Somehow, everything seemed normal, and it was driving me crazy because I knew it wasn't. Aunt Petunia now knew. It was such a surreal evening that night. She had stood there, frozen, pale, with large glistening eyes and lips impossibly thin. She had stared at me with the most intense sense of curiousity I had ever gotten out of anyone. And then she had started asking questions. Who did you use to be? What happened? How did you end up here? Her curiousity was more powerful than her fear of me and this power that was within me. I think she was most intrigued by the part that, previously, I had been born in 1995. A year that hadn't even come to pass yet.

She asked me about the future and I answered as curtly as possible. I told her that I wasn't (and still aren't, in fact) certain whether or not I was even on the same version of Earth I had been born on. I gave her a short, concise explanation about how one cannot travel to the past according to scientists and how I was fairly certain that whatever I knew of the future would most likely not come to pass. I told her so in hopes that she wouldn't pester me for things such as companies worth investing in, lottery numbers and the like. In all reality, I had no idea if my knowledge of the future would be useful or not. But if it ended up being useful, I'd make sure to benefit from it. And the best way for that to happen was to eliminate whatever possibility there was for unnecessary intervention.

Aunt Petunia is a smart, shrewd woman. She isn't, however, someone gifted with any sort of vision or imagination bar what would benefit her immediate goals. It's sad, really, because she does have the tools to become someone better. She is good with numbers and has an exceptional memory. Her ability to discern the qualities of people just by looking at them impresses me greatly to this very day. She is a woman of detail and strict principles. And yet she lacks the ambition to make something greater of herself. It is wasteful, is what it is.

"This is how you know to read and write, isn't it? And you have been teaching my Dudders, too, haven't you?"

I nod. I take education very seriously. I am old enough at this point to know just how important it is. And just how much I had ruined my life because of a single man. A man who had thoughtlessly tossed me aside, left me hurting and expecting. And… and it still hurts. I swallow thickly.

" Education is important." Is what I tell Petunia, too.

"How old were you when…?"

"When I died? Twenty-four, I think. I do not remember how it happened. I just sort of woke up here."

"You woke up here? In our house? What of before that?"

"When I say wake up, it's more of the gradual gain of awareness after a major surgery. Have you ever had surgery? It's like that. You aren't all there and in the next moment you are. I can't explain it. I was really, really young, though."

"Do you remember anything before…?"

"Before I arrived at your house? My parents, you mean? No. And to be honest, I find myself not caring to remember. It is… difficult enough for me, as is."

Petunia did not press me further on this particular topic. Either she understood that I was talking about losing not one but two sets of parents, two sets of family, or she simply did not wish to press her luck that much.

"What kind of education did you have?"

"In the Before? I finished High School a few years ahead of my peers. I...I had a lot of personal issues and I lost- I lost everything to a car accident. I was just about ready to step on my own two feet when I got here. I was going to go to university. I had my own house. Huge, open property surrounded by woods and mountains. My own little piece of the world in West Virginia. Two rescue dogs, some chickens. I wanted to get a horse or two. Learn how to ride. I don't know what went wrong and…" it scares me. What went wrong. Why did I lose faith in the world again? Why did I kill myself?

"What did you lose?" Petunia's voice was barely above a whisper.

"My baby. I lost my baby." and my voice cracked, thick with emotion. My vision blurred with the tears that sprung forward and it was difficult to breathe, feeling my chest constrict harshly and my throat closing in on itself. I wanted nothing more than to reach with my hands and rip my heart out to make it stop. Yet I couldn't stop. "I was 30 weeks pregnant. They told me the driver had a seizure. It wasn't even his fault. I was… I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It isn't fair. I can't even visit doesn't even have a grave here!"

I let the sobs go and the tears flowing. When had it been that I last cried? When had I last had the chance to even think about this. Graves are not for the dead. The dead die and they pass on to somewhere else, leaving everything material, including themselves, behind. The graves are for the living, for those who still suffer the grief, the love, the longing. For those who can't let go. And even that little solace had been ripped from me.

There was a very good reason why I chose to make a home for myself halfway across the world. I had to rip myself away from all the memories. I had to find a way to stop the hurt. But it was in everything around me. At the time I lost my Ori, I was living with my best friend MJ, She had graciously offered her family's summer residence in Wiltshire. A large, lovely manor with beautiful gardens that were perfectly cared for. There was a large library and so many balconies and large rooms with bright, open windows that it had been very difficult to remain angry and stressed as I had been at the start of my pregnancy. MJ would often take me on little tours around the manor and show me its secrets. A loose floorboard here, a hidden alcove there. A few secret tunnels built into walls so seamlessly that I would've never been able to find them had she not pointed them out to me.

Ori was buried in the Keats Family Graveyard. I think of him constantly, even now. He plagues my mind with fantasies of things that could have been, things that I knew very keenly and painfully never will be.

I feel Aunt Petunia's wiry arms around me, holding me in an awkward embrace. I try to control my breathing, to stop crying and get a hold of myself. But I keep on sobbing quietly, trembling in her arms, very much aware of my need for this simple contact, for this human comfort I'd been lacking for so many years now. I sob. I fall asleep. I wake feeling more rested than I have ever been in years. I feel lighter. The grief and longing are still there but, somehow, I feel lighter.

One of the greatest boons of my lithe, small child body is the mobility it provides me with, even with one foot in a cast. I hop down the stairs expertly, now that I have been doing this for a week. I might be able to do it without holding the railing, but, despite what my outward appearance suggests, I am no child. I'd rather err on the side of caution than fall down and break my other foot or, God forbid, my neck.

Dudley, that sweet, rambunctious child, is still hovering about me like a mother hen. I find myself severely underprepared for such behavior, even if it had been something I had wanted for a long time. The affection. Things are the same as always but the Dursleys were feeling slightly awkward about me. Vernon didn't know what to make of me, Petunia was pretending that night didn't happen and Dudley was trying to capture my attention in any way possible.

First day of school was fast approaching and, given the state of my foot, I spent most of my time sitting down and mulling over my next course of action, while Dudley and his gang ran around playing superheroes and whatever games they could think of that involved running, yelling and general boyish munchkinery.

I had the power to shoot lightning out of my hands. I had the power to rip things apart with lightning. And that power was somehow related to the death of my parents and my being here with the Dursleys. All the little comments, all those knowing looks Petunia and Vernon shared that thought were hidden and secret but I saw anyways. Everything made sense. Something had taken my memory of the event, had warped it into something else that made the event more easily explained. More a nightmare with some sort of obscure origins than the horrendous truth that it was.

I had superpowers.

And, like any nerd worth their salt, I was going to learn to control them and exploit the hell out of them. I had no delusions of grandeur. I was perfectly aware that somewhere, somehow, there was a hidden community of people capable of erasing other people's memory. What I had done had been something expected and prepared for. Something that was part of what They were. I had no idea who They were. All I knew was that my mother had become a part of Them, that she, along with my father, had met their gruesome ends somewhere, and that I, their little girl, had managed to get under Petunia's tender care, to be raised ignorant of Their presence.

I had speculations. I had tons of them. Facts? Very, very few. Had telling Petunia been a mistake? Maybe, but given what I knew of the woman and her hatred of all things unnatural, I highly doubted she'd ever do anything to help Them in any way.

Were These people my enemy? That was a top priority question to answer. I might as well be a sitting duck, doing nothing while They wait for the right moment to get rid of me with everybody being none the wiser. I doubted anyone besides Petunia even had an inkling of what, or , rather, who I was. That I was decades older, with decades worth of experience in the art of sabotage, subterfuge and information gathering.

I might not be Aunt Petunia when it comes to her people observing skills, but I do have a particular set of skills that makes me, hehe, a nightmare, should I apply myself properly and in a timely fashion. I had been, after all, the Legacy of the Red Manticore. That's what they called me back in my gaming days, way back when Bucketpants, that glorious bastard, retired and left me the entirety of his account's resources. Bucketpants didn't retire. But now was not the time to think of these things. It's what he taught me that matters. Bucketpants taught me how to play his game. And the name of his game was War.

Such was the beauty of how internet connected people from all over the world. A heavily misunderstood and misguided genius thirteen year old and a fifty-something retired soldier bound to a wheelchair with nothing better to do than slaughter people online in a massive online fantasy world. I miss the bastard.

But I digress.

What did Sun Tzu say about planning again? Wait, no. It was Eisenhower. Dwight D. Eisenhower. Plans are useless but planning is indispensable. That's the course of action I am taking right now. Planning. A lot of it.

Planning about what to do in cases of emergency. Planning evac routes. Planning locations for hidden caches. I know of at least three trees that have holes or hidden crevices underneath their roots in a fifty meter radius where I can hide away money or some sort of small weapons. Like that knife set I had pilfered from Aunt Marge's kitchen. What? The opportunity was right there. She was a distraught mess, she has a gazillion knives and she wont notice ten of those missing. Plus I had been at the hospital the whole time (except for the last 2-3 days), but given my current handicap, I am certain that I would be the last possible person Marge would think of when- no, IF she notices her knives missing.

They are of quality make, expensive and extremely sharp and sturdy. I plan to keep them hidden away until a few more months pass. I might hide some of them around here but I've yet to secure any of the hidey holes I've found and, frankly, I don't think snooping about with this useless foot of mine is a good idea. It will attract the wrong kind of attention and I still don't know if I am being watched or not. Either by nosy neighbours or… by Them. With this I will bide my time. There will always be a moment or two when I'd be able to slip away unnoticed for half an hour.

Now, as for my superpowers…

I have very little idea how to do anything with them. What causes them to manifest? What sort of control is required to activate them? How much control do I actually have? Can this control be improved. Can this power be trained or is this some sort of passive supernatural defense specific to my particular mutation or whatever this thing is that caused it to manifest in the first place?

What to do? What to do? I had so many ideas and hypotheses and I had no clue where to start. For a moment my focus shifted back on the children playing in the street. They were playing Jedi, I think. Wait. Playing Jedi.

Well now. From the babe's mouth, if I may say so myself.

Lightning.

Sith Lightning.

I've spent years panting after Darth Vader. Why haven't I thought of this earlier!?

Jedi training. Sith Training. Revan. Revanites to be exact. I had a lot of ways to go about this. But at least this was a start. The fastest way to get results, the fastest way to see if I could get results, was to go for Sith training. While I do not condone a large part of the whole killing and maiming thing Sith do on a regular basis, their core philosophy was very close to what I believe triggered my episode with the lightning.

Emotions fueled the Force, fueled the Sith using the Dark Side of the Force. I've always been a rather emotional and impulsive person, easy to anger, easy to rile up. I've gotten better but let not anyone be fooled. I am still pretty much that same little girl that puts laxatives in her Aunt Sophie's cup of coffee for being the insufferable entitled narcissistic bitch that she is. I'm still that person. Except that I've grown and with my growth I've learned not to get caught. I've gotten really good at not getting caught.

There was also another reason why I was considering to start with the teachings of the Dark Side. I needed to know that I'd have the power to protect my family. To protect Dudley and his mom and dad. Power is something the Sith covet the most. Jedi, on the other hand, covet order, restraint and moderation. They are mediators and ambassadors of peace. It is their job to maintain a pleasant conversation with, let's say my Aunt Sophie and her two shitty daughters, Auntie Anna and Auntie Petra.

Now, Jedi Me maintains pleasant conversation with said harpies. Then Jedi Me feels like shit for a month because the topics of conversation always come about me being the shit stain of the family tree one way or another and, even though I've shown far greater success and mental capacity in every way than the collective whole of this den of harpies, I am still considered less for being a more of a tomboy and less of a proper lady of the family.

Jedi Me scenario is analyzed and I come to the conclusion that I don't like feeling like shit for a month. Furthermore, Jedi Me would encourage said shitty behavior from the harpy squad which would make the foreseeable future suck.

Now, we have Sith Me. Sith me listens to Auntie Sophie's vagina monologue with a sweet smile on her face. Sith Me had also mixed in a laxative, some home brewed poppy extract and the tiniest pinch of powdered strawberry seeds in every single one of Aunt Sophie's prized, high quality imported spices, her expensive Bio brown Sugar, her coffee beans and pretty much everything Sith Me could get their hands on within the fifteen minute time frame it takes to brew coffee for Auntie Sophie, her harpy brood, my mother and grandmother.

Auntie Sophie is allergic to strawberries. She gets rashes all over the body. She carries at least 10 epipens on her, so she'd be fine, even if she gets into anaphylactic shock. Would Sith Me feel guilty? Probably for a little bit. Then she'd give all that coffee to everyone, sit down to continue listening how great Auntie Anna and Auntie Petra and their children are and how bad and useless I am, much to the chagrin of my mother and grandmother, who, of course, never bother to defend me against such abuse.

I don't drink coffee. Sith Me doesn't drink coffee either, but she pretends to sip it. Within minutes Auntie Sophie starts scratching herself and Sith Me suppresses the urge to cackle madly. Well. Vengeance is served.

Justice and Vengeance are different sides of the same coin. Sometimes Justice takes time. Sometimes Vengeance requires time and preparation to be truly satisfying.

Time is something I do not have spades of. What I do have is an unknown time frame, in which I must find myself prepared for whatever this world is going to dish out. Thus, I must seek results as fast as possible. Thus I find myself recalling the Sith Philosophy.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall free me.

It is strange how it always comes down to this. To freedom. I spent my whole life looking for that freedom. Fighting for it. Possibly dying for it. And now I have found the most unlikely means for it.

My eyes follow Dudley's form as he laughs and runs around. So carefree. So naive. So innocent. A child that has yet to really feel and understand the world about him. That child is why I am going to do what I am going to do. That child and his happiness is what will give me the incentive to do this. To seek power.

With pursed lips I stand up and with the help of my crutches I make way to the more secluded parts of our neighborhood. Dudley notices that I have moved straight away and follows me without question. Sometimes I truly wonder if I deserve his loyalty. It makes me feel guilty. But the larger part of me is pleased that there is someone on this Earth that accepts me for who I am, even though I am nothing more than a monster.

My Monster.

"What!? Harry, no!"

"Harry, yes! C'mon, Dudley! I want you to hit me as hard as you can!"

I'm so proud of him, you know? If this had been a few years ago, he'd have had a field day with me as his punching bag? Now? Dudley's on the verge of tears. We've been at it for fifteen minutes straight and nothing I say or do would convince him to hit me.

To be honest, if I put myself in his shoes, I wouldn't want to hit me either. I'm a slip of a girl with thick, round eyeglasses, with a cast on one leg AND supporting herself on crutches.

"It's in the name of Science, Dee! Think about the progress! The breakthrough!"

"I don't wanna hit girls, Harry! Dad says it's very wrong! Boys shouldn't hit girls!"

The hell have I been to miss out on that speech of uncles? Neverming.

"Dudley, I need you to hit me so I can try to make that lightning again!"

"No!"

This might take a while.

And it did. It took Dudley ten days to finally agree to hit me. He slugged me so hard in the stomach I saw stars and probably would've fallen straight to the ground if it hadn't been for my crutches.

"Motherffffff-" I bit my lower lip to stop the swear from reaching Dudley's innocent ears. I slunked onto the ground and assumed something close to a fetal position, failing quite spectacularly at whatever I had been trying to do.

This may have been a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

No one ever said this was going to be easy. It wasn't as if I was throwing rocks into the darkness, hoping to hit something. I knew what I could achieve. I knew I had done it before. The conviction was there. The incentive was there. All I needed was the willpower to reach for whatever was within me to make it reality again. The power within that I don't remember feeling or seeing. Power that could save lives. Power that could take lives just as easily. Power is indiscriminate.

It wasn't until the last day before school that something happened. It wasn't like flipping a switch. It wasn't like I'd feel a sudden surge within me. I had taken to meditating or as close to it as I was capable. I had found this spot that was quiet. The sounds of the streets far away from me. There was a small creek, just on the edge of the neighborhood whose water I could hear splashing and rushing through rocks of various sizes. I wasn't far from home, Privet Drive was already on the edge of Little Whinging, which was why the local children always found themselves with so much room to play and run about in summer. I could hear the water. I could hear the wind, the breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees. I could hear the little birds flitting about and chirping and singing. Bugs were buzzing, a lone dog was barking in the distance.

I took a breath and I let it out. I take a breath and I let it out. I inhale the essence of the world and… I… let go.

It is a surge but not a sensation. It is a subtle surge of knowledge, of something ancient and eldritch and mysterious. Of something that has always been there but I see as if for the first time. It is a sense of belonging, a moment of Eurika!, a sudden understanding of the world around me in a way I never thought would be possible.

I look down at my palm where I had taken a dry leaf from the ground. I inhale sharply and tiny bright sparks flow through the leaf, disintegrating it.

The moment is gone. That sudden clarity is gone. And there is no leaf in my hand anymore. My heart is beating something wild in my chest, like an animal in a cage.

I have done it. This is it.

This is Power.

This is my Power.

It hadn't been a fluke. It had been a deliberate action on my part. Whatever triggered it, I shall hone into it again and force the same result until I could make this happen again and again, until I have full control of whatever this thing is.

It takes me a few more months before I achieve flashier results. And, while I thought this would be the most challenging thing I would be doing, I couldn't have foreseen how wrong I would end up being.