’s doing the same thing, and when I told Dad who your aunt is he agreed right away you shouldn’t be stuck with her any more than Harry should with his.
Haley and Abbie are stopping by for supper with their sisters the night before, then we’re all going over together, I’m trying to swing a sleepover with Abbie and Haley just for the night, but it’s to be determined, and we might get Hermione to join us, she’s going with too.
We’ll pick you up after Harry, so send Pigwidgeon back to let us know what your floo address is.
-xoxo Ginny.
You quickly wrote out a reply and tied your letter next to Harry’s on Pig’s tiny foot, and he eagerly took off.
“Do you mind taking my letter to Sirius along with Harry’s?”
She hooted in a dignified sort of way, and you grabbed your pen to write him.
Dear Padfoot,
I’m back from America and happy to report a thoroughly confused MACUSA, and fairly irritated Mexico and Canada. I have also completed the transformation, and you are correct, the Mandrake leaf was the hardest part. It matches my Patronus, a crow, but I found something interesting and I’d love more data points if you happen to have them.
When I transform on Polyjuice Potion I turn into Padfoot! Really threw a wrench in my first escape plan, but I should have tested that sooner, just got a little over-eager. No one is the wiser, and I have disposed of all evidence linking me to the sightings, not that there was much, to begin with.
Have you ever gotten fleas? I think they’re more common for dogs than birds, but they are now the bane of my existence.
Hope you’re doing well, wherever you are, are you getting enough to eat? I had sort of hoped I could keep track of how well you’re doing based on my own polyjuice potion transformation, so either I need to send you a turkey dinner or the potion only duplicates from when the sample was taken. Let me know if the blanket reached you alright, and if you need any money or food sent.
If you need to contact me I’ll be staying at the Weasley’s with Harry for the rest of the summer, and will be attending the Quidditch World Cup, so my case is going to be inside more often than not.
Yours
-(Y/N)
PS. Is it pretentious to want my own animagus nickname?
You neatly folded the letter, and gave it to Hedwig, giving her another mouse, and she took off.