Yeah, another "if Harry had been born a girl" story. However this one, is really a look at how everyone else copes with it. For example she is IDENTICAL to Lily. So we look at Petunia, Snape and Draco Malfoy. Except this girl is really different to Harry Potter, and lots of stuff happens that didn't happen in the book.


Mrs Figg had just settled down into the squishy armchair in front of the fire. The woman on the television was moaning about how she was convinced she had some kind of disease, and that all doctors were conspiring against her. The chatshow was one of the worst kind that allowed the most embarrassing situations to develop, and then to mock them, by bringing a game into it. But Mrs Figg wasn't listening. On the side table next to her there was a pot of tea under a tea cosy decorated by a cat pattern, and next to that was a plate of shortbread.

She moved her feet up to rest them on the stool, only to cause upset when she discovered a split second too late that one of her many beloved cats had been napping there.

As she cursed to herself, somebody cleared their throat behind her; "I do hope that's not directed at me, Mrs Figg."

"Good Grief! Dumbledore!" Mrs Figg leapt up in surprise. "You really ought to knock, it's just so rude."

Eyes twinkling, the tall, thin man waved his wand at the other armchair by the television, which moved by itself next to the fire. Dumbledore took a seat, and gave a rather interested glance towards the tea and shortbread between him and the other chair.

"Now then," he said, suddenly grave, "I gather the discussion you wanted to have about Matilda was not... positive?"

Mrs Figg seemed to relax a little. She sat back down and pulled her hairnet off so that some wispy, grey hair fell about her small face messily. "No, it's not good," she said, rather sadly, "It's not that... well. It's not violence. Not from the adults anyway; that cousin of hers has to trash anything he sees though."

Dumbledore nodded, then clicked his long fingers and an extra mug soared over to them. He began helping himself to tea and shortbread.

"It's the Aunt. Petunia. Obviously you remarked to me more than once how much the baby looked like her mother," she gabbled on, "but then of course, there was always a chance the child would grow up looking rather different. Except I don't think she did. I've only one picture of Lily Potter, Dumbledore, and it's rather faded now. A muggle photograph. Still, I am sure that Matilda has grown up to look so like her mother that you almost wouldn't be able to tell between them. Clearly Petunia Dursley can't sometimes."

Despite the fact this sentence made very little sense, due to the fact that Mrs Figg was capable of speaking at about a hundred miles an hour, Dumbledore seemed to understand exactly what she meant.

Mrs Figg continued: "The incident, though there are several, I think you're going to have to see them for yourself. And you know what I'm going to suggest. Exactly the same thing as I did when she was first brought here."

"Very well, sit very still, and concentrate on what you want me to see." Dumbledore retrieved his wand from the breast pocket of his robes, and gently put the tip to the crown of Mrs Figg's head. A couple of seconds later, Dumbledore withdrew his wand, and with it came a long, silvery strand of either material, or smoke. It was hard to tell. Dumbledore then stuck his hands back into his breast pocket and rummaged around, as though it was incredibly spacious, then pulled out a vial. He released the memory into the vial, and then stood.

"If I'm convinced her removal from Privet Drive is nescessary... I of course, will," said Dumbledore, and then smiled brilliantly, "You really do make excellent shortbread, Mrs Figg."

"It's shop-bought, Professor," sighed Mrs Figg.

For some reason, this only made Dumbledore happier. "Ingenious!" He said, and then disappeared in one short popping noise.


"You are doing it delibrately, girl! I don't know how... well perhaps. No! You are to go to your cupboard right now!"

The woman was horse-faced, and looked livid. The little girl in front of her had dark red hair, and was in a complete state. Tears ran down from her emerald green eyes, and she was hiccupping.

"I'm not! I'm not! I don't know how it's happening! I was just..."

"LILY I..!" She slapped the girl. Hard.

" I mean... Matilda... I'm sorry... I didn't..." Petunia began to stutter terribly.

"Who's Lily?" sniffed Matilda, curiously.

"Don't ask ques... ah! M-Mrs Figg, I didn't notice you there!"

Mrs Figg shuffled awkwardly in. "I, erm. I heard you needed some milk."

"Oh yes! Thank you, it's... it's for Dudley. Growing boy, you know!"

Dumbledore dragged himself out of the memory.


"She can't stay there, Albus. It may only have been one slap, but it's clear that both the muggle woman and Potter are in distress! Once you've hit someone, you've hit someone. Clearly the child's likeness to Lily Evans is too much for the aunt." Proffessor McGonagall strode up to Dumbledore and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It may not be fully fledged... abuse. But she is neglected. She could develop personality disorders. Or turn out like Severus Snape did-..." At that moment Dumbledore cleared his throat in a pointed kind of a way.

He sighed. "There's only one other person she can go to. East."

"East? But... surely she'd spoil the child. She's..."

"Spoil? Well, that's true enough, but surely that only matters if Matilda becomes a brat as well. Matilda's had a strict enough beginning to her life."

McGonagall looked worried, "Albus, Roxie East would want to train her up, physically, and then magically when she's old enough. It would be too harsh. The child would surely be hateful, cold..."

"I will discuss in detail with Ms. East how Matilda should be brought up. I will not allow the child to be turned into a weapon. East isn't as unfriendly as she'd like certain people to think. Plus she's a genius with children."

McGonagall didn't look entirely convinced but the discussion ended with that sentence.


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