(Joss Whedon is boss. All Harry Potters lead to JK Rowling.)

(Okay, I know. I know. Here I am writing more Forever After Earth when I'm supposed to be working on Solace. I am still working on Solace, it's just I keep finding myself going back to do more groundwork and sidework and artwork and whatnot. Which means more the editing of old chapters than the writing of new ones.

That aside, yep, here I am writing Harriet Potter's sidestory after all. This takes place before Forever After Earth, so you do not need to have read that first, but this is only technically a prequel and the setting will make more sense if you have already read Forever After Earth and It Means Flame.)

(Warning: This is rated T for Teen because the narrative will be no more explicit than is befitting the teenage PoV it is told from. It is not so rated because nothing exciting or horrible happens 'on screen'. Viewer discretion is advised.)

Harriet Potter and the Seed of Wonder
(Part 1)

It was, perhaps, not the best idea she'd ever had.

Dudley and his friends, Piers and Malcom, were all bigger than her, being boys, and well fed. The lot of them had never hesitated to take advantage of their superior stature when the idea clambered its way into their thick heads that the freak girl wasn't nearly miserable enough. It didn't matter to them that she was a girl. It didn't matter to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, so long as the neighbors didn't see.

Harriet knew this, so she knew she was taking her life into her own hands. She crept up behind the group, along the side of the house, and ducked behind the trash bins. Thick spikes of unruly black hair fell into her eyes, escaping her braid, and she dragged it out of her face with a sweaty hand.

The three of them sat in lawn chairs, just inside the gate, passing a blunt around in the shadow of the house. Harriet spotted her schoolbag, thankfully intact, under Dudley's chair.

Her cousin and his gang had taken it from her and pushed her into a ditch on her way home from school, presumably because she'd gotten a better report card from Stonewall High than Dudley'd gotten from Smeltings, this term. Or at least that was as much as she could reckon from their ape-like hooting and grunting when they'd taken it. Aunt Petunia had put her to work in the garden as soon as Harriet had made it home, and she knew better than to 'tattle' on Dudley, so this was her first opportunity to get it back.

Crouching on all fours, Harriet peeked out again. Good, none of them were looking. She focused on her bag, and willed it to move. Slowly, she felt the clarity come over her mind, the mass of the object, its natural state, how if the energy deviated from its current equilibrium just so... The bag began to slide backwards towards the wall, but it caught on something. Damn. The strap was caught under Dudley's chair.

Harriet needed a distraction.

After a moment, her attention fell on the blunt, and she smirked. This was harder. It didn't come as easily as making things move did, but she could do it. The smoldering tip, the heat making things combine and separate, combustion changing something into something else. Even simple things were complicated when she made unnatural things happen. Then she had it. Extra oxygen forced its way into the reaction and...

"Aagh!" Piers yelped as the blunt flash-burned in his face all at once and set his eyebrows on fire. He flinched back, slapping at his face as his chair fell over.

"Whoa!"

"Sodding hell!"

Dudley jumped up, but just hopped in place flapping his hands uselessly. Malcom didn't even get up, and just stared dumbly. Piers finally sat up, glowering.

"Thanks for the help, you pillocks!" Piers bit out sarcastically.

Harriet stretched out a hand. It wasn't necessary, but it helped her concentrate. Her schoolbag slid out from under Dudley's chair and flew through the air towards her outstretched fingers. It clipped the trash bins.

Harriet winced at the loud crash as she caught her bag. The boys jumped in fright, but their eyes soon fell on her.

"Oy! It's the freak," Piers exclaimed.

"We gonna get you good for that," Dudley threatened. "Malcom! Sic'her!"

Malcom dove at her, but she scampered back. Harriet turned to run, clutching her bag, but she wasn't finished yet. Harriet could outrun them easy. She could outrun anyone, she figured. She was very fast, and she could do unnatural things. Things like run up the side of the house and leap over the fence into the neighbors yard, like the people in those kung fu movies.

Harriet was not expecting the lawn chair, thrown by Dudley, that crashed into her mid-leap, braining her in the back of the head. She fell to the grass in a heap, inches from smashing her face into the wooden fence.

She scrambled to pick herself up, but a body collided with her and knocked her down again. Rolling, she tried to kick Malcom off but her legs were trapped between his, and she couldn't even get a good angle to knee him in the boy-bits. He sat on her, holding her down. He was heavy, nearly twice her weight, and stank of marijuana.

Harriet tried to pull her arms free until her muscles twinged in pain, but she hadn't really expected that to work anyway. She settled for glowering up at him.

"Good show, Malcom!" Dudley called, picking up Harriet's schoolbag. "Looks like the freak wanted her bag back."

"Taking it before we're done with it," Piers added mockingly. "Should have asked nicely, she should have."

"Quite right, mate," Dudley agreed. "The freak think's she can pull one over on us. We gonna stand for that?"

"No sodding way," Piers said gleefully. "Oy, get her up, then."

Harriet expected they were planning to dump her headfirst into one of those trash bins she'd knocked over, have a good laugh, and be on their way. It wouldn't be the first time. She was not expecting Malcom's eyes to settle on her chest, blink in confusion, and then widen in glee.

"Oy look at this!" Malcom said, sounding flummoxed. "The freak's got tits!"

Thrown by the nonsequitur, Harriet looked down. She'd been doing her garden work in a old too-large pair of threadbare jeans and a raggedy white t-shirt that only managed to be decent by being so baggy. Only now, having worked up a sweat and then been thrown onto her back, the worn cotton was clinging to her chest and hiding nothing.

"What? Since when?" Piers blurted. "Well look at that!"

Harriet stared, caught completely off guard. Of all the ways for someone to finally notice she was a girl, she couldn't think of one she'd prefer less. She'd been so proud of her blossoming bosom, checking herself out in the mirror every morning and night, but now leers were stealing their way onto Malcom's and Piers' faces.

Oh bloody hell, Harriet thought, dismayed, they're gonna ruin this for me, too.

"Wonder what freak-titties feel like," Malcom durr'd. His hand released one of hers and grabbed clumsily at one of her handfuls.

"N!" Harriet bit off her cry of pain and protest. She knew it wouldn't do any good. But Malcom, thoughtful boy that he was, had forgotten that she had an arm free. And she was angry. Having a laugh at her expense was one thing. Getting off at her expense was another.

Harriet clawed at Malcom's face. He flinched back, and she tried to throw him off, but even off balance, he was too heavy, and his weight came down on her knees.

"Niigh!" Harriet hissed, feeling the joints bend just far enough the wrong way to hurt.

"Watch it," Piers scolded, catching Harriet's free arm and kneeling on it. "Oy, Big D."

Dudley shook his head. "Like I'd wanna feel up my freak cousin. You best be careful she doesn't get her devilry on you."

Piers laughed at what he thought was joke, taking his turn groping her. His hand went under her baggy shirt, shoving it up passed her breasts. "Mate, we should bloody well take her pants off too. I'll hold her arms."

Harriet gritted her teeth and wrenched her arms, but she couldn't get free. It probably said something about her life that screaming for help didn't even occur to her.

Malcom sat on her legs again as he unbuckled her belt. The jeans were loose, and they came down to her thighs with a single tug. Piers leered at her too-small knickers.

"Nnnnrh! Get off me!" Harriet cried, thrashing her legs.

"Oy! Shut it, freak!" Piers demanded, painfully grinding his knees into her arms.

Piers reached down and rubbed her through her knickers. He was rough, but not rough enough to hurt really. Instead, her body clenched up as a prickly chill twisted in her guts. It felt horrible, the way her body tried to have two opposing reactions at once, like it knew this was supposed to feel good and didn't know how to reconcile it being awful.

"Let! Go!" Harriet raged. Tears blurred her sight as she struggled. She bucked with all her might, willing it to be enough.

The ground dropped out from beneath her. Piers and Malcom screamed, in that primal reaction to an unexpected fall. Harriet was more used to a lesser version of the feeling, but it startled her too. The ground came rushing back up and slammed into Harriet's back. And two much heavier boys came crashing down on top of her.

Air rushed out of Harriet's lungs, but in the fall Piers had hit his head on the fence, and Malcom had landed on his back. Harriet pulled her legs free of the jeans and tried to scramble back, but she couldn't breathe.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Malcom wondered. "Forehead was glowing..."

"Fu... fuck she do?" Piers managed, clutching his head. "Get her!"

Harriet collapsed and curled onto her side, still struggling to take in a breath. Piers crawled towards her. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her over the grass.

His head snapped into focus. Harriet kicked him in the face. Piers collapsed, clutching his mouth.

Forcing a breath into her chest, Harriet scrambled to her feet and stumbled away. Malcom wheezed almost as badly as he finally started getting up. And behind them, Dudley clutched her bag as a triumphant smirk appeared on his face.

"Oh! Oh! Just wait'll I tell mum you were showin' yer knickers to the boys! I bet you don't get dinner for a month!" Dudley crowed.

Harriet didn't have the breath to reply, but she knew Dudley was probably right. Piers and Malcom were recovering fast, and looked about to make a second go at her. She readied herself to dodge the next lunge.

Her mind was racing. This wasn't like before. Even if she outran them today, things wouldn't go back to normal. Their 'Harri Hunting' was always going to be about this, now. Even if they didn't get her this time, they would be after her body from now on. It didn't matter how many times she got away. They would be waiting when she came back.

If she came back.

Harriet had thought about running away from the Dursleys, many times, but she hadn't, because she knew horrible things happened to teenage girls living on the streets. But... would sleeping outside be that much worse than sleeping in her cramped cupboard? Would stealing food and sometimes going hungry be worse than the scraps she claimed from her school cafeteria?

Harriet didn't know. She didn't know. The life she had was the only one she knew. And nothing, nothing of Harriet's was sacred. She'd learned that well and good, by now. It was foolish to hope, to hope she might have kept even this aspect of her life unsullied by her tormentors.

And... and maybe it wouldn't be as bad if she just... got it over with. If... if she didn't fight it.

"Oy," Harriet grunted, lowering her eyes. She still had a little trouble breathing. "You don't tell, and gimme my bag, I won't kick your face again."

Malcom laughed at Piers, but the other boy scowled, then caught her across the face with a lightning quick jab. "How about you gimme your knickers and then you get to keep your teeth! Malcom, get'er!"

Dazed from the blow, Harriet saw Malcom rushing at her. Running away was her first instinct, but she'd already figured that wouldn't work anymore, and that was as far as she got before Malcom collided with her. His big, hard, heavy, warm body trapped her against the ground.

Piers reappeared and helped pin her down. He didn't hit her again, so Harriet didn't struggle. She just closed her eyes and cried while she let them have their way.

The parts that hurt weren't as bad as she expected. It was the parts that didn't that she regretted.

Hot water beat down on Harriet's shoulders and dragged down on her bowed head with the weight of her voluminous mass of soaked hair. The water ran clear, her skin cleansed of the physical signs of what she'd allowed to happen to her, and Harriet didn't know what to do next.

It seemed almost abhorrent, to simply carry on like everything was still the same. She'd been cheated out of her virginity, and no one cared. No one would care. And she didn't even have the comfort of knowing it was over. It wasn't over. No one would punish Piers or Malcom for anything they did to her, and they knew that. Unless she was willing to do something extreme, they could just... use her, whenever they wanted.

Harriet clutched at her belly, shuddering at the knot of hot tension sitting in her gut. She'd never admit that anything they did to her felt good, but parts of it had been... stimulating.

It wouldn't have been better, Harriet reckoned, if it had just hurt and nothing else. But it would've been... simpler. Pain was easy. Harriet knew how to deal with pain. She didn't know how to deal with this mess of conflicting urges. She didn't know how to deal with the insistent throbbing between her legs when the idea of touching herself and ending what they started with a satisfying climax - it made her sick.

That was the worst part, Harriet thought. They'd taken something good, one of the so very few good things about being alive, and tainted it.

Harriet lifted her face into the shower stream. The water beat down on her face and erased the hot tears of helpless misery that squeezed out of her closed eyes.

The bathroom door suddenly slammed violently open.

Harriet flinched hard, slipping and falling into the bottom of the tub.

"Get out here now you filthy cunt!" Aunt Petunia shrieked as she stomped into the bathroom and ripped open the shower curtain.

Reeling, Harriet could do nothing to dodge as Aunt Petunia grabbed a fist-full of Harriet's hair and hauled her over the lip of the tub. Her shins banged painfully against the porcelain and her scalp erupted in agony as her hair felt like it was being torn out.

Harriet tried to get her feet under her, but Aunt Petunia was still dragging her. She dragged Harriet, wet and naked, out into the hallway.

"How dare you!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "Those nice boys! The neighbors saw you. They saw you fornicating on the very grass we raised you, you dirty little trollop! In front of my impressionable little boy! Do you have any idea, the scandal this will bring!"

Harriet clawed at the hand dragging her by the hair, but as soon as she found a grip, Aunt Petunia made it to the stairs. And kept dragging. Harriet cried out in pain as each step bruised and brutalized her unprotected flesh.

"Shut up!" Aunt Petunia screamed, throwing Harriet down in front of her cupboard. "Get dressed. Now!"

Harriet sat sullenly in the passenger seat of Aunt Petunia's SUV, nursing her bruises. Trees streamed by as they traveled down a backroad.

Harriet had asked where they were going, and Aunt Petunia had simply bit out, "London."

The bony woman was too busy muttering vitrol under her breath to say anything else. Harriet wasn't optimistic enough to expect they were going to see a doctor, to make sure she wasn't pregnant or anything, but she couldn't think of where else Aunt Petunia might be taking her, so that was her current tentative guess.

"Right," Harriet finally scoffed. "I seduced them. That must be why they were holding me down and I was crying."

Aunt Petunia slammed on the brakes. Harriet slammed forward against her seatbelt as the car screeched to a stop.

"Get out," Aunt Petunia commanded coldly.

Harriet recovered herself and looked out the windows, but they were still in the middle of a country lane with nothing around but trees. "W-what?"

"Get. Out. Of the car."

Harriet kept looking at Aunt Petunia, waiting for some elaboration, but none came. Harriet got out of the car. As soon as she vacated the passenger seat, Aunt Petunia leaned over and opened the glovebox. She pulled something out and flung it at Harriet.

"Here," she said, with no further explanation.

Harriet stumbled back, but caught it before it fell to the ground. It was an old envelope. It smelled like it had been in a fire, but it didn't look burned.

Harriet looked up and Aunt Petunia's gaze caught hers. For a long moment, she and Harriet simply stared at each other. Then she pulled the door shut, settled back in the driver's seat, and drove off, leaving Harriet with nothing but the clothes on her back and a mysterious old envelope.

Apparently they weren't going to the doctor.

And then it hit Harriet all at once. This, the Dursley's were abandoning her. She was homeless. That's what this meant. Don't come back. That was the message, here.

Tears began to gather in her eyes, and Harriet was astounded to learn that, somehow, after everything, this hurt. It hurt a lot.

Harriet sniffled, and for lack of a better option, started walking.

It was full dark by the time Harriet reached the city. By the time she remembered the envelope in her hand, the sun had set and it was too dark to read it. At least it wasn't too cold. Harriet might have been a lot worse off if Aunt Petunia had abandoned her during the winter.

Making heat was one of the easiest unnatural things Harriet could do, but she couldn't do it while she was asleep.

Harriet found a well-lit plaza where she could sit down and read whatever was in the envelope. Taking a deep breath and hoping ferverently that it would be something helpful, Harriet broke the old wax seal and peeked inside.

Two folded pieces of paper, and a key.

Okay. Harriet pulled out the first paper and opened it. It was a letter, addressed to someone called Madam Agatha Harkness. She was about to put it back when her eyes snagged on her own name in the text. And the signature. It was signed, Lily Potter.

Harriet's mum wrote this! Harriet went back to the top and read from the beginning with new intensity.

Madam Agatha Harkness

Agatha, if you are reading this, then my husband and I owe you an apology.

When you told us of the prophecy, we knew immediately that it was about our daughter. Yes, James and I have a little girl. Her name is Harriet, and she is all that matters to us now. At the time, I had only just learned I was pregnant, and I am sorry we hid her from you. James and I agreed it was safer if we told no one.

I'm sure you also have had suspicions that somebody in the coven is talking to Riddle's group behind our backs. You yourself told us that Riddle knows about the prophecy. We couldn't risk Harriet becoming a target.

But, should the worst happen, I've put contingencies in place, and this is one of them, should James and I both perish. Enclosed with this letter is a claimant writ and a key to a safe deposit box in Wembley, which is where I've placed Harriet's birth certificate and other documents. More importantly, it is where I've hidden the Word of Drogyn. If the responsibility should fall to Harriet, please, make sure she is ready for it.

Lily Potter

Harriet fumbled for the other paper, confirmed it was an official-looking bank document, and memorized the listed address. The other stuff... the other stuff could wait.

Mostly because Harriet had no idea what to make of it. A prophecy? A coven? Were her parents in a cult or something? Just about the only thing she did understand, was that her parents had loved her. It sounded like they'd gone to great lengths to protect Harriet from whoever this Riddle bloke was supposed to be.

And... they hadn't dumped her on the Dursleys. It sounded like... it sounded like this Agatha Harkness person was supposed to see to that stuff, and the only reason she hadn't was because this letter had never been delivered.

Hope burst into being inside Harriet's chest. Maybe, just maybe, she did have somewhere to go.

But, to start with, she had to figure out how to get to Wembley. Harriet wasn't even completely sure where that was. She needed a map, or at least directions.

As it was, she found both. A kindly old lady at a library Harriet came across told her all about the best way to get to Wembley by rail or by bus, when Harriet asked about maps.

The old lady even offered Harriet money for the ride, but Harriet couldn't bring herself to accept. Harriet thanked her sincerely, said goodbye, and walked back out into the summer evening.

It wasn't hard to find the bus stop the old lady told her about.

Harriet hung back, hands in her pockets, trying to look inconspicuous. She peered at the massive red vehicle until she could make out its destination. She had to be sure she had the right bus. Harriet waited while a small crowd came out of the bus, and waited some more while a different small crowd got on board.

Her breathing slowed. Her mind sharpened.

The bus made several loud noises as it pulled away from the curb. Harriet waited, and then, just as it was passing her, she whirled and burst into motion, ducking behind the bus where nobody could see her.

Harriet had always been light on her feet, even when she wasn't being unnatural about it. When she was being unnatural, catching up to a slow-moving bus was barely an effort. Her leap carried her up and over a stoplight. The air rushed over her limbs, and she could see, in her mind's eye, how if it flowed over her like this instead of that, the air would slip over her body much more smoothly and keep her on course. The roof of the bus rushed up at her, and she could see how she needed exactly this much energy applied this way to her body to match speed.

Harriet touched down on the roof of the bus as lightly as a feather. She dropped flat, and settled in to wait as the bus trundled along.

She glanced guiltily to both sides to make sure no one saw her, half-expecting a Dursley to pop up out of nowhere and scream at her for using her freakish abilities again and her mother being a devil's whore. But, the Dursleys had disowned her. They'd never yell at her about anything ever again. She could be as unnatural as she wanted to be. There was no one to tell her she shouldn't.

Slowly, Harriet grinned.

The bus arrived in Wembley.

Still high on her newfound sense of freedom, Harriet let the wind peel her off the roof of the bus like a kite. When gravity tried to spoil her fun, she once more applied energy to her own body to counter it.

Harriet stalled forty feet above the dark suburban street, hanging still in the air at the apex of her swoop. And she stayed there. And stayed there. She held it for almost twenty seconds before she realized what she was doing.

It wasn't one of those eternal moments. It wasn't a precarious balancing act that would come crashing down as soon as she breathed wrong.

Harriet was hovering forty feet off the ground over Wembley. She was perfectly stable and completely in control.

Because of course. Of course she could fly. She wasn't even doing anything now, to fly, that she hadn't done before. She had already had everything she needed. It was just that, before, she simply hadn't dared. Being freakishly good at running was one thing, but she'd never dared be unnatural in any but the smallest of ways. She'd never let herself think about really trying things. But now, there was nothing holding her back. Harriet threw her head back and screamed in triumphant joy, her smile stretching so wide it hurt.

Then she opened her eyes and noticed the bright, jade green glow haloing her body. Harriet squeaked, startled, and dove frantically for the ground before anyone saw her.

That... that had never happened before! Thankfully, it only lasted a couple of seconds after she made it to the ground.

No explanation for the glowing presented itself. Harriet emerged from her impromptu hiding spot and set off to get her bearings.

(I know soccer isn't called soccer in the UK, you don't have to tell me. But 'football' is ambiguous, so I am calling it soccer. Consider it a translation convention, like how I deliberately stuck with the english name-ordering for the characters in Japan since I wasn't actually writing lines in anything but english.)