Weeks passed, and Harry visited Veronica as often as he could manage. Whenever he had a free moment—whether sneaking away from the Dursleys or escaping the loneliness of Privet Drive—he found himself drawn back to her.
Veronica welcomed him each time with the same warm smile and a kind word. They’d sit in the garden, share simple meals, and talk about everything and nothing. Harry slowly opened up, sharing bits of his life with her. He spoke of the cupboard under the stairs, his cousin Dudley’s torment, and how he always felt out of place.
Veronica listened, never judging, only offering quiet reassurance. In turn, she shared small pieces of her own story, careful not to reveal too much about her reincarnated knowledge. She told him about how she’d lost her parents and how she often felt like a stranger in her own world.
“You’re not alone, Harry,” she told him one afternoon as they sat beneath the willow tree. “Sometimes, it might feel like the world’s against you, but there’s always someone who cares.”
Harry looked at her then, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Like you?”
She grinned. “Exactly like me.”
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One sunny afternoon, they decided to take a walk around the garden before heading to their usual spot. The flowers were in full bloom, the air filled with the sweet scent of roses and lavender. Harry seemed lighter than usual, chatting more freely than he ever had before.
“I think Dudley’s scared of me now,” Harry said with a small laugh. “I accidentally made his juice spill all over him the other day, and he thinks I cursed him.”
Veronica smirked. “Sounds like he deserved it.”
Harry grinned but quickly added, “I didn’t mean to do it, though. It just... happened.”
Before Veronica could respond, a sudden rustling in the bushes made them both freeze.
“What was that?” Harry whispered, gripping her arm instinctively.
Veronica’s sharp eyes scanned the greenery. “Probably just an animal,” she said, though her tone was cautious.
The rustling grew louder, and Harry’s grip tightened. Before either of them could investigate, a sudden whoosh of warmth surrounded Harry, and his messy black hair turned a bright, fiery red.
Veronica blinked, caught off guard. “Harry, your—”
“I know!” he yelped, his hands flying to his head. “Oh no, no, no!”
Seeing his panic, Veronica held up her hands to calm him. “Harry, it’s okay—”
“No, it’s not!” he interrupted, stepping back. His voice was shaking. “It’s freakish! I’m a freak, and now you’ll hate me too!”
Veronica’s heart ached at the fear in his voice. She stepped forward, her expression soft but firm. “Harry James Potter! , you are not a freak,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated, his hands still tangled in his now-vibrant red hair. “But... but this—”
“This,” she interrupted gently, “is accidental magic. It’s completely normal for wizards your age.”
Harry stared at her, wide-eyed. “Wizards?”
Veronica nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, Harry. You’re not alone. There are others like you—like us.”
For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Then, in a small voice, he asked, “You’re a witch?”
“I am,” she said proudly. “And there’s nothing freakish about being magical.”
His fiery red hair shimmered in the sunlight, and despite the situation, Veronica couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You know,” she said, “the red actually suits you.”
Harry blinked at her, startled by her laughter. “It does?”
“Absolutely,” she said with a grin. “You look like a Gryffindor lion.”
The tension in Harry’s shoulders eased slightly, and a small smile crept onto his face. “You’re not... scared of me?”
“Harry,” Veronica said gently, “I could never be scared of you.”
The rustling in the bushes startled them again, and this time Veronica crouched down to peer through the leaves. A tiny squirrel darted out, pausing to nibble on an acorn.
She laughed, standing up. “See? Just a squirrel.”
Harry let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I overreacted.”
“You didn’t,” Veronica said firmly. “It’s okay to be scared. But you don’t have to face it alone.”
As they returned to their spot under the willow tree, Harry’s hair slowly shifted back to its usual black. For the first time, he felt a flicker of pride in the magic that had always set him apart. And for the first time, he truly believed that maybe—just maybe—there was nothing wrong with being different.
