I want to preface this work by saying I am not desi, nor am I from the United Kingdom. I hail from Southeast Asia. But the idea of non-Caucasian Harry Potter has always intrigued me, and I wanted to try my hand at it. And then I was on ffnet and came across some femHarry fics, and thus Matilda Potter was born.

If I get anything wrong, or say/write something offensive, please, please tell me. I only want to write and learn.

This is crossposted on AO3 under user tambuli.


""Once upon a time," a small voice began haltingly, "in a land far, far away from Little Whinging, Surrey, there lived a beautiful princess named Mattie."

The voice fell away, as if the speaker didn't know what to say next. Then she—for it was a she—started again, filling the dark cupboard—for our speaker was lying in a cot in a cupboard—with her story.

"She had two parents, King James and Queen Lily, and they all lived together in a palace made of glass. The glass was clear and unbreakable, and the palace had been built because Princess Mattie wanted to see the sun in the morning and the moon at night. And because

King James and Queen Lily loved—loved Princess Mattie very much, they agreed."

The small, dark cupboard seemed to transform as the speaker continued. Eyes squished shut, the speaker described the view from within the Palace of Glass. If she tried very hard, she could almost feel the sunshine on her face—

"…in spring, there would be animals bounding everywhere in the palace grounds, and in summer you could see endless fields of green through the walls of the palace. In fall, red and yellow piles of leaves were everywhere, and In winter the snow was so white and pure it rivaled a dove's wing." Our speaker had never seen a real dove, but knew that doves' wings were white, and so she had put it in, because it sounded suitably romantic and fairy-story-like. "But it was never cold in the Palace of Glass, because fires were always lit to keep Princess Mattie warm. And Princess Mattie had a pet dog named Padfoot, who curled up at the foot of her be to sleep, so her feet were never cold when she woke up."

And so the speaker told stories to herself until she fell asleep.

Ten-year-old Princess Mattie, or Matilda Potter as she was known in the mundane world, was an extraordinarily small girl. Perhaps she seemed even smaller was because all she had to wear was her cousin Dudley's outgrown clothes, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she was. But nevertheless, people always noticed two things about Mattie first: her smallness, and then her hair.

Her hair was big, and Mattie was small—this was not an either-or statement, but rather a pair of facts that established Mattie Potter's hair was long, and curly, and messy, and so thick it seemed to curl around her whole upper body. It dwarfed her thin, brown face, swallowed up her skinny shoulders, then enveloped her knobby elbows, before finally ending at her lower back. It was so big Mattie could hide in it, like a veil.

Mattie's size and Mattie's hair—those were the first two things people noticed about her.

And then she looked up at you, and her scar and eyes arrested you.

Mattie had a big scar, like forked lightning, spreading across the left side of her forehead and down her eye. If she closed her left eyelid you could see even the skin of her eyelid was scarred. But Mattie could see just fine—her bright green eyes looked up at you from behind the scar and the big hair.

Mattie often closed her eye and traced the lightning bolt across her face. It was the one thing she had from the car crash that killed her parents.

"Lily didn't manage to protect you from the glass," Aunt Petunia said curtly, when Mattie asked about the scar. "No more questions."

Lily was Aunt Petunia's sister, and when Lily and her husband died, Mattie had been sent to live with Aunt Petunia at Number Four, Privet Drive. And that meant living with Aunt Petunia's husband, Vernon Dursley, and their son, Dudley.

Vernon Dursley was a man that would come off unfavorably if compared to a walrus, so we won't do that. Instead we'll say that he was a man with a voice that, if raised, could make the windows rattle; had too much chin and not enough neck; and was particularly fond of reminding Mattie how lucky she was to be raised by them.

"Normal people," he would say. "English people. Learn the language proper, is what I say. If they're going to stay here they might as well sound English."

Aunt Petunia on the other hand was a woman who had in her relatively short life been compared to a horse multiple times, so we won't do that either. Instead we'll say she was a thin blonde woman with a little too much neck, which was perfect for spying on Number Three, Privet Drive. She had an especial interest in Mrs. Number Three's affairs, mostly because Mrs. Number Three had once beaten her in a gardening contest when Mattie and Dudley were three. She hadn't given up thinking Mrs. Number Three might have cheated.

Dudley was his father in miniature, but blond like his mother. His greatest talent lay in screwing up his face and letting out wails that rattled the windows—wails that got him everything he could want, from more Mars Bars and Hershey's Kisses to shoes that lit up when you stamped. Mattie had spent weeks sick with jealousy until Dudley stamped too hard and broke the mechanism. Ever since then, the shoes were left to rot in Dudley's second bedroom.

Aunt Petunia always looked comical in family pictures with her husband and son, because she was tall and thin and her husband and son were two blobs. Mattie rather thought they looked like a 100, but with a rather smaller 0 to account for Dudley not being as large as his father yet.

What Mattie would look like in family photos with them, she didn't know. She wouldn't fit in, anyway, so she didn't want to know.

What she would look like in family photos with her parents, she didn't know either. But unlike the Dursley family portraits, she wanted desperately to know.

Morning broke the same way it always did—with Aunt Petunia's voice shrilling, "Mattie! Up!"

"M'wake," Mattie mumbled, though she wasn't really. She was still blinking from the remnants of her dream. She hadn't dreamed of the Palace of Glass—unfortunate—but she had dreamed of bright, lovely lights dancing in front of her face, as she laughed and tried to catch them.

She had a strange feeling she'd dreamt that before.

"Are you awake yet, girl?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Mattie responded, hurrying into her clothing. She picked off a spider from her shoes—probably Marie, but she wasn't certain. But still, by the time she was dressed, Dudley had thundered down the stairs and demanded breakfast, to which Aunt Petunia responded, "Coming, Diddykins!—Mattie! Where are you?"

Mattie fried rasher after rasher of bacon and egg after egg for Dudley and Uncle Vernon, until it was time to go to school. Then Aunt Petunia shoved a piece of toast into her hands, and pushed her out the door.

Just like always.

But today, Mattie thought as she nibbled on her toast, was going to be different.

Mattie hadn't any friends, except the librarian Miss White, and maybe her homeroom teacher Mrs. Bee, and everyone knew teachers (and librarians) didn't count. But today was Isobel Grange's eleventh birthday, and she was going to give out cupcakes to everyone, and Mattie was going to say happy birthday and give Isobel the sketch of her Mattie had been working on all recess and lunch for the whole week, and Isobel would say thank you and smile and she and Mattie would be friends.

Mattie was proud of the sketch of Isobel she'd made. It showed her sitting at her desk during maths, staring out the window and into the sky. Isobel's catlike grey eyes were distant, as if she were daydreaming of someplace far, far away from maths.

The sunshine glinted off Isobel's golden hair—Mattie didn't have colored pencils, so she made do with shading with regular pencils—and bounced onto the half-solved maths problems on the desk. Mattie had thought herself very clever when she carefully wrote the answers to tomorrow's homework in tiny lettering on the drawn maths problems. This, and the sketch, would be her gift to Isobel, because she knew the other girl struggled with maths.

People liked that, right—when you drew pictures of them, and helped them with their studies? Mattie remembered learning in class that before there were photographs, there were paintings. People would sit for a long time for someone to paint them, then when it was all over they would pay gobs of money to the painter.

Mattie didn't want Isobel to pay her—she just wanted to be her friend.

So today was going to be different.

"Happy birthday, Isobel," she managed, when the golden-haired girl came around to her row bearing cupcakes. Isobel looked at her and dimpled, and Mattie felt her hands begin to shake. She felt around for the sketch she had hidden in her desk.

"Hi, Matilda. Have a cupcake," she said hospitably.

"Thank you, I will," Mattie said.

Isobel dimpled again, and, cupcakes all handed out, turned to leave.

"Wait!" Mattie called, as her fingers closed around the sketch. "I have—I have something for you, Isobel. A birthday gift."

Isobel didn't even turn all the way around. Instead, she looked over and smiled. "It's okay, Matilda. Keep it. I'm sure you need it more than I do."

"No, wait, it's not—" Mattie tried. But Isobel was already gone.

Later, Mattie thought, she might have been able to bear it, might have been able to approach Isobel and explain that her gift wasn't anything she needed, it was just a drawing. She might have been able to bear it, if she hadn't heard Mrs. Bee and Isobel talking as she came back from the loo.

She'd gone right before going home to Privet Drive, so that if Aunt Petunia locked her in the cupboard, she'd at least not need to pee. Then she heard Mrs. Bee and Isobel talking, and she stopped.

She should have known better, really—eavesdroppers never hear anything nice.

"Those were lovely cupcakes, Isobel," Mrs. Bee said. "Did you help make them?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you got ever so many presents! Tell me, if it's all right with you, what did Mattie get you? She's been working so hard all week and she wouldn't tell me what it was!"

"Oh, I told her to keep it," Isobel said sunnily. "She's so poor, Mrs. Bee, she can't afford to be going around giving presents. I mean, have you seen her clothes? I'm sure she'll find a better use for whatever it is."

Green eyes blurring with tears, Mattie turned and ran.

Before too long, the run turned into a walk, and the walk became a trudge, as Mattie made her way back to Number Four, Privet Drive.

Did Isobel really think her so poor? And her clothes so ugly? Mattie knew she hadn't any money, and Dudley's clothes didn't fit her, but the clothes were of good brands and weren't worn yet—Aunt Petunia never let any of Dudley's clothes get worn. She passed them down to Mattie before they ever reached that stage. And anyway Mattie hadn't spent any money on Isobel's present, just a lot of time and effort that now felt like it had gone to waste.

She's so poor…she can't afford to be going around giving presents…have you seen her clothes?

She felt the tears beginning to spill over, and ran as fast as she could to Number Four before anyone on the street could see her beginning to cry.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon weren't home yet, and Aunt Petunia hadn't called for her the moment she stepped in, so Mattie dared to go to the upstairs bath, which had a mirror.

Dudley's clothes hung on her skinny frame like clothes on a hanger. They didn't look right on her—not the balloony red sweater, not the too-big beige pants she had to wrap a belt twice round for them to stay up. She was practically swimming in fabric.

She looked like a girl dressed in castoffs because nobody loved her enough to buy her clothes that fit.

Cheeks dark with humiliation, green eyes burning with shame, she ran downstairs to her cupboard to have a good cry.

Once upon a time, she mouthed to herself softly, fist pressed against her mouth so no one would hear her sob, there lived a beautiful princess named Mattie, and her parents King James and Queen Lily loved her so much they always had her clothes made to fit…

"That's it!" she cried out loud, then hushed. "Made to fit! Of course! I'll learn how to sew!"

She wiped her tears and immediately began planning, with the help of her one bare bulb. And if a few stray tears made their way down her cheeks, well, who but Marie the spider would ever know?