Chapter Text
This had to be a joke. A bad one at that.
Maria sat cross-legged on the soft carpet of the book corner, surrounded by shelves filled with colorful picture books and neatly stacked chapter books. She clutched at the folds of her long floral skirt, her hands trembling. The low hum of children's chatter and laughter echoed faintly through the window, but it all felt distant, almost surreal.
Her chest tightened as she glanced at her hands: smaller, softer, and unfamiliar. Her nails were neatly manicured, unlike the nails she was used to, bitten-down and rough. She ran her hands over her face, finding softer cheeks and a pointed chin. A long, light brown hair cascaded past her shoulders, brushing against her arms.
“This isn’t my body”, she thought, a wave of panic surging through her. Her breath quickened, and her new blue eyes darted around the room. She caught sight of her reflection in a nearby window and froze. The face staring back at her was warm and kind, but utterly foreign.
“Where am I?” Maria wondered, her pulse pounding in her ears. The room around her was bright and cheerful, adorned with posters of poetry and encouraging phrases like “Every Day is a New Adventure!” The sound of children’s footsteps grew louder, and her heart thudded painfully as she realized - she wasn’t just in a different school; she was in a different life.
Maria’s breath caught in her throat as the sound of footsteps filled the room. One by one, children filed into the classroom, their voices rising and falling in a chorus of chatter. They looked older than the Key Stage 1 pupils she was used to teaching — definitely Year 6, by their height and the self-assured way some of them carried themselves.
She forced herself to stand, her legs wobbling slightly beneath her. As she walked to the desk at the front of the room, she glanced around, searching for a computer and an interactive whiteboard - the tools she relied on every day. Instead, her eyes landed on a dusty green chalkboard mounted on the wall, a tray beneath it lined with stubby sticks of chalk. Her heart sank.
“What is this?” Maria thought, panic tightening her chest. Her hands moved instinctively over the desk, fumbling for anything familiar. Instead of a sleek laptop, she found a well-worn leather-bound teacher planner and a stack of worksheets handwritten in neat cursive.
Her gaze landed on a small desk calendar. She flipped it open to find the date staring back at her: Monday, September 3rd, 1990.
Her knees almost gave out. “1990? That’s… that’s 35 years ago. I haven't even been born yet!”. The room seemed to spin around her. The laughter of the children blurred into static in her ears as her mind struggled to process the enormity of what she was seeing. “I’ve gone back in time… how is this possible?”
A voice pulled her back to the present. “Good morning, Miss!”. The children had taken their seats, their expectant faces turned toward her.
Before she could gather herself, another adult entered the room, an elderly woman with a kind but focused expression, carrying a box of supplies. She wore a patterned dress and sensible shoes, her hair tied back in a loose bun. The woman gave her a brief nod before settling at a small table in the corner of the room, pulling out scissors and brightly colored paper.
The assistant teacher, presumably.
The students waited, their eyes wide, some with amused smirks, others with curiosity. Her heart raced. She had no idea what she was supposed to teach, no lesson plan, and no idea what curriculum was used in 1990. And the chalkboard… How on earth was she supposed to teach with that?
Taking a deep breath, she picked up a piece of chalk. It felt foreign and awkward in her hand. “Good morning, everyone,” she managed, her voice trembling.
Maria froze for a moment, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she was sure the children could hear it. The chorus of “Good morning, Miss McKinnon!” echoed in the classroom, grounding her in this bizarre reality.
Miss McKinnon? she thought, glancing down at the teacher's planner on the desk. The name was neatly written on the cover in looping handwriting. It wasn’t her name. Her real name was Maria Stuart Fidelis, but for now, she decided to roll with it. She’d figure out what was happening later.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning, class,” she said, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “It’s nice to be with you today. I thought I’d start by sharing a little about myself.”
The children stared at her, some with mild curiosity, others stifling giggles. One boy in the back was already trying to balance a pencil on his nose.
“I have a Labrador dog named Snuffles,” she began. The familiar thought of her beloved pet brought her a brief moment of comfort. “I live with my boyfriend, his name is John. And I have a niece who just turned five and a nephew who’s three. They keep me very busy.”
Some of the children smiled at that, but she noticed a few exchanged puzzled looks. Maybe they were trying to reconcile this new “Miss McKinnon” with what they knew about her.
She hesitated for a moment. “My favorite book…” she started, before stopping abruptly. Nope. Don’t say it. Don’t say Harry Potter. Instead, she blurted out, “My favorite Beatles song is Here Comes the Sun.” She let out a breath of relief. The Beatles were definitely safe territory.
The class seemed satisfied with her answers, though a boy in the front row raised his hand and said, “My dad likes Yellow Submarine.”
“Great choice,” she replied with a nervous smile.
Taking a deep breath, Maria reached for the attendance register. “Now, I know we already know each other,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but I don’t know all of you yet. So, as I call your name, I’d like you to say one thing you’re really good at and your favourite person.”
The children nodded, and she began calling names, her voice steadying with each one.
“Sandy Foster?”
“I’m good at drawing, and my favorite person is my mum.”
“Tom Jenkins?”
“I’m great at football, and I like my grandad the most.”
The exercise gave her a moment to breathe, to settle into this strange rhythm. But then she saw a name on the list that made her stomach drop: Dudley Dursley.
She hesitated, staring at the register as though the letters would rearrange themselves into something else. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to say the name.
“Dudley Dursley?”
A large, blond boy in the middle row raised his hand. He looked exactly as she remembered from the book's description: round-faced, piggy-eyed, and wearing an expression that screamed smug entitlement.
“I’m good at eating,” he said with a snicker, earning laughs from a couple of his classmates. “And my favorite person is me.”
Maria felt her knees weaken. She clutched the desk for support as her eyes darted to the next name on the list. Her heart plummeted when she read it: Harry Potter.
“Harry… Potter?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
A boy near the window raised his hand. He had messy black hair, round glasses, and piercing green eyes. A thin lightning-shaped scar marked his forehead.
“I’m good at running,” Harry said quietly, avoiding the other students’ gazes, “and my favorite person was my mum.”
The world around her seemed to fade. She gripped the desk tightly, her mind racing.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
Her breath quickened, and she felt she was going to pass out. She looked around the room again, noticing details she’d missed before: the dated clothing, the absence of anything modern, and now this.
She had either gone completely insane, was trapped in a very vivid and surreal dream, or… somehow, impossibly, she had entered the world of the Harry Potter books.
Maria forced a smile to steady herself. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice trembling just a little, “I bet your mother was amazing.” She paused for a moment, glancing at the attentive eyes watching her, then added, “When I was younger, my grandmother was my favorite person. She always had the best stories and made the best cookies. I miss her every day.”
A flicker of something, gratitude, perhaps, passed over Harry’s face, and he gave a slight nod. Maria took a deep breath and continued through the register, keeping her voice as calm as she could manage.
When she finished, she held up the attendance sheet. “Right, we’ll need to get this to the office. Harry, would you mind taking it for me?”
Harry looked surprised but nodded, standing up and taking the sheet from her. As he left the room, Maria used the brief moment to gather her thoughts. She spotted a stack of photocopied worksheets on the desk and flipped through them. They looked like simple writing prompts, the kind she used with her younger pupils sometimes.
She turned to the class. “Alright, everyone. Today, we’re going to do some creative writing. I want you to think about something you did over the summer holidays: something fun, exciting, or maybe a little strange. But here’s the twist: you’re also going to make up something that didn’t happen. You’ll write about both, and later, we’ll try to guess which parts are true and which are lies.”
The children perked up at that, murmuring to each other as they reached for pencils and paper. Maria handed out the worksheets, her heart still racing but her nerves beginning to settle. Focus on the task, she told herself. Just get through the day.
As the children bent over their papers, Maria kept an eye on Dudley and Harry, who were seated on opposite sides of the room. She couldn’t help but wonder what each of them would write. Would Dudley boast about outrageous, improbable adventures? Would Harry reveal something heartbreaking about his life with the Dursleys?
Her curiosity buzzed like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She’d have to wait until playtime to peek at their work, but the anticipation made her stomach flutter.
While the children wrote, she glanced at the teacher assistant in the corner, who was quietly pinning up displays of students' artwork. Maria considered going over to introduce herself but decided against it for now. She couldn’t risk drawing attention to her confusion.
Instead, she walked among the students, offering encouragement and trying to absorb the details of this strange world she’d found herself in. Despite her panic, she couldn’t deny the thrill of being here. The idea of reading Harry Potter’s and Dudley Dursley’s thoughts firsthand was both mind-bending and fascinating.
As the bell rang for playtime, she felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation. She collected their worksheets with a practiced smile, masking her nerves.
“Marlene” — that’s what the other teacher called her, snapping Maria out of her thoughts. “Would you like some tea?” the woman asked kindly, standing near the door with an easy smile.
“Yes, please,” Maria replied, forcing herself to sound casual. Tea sounded wonderful, though what she really needed was time to think.
As her colleague walked off toward the staff room, Maria lingered, glancing at the stack of worksheets she’d collected. I’ll just read a few, she thought, unable to resist the pull of curiosity. After all, if this truly wasn’t a dream — and she was beginning to suspect it wasn’t — she needed to understand these children better.
She sat at her desk and picked up Harry’s paper first. Her heart clenched as she read his words.
My aunt and uncle took me to the seaside once, but I wasn’t allowed to swim because they said I’d scare the fish.
I spent most of the summer in my cupboard, except when I was sent outside to do yard work.
Sometimes, strange things happen around me, and I get into trouble even when it’s not my fault.
I got a new bicycle for my birthday, and my uncle taught me how to ride it.
We had a picnic in the park, and my aunt packed sandwiches and lemonade for everyone.
My cousin and I played football together, and he let me score a goal.
Maria’s hands tightened around the paper. The “lies” were so painfully mundane... Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Next, she picked up Dudley’s paper. The contrast was stark:
I ate three ice creams in one day at the fair.
I got a new video game console for my birthday.
My dad let me ride in the front seat of the car all summer.
I read five books during the summer holiday.
I helped my mum bake a cake, and she said I was the best helper ever.
I cleaned my own room every week.
But what concerned Maria most wasn’t the content of Dudley’s writing; it was the writing itself. His spelling was inconsistent, his sentences poorly structured, and his handwriting nearly illegible. It was clear he was far behind where a Year 6 student should be.
He’s going to need extra help, Maria thought, already trying to work out how to approach this delicately. She doubted Petunia would react well if Dudley needed remedial lessons while Harry didn’t.
She moved on to a few other papers, including one from Piers Polkiss. His account of his summer included a mention of a planned trip to the London Zoo sometime next year, an event Maria knew all too well from the books.
Before she could delve further, a girl burst into the classroom, out of breath and wide-eyed. “Miss! There’s a fight in the playground!”
Maria’s heart sank as she hurried outside, already suspecting what she’d find. Sure enough, Dudley and his gang had cornered Harry near the climbing frame. Dudley’s cronies were laughing, egging him on, while Harry stood with his fists clenched, his glasses slightly askew.
“What’s going on here?” Maria demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.
The boys immediately started talking over each other, blaming Harry for everything. “He started it!” Dudley shouted.
“I didn’t!” Harry shot back, his voice rising in frustration.
Maria held up her hand. “Enough.” She took a deep breath, her mind racing. She knew Dudley was the instigator. His smug expression and the way his friends rallied around him made that obvious. But she also knew she had to handle this carefully if she wanted to make any real difference.
“Dudley,” she said firmly, “and you three”, she gestured to his gang, “go sit on the bench over there. Now.”
They hesitated, but her tone left no room for argument. Maria turned to Harry, lowering her voice. “Are you okay?”
Harry nodded, though he looked shaken.
“Alright,” she said gently. “Go play with your friends for now. I’ll handle this.”
As she watched Dudley and his gang shuffle to the bench, Maria felt a surge of determination. If she were stuck here, she might as well do her best to help.
She couldn’t change everything, and she couldn’t undo what was already done. But she could try to bring out the good she knew was buried in Dudley. She just had to find a way to bring it to the surface, preferably without having to appeal to dementors as it had happened in the books.
By lunchtime, Maria felt completely drained, her head spinning from the events of the day. The fight in the playground, the writing assignments, and the growing weight of her new reality were all taking a toll. She was desperate to go home and decompress, but the burning question remained: Where was her home now?
While the children filed out to the lunch hall, Maria decided to sneak a peek into the pigeonholes in the staffroom. Among the neatly stacked papers, she found something useful: a payslip addressed to “Marlene McKinnon,” her apparent new identity. The address was printed clearly on it. Relief swept over her for a moment, but then it was replaced by dread.
But how am I supposed to find this place without Google Maps?
She wandered over to her assigned locker, hoping for more clues. Inside, she found a handbag: the small leather satchel seemed oddly comforting in its vintage charm. Digging through it, she found some cash, a handkerchief, a few loose coins, and a checkbook. The latter made her pause. I haven’t seen one of these in decades.
With no mobile phone to rely on, Maria decided to approach the staff during their lunch break. She casually joined the group of teachers gathered around the table, sipping tea and discussing their mornings.
“That Year 6 class is a handful, isn’t it?” one of them joked.
Maria smiled faintly. “They’re certainly… energetic,” she replied. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask… if you needed to find an address you’ve never been to, how would you go about it?”
One of the teachers, a kind-looking older man, chuckled. “Haven’t you got an A-Z?”
“A-Z?” Maria asked, trying not to sound too clueless.
“It’s a map book,” another teacher chimed in. “They’re a lifesaver if you’re not familiar with the area. You can pick one up at the corner shop.”
“Or,” the older man added, “just ask someone for directions. People around here are usually pretty helpful.”
Maria nodded, storing the information away. It was reassuring to have some semblance of a plan for getting “home.”
As the conversation shifted to other topics, Maria let her mind wander, formulating an idea for tackling the issue of Harry and Dudley. She needed to foster some kind of harmony between them, and she needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t feel forced.
That’s when inspiration struck: a classroom project. She would pair students together: one academically strong with one who needed extra support, and set up a friendly competition. Each pair would have to work as a team, with points awarded for effort, creativity, and results. The winning pair would earn a special treat — perhaps a small prize or an extra privilege like choosing the next class activity.
Her eyes lit up as the idea took shape. She could pair Harry and Dudley together, forcing them to collaborate. It wouldn’t be easy, but she hoped the structured activity might break down some of the barriers between them. If she could position it as a challenge and encourage Dudley’s competitive side, while also giving Harry a chance to shine academically, it just might work.
She’d need to be careful, though. Pairing them directly might raise eyebrows, especially from Dudley, who would almost certainly complain. She’d have to frame it in a way that felt fair to everyone.
Maria sipped her tea, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she mulled over the details.
—--------
Maria’s mind was racing as she made her way to a stranger’s home after her first day at school. There was something strange about the whole situation, like a subtle, lingering discomfort that she couldn’t quite place. The students were all fairly normal in their own way, but there was something else about this situation that didn’t sit right with her.
She had taken a moment to go over the real teacher's lesson plans on the bus. As she studied them, she tried to gauge how teachers worked in this day and age. She had managed to let her first day slip by fairly easily with art and P.E., but she knew it wouldn’t last. She couldn’t stay in the background forever; eventually, the schoolwork would catch up to her.
Still, there was that feeling... that something was off. She had tried to shake it, but it remained, gnawing at the back of her mind. Something so simple should’ve been obvious, but it wasn’t. What was she overlooking?
The long journey to her flat didn’t help her clear her mind either. She had to take two buses, and the ride felt endless. The further she went, the more tired she became.
Maria’s wariness only deepened as she entered the flat, which seemed to stretch much larger inside than it had appeared from the outside. The decor was off, just a little out of place: a mix of eccentric and vintage items that didn’t seem to match the typical teacher’s lifestyle. There were ancient-looking bookshelves that seemed to groan with age, framed pictures that seemed oddly faded for their apparent youth, and an assortment of trinkets that didn’t make sense for a simple primary school teacher. A large, old-fashioned mirror hung on one wall, reflecting a sense of mystery that unsettled her. It was as if the apartment had been frozen in time, or perhaps carefully curated to disguise something.
Maria wandered further into the living room, each step growing more hesitant. She tried to focus on the odd decoration. There were several paintings with swirling, abstract patterns that seemed alive if you stared at them too long. The walls were adorned with little things that didn’t seem to match the persona of someone like Marlene McKinnon. Some of the furniture felt too grand, like a remnant of another life entirely, possibly a different era.
Marlene McKinnon was supposed to be dead. That truth kept echoing in her mind. Wasn't she a character from the books as well? But this wasn’t the flat of a dead woman: this was the home of someone who had lived, even thrived, under an assumed identity.
Maria shook off the unsettling thoughts and focused on the task at hand. She needed to figure out what was hidden in this strange apartment. As she looked around, her eyes kept landing on the many pieces of vintage furniture, wondering if any of them had hidden compartments. And then her fingers brushed against something—something hidden behind a bookshelf that jutted out at an odd angle. At first, it seemed like just another piece of an old decoration, but as Maria pulled the shelf out of the way, she revealed a secret compartment.
Her pulse quickened as she carefully pried open the compartment. Inside, she found a well-worn, wooden chest. Maria’s breath caught in her throat. No way. She recognized that chest. The trunk had the same weathered look as the ones she had seen in the Harry Potter movies: they were clearly a Hogwarts trunk.
Maria’s hands trembled as she opened the Hogwarts trunk, the realization of what it meant sinking in like a stone in her chest. The name "Marlene McKinnon" had been buried in her memory until now: a fleeting mention in the books, a victim of Voldemort’s cruelty during the First Wizarding War. Yet here she was, living Marlene’s life… or what was left of it.
The contents of the trunk only deepened the mystery.
First, she found a wand. Its wood was smooth, slightly worn, and warm to the touch. Maria couldn’t stop herself from gripping it instinctively, though she had no idea how to use it. It pulsed faintly in her hand, sending a shiver up her spine.
Next came the books. Old, magical tomes filled with moving illustrations and strange symbols she couldn’t read. One, in particular, caught her attention: a Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook with Marlene’s name scrawled on the inside cover.
The Gryffindor robes were pristine, though faded with age. Maria ran her fingers over the embroidered crest, her thoughts racing.
Then she uncovered the letters. A neat bundle tied with a red ribbon, each envelope addressed to Marlene McKinnon. The names leapt out at her:
Lily Evans
Sirius Black
Alice Longbottom
Dorcas Meadowes
Her breath caught as she read snippets of the letters. Lily’s warm, flowing handwriting was unmistakable:
"Marlene, I know you’re nervous about the wedding, but trust me—Sirius adores you. He’s been planning something special, you know. Just don’t tell him I told you!"
Sirius’s letters were playful and full of teasing affection:
"I still can’t believe you said yes to a bloke like me. I must’ve been a Marauder in another life or something… oh wait, I still am! Love you, McKinnon."
Maria’s heart twisted as she read the love letters. Sirius Black had been engaged to Marlene?
At the bottom of the trunk, she found a stack of photographs. Some were moving, others were still. There were images of Marlene as a young girl, her family gathered around her. One picture, though, made Maria’s stomach turn: a solemn image of a magical newspaper headline: “McKinnon Family Massacred by Death Eaters: No Survivors.”
The final layer of the trunk contained an engagement ring: a simple gold band with a small ruby set into it. Sirius must have given it to her. Maria couldn’t imagine the grief he must have endured when she was killed.
But why was Marlene alive? Why was she hiding in the Muggle world, teaching at Harry Potter’s primary school?
She sank onto the sofa, clutching the ring in one hand and the wand in the other.
That can’t be a coincidence, she thought. Marlene McKinnon didn’t just survive; she chose to live here, in this time, at this school. Why?
Maria decided she couldn’t ignore this any longer. She had to dig deeper, figure out why she was here, and why she had stepped into Marlene’s shoes. And most importantly, what her presence might mean for Harry, Dudley, and the rest of their world.
Her eyes fell on a picture of Marlene and Lily laughing together, arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
Whatever Marlene’s reasons, Maria was sure of one thing: the answer lay in understanding Marlene McKinnon’s life, her choices, and her secrets.
The pieces were slowly starting to come together, but Maria knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t stop now. She had found the beginning of something big, and there was no turning back.