a/n: I know the girl-Harry trope is overdone, but I thought this one might be a little bit unusual. I'm open to constructive criticism in terms of writing or grammar. This one's going to be pretty drawn out.

IMPORTANT EDIT: A/N: I personally cannot fathom why anyone would do this, but PLEASE do not leave a review before you even read this. An unnamed guest reviewer decided to leave a comment before they even read, telling me that they hadn't read it yet, but that Aunt Petunia being loving towards Hyacinth/Harry because they were a girl instead of a boy was sexist. I'm going to say this now, for any new readers starting here, and it will be repeated at the beginning of Chapter 11 for those who have already been following the story, because that's what I'm about to upload currently.

Alright, so even though I think it's very unwise to leave a review on a piece of work that you can clearly see has (at the time I'm writing this) about 40k words already, because there's a good chance if it's already THAT long, you can't be picking up enough to leave a valuable review just based off of the summary, I'm going to explain the whole Aunt Petunia flip thing: The reason Aunt Petunia is loving in this universe has NOTHING to do with Hyacinth's gender, and I was surprised anyone saw it that way, because it was never intended. This story is, in case it was unclear, built off of very many switches being flipped. None of the initial changes (or at least, very few of them) caused any of the others. The only cause-and-effect, in my opinion (I know stories go beyond their authors, but I think my intentions should count for something) is that because Vernon isn't present in the household, it's a warmer and more loving environment. Being a single mother, and obviously being possessed of more sense in this AU, Petunia doesn't spoil her child to the same extent as she does in canon, or at least not so disproportionately -I have tried my very best to make her seem somewhat reminiscent of canon, while removing all of her most toxic aspects -and if you get to the chapter where she talks about Snape, you'll see what I've done with her relationship with her sister, which is another reason why she's more loving towards Hyacinth. I get that Vernon wasn't the only reason she was cruel to Harry in canon, but that's why this is an AU. And I'm asking you to trust that this is complicated enough to have multiple things going on at once, meaning that not EVERYTHING is connected to everything else. There are a lot of threads running in this story that I felt were necessary to tell the story I envisioned. As always, you're welcome to your opinion, but if you're already here you might as well give it a chance before you criticize.

I'm sorry this was so long (I'm really not one for Author's Notes that are quite so extensive), please enjoy the story, and if you still have questions or concerns about Aunt Petunia's character in this universe, please bear with me til Chapter 11, where I can go more in detail without spoiling anything for the new readers.

Hyacinth Potter had her mother's eyes, but her father's eyesight. As such, she found herself in the optometrist's office, directed into a chair while the measurements of her eyes were taken. Her aunt sat in the guest's chair, watching with a reassuring smile.

Hyacinth wasn't afraid of doctors, per se, she just wasn't fond of them, and so Aunt Petunia flashed her comforting smiles every so often to keep her subdued from running every time the doctor neared her eyeball.

When she was done, she had a new pair of round, black spectacles that Aunt Petunia said complemented her very nicely.

"Now," said Aunt Petunia brightly as she started the car, "How about we go down to the bakery and see about ordering your birthday cake?"

"That sounds fun," answered Hyacinth, considerably cheered after having faced the horrid eye monster.

Her aunt smiled, and truly Hyacinth was consoled, but . . . there was something about the way Aunt Petunia constantly tried to keep Hyacinth happy that was distinctly sad. For now, though, she decided to leave that unpleasant thread alone and imagine what sort of flavor and colors she would like for her cake.

"After all," her aunt always said, "birthdays only come once a year, and they're very very special."

She also, of course, said this about things like Christmas, and Halloween, and even Easter, ignoring the fact that she was not an overly or even particularly religious woman.

It was a concerted effort on Aunt Petunia's part to make her house a constantly cheerful one, or at the very least, never a distraught one.

Hyacinth noticed the trail of her thoughts again, and steered them distinctly towards places like chocolate or banana and red or blue or purple or green or yellow or orange or pink.

She had a harder time deciding between colors than flavors, and so when they arrived at the cake shop entitled "Mrs. Morales's", she ordered "A banana cake with . . . um . . ."

Mrs. Morales's daughter, Natalie, smiled with polite impatience.

"How about orange icing, dear, you've not had that color before?"

"Okay," said Hyacinth, having realized that orange was in fact one of the few colors she'd not had before, considering that they'd all been pink or purple up until she was around five, and old enough to really care what color cake she had. Since then, she had a tendency to go for red or blue, but had also tried yellow. That left (barring the unthinkable -a mostly white cake) green and orange.

Natalie showed her a nice shade of orange that resembled peach more than anything, and Hyacinth nodded appreciatively, which Aunt Petunia took as her cue to finalize the order for next week, the 31st of July, the date of Hyacinth's eleventh birthday.

Petunia Evans had one child of her own, and he was waiting at home when they returned. His name was originally supposed to be Dudley, but according to Aunt Petunia, as well as their maternal grandparents, the story went that "Dudley" was a name chosen by Vernon Dursley, her ex-husband and father to her only child, and it had displayed to Petunia an unforgivable defect in Vernon's personal judgment, and so she'd cleverly arranged for him to be sent away for some refreshments by her mother at the exact moment that she would be completing the birth certificate and swapped it out with her son's true name, which would be Duncan.

Duncan Evans-Dursley was the result, because Aunt Petunia had also had the wicked foresight to imagine cruel children calling him something along the lines of "double D" and decided to give him an intermediary last name.

Of course, when he'd returned and discovered the trickery, it had been only the first of many disagreements resulting in their divorce before Duncan or Hyacinth had reached the age of three.

"How'd the eye doctor go, Hya?" asked Duncan, snickering as he laid on the floor of the living room, building an elaborate Lego tower.

*Shut up," she replied, kicking him very gently on the side as she walked past. "We went and ordered my birthday cake."

"What kind?" he asked as he joined another white Lego to the tower.

"Banana."

"Yuck. What color icing?"

"Orange, writing will be white."

"Eh. Orange isn't a bad color."

"It's really more like peach," she informed him as she sat beside him and began helping add white Legos to Duncan's grand Lego tower, which would eventually join the others and help form his grand Lego castle.

"What do you think you're getting?" inquired her cousin.

Hyacinth shrugged. "Dunno. She usually finds something pretty cool and interesting."

"Yeah. Suppose it's a puppy."

"Wishful thinking, but you know no animals bigger than what can live inside a cage or a tank. That's the whole reason you got the aquarium last year."

Duncan's eyes flickered upstairs, to his room in which was his prized possession: an enormous fishtank, inhabited by all kinds of beautiful fish, as well as some small frogs and snails. It had been his gift for his tenth birthday (because Aunt Petunia believed there were several very important birthdays, and the tenth birthday was one of them, and as a result they were each allowed to ask for something quite large and reasonably expensive).

Hyacinth's gift had been a brand new violin, all shimmering strings and sleek dark wood, with a lovely case and a new rosin to match. She'd been taking lessons from one of the neighborhood ladies for as long as she could remember, and her aunt had bought her a gently used one several years ago.

"Do you know," offered Duncan quietly, "my dad bought me about thirty-six gifts last year? Most of them were things I hadn't wanted, and never asked for. He was so pleased with himself, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful but . . . sometimes it seems like he thinks he can buy my love."

Hyacinth wasn't sure what to say to that. It wasn't really the same as what Aunt Petunia did, Aunt Petunia had different intentions.

She merely twisted her lips, and let him ramble on a bit further about how weird his dad was as they made further progress on the tower, and Aunt Petunia prepared supper in the kitchen.

Clack clack clack, came the sound of three sudden and sharp knocks on the front door. Immediately, Duncan and Hyacinth both shot up, elbowing each other in a ruthless dash to the door (which was only about five feet away from where they'd been sitting on the floor).

"I'll get it!" they screamed overtop one another as they shoved, trying to be the first to grab the door handle, when -aha, Hyacinth had it, and by rights, Duncan had to step back so she could politely answer the Guest.

Except that, when she did open the door, she was quite taken by surprise with what she saw.

A tall, austere woman with black hair tied into a strict bun. She wore a long, emerald-colored dress, which looked more fit for a castle in a century or two prior, than it looked for a hot July day in England.

"Hello," said the woman, "I am looking for the family of a Miss Hyacinth E. Potter."

"Well, I'm Hyacinth."

Duncan giggled behind her quietly.

"Ah, very good, then may I speak with your aunt?"

"Uh, sure," said Hyacinth, any sense of courtesy flying out the window by the strangeness of this visitor.

She ran into the kitchen, because Aunt Petunia didn't like shouting in front of guests, even if it was only because you needed to contact someone from a different room of the house. Duncan stood watch at the door.

"Aunt Petunia, there's a woman here, I've never met her before but she says she's looking for the family of me and asked if she could speak to you."

Lips pressed into a line, but without any hint of surprise, Aunt Petunia detached herself from breading the chicken, and said "Why don't you and Duncan take the Lego's upstairs for now, hm?"

And, because they couldn't deny her, they gathered the little plastic bricks, with Duncan carrying the entire tower carefully in one hand, and retreated upstairs to Duncan's bedroom.

"What do you think that's about?" asked Duncan, brimming with curiosity.

Well, reasoned Hyacinth, they could sneak to the top of the steps and listen in, but that risked consequences if they were discovered, and they might be heard walking through the hall to get to the stairway.

"Okay," said Duncan, "this is what we'll do. We'll both walk over, but then open and close your bedroom door, and they'll think we were just migrating into your room."

Hyacinth decided that while this plan could still very easily go wrong, the curiosity would have been insatiable, so they went.

" . . . didn't want it to interfere in her childhood," they heard Petunia saying.

"I quite understand, Ms. Evans, but of course . . . you must have known this day would come, did you not think it wise to try to prepare her?"

"I considered it, but I wasn't sure what to say, and I wasn't sure how my son, Duncan would react. They've been raised alongside each other their whole lives."

"Whoa," whispered Duncan, eyes growing rounder and rounder, "you don't think you're . . . sick, do you?"

"Of course not," snapped Hyacinth under her breath, "they'd have to have run tests on me somewhere, and I'd know if they did."

"Not if you were a baby. What if you were a baby and they found out you had an illness that wouldn't kick in until you turned eleven?"

"Shut up."

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd quite like to take her for her supplies today, that way she has more time to prepare."

"I suppose I'd better call her down then."

There was a faint chuckle. "I don't imagine, Ms. Evans, that that will be necessary. She's been listening in for a minute or two now. Haven't you, Miss Potter?"

If possible, Duncan's eyes grew even rounder. Busted.

"You'd better get down there," her whispered, pushing her shoulder.

She scrambled up before running down the steps in an altogether uncivilized manner, eyes darting between her aunt and this stranger who knew her by name.

She was really hoping she didn't have an illness.

"Miss Potter," said the visitor, "I'm afraid we have quite a lot of things to discuss, and presently, a condensed amount of time in which to do so, so let us get the important things out of the way. I am Professor McGonagall, I am a teacher at Hogwarts, which is a school you shall be attending come September."

Oh. That was all it was? A school? Strange, to be sure, that Aunt Petunia hadn't mentioned she was going to a new school, and certainly a different one from Duncan, but after all, Duncan would be transferring to an all-boys academy in the next couple of years, so maybe Hogwarts was some type of all-girls school. It was a strange name, to be sure, but at least it was the strange name of a school and not a terminal disease.

"Oh, okay. It's very nice to meet you."

"I was not quite finished. Hogwarts is a school of magic."

Hyacinth laughed. Now she saw. This was all some elaborate prank Aunt Petunia had pulled -perhaps to get her in a jovial mood for her birthday next week. This was a neighborhood woman, one Hyacinth had merely yet to meet, or one of Aunt Petunia's friends from a social club, or something, who had a sense of humor, and whom her aunt had been able to convince to prank her.

Well, Aunt Petunia had certainly got her.

"No, Hyacinth, this isn't a joke," Aunt Petunia said quietly, and so, Hyacinth's world shifted forever.

"Wait, what?"

"You are a witch, dear," supplemented Professor McGonagall. "You were born with a trait that allows you to manipulate seen and unseen forces in ways that others cannot, which is more commonly referred to as 'magic.'"

"Oh," said Hyacinth, and if this was a joke, this was taking it a little bit far, and if not, it was starting to explain a great number of strange coincidences that she had experienced, like the time she stopped herself from dropping a pitcher Aunt Petunia's homemade pink lemonade all over the floor and spilling everywhere, and it had simply hovered in midair for a moment before she'd had the sense to grab hold of it. And why once, when she'd scraped herself playing dodgeball with some kids in school, she'd woken up the next morning with not even a scar left, having agonized about the pain and how ugly scrapes were the night before.

"I have your acceptance letter to Hogwarts right here," said the professor, producing a yellowish envelope from within her pockets.

Hyacinth tore into it eagerly.

She could hardly believe her eyes. There, in front of her, was an acceptance letter to a magic school, with a list of supplies she'd need as a first-year student to do magic.

"Is this really real?"

"I can prove it, if you remain skeptical," said McGonagall, before promptly turning into a cat.

A tabby cat, in particular. Hyacinth couldn't imagine why on earth she was paying attention to that.

A woman had just turned into a cat.

She turned back into a human, smiling. "Do you believe now, Miss Potter?"

Hyacinth turned towards Aunt Petunia with confusion. "You . . . knew?"

"Hya, love, it wasn't something I kept from you lightly."

Hyacinth decided she could feel angry that she'd been kept in the dark, or she could go wherever this professor intended to take her to obtain her magical school supplies, and being angry just wasn't worth it.

"Okay. So . . . are we going to get these supplies now?"

"Indeed."

Professor McGonagall led her to a discreet corner of London that turned out to be home to a colorful hidden world called Diagon Alley, where the professor promised all of her supplies could be found.

But first, McGonagall had explained, they would need to visit the magical bank known as Gringotts, where the Potter family vault resided, for the purpose of obtaining some wizarding money for Hyacinth.

Hyacinth had merely stared in shock and awe at the heaps and heaps of gold in her vault.

"Um, terribly sorry, Professor McGonagall, but a few questions are occurring to me right about now. Aunt Petunia always told me that my parents were police, and they both died in an altercation with a drug lord, but now I'm starting to think -well, my parents weren't drug lords, were they? Or else how did they get so much money?"

The professor made a choking sound. "No, Miss Potter, it would seem that your aunt told you something nearing the truth. In a sense your parents were police officers, just of the magical sort. James and Lily Potter were what we call 'Aurors,' who worked as agents for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And in truth, they died protecting you, and fighting a very terrible man. As for the money, your father comes from quite a wealthy family."

Hyacinth absorbed this new information. "Did you . . . know them?"

A small, sad smile. "Quite well. I had the pleasure of having them both as students of my House at Hogwarts, Gryffindor."

"Houses? Like, categories?"

"Yes. You will find four of them at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, which I am Head of, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff."

"Which one will I be in, Professor?"

"That is not known yet. We have a special method for Sorting our students into what House they best fit. For now, gather some of this -about three or four stacks of the Galleons, the gold ones, should suffice."

As they left, McGonagall explained to her the system of British wizarding money, which seemed convoluted, but Hyacinth chose not to comment.

Then, it was time for the first stop on their agenda, which was robe-fitting at a place called Madam Malkin's.

"Wait here for just a moment, if you would," said Professor McGonagall, "I've some very private business to conduct, and you're in good hands with Madam Malkin. I will return shortly."

Hyacinth wait for a few minutes in the front of the shop, before she was escorted off by an attendant to a room marked "Ladies", which had some dressing rooms and then free space for measurements. Currently, there was only one other girl there getting measured, a girl with platinum blonde hair and dainty features.

"Hogwarts, eh?" Began the girl, turning her head as much as the attendant would allow to look at Hyacinth.

"Yes," said Hyacinth, not quite knowing what else to say, or how witches were supposed to talk to each other.

"It's my first year as well," said the girl, "I know I'm going to be in Slytherin, Father says all the Malfoys have been for generations. I'd be grateful as long as I'm not in Hufflepuff, could you imagine? I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be terrible, but Father would absolutely kill me if I got into Hufflepuff, and probably Gryffindor too. What about you?"

"Well," said Hyacinth, desperately wishing Professor McGonagall had explained to her what the difference between the Houses were so she might have some footing in this conversation, but alas. "I suppose I'm glad to be going at all."

"Well, of course, but -wait a second, you're not Muggleborn are you?" It was at that moment precisely that they first regarded each other directly, and as Hyacinth's head turned, her bangs flew to the side and just there, a small scar in the shape of a lightning bolt could be seen.

The beginnings of disgust that had shown on this girl's face faded into something more like pure shock.

"What?" said Hyacinth, trying to figure out what "Muggleborn" could have meant.

"No," breathed the girl, "You're Hyacinth Potter. You're the Girl Who Lived."

"Well, I know I'm Hyacinth Potter, but I'm not quite understanding the second bit there?"

"You don't know? I'd heard stories you were raised by Muggles, but to actually hand you over to somewhere lacking any magical protectors at all . . . they must have been mad."

It was at this moment that Professor McGonagall made her return, just as her measurements were finished and her robes (the fastest she'd ever received tailor-made clothing, although, admittedly, she didn't often receive it in the first place) were handed to her.

"Miss Potter," she said with a hardness in her voice, "Are you ready to go? We still have quite a lot of ground to cover, so to speak."

"Oh, sure," she said, and then gave the blonde girl a confused goodbye.

"Professor," said Hyacinth, "that girl in the shop . . . she called me something strange, and I wondered if you would know what that was about?"

Professor McGonagall merely checked to make sure that Hyacinth's bangs were once again covering her scar, and then spoke in a low tone. "I heard that part of your conversation with Miss Malfoy. You are called The Girl Who Lived by many. In truth, you are something of a . . . celebrity in our world. The night your parents were murdered, Miss Potter, they were killed by a powerful and evil man named Voldemort, also referred to as He Who Must Not Be Named. He came to your home looking for you, and killed your parents trying to get to you. There is a curse called the killing curse, which nothing can block if fired upon you, and which was used to murder both your parents, and then you. The reason you're famous, Miss Potter, is that you are the only person in living memory who has survived the curse. Not only that, but it rebounded off you, and killed the terrible Dark Lord Voldemort instead."

That was heavy. Hyacinth wasn't sure how to answer that, and so simply chose to mull it over as they approached a shop called "Ollivander's."

She was led in, wherein she discovered countless rows and columns of small boxes lining the shelves, and an oldish looking man with wild gray hair.

In the end, she had an eleven-inch wand of rowan wood and phoenix feather core. She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but she was just in awe of the red and green sparks that had come from the wand when she waved it.

They also stopped at a bookshop, where she picked up all her books, and then -

"Would you like to visit the pet emporium, Miss Potter?"

Well, Aunt Petunia said nothing that couldn't live in a cage or a tank, and the paper had said she could have a cat, an owl, or a toad. She supposed an owl could live in a cage, at least sometimes, and Aunt Petunia had said nothing about magical pets that could live in cages.

"Yes," she answered definitively, causing Professor McGonagall to lead her to what was essentially just a magical pet store, but so much more interesting.

Owls hooted from inside cages, kittens mewled, and she could vaguely hear the sound of croaking in the background. There were other things, fish tanks, and rat cages, and things she didn't know the name for which must have been exclusive to the magical world.

McGonagall consulted a large, ornate clock above the counter. "You may take some time to browse, Miss Potter, it would seem we've made good time for the day."

She walked slowly around the shop, examining all sorts of fascinating things, until she came to the end of an aisle, and heard a soft but persistent mewl coming from just around the corner. Inside a cage of thin metal, there resided what appeared to Hyacinth in all respects as an entirely ordinary kitten. It had fluffy black fur with white flecks through it, and wide green eyes, and she supposed if she could get a big enough cage she might avoid Aunt Petunia's displeasure until she went off to Hogwarts . . .

Decision made, she called the attention of a shop attendant, who was tailed closely by McGonagall.

"What about this cat, Professor?"

Hyacinth was just taking a guess here, but she theorized that the professor's pleased smile might result from her apparent affinity for cats (given the fact that she could become one at will).

"That is more than just a mere cat," said Professor McGonagall, "in fact, it is Half-Kneazle, a particularly useful feline species."

"Useful for what?"

"Kneazles are good at detecting suspicious people," explained the shop girl with a grin, "They're quite sly."

"It will make a fine and practical companion," said McGonagall.

Promptly, Hyacinth was given a pamphlet for care on half-Kneazle kittens, a rather large cage to carry her in for the time being, and a comb ("Her fur can get rather unmanageable otherwise").

"Ah . . . one more thing, Miss Potter," said McGonagall as they left the shop, Hyacinth carrying the kitten along with all her other supplies."Please keep in mind that those under the age of seventeen are not permitted to perform magic outside of Hogwarts, so do not be tempted to try your hand at anything you may read about in your textbooks. In fact, I would recommend you leave your wand in its box until it is time to board the train. Speaking of which, here is your ticket, and, I cannot emphasize this enough, do not be late."

Message received, McGonagall took Hyacinth back to Privet Drive.

Duncan was waiting with something akin to awe on his face, questions already bubbling at the lips, when Aunt Petunia entered the room and screeched at the sight of the cat.