A quick note before we begin: this story isn't just Harry-as-a-girl, but a very new version of the character. In fact, please consider her as an half-way OC - a new character who happens to have Harry's background. If that isn't your thing, there are lots of other "Girl Who Lived" stories available. Thank you!
"Move," Harry commanded. She was concentrating as hard as she could. "Mooooove, ugh."
Try as she might, she knew that pencil wasn't going anywhere. Hmph. How frustrating. She was certain she had superpowers. How else had the pencil suddenly floated in the middle of class?
She had been daydreaming during math lessons, as usual. English was her forte and she wasn't fond of numbers at all. She was so distracted, she hadn't even noticed it at first - her pencil slowly floating up in front of her face and making its way towards the ceiling.
Even when she had seen it, she'd been too shocked to really do or think anything. Only when another boy in her class had suddenly hissed at her, "How are you doing that?" did she fully realize what happened, and then the pencil fell to the floor and landed with an audible sound.
"Ms. Potter, are you paying attention?" Mr. Hansen had asked her, sounding exasperated, as she supposed he had a right to be.
"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Harry answered sheepishly.
That had happened on Tuesday. Every day after school and any time she had been free Harry had been trying to make it happen again. It was Friday now. Clearly, it wasn't going to happen at all.
Maybe she dreamed it all and the pencil never moved and that boy didn't actually say or see anything. She couldn't go ask him. None of the other kids in her class were, well, all too fond of her.
Harry was always dressed in Dudley's old things. The ratty, over-sized boys' clothing probably made her look very shabby, and the huge, taped up glasses didn't help either. Neither did her love of reading - the other kids thought that was strange, much like what they thought of the way she always played alone in the corner of the school yard when she wasn't in the library.
At some point in her childhood, Harry had really cared what the other children thought of her. She had been quite miserable. Now, she was happy - they were all idiots anyway.
"Harriet!" Her aunt screeched. Well, happy enough.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" Harry called back from where she was reading library books in her cupboard under the stairs.
"Out here! Now!" Aunt Petunia continued to screech. It was probably loud enough to hurt the neighbor's ears.
Harriet sighed and rolled her eyes, but closed the book anyway. Aunt Petunia was always very mean... but Harriet had an idea that maybe she secretly liked her niece anyway.
Why wouldn't she? Harriet was a little ditzy sometimes, but she was polite, did well in school, and always took care of all her chores (even though she knew her share of them wasn't exactly fair). She didn't complain, either. Not anymore, anyway.
Aunt Petunia seemed unusually stressed lately and was always acting cranky. Crankier than usual, even. Despite the unlikeliness, Harry wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was planning something nice for Harry's birthday. Dudley's birthday had been fantastic when they got to go to the zoo. Harry loved looking at all the animals and learning about them (though the reptiles did scare her off a little bit). She'd expressed interest in wanting to go back there someday and even though Uncle Vernon had irritably brushed her off... well, maybe, just maybe.
For now at least, it was just more chores. Harry worked away, as always, secretly and silently hoping for some kind of treat. That never happened, but Harry remembered Cinderella stories. If she stayed quiet and worked hard, there's always that maybe. A fairy godmother from nowhere.
Not that she'd want her 'step' family punished like in those stories. She just wanted them to love her, that's all, and that's not too much to ask.
The next morning, something strange happened. After cooking breakfast for everyone, when Harry went to fetch the mail, as she always did, Uncle Vernon made her sit down and did it himself. Now that was very strange. Even if he wanted to be nice, her uncle would make Dudley get it far sooner than doing it himself.
And the same thing the morning after that. In fact, Uncle Vernon had started acting very strange about mail recently. And that made her curious.
Curiosity killed the cat, Harriet. She thought to herself. But... Harry was not a cat, so it was probably fine.
Harriet got the mail herself in a very sneaky way, by pretending she was going to the bathroom. She'd think about lying and how bad it was later.
A letter. A letter for her. A letter for her. Not just one, but three... though they did all look the same.
Ms H Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
How could they know she lived under the stairs? She started opening one immediately (was it from the CIA in America? Or the real life Professor Xavier's school? Or - or - ), but she stopped herself. This was a secret just for her. Couldn't let the others see. She tucked them down her over-sized shirt and into the waist of her trousers. Then she left the mail where it was and went back.
And the day passed as normal. Even when she got a free moment during the day, she kept her letters hidden, just in case someone snuck up on her. Only when she was locked in her cupboard for the night did she dare dig them out.
They were a little bit icky from sweat and being bent, but the ink wasn't smudged or anything that would keep her from reading them.
What she read inside was what she'd been waiting for her whole life. Her whole life! So she was a witch, a real life witch! She had done magic, real magic. And these people at this school wanted her there! Of course she'd say yes! Money... would they do loans? Surely. She kissed the letter, at the signature from kind Deputy Headmistress McGonagal, and struggled not to squeal in delight. The thought didn't pass through her mind that it might not be real - she couldn't bear to think it.
As she assumed, the other letters were the same. She folded up one in her shoe, hid the other under her mattress, and took the third to use in finding that place.
No sense asking Aunt Petunia for help. That was a risk even goodhearted Harry wasn't willing to take.
