Alright.

Here we go.

I've already mentioned that I absolutely love genderbend, haven't I? And Harry Potter has this persevere amount of male characters! Like, I want GIRLPOWER, MAN! That's what I live for!

Seriously though, Harry Potter is perfect and I wouldn't change anything. I really wouldn't. This here is just to have some fun with the whole concept of 'what if'.

I don't own anything, I have no rights, my writing is garbage and I'll never be J. K. Rowling. I don't intend to gain anything from this just want to spend my time having fun with this story I absolutely adore.

Just to make it clear, my plans of HPGenderbend go as far as three fanfics. The first one I haven't started writing yet (curiouser and curiouser) but it's supposed to be about Atlas (Albus) Dumbledore and everything she/he ever did. The second one I posted one chapter already. It's called Chronicles of Hogwarts: Time Steals Nothing, and it's about Rita (Remus) Lupin and her/his time in Hogwarts and what happened after she/he got out. So this is the third and the last one, and it's about Eugenia Potter, the girl who lived.

Why Eugenia? It's quite simple really. James Potter's mom was called Euphemia Potter. I thought it'd be just fitting for him to name his child after her. I don't know. I'll keep briefing you guys on the names as the story goes forward, don't you worry.

And one last thing... Eva Green is Atlas Dumbledore in my head, if that helps. I've watched the trailer of Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children and I was like whoa how about that. She's so freakin' gorgeous, like damn!

Okay, enough gibberish. We have a story to tell.

"It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends."

Act I - a great deal of courage

Part I - terrible mistakes

Atlas had been through a lot. During her long years, more than once she thought she'd seen everything. And more than once she had been proven wrong.

When she got word… when she heard what had happened… Atlas tightened her eyes for a second. Wouldn't do to get carried away. She had much important things to do.

The street was deserted when she appeared in the corner. She appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought she'd just popped out of the ground. Certainly nothing like herself had ever been seen on Privet Drive. She was a tall, thin woman with a pale face framed by hair dark as ebony. She didn't look the years she had endured; still possessed most of the wicked beauty she'd been known for in her youth. Her blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling cold, and her nose was long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. She wore robes that covered her from neck to feet. Black robes,always black robes. Her mourning never ended. And the pain would never cease.

Atlas realized that she had just arrived in a street where everything from her name to her boots was unwelcome. She was too busy rummaging in her cloak, looking for that damn Deluminator, to care. She was always misplacing things in those endless pockets. She found the silver cigarette lighter and flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. She clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times she clicked the Deluminator, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, the eyes of a yellow-stripped cat that watched her from a wall.

Atlas had to smile. She raised her head to the feline, which was still staring at her from the other end of the street, and muttered, "I should have known." She slipped the Deluminator back inside her cloak and set off down the street toward number 4, where she sat down on the wall next to the cat. Without looking at the animal, she added, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

When she turned to smile at the tabby, it had gone. Instead Atlas was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Minerva," Atlas smiled, "I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day, my dear woman? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." Atlas tried to keep her voice light although her words weighed with sadness.

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily and Atlas suspected her friend was suffering as much as she was. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the dark living-room window of number 4. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Atlas gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Atlas here, as though hoping she was going to tell her something, but Atlas didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose she really has gone, Dumbledore?"

Atlas held a sigh. Everyone would be asking her that for the years to come. "It certainly seems so. We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop, Minerva. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. Atlas chuckled; it was so easy to irritate her. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-"

Now here was one of the few things that irritated Atlas. "My dear Minerva, surely a sensible person like yourself can call her by her name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense... for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call her by her proper name: Malvina." McGonagall flinched, but Atlas, who was unsticking two lemon drops, pretended not to have noticed. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' What if I don't know who? I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying someone's name."

"I know you haven't," said McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-oh, all right, Malvina, was frightened of."

"You flatter me more than I deserve," said Atlas calmly. "Malvina had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too... well... noble to use them."

Atlas giggled like a little girl. She loved to hear what people thought of her, especially when it were good things. If they only knew who she'd been, what she'd done… If they knew her weaknesses, her fears, maybe they wouldn't jump into such undeserved compliments. "It's lucky it's dark," she said. "I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at her and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why she's disappeared? About what finally stopped her?"

It seemed that Minerva had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Atlas with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Atlas told her it was true. Once more in these long years of friendship, Atlas felt a wave of pride for knowing someone so loyal.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Malvina turned up in Godric's Hollow. She went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are... are... that they're... dead. "

Atlas finally raised her eyes from the lemon drops and looked her friend in the face. Oh no. Atlas realized she'd been wrong. McGonagall did not know! Or refused to believe until now which was even worse. Suddenly, the pain in Atlas's chest made it hard for her to breathe. She'd have to say it. She'd have to confess her defeat, her mistake, her disgrace.

She bowed her head. McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Atlas…"

Atlas reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Although wishing to console her friend, Atlas had never been great with physical contact. "I know… I know…" she said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying she tried to kill the Potter's daughter. But... she couldn't. She couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when she couldn't kill Eugenia Potter, Malvina's power somehow broke... and that's why she's gone."

Atlas nodded glumly. At least she wouldn't have to tell the whole story. Not tonight.

"It's... it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all she's done… all the people she's killed… she couldn't kill a little baby girl? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop her… but how in the name of heaven did little Nia survive?"

"We can only guess," said Atlas keeping her face straight. "We may never know." It was half true. However good her ideas were, although her speculations more often than not proved to be corrected, there was always the chance she was wrong. She had made mistakes before, hadn't she? Some terrible mistakes.

McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Atlas's eyes were full of tears but she refused to let them fall. Took a golden watch from her pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. Atlas put it back in her pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes. And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring little Nia to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left."

"You don't mean... you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number 4. "Dumbledore, you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this daughter... I saw her kicking her mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Eugenia Potter come and live here!"

That was precisely why Atlas hadn't told anyone what she meant to do… No one would understand. They'd try to change her mind. And how Atlas would love to have her mind changed… If she were being honest with herself, she'd raise the girl herself, as her own. But the dangers that would bring? For the whole wizarding community… And the girl… The girl would be safer here. Or at least that's what Atlas would tell herself in the sleepless nights to come. With a little bit of luck, she might just believe it…

"It's the best place for her," she said firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous, a legend. I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Eugenia Potter day in the future. There will be books written about her, every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Atlas, taking that chance to use Minerva's words against her. "It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes... yes, you're right, of course, as usual. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed her cloak suddenly as though she thought Atlas might be hiding Nia underneath it.

Atlas grinned. "Hagrid's bringing her."

Minerva's eyes widened. "You think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life."

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to... what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky, and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild, long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Atlas relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, ma'am," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, ma'am."

"No problems, were there?" asked Atlas, finding suspicious the mention of Sirius Black. Could it be…?

"No, ma'am. House was almost destroyed, but I got her out before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Atlas and Minerva bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where-?" whispered McGonagall.

"Yes," said Atlas. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give her here, Hagrid." Suddenly, Atlas wanted nothing more than getting this over with. She took little Nia in her arms and turned toward the number 4.

"Could I... could I say good-bye to her, ma'am?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Nia and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it... Lily an' James dead... an' poor little Nia off ter live with Muggles-"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," McGonagall whispered as Atlas stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door.

Atlas laid little Nia gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of her cloak, tucked it inside Nia's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Minerva blinked furiously, and the twinkling flame of hope in which Atlas held on seemed to have gone out.

"Well," she decided, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore…" Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Minerva," said Atlas, nodding to her.

McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Atlas turned and walked back down the street. On the corner she stopped and took out the Deluminator. She clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed and Atlas could make out the tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. She could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number 4.

The last time she had felt like this… No. She couldn't think of them. She wouldn't. Not about those who were gone. Those she had lost. Here was a child representing so many possibilities… Maybe hope had died inside of Atlas to reborn in that one little girl that kept on sleeping, not knowing how special she was, not knowing how famous she was… She had not way of knowing that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and toasting at her name.

"Good luck, Nia," Atlas murmured, wishing desperately that this time she was doing the very right thing. That her mistakes wouldn't be repeated. That this time, the innocent wouldn't have to pay.

She turned on her heel and with a swish of her cloak, Atlas was gone.