Foreword - Sometime ago I conducted an experiment with forewords, while it wasn't a success I have decided from now on to just put the disclaimer on the first chapter and not bother with it from then on.

I know from the title that many will think the Fem Harry character in this story is going to join up with Spider-Man. I'm only going to say this once - it will not happen. THIS IS NOT A SPIDER-MAN CROSSOVER. I'm sorry, but Harley is going to be an ordinary girl (with magic), and she is going to be her own character.

I don't own Harry Potter.

Enjoy!

Harley Potter - The Black Cat.

Harley slowly opened the door of the bedroom she was staying in for a brief spell at Mrs Figg's place while the Dursleys went on one of their annual holidays. She was glad of the peace, especially after recently. Once when she had been younger, Harley had been upset with the Dursleys for going off on their own without her, but as time passed she realised it was better; at least with Mrs Figg, she would have a nice bedroom and food instead of a cot in a cramped Cupboard under the Stairs and nothing but scraps from the table.

She peeked out and scanned the landing for any sign of Mrs Figg, but she relaxed when she heard the sounds of snoring coming from the old woman's bedroom.

She slowly let out a quiet breath, and she winced at the residual pain in her torso that was caused by her Uncle's last beating and walked out of the bedroom. It was three am according to the small, battered clock with the half-illuminated dial in the bedroom she was staying in. Everyone with any sense would be asleep at this time, except for people who wanted to do something that was against the law or secretive. Even better, this house wasn't filled with a family who was paranoid and touchy about what she said or did. All she had was a mad old woman who barely knew what day it was.

In short, it was the best time she had to escape.

Harley walked out of the bedroom slowly while she shuffled her feet slowly down the short passage to the stairs and she smirked when she came to the first step leading down. She slowly walked down and headed for the living room when she reached the bottom. She carefully walked into the living room and switched on the light so she could see what she was doing.

She looked around and saw several of the cats were watching her, but she walked over to them and stroked them gently to assure them she wasn't going to give them any trouble. When she was finished she walked over to the bureau. Mrs Figg had never allowed her to look inside it, even on days where she seemed more out of it than normal, but Hardly wasn't interested in what the reasons for that were. She was more interested in finding some cash.

Harley knew Mrs Figg had put money in here; she had often seen the money either Vernon or Petunia had handed the old woman to pay her for looking after her whenever they didn't want her to mess up one of Dudley's loud and awful birthdays or even Christmases or when they went on holidays go into this very bureau. The amounts varied depending on what the occasion was, but she knew when it came to one of the Dursley's holidays, Mrs Figg had been paid a lot.

Now she was going to need the cash.

It was ironic, really; the Dursleys had paid the woman to look after her, but in truth, it was going to open up doors to a new life.

She opened the bureau up and she found the drawer easily enough; she had watched the old woman carefully when Vernon had handed her the cash to pay for her upkeep and to give her an incentive to look after the five-year-old girl. As she opened it and found the notes inside, Harley took them out and began to count out the cash.

While she did that she wondered if she should be ashamed of what she was doing or not, or whether the way her heart was pounding in her chest with excitement and anticipation.

She had to escape now.

Harley had no intention of forgetting what was at stake here, especially after what had been going on for the last few months. Vernon had upped the abuse since her fifth birthday, but then it had been growing increasingly worse and worse as she had grown older, so it wasn't that surprising. Harley would never forget how the last beating, which took place about three days before the Dursleys were meant to leave on holiday, had resulted in a terrible night in the Cupboard while she sobbed her heart out from the pain. Harley was still recovering from the beating which had resulted in her being blackened with bruised skin.

As usual, she hadn't done anything, but since when had the Dursleys ever needed an excuse for beating her?

As she had recovered in the Cupboard, she had cursed her parents for dying in the car crash and she had wondered what she had done to deserve being beaten by the Dursleys. But as she had listened to her aunt and uncle in the living room when Dudley had been taken up to his bed, his laughs ringing in her ear as he had seen her being beaten up, she could hear that Petunia was not sure about the beatings herself.

The Dursleys had clearly been under the delusion she was asleep otherwise they wouldn't have spoken, but either way Harley hadn't cared. Petunia had argued with Vernon, saying that there was verbal and mental abuse, and there was physical abuse. Vernon believed strongly in the physical side - he called it 'punishment' though Harley had come to suspect it was punishment for being alive because she often went out of the way to keep out of their way so they would not get tempted though Dudley had gotten a kick out of getting her into trouble, but Petunia didn't seem to think so, though if the older woman had felt any sympathy for her niece, Harley couldn't hear it, and to be honest she would not have believed it possible. Petunia had never shown an ounce of sympathy towards her ever, not once. All Harley had gotten from the haggis emotional and verbal abuse. In the end, since they were not getting anywhere with the debate, they had talked about their holiday plans and how it would get them away from Harley.

The girl had heard from the Cupboard they would drop her off at Mrs Figg's house and they wouldn't see her for a few weeks. While she had been recovering from her injuries while the Dursleys had made the preparations to leave for the holiday, Harley had been deep in thought. The Dursleys were getting worse, and sooner or later Harley feared she was going to die because of one of their beatings. It wasn't hard to believe; Vernon had snapped one of her legs when she had been three years old after she had accidentally spilt hot coffee on his own leg, but now the injuries were getting worse and worse, and even longer for her to recover. Harley had noticed she had a strangely fast healing factor, but she had no desire to test it too much; everything had limits, and she had no desire to see what she couldn't heal from.

In the end, she had laid in the Cupboard when she wasn't being worked to death by the family and thought about what she wanted to do with her life, and in the end, she had a realisation.

She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. But if she stayed with the Dursleys, who were moving on from bruising her to snapping her legs or even strangling her until she lost consciousness or worse, then she wouldn't live to see twenty, never mind six. Knowing the Dursleys, they would just bury her somewhere and forget she had ever existed, and everyone in Little Whinging would buy it, hook, line and sinker.

When she had made that realisation, the girl had come up with a plan to escape Number 4. She would wait quietly for a few days and escape when she was at Mrs Figgs. It would have to be with the old woman; she may have been as mad as a hatter with her obsession with cats, but security in her place was much more relaxed than it was in Number 4. When she had arrived, Harley had watched carefully what the old woman did, and within two days she had learnt the old woman's patterns.

Mrs Figg went to bed at around 9 pm, but before that she would put all of the cats out for the night to do their business though some of the lazier ones would still be in the house. While the cats were out of the house, Mrs Figg would be pottering around the kitchen doing this and that, though Harley still had no idea what in the world was making that awful cabbage smell that stank the place out, though she no longer cared since she would rather spend time in a house that was different to Petunia's, although Harley's instinct which had been honed from long years of working in Number 4 for her aunt and uncle kept telling her to clean the place up.

When the cats returned, Mrs Figg would lock the door and turn the lights off.

Mostly.

Sometimes the old woman would forget to lock the door, though whether that was forgetfulness or carelessness, Harley didn't know and frankly did not care.

Harley finished counting out the money before she nodded in satisfaction. There was more than enough there to get her as far from Little Whinging as possible, and hopefully, it would be more than enough for her to live off for a while before she came up with another plan - wait, that was that? Harley frowned when she found a photograph inside the bureau, only she thought she could see something strange about it. She reached out and took it out and held it up to the light, and when she took a good look at it she gaped in surprise.

How is this possible?

The picture showed a group of strange-looking people, one of whom looked grizzled and had scary looking gouges in his skin. Some of them were wearing clothes that looked like they had come from a costume drama set a hundred years before, though one man, a tall, thin elderly man with a long white beard wore robes of all things and looked like the stereotypical image of a wizard (Harley flinched at the word, the ingrained fear she had of anything to do with magic since it caused the Dursleys to react with a combination of fear and rage and panic, which caused her a lot of pain and made her very worried whenever the word was even mentioned on telly), but that was not the only odd thing about the picture.

The people in the photograph were moving!

Harley put the photograph down when she noticed sheafs of some strange paper right underneath where the photograph had been placed, and she reached out for them curiously so she could try to understand what she had just seen, but when she read the letters her eyes widened in disbelief.

Some of them were draft copies of letters written by Mrs Figg to a man called Albus Dumbledore. As she read through the letters, Harley became slowly more and more astonished.

They were reports on her upbringing at the Dursleys and Harley came to realise the old woman was not as out of it as she had thought originally. Harley read how the old woman had been watching over her all this time for this man Dumbledore, but as she read through the letters Harley became increasingly aware of how worried the old woman was becoming by their clear abuse from the Dursleys even though…. it was going according to plan?

What?

Why would Mrs Figg or this old man want me to be beaten by the Dursleys…? Harley thought to herself.

As she read through the letters, Harley was left numbed with shock as she learnt about the existence of the Magical World. She herself was a witch, a famous celebrity who had apparently defeated a wicked old wizard which had resulted in the deaths of her own parents - Harley found a few references to her parents, mostly her mother; apparently her mother had used some kind of spell to protect her from the evil wizard, and Dumbledore had capitalised on that same protection when he had handed her to Aunt Petunia.

Apparently the protections were blood-based, and as long as Harley called the place home and lived there, she was safe and sound. The only problem was that was absolutely bogus. She had never felt safe or loved by the Dursleys, and she knew she never would even if Dumbledore had genuinely cared for her.

So what was with the abuse? What was the point? What was happening? Harley realised the letters were not going to tell her. Dumbledore didn't say a word about that, or about the plan since he and Figg knew it only too well. But as she read through the letters sent and received by Mrs Figg, it was clear some people were not happy about it. And they had their own agendas where she was concerned. After learning about the so-called plan which seemed to hinge on her being beaten up, Harley read through the letters to try to find out more details, but there were none; clearly the sender and recipient of the letters had known what the plan was and didn't see the point in putting down too many details on paper, or whatever this was. She idly wondered if the wizarding world even used paper, or used something else.

Harley read through one of the old man's letters. It was, in fact, the most recent letter, written within a few days of the beating she had received from Vernon.

"My dear Arabella,

Thank you for writing to me. I was concerned about the success of the enchantments I had placed on Number Four Privet Drive to bolster the aggression towards young Harleen Potter. While I share your concerns towards the welfare of the girl, there is no need to worry (Harley snorted in disbelief), the enchantments are designed to ensure the long-term aims of the plan are met.

"Thank you for informing me beforehand about those women who alerted the Muggle Aurors (Harley crinkled her eyes at the two words as she tried to work out what they meant, but there was no clue there in the handwriting) before they interfere. I have had to deal with thirteen separate incidents, which you informed me about just in time, and I have had to deal with three separate escape attempts from the girl, although the enchantments I placed on her clothes made sure she didn't get far; I will have to adjust the enchantments on the Dursleys so they do not beat her too badly, and the time they are on holiday will give the opportunity. I should hopefully arrive on the 16-"

The sixteenth?!

Wasn't that…tonight? Harley thought to herself desperately, shoving the papers back into the bureau. She began panicking and started to pace up and down and thought about her plans. She had thought if she could grab the money from the bureau, she could escape and get out of here, but now she found it wasn't that easy.

What do I do? Harley thought to herself desperately. That old man could be coming to the house at any moment, and if he finds me awake, what will he do? Wait a second. Why am I panicking? Why don't I use this as an opportunity to escape? But how do I make sure he can't track me down? I tried to escape before, and other people have tried to get me away from the Dursleys?

Harley remembered how a teacher, Miss Hamilton had noticed the abuse and how no-one seemed to have cared. Miss Hamilton had raised almighty hell, she had tried to get social services and the police involved…

And then she had been fired from her job and Harley had no idea what had happened to her. The police had gone away as had social services, deeming it a misunderstanding although what had happened to the woman, Harley didn't know. The girl had formed a few ideas at the time, and remembered the woman with bitterness. Now she silently apologised to the woman for thinking the worst of her.

Was Dumbledore also responsible for Little Whinging turning a blind eye towards the abuse as well? Harley was starting to think so. She had also come to suspect that because she was seen as a freak by the Dursleys, they were allowed to get away with what they did, though it hadn't made sense when Miss Hamilton and others had gotten involved.

How long has this gone on for? she asked.

What was the point?

Unfortunately, the only person who could answer was her enemy.

But the girl was terrified of something else, something horrifying that had come into her mind. It just popped in and stayed there, scaring her to death. What if Dumbledore found out about her plan and wiped her memory of the event?

With that in mind, Harley reached out and grabbed a piece of paper from the bureau and a pen and wrote a quick note before she shoved it into her pocket and continued to think through what she had just found out. None of it was really hopeful about her chances now.

But what had the wizards done? As she thought about it, Harley realised she could still escape. She had seen Mrs Figg's neighbours who had children themselves although the old woman never seemed to interact with them were around Harley's own age. If these enchantments were on her clothes, then she could easily get rid of them, although she had no idea if Dumbledore hadn't placed spells on other clothes. Harley hadn't found any other indication that he had in the letters Mrs Figg still kept for some weird reason, but Harley saw no reason why she couldn't leave still.

She would have to move quickly. Turning off the light switch, Harley walked upstairs quietly and she took a look out of the window in her bedroom. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but when she had been getting ready for bed she had been admiring Mrs Figg's garden which was far different from the Dursleys. Mrs Figg grew her own food, and there were places where the old woman grew carrots, cabbages, onions, potatoes, and many other things.

But when she had looked over at her neighbours, Harley had noticed the washing line up and the mother of the children pinning the clothes out for drying. Harley hoped they were still there.

Swallowing her disappointment down for not being able to see though she was aware there was little she could do about it, Harley left her bedroom and went back downstairs. If there was one thing she loved about being here at Mrs Figg even though the old woman annoyed her with her never-ending obsession with the cat photographs which she showed Harley every time she came around, it was the fact Harley could come and go as she pleased and Mrs Figg would not mind.

Well, she wouldn't have to concern herself with this plan for longer.

As she walked to the backdoor and tried it, and found it locked, Harley sighed and unlocked it slowly before she stepped outside. She took a moment to savour the air. It was so sweet, cool.

Harley shook her head; she was trying to escape, not admire the night. She walked through the garden, not really caring if she stepped in any cat pee or poo. It seemed to take an age to reach the back gate, and she out in the alleyway. She slowly walked down, terrified and nervous this was not going to work before she reached the neighbours' gate.

It's so easy to break into someone's garden, she thought to herself as she grabbed hold of a bin and turned it upside down before she climbed up it, and jumped over the fence. It took Harley only a few minutes to reach the washing line, but she had a problem finding what she wanted; some of the clothes were too big for her, and it took her a few minutes as a result before she found what she was looking for. Harley held the still damp clothes, and she reached a decision to strip out of the clothes the Dursleys had given her, and she put on what she had found right there and then in the garden. She flinched when she felt the still damp clothes touch her skin, but she ignored it as she went back to the gate. Now she was inside the garden, she had no trouble unlocking the gate from here and she walked out and back into the alley.

Harley jogged lightly to the entrance of the alley and looked left and right. There wasn't anyone in sight, but she had no idea if Dumbledore was out there or not. She took a deep breath and she hoped the note she had written to herself in case Dumbledore did something wouldn't be needed, but this was the most delicate part of her newly rethought plan.

Get a grip, Harley, she chided herself and she kept walking but she walked carefully and quietly and every time she heard a sound, like a cat meowing, or a car in the distance, she would pause and wait and she looked around in terror as if expecting a wizard to appear out of thin air and force her back to Privet Drive to fulfil this plan. It seemed to take Harley all night to make the trip to the railway station. It was shut up, but that okay. she would wait for it to reopen.

As she sat outside, shivering in the cold, Harley closed her eyes and said quietly but clearly, "Number 4 Privet Drive is not my home. It is never my home. I hate the Dursleys, they hate me. They are not my family. Aunt Petunia will never love me. Number 4 Privet Drive is not my home."

Albus Dumbledore felt a chill go down his spine as he felt the Blood Wards he had placed on the property of Harleen Potter's relatives suddenly collapse; the Wards were in a terrible state, and they were only held up because of the connection he had placed on the girl a month after she had been placed here, so they were regenerated with the magic of the girl herself.

It had surprised Albus with how soon such work would be needed; he had assumed the hatred towards the girl would not cause a near collapse until she had been here a year, but it was no problem because he had expected it. Dumbledore had always wanted his weapon to grow up here. He needed to know if the age-old hypothesis of 'nature vs nurture' was true. He had seen the results in Tom Riddle, and he had never acted because at the time he had not felt it was the duty of teachers to interfere. That result had formed the monster known as Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore had no intention of letting it happen again. He had no desire to create a new monster out of the young Potter girl, who was now the last of her family though he wasn't upset about that since the Ancient and Noble families had given him problems in the past. But it was necessary for her to go through the same pain as Riddle did, only hers would be on a more personal level since Petunia was her blood family to give her the perspective she would need, but also when he met her personally when she was eleven she would be indebted towards him for getting her out of here. It would form a bond between them both and make her obedient towards him.

Dumbledore was sometimes amazed and yet frustrated by how far envious people would go in order to get revenge. Severus and Petunia had both fallen into his plans quite nicely with their hatred for the girl; Severus hated her because Lily had gone with James, although that was truly Severus' fault for calling her a Mudblood. Petunia had always had insecurities about her appearance and her talents, and she had envied her sister Lily for her beauty and talents.

The envy Snape had towards James had transmuted into hatred, as had the envy Petunia had for Lily, and both of them had transferred their hatred onto Harleen.

Dumbledore didn't care for any of it since it was a means to an end. But in the case of the Dursleys, Dumbledore had felt he had needed to make sure the young girl was beaten and abused in case Petunia's hatred didn't go that far. It was a hard thing for him to do, but if he wanted his weapon to do what he wanted, then some sacrifices had to be made.

In a way, he had been pleased the Dursleys wouldn't be here because then he would be able to examine the wards without the subjects inside the property. But the moment he felt the wards go down he panicked and he disapparated over to Arabella's and quickly checked on the girl. He had often needed to come to this bedroom to ensure the charms he had placed on her to limit her magical potential were in place.

The bed was empty.

Dumbledore felt his heart go cold at the sight.

The brat was gone.