The night air bit at my skin, and the rough wool of the blanket scratched against my cheek. I could feel the faint hum of magic around the wards of Privet Drive — Dumbledore's work, undoubtedly. I was supposed to sleep here until morning, to be found by people who would "love and care for me."
But I already knew how that story ended. I had read it. I had lived it, in another life — watching, weeping for the boy who would grow up unloved, beaten down, and starved of affection until only his heart's stubborn goodness remained.
That boy would have been me.
No. Not this time.
I reached inward, finding the small, flickering thread of magic that felt like mine. Weak, infantile — but familiar, like an old friend rediscovered.
"Minzy," I whispered through thought, and the night shimmered with a soft pop.
A small house-elf appeared, clutching the Potter crest on her uniform. Her large blue eyes widened as she bowed low. "Mistress! Minzy came as soon as called! Are you hurt, little Mistress?"
"No," I thought back, forming the words in her mind. "But I won't stay here."
She looked around, wringing her tiny hands. "But Master Dumbledore—"
"I don't care what Dumbledore wants," I said, sharper than I intended. "Do as I say."
Minzy flinched, then nodded eagerly. "Yes, Mistress. What does Mistress wish Minzy to do?"
I looked up at the neat little house — the home of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Inside, a chubby baby slept peacefully in his crib. Dudley Dursley.
I smiled faintly. The universe had a strange sense of humor.
"Put an illusion on the Dursleys," I commanded. "Make them see me as their son, and see their real son as me. Switch us. Make it perfect. They won't know."
Minzy's eyes widened. "Mistress wishes to become… Dudley?"
"For now," I whispered. "It's better this way."
Because in another timeline, Dudley Dursley bullied the boy I was meant to be. He laughed while his parents called me a freak, while they locked me in a cupboard under the stairs.
I wasn't cruel — not anymore — but there was a certain… poetic justice in it. If the Dursleys could learn kindness through illusion, then perhaps this time, they'd do better. And if not… then they'd reap what they sowed.
Minzy raised her hands, chanting softly. The air shimmered. Magic rippled through the street — subtle, intricate, permanent.
When it was done, she bowed low again. "It is done, Mistress. The Dursleys see Mistress as their own child. And the other baby now looks like Mistress to their eyes."
"Good," I murmured. "Now take me to his room. The nursery."
A soft pop later, and I lay in a crib surrounded by stuffed animals, the faint scent of baby powder in the air. Minzy placed the real Dudley on the doorstep where I had once been left.
"Leave him with the note," I said quietly. "And watch from afar. If they mistreat him… you will let me know."
Minzy bowed deeply. "As Mistress commands."
Then she was gone.
I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of fate shifting again. Somewhere across the city, Albus Dumbledore would think everything was proceeding as planned.
But the Boy Who Lived wasn't a boy anymore. And the girl who now bore that scar would make sure this story went differently.