Welcome to And The Stars Walked Backward! :) Before we get started, here are some general notes:

* FIRST: WARNING: gender-bent, cliche, artistic liberties, bending-the-rules, etc etc. If you can't handle that things may not follow canon rules, then perhaps this story isn't for you :)

* Follows the Twilight timeline as if it were 2005

* Harry Potter characters' birthdays are moved up 8 years (1988 instead of 1980)

* Because I wrote this just-for-funsies, technology and references are as if the story were set in present day (sorry!)

* When I was writing this, I didn't really know where it was going, which may be reflected in the way I add things in and forget to tie them off for many chapters.

* I wrote the first 22 chapters in a month, and then took a year break. The writing style and flow is probably janky because of that.

Fun Notes:

* As of posting this, there are 39 chapters written for a total of 210,000 words. And I'm still writing it.

* My main posting site is AO3, which already has 13 chapters up.

* This is a drama that I wrote for my own amusement, hence why there are 39 chapters and 210,000 words and I haven't posted it.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight, or any other recognizable concepts within.

That was the thing about secrets—you had to carry them with you forever, no matter what the cost.

—Kass Morgan

In a shocking turn of events, it was raining in Port Angeles. From where she was peering miserably out of the window, she could smell it—rain and grass and petrichor.

(No matter her misery, she couldn't say it was an entirely unpleasant smell.)

She was sat atop one of her few suitcases, watching the downpour with the thought that eventually I and my belongings are going to be adventuring out into that. She drowned her misery in a swallow of too-sweet lemonade, reminding herself that she chose this. Nobody was forcing her to be here.

Nothing but her own fantasies and morals were forcing her to be here.

The roar of a plane engine above snapped her out of her pity party and she watched a jet come in for landing. She could barely make out the flashing lights of the men guiding it into position.

Airports were unpleasant. They smelled weird, there were too many people, and no matter how many times she reminded herself she hadn't done anything wrong, the presence of police and border control made her nervous. It wasn't that she was threatening—she had to choke back a laugh at that thought. She was all of five-foot-one and skinny, slight of form, with wide eyes and a baby face. No stranger looked at her and thought, "Ah, yes, this one's going to be trouble."

(Rather, most people asked her where her parents were and if she was an unaccompanied minor. Possibly even more annoying.)

There was a momentary gap in the downpour, the lack of rain making the airport sound suddenly too quiet. Rivulets of leftover water ran down the windows until all that was left were droplets, racing each other down. Her lips quirked up in a bit of a grin.

As if in answer to her unspoken prayers, a slightly out of date police cruiser pulled into the arrivals lane. "FORKS POLICE" was printed down the side in a font that probably hadn't been updated since the seventies.

Ah, her knight in shining armor—she hopped off her perch, stretching her aching legs. She had sat in that position for so long that there were red marks on her bare thighs in the texture of her suitcase.

Forks Chief of Police, Charlie Swan, exited his cruiser and looked about for a second before entering the building. By this time, the slight girl had already pulled her knapsack over her shoulder, zipped up her waterproof parka over her lacy dress, and pulled the handles of her suitcase up.

You could say she was a little ready to get home.

Ah, but make no mistake—she knew there were pleasantries to be had first.

Just as she would have recognized him, police garb or no, she could tell that he immediately knew her face. He hadn't seen her since she was barely two, but they were drawn together.

A brisk grin stole over Charlie's face, twitching his brown mustache.

"Hattie!" he bellowed, swallowing her up in a hug. She tensed at first and then melted, not used to the feeling.

"Uncle Charlie, hi," she said, a little breathlessly.

Charlie gripped her shoulders, pushing her backwards and looking her up and down. She wasn't much to look at. Aunt Petunia called her a late bloomer—though she was nearing seventeen now, she barely had any curves. Her chest was under-developed, swallowed by the parka. But when Charlie's eyes lit back upon her face, he smiled at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His eyes misted over a little bit and he seemed to barely resist pulling her back in.

"You look just like your mom," he said. Charlie's voice was thick with emotion.

Hattie felt a little guilty—she knew that being here hurt Charlie a little bit. After all, it meant her parents were truly gone. But she also thought perhaps her presence was an opportunity for Charlie to allow himself to actually grieve.

"My mum was a redhead," Hattie protested, giving a short laugh. It was a hollow protest, even if it were true. She looked like a Potter: delicate—if not aristocratic—nose, wide eyes, strong jaw line, wild black hair. Only her abnormally green eyes and large, puffy lips were her mother's.

"Yeah, she was," Charlie agreed. He put his thumb on her chin, and then smiled. "But you remind me so much of her."

He took his hat off and swiped at his face, swallowing thickly and nodding once. Hattie toed at the ground, her flats scuffing a little on the floor. She would allow him all the time he needed to accustom to her presence and grieve.

"Alright," he said, reaching out for her bags. "Gimme those, let's get you into the car. You look beautiful by the way. Tuney's work, I'll bet. She always was a bit theatrical."

Hattie gave a short laugh, not used to people insulting her prim-and-proper Aunt. Though they weren't close (far from it, really) and Petunia didn't really like Hattie, she'd always insisted Hattie present herself properly. Thus, when the young girl had gotten around for her long days of travel, Petunia had laid out outfits for her.

Mostly impractical. Like the flats. Pretty to look at, not very nice for walking around in the rain with.

"I'd like to see her face if she could hear you right now," Hattie said, instead of answering.

Charlie took the two large suitcases, leaving Hattie with her knapsack and the smaller suitcase. She followed him to the cruiser, watched him shuffle some things around, and finally they packed her things away. Then Charlie opened her door and helped her in like a gentleman, making her blush lightly.

"See you got the family genes just like all the rest 'a us," Charlie chuckled, twisting the keys in the ignition and pulling out carefully. "Nice to see some family resemblance."

-x-

Mostly they chatted quietly on the way home. By the time they left Port Angeles and got on the highway, it was already dark, and Hattie had been travelling for nearly 48 hours. She couldn't keep her eyes off the stars though—living near the city as she did, she didn't get to see them like this much. The clouds had rolled off and though the pavement was wet, the sky was clear, and the stars were brighter than she'd ever imagined. She could see the constellations Professor had taught her about; Cassiopeia, Draco, Cepheus, Gemini, Orion and more she couldn't name. Astronomy had never been her strongest suit.

Charlie was interested in hearing her entire backstory. What led her here—even though they'd spoken of it over the phone multiple times during the process. It was so bizarre, going from thousands of miles away to sitting next to her estranged uncle, chatting about her childhood.

She didn't say much about Vernon or Dudley. They weren't pleasant people. She had the few odd scars to prove it, and she didn't want to spoil the picture Charlie had of them in his brain. Likewise, she had few nice words about Petunia—her aunt was a nasty, gossiping woman. Hattie whole-heartedly believed that had she been a boy, Petunia would have treated her just as awfully as Vernon did.

But she wasn't a boy.

Instead, she was taught her womanly duties. She did household chores. Scrubbed floors on her hands and knees for five hours straight. Gardened, cooked. Sat to be groomed, plucked, shaved, waxed to perfection. Shoved into pretty dresses and taken to tea where she was not allowed to speak unless spoken to. Then, because of all the housework and yardwork she was forced into doing, she was calloused and needed to have her hands softened.

Still, her being a somewhat pretty young woman saved her from Vernon's hands. Her uncle would get a tongue lashing if he left too many marks on her body. A smack here, a shove there—fine—but he took the belt to her once and she never seen him so sorry when Petunia got done with him.

It was all because of magic, of course. Another thing she didn't mention in her retelling of her childhood. Her aunt hated magic, but when Severus Snape (Professor, she called him) arrived at her doorstep when Hattie was five, Petunia had little choice in the matter. Magic made Hattie unruly, and Petunia hated unruliness more than she hated magic.

Professor educated her in magic for eleven years. Sometimes there would be others—a supplementary tutor, when herProfessor didn't have the necessary knowledge. But primarily he was her Professor, and he did well by her.

Even if he was a snarky git.

She obtained her NEWTs this past year (which in itself contained numerous complications), but she couldn't start a Mastery until she was seventeen, and until there was someone willing to risk their life to teach her. So, Hattie needed to continue on her path, figure out what was next.

Forks, Washington was what was next.

Not only did Charlie live there (a fact that Professor had briskly informed her of), but it was nearby the Quileute Reservation. La Push. Home of Quileute tribe, which legend had it, descended from wolves.

It was all pure coincidence. In fact, Hattie hadn't even known she'd had an Uncle Charlie until Professor told her so. And for him to live so close to the Quileute tribe—well, it was like fate.

Her mastery would be in defensive magics and healing, but her true interest had always been human-animal transfiguration: animagi. And she figured that the Quileute legends might have some information for her, since there were few known teachers of the profession. Becoming an animagus was an unnecessary frivolity that many wouldn't be awarded, but Hattie just knew the magic would come easy to her—and she had to stay out of the way, anyways, so she might as well be doing something useful.

This was of course her story for Charlie, too. First, she wanted to meet him—desperately, she wanted to. Like she'd never wanted anything in her life. Hattie craved a family, fantasized about a loving home. Professor had been good to her, but he had never been warm. He cared for her well-being, but Hattie held no illusions that he loved her. It was what she wanted more than anything.

Secondly, she told him that she was very interested in myths and legends, which were rife in this area of Washington. Charlie hadn't thought that was a very good reason to uproot herself ("There's that internet now, after all!") but when she explained it was an education thing, for a thesis-like project, he'd given in.

A very distant last reason was the want to get away from Petunia and Vernon Dursley. She could've survived there for the next year and a half until she turned eighteen, but she just didn't want to anymore…not if there was another option. So she'd reached out to Charlie, opened the communication. In a month she was applying for a visa. A little more time passed and she was saying goodbye to Professor, packing up her belongings, and leaving behind Little Whinging.

Hattie smiled to herself as she watched the stars go by. She told Charlie all about her Professor, who taught her everything she knew. She told him of warm summer days in the library, spending more time with teachers than with kids her own age, just how she'd liked it.

But she said the bare minimum about the Dursleys—and if Charlie noticed, he didn't say anything.

—x—

"Hattie, wake up hun, we're home."

She unstuck her cheek from the window, heavy with the kind of grogginess you get when you've just come out of a great, much needed nap. Hattie stretched her body, working out the kinks, and took in the great expanse before her.

Her new home was a two-story house and a garage with a loft, looking cozy and quaint. The driveway was a bit busted up she could see, and there was a winding gravel path up to the front porch, though the driveway itself narrowed to a point between the garage and the house. Overgrown grass and plants lived in the flowerbeds. The house was a little shabby—a little too much dirt on the exterior, a few too many loose shingles. The picket fence around the flower beds was more gray than white. The mail box was crooked and the flag hung loose.

Her Aunt would have hated it.

Hattie grinned widely. It was perfect.

"I love this place," she exhaled, taking a great breath of fresh air as she stepped out of the car. There was the smell of wet grass and pavement, and trees—so many trees. The house bordered on a forest. "I love it."

Charlie was the one blushing now, scratching his neck. "Ah, you know. 'S not much, but it's home."

They headed inside, Charlie showing her around the small house as they went. The worn furniture looked so inviting that Hattie debated just curling up on the couch and sleeping there, but Charlie was already ushering her up the stairs.

There were three rooms at the top of the stairs: Charlie's, a bathroom, and the one Hattie would be staying in for now. Her uncle brought her things into the room and patted her shoulder, leaving her alone for the night.

Hattie was dead tired, but she rifled through her suitcase looking for night things. In the morning she would do a little unpacking and a little looking around—this room belonged to Charlie's kids and it wasn't entirely empty. She could see a picture of them on the wall and was curious to snoop a little…but that would wait until she'd had some rest.

The twins' bunkbeds had been removed and replaced with a regular full-sized mattress, turned down with a blue bed set. She snuggled into it, listening to the wind and the rain as she fell asleep.

Hattie slept better than she had in months.

—x—

"G'mornin' Hattie," Charlie called, already headed toward the coffee pot in the kitchen. Hattie was curled in one of the mismatched dining chairs, one hand resting idly on her mug and the other holding open her novel. "Been up long?"

Hattie glanced up and smiled. "Not too long. I was pretty tired. I made some breakfast—it's still in the skillet, probably still warm."

He gave her an appraising look and lifted the lid of the skillet. Hattie continued smiling as she went back to her novel, sipping her coffee. The smell of eggs scrambled with peppers and cheese (the only foods that had occupied the fridge) wafted over to her as he helped himself. Charlie sat across from her, digging into his food like a starved wolf.

"I almost never get home cooking," Charlie groused, once it was gone. "What're you reading?"

Hattie hemmed, marking her page and closing the novel. "Just a novel," she told him, sitting up straighter and uncurling her legs. "What're the plans for the day?"

He took a drag from his mug, which, like hers, was pretty milky. When he clinked it back onto the table, staring off into the distance, he finally answered. "I have to go into work for a bit, but if you need anything I can leave money for a cab."

Hattie drummed her fingers on the table. It must be weird for Charlie to suddenly share his home with someone, and a teenage someone at that. It had been so long since anyone had lived with him with any sort of permanency. Of course he wouldn't be used to hanging around the house.

Instead of sharing her thoughts, she gave him a bashful grin. "No need, I think I'll just spend the day settling in. I want to do some unpacking and maybe I'll take a walk if the weather holds out."

Charlie seemed put-off by the thought of her heading into town by herself. "We need to get you set up with a phone before long, that way if you get into trouble you can call someone. Probably a couple other things we should do—get your license, get your transcripts for school, all 'a that. I guess that can wait for you to get settled though."

He heaved himself up from the table and put his dish in the sink. Before heading off to work he wrote her out a list of phone numbers ("This one's my cell phone, here's my work phone, this is the house number. If you can't get a hold of me here's Billy Black's number, I should take you out to meet him 'n his son, you'd like 'em. Oh, and here's the number for Harry Clearwater…") and told her to be careful if she went out. It was a sentiment she was used to—people looked at Hattie and saw a girl much younger than she actually was, much more delicate, and tended to worry.

Nevertheless, she agreed she'd be careful. Charlie smiled at her and ruffled her hair as he left, still buckling his gun holster onto his belt.

After he left, Hattie washed up the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen a little. When she had finished, she went back up to the room she was borrowing.

Her suitcases were pushed into a corner, out of the way. As she opened the curtains and took in the room, she smiled fondly. It didn't really look lived in—there was, of course, the unmade bed, but that was her personal touch. The desk in the corner had an ancient computer on it, the phone line running to it was stapled to the wall. The desk and its drawers were empty, but the dresser had a couple of picture frames on it and some knickknacks in the drawers.

There was a picture of three small children: two boys and a girl. The boys were opposites, one pale with brown hair and blue eyes, skinny save for that chubby baby look a lot of kids have. This must be Beaufort, Hattie's cousin.

The other boy was brown—his russet skin was more than just sun-kissed, and she assumed he must be one of the natives from the nearby tribe. His black hair was overlong and his eyes were darker than Beaufort's, but they sparked with a mischief that made them seem lighter. His body had the wiry toned look of kids used to spending all their time outside.

The girl—Hattie's other cousin, Isabella—looked like a female version of her brother. She was perhaps a little taller, but if she cut her hair and the duo donned the same clothes, they'd be close to identical except for the eyes. Her eyes were brown, the same shade as her hair. Isabella looked unhappy, and Hattie had a feeling it had nothing to do with Beaufort's hand mussing her hair.

Turning away from the picture frame, Hattie decided she'd snooped enough. It was time to unpack a little bit.

She laid out her clothes on the bed, making a list of what clothing items she'd need in the coming months. It had been a pretty mild day yesterday, for early December, but Hattie had a feeling the weather wouldn't last. Even yesterday her thin parka hadn't been enough to keep her warm—she'd need proper winter attire soon.

Most of her clothing was the pretty tea dresses her aunt preferred her in. She had oodles of the things, with shoes to match. There were also night things, smart skirts and blouses, underthings. She had one swimming suit (modest, showing just enough skin to be a tad risqué—her aunt wanted Hattie to be envied by all the other neighbors' daughters. After all, that was the entire point of being a dress-up doll), a couple pairs of trousers mostly worn when she was tending the garden, a sun hat. Hidden beneath it all was one pair of workout clothes, one pair of jeans, one t-shirt, one hoodie—all kept very secret from her aunt.

After her clothes were out of the way and she had dressed herself for the day, Hattie took the majority of her personal items downstairs with her.

In early January, Charlie's kids would be coming to live with them. Their mother had gotten remarried recently and they wanted to give the new couple space.

Unfortunately, because Charlie's house was so tiny, that put a little bit of a damper on the living arrangements. Three teenagers simply could not fit in that tiny childhood bedroom.

Luckily, Charlie's garage had a loft over it—and he and his buddies had spent the summer renovating it into a sort of apartment. Hattie hadn't seen it yet, but the plan had been for her and Isabella to share the loft, which would have two bedrooms and a bathroom.

It was three quick steps from the back door to the side door of the garage, and the overhang from the two buildings' roofs meant Hattie hardly got wet at all. She unlocked the garage and dragged her suitcase up the stairs to the loft, noting the obvious signs of recent cleaning.

Upstairs she saw that there was a small entry way to hang coats and umbrellas, where she took her shoes off before venturing to one of the rooms. It wasn't anything super impressive: small, just enough room for the bed, dresser, a bookshelf and a desk. There was a small closet and a large window, and Hattie felt at peace in the room.

The other room was the same, though the layout was a little different due to the shape of the loft. Hattie claimed one and stacked her few books and personal items into it, made the bed with the provided bed set, and left to go back to the house.

—x—

It was evening by the time Charlie came home and Hattie was curled up in the very couch she'd eyed the night before. (It was just as comfortable as she'd imagined it.) Her novel was mostly finished now, and she'd showered and was in her pajamas.

Charlie called out to her as he came in the door, stomping his soggy boots on the mat. "Hattie?"

"In here, Uncle Charlie," she responded, marking her page. "I was going to cook dinner but there was nothing in the fridge."

He came in, having already unbuttoned his work shirt. He was looking around the house with appraising eyes. "You didn't have to clean up," he said gruffly. "Looks good though."

She'd spent the day doing some fine detail cleaning just to busy herself. The house wasn't really dirty, just obviously hadn't been deep cleaned in a while: the grout was stained, the glass on the oven had needed to be degreased, the windows were kind of smudgy, the shelves had needed to be dusted. It wasn't a super noticeable cleaning job and Hattie was flattered he noticed.

They ate pizza that night, something Hattie learned in the coming weeks that Charlie was very accustomed to doing if she didn't prepare a meal. He promised they'd go to the grocery store soon and told her that he didn't really cook. (She'd already figured that out, of course.)

They chatted some, but mostly they just enjoyed each other's presence quietly. Neither of them were inane chatterers, something Hattie was internally grateful for. It was good to be quiet together. Sometimes silence was more comforting than forced conversation. After dinner, Hattie found herself tucked back up in her (borrowed) bed, smiling at the ceiling.

She thought perhaps she could come to love Forks.

There it is. I'm going to be slowly posting the next several chapters tonight, to catch us up with AO3. If you like it, leave me a review. If you don't...thanks for stopping by!

Bella and Beau make their appearance in Chapter 5! (This chapter takes place in late November or early December, and the Swans don't arrive in Forks until January.)