It was...odd. No, it was bizarre. She and her...twin brother, who looked exactly like she did in her previous life at this date because she happened to be him back then, were both holding their Hogwarts letters while Mrs Figg was chatting with whomever via floo, which meant her head was enveloped in green flames in her fireplace. It was bizarre because she was standing next to the person she once was, in a body that felt so completely foreign, it was hard to describe. Like she was wearing someone else's skin. A new name, a new pronoun, new sex, a semi-new life. Same old Harry, with the exception that it was not her who was same old Harry. This new Harry was the same old Harry. She was Rose.

Yeah. Bizarre.

Mrs Figg pulled her head from the fireplace and, with a little struggle, got back to her feet. "Someone will come in a few minutes and explain everything to you children," the squib said.

Rose nodded while Harry just looked flabbergasted.

"How-? What-?" Harry tried to ask things but failed.

She giggled at that, which was such a weird sound coming from her mouth. But still, this Harry's reaction was funny, she couldn't help it. Was she like that back in her old life when she was Harry?

Before she could dwell on it any further, the flames roared green once more, startling Harry and her – it was so sudden! – before someone stepped out.

Rose was surprised to see Professor McGonagall instead of Hagrid, although it might have been problematic for the half-giant to fit through there. Maybe, back in her past life, the Gryffindor Head of House had no time, so Hagrid was sent in her stead and the timing and everything just happened to align with Vernon dragging them off to fuck-knows-where?

"Arabella," the Professor greeted Mrs Figg first, which she enthusiastically returned.

"Professor McGonagall, good to see you! Would you like some tea? Please take a seat and feel at home."

"I would, thank you." The Professor then turned to Harry and her, Harry still staring at everything that was going on with an open mouth and the letter still in his hands. "Mr and Miss Potter, please." She gestured at the sofa before sitting down.

Rose walked to the sofa, grabbing Harry by the arm to make him join them. She turned the TV off and then sat down, as did Harry, both of them looking expectantly at McGonagall.

Once all of this is over I might be able to be an actor...I mean actress, bollocks! What with all that acting surprised all the time.

The Professor regarded them with a calculating look at first before visibly softening, something that made Rose raise her brows in surprise. No need to act this time.

"Both of you look remarkably like your parents," the Professor began. "My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and I teach transfiguration."

"You knew our parents?" Harry blurted out and Rose almost sighed; not out of annoyance but understanding. Hearing nothing but bad things about your parents, their names rarely – if ever – spoken...it did things to you, made you thirst for any little thing you could gather about them just to find out if all of it was true.

"Of course, Mr Potter," McGonagall replied with a barely noticeable, but kind smile. "Both your parents were sorted into my house, Gryffindor, and your father was especially gifted when it came to transfiguration, something that made him a bit of a favourite of mine."

"What's Gryffindor, ma'am?" Rose spoke up, trying to steer the conversation into a more practical direction. They could always talk about their parents later.

McGonagall turned to Rose, a brow rising in obvious disapproval. "Miss Potter, since Hogwarts' uniform consists of skirts for its female students, I suggest you try to sit more appropriately."

Rose cocked her head in confusion and looked down at herself only to blush furiously at her widely spread legs, immediately closing them. She might be wearing trousers now, but once she would have to wear the school uniform, sitting like that would be...questionable. "Sorry, I...you see…" she muttered, trying to think of something to say while trying to not think about the fact that she would have to wear skirts.

"Rosie's never got to wear any skirts or dresses, ma'am," Harry explained in her stead. "Aunt Petunia just gives us Dudley's old clothes and resizes them a bit at least for Rose. She doesn't really know any different."

Mrs Figg chose then to return with a tray, the promised tea on it, handing each of them a cup and effectively halting the conversation for a moment, giving McGonagall some time to digest that tidbit.

"I see," the Professor said with an unreadable expression after thanking Mrs Figg. "I might have to have a chat with the Headmaster. To answer your question, Miss Potter, Gryffindor is, as I mentioned earlier, my house. Hogwarts students are all sorted into one of its four houses – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin – and will earn or lose points for their house based on their performances during their stay in school. Every house has its own Head of House."

"So, umm...this is all real?" Harry asked. "Everything in the letter and…" His gaze turned towards the fireplace, obviously remembering what he saw there earlier; a woman sticking her head into green flames for example.

"Yes, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, a hint of disappointment just about detectable in her voice, but Rose couldn't really blame her. The child – children – of her favourite students were completely unaware of their true nature, of their family's legacy and looked like street urchins to boot. "Everything you have read in your letter, everything I am telling you is true. Magic is real. You, Mr Potter...you and your sister are a wizard and a witch and if you are anything at all like your parents, then both of you will have a great future to look forward to." She then pulled a wand out of her robes, a small smile toying around her lips at Harry's fascination while Rose did her best to look equally as enthralled. "If you need any more proof…" McGonagall pointed her wand at a vase and transfigured it into a cat before changing it back to its original form again.

"Whoa," Rose whispered, trying to look and sound like a kid seeing real magic for the first time.

"I know!" Harry agreed, sitting next to her, wide-eyed and excited.

It was a reflex, really, when she reached out to close her hand around this Harry's, who shot her a smile and squeezed her own hand in return.

She was this boy, in a past life. For a moment she wondered how much time had actually passed since the time she died, but, ultimately, it wasn't really relevant. She was this boy, who was sitting next to her, in a past life, but in that life, she had no one. Hagrid, bless his heart, tried to explain things the best he could, but what he could offer in the end was neither fish nor fowl. Still, she loved him to bits and he was one of her dearest friends; the first person who was genuinely nice to her. However, none of it changed that her preparation for the magic world was half-arsed, back in her old life. She knew almost nothing, prepared almost nothing and went in nearly blind. It wasn't all her fault, obviously. Sure, she could have tried to prepare a bit for classes – though Snape's questions in their first potions class were unfair, that bitter old git – but Dumbledore could also have sent someone more...professional. This Harry, still holding her hand, would have a better start into the wizarding world than she did. He would, of course, have to deal with the whispers, the looks, the crazies who wanted to thank him because he didn't die as a baby when he should have. But she would be there, all the way. Was this, maybe, what death meant with 'new perspectives'? Perhaps it was; she couldn't really tell. But seeing the boy she once was go through all the things she had to go through from this, well, new perspective, certainly was already interesting, eye-opening, entertaining and even emotional. It still was a bizarre and messed-up situation, no doubt. She died and got returned to life as her own twin-sister because a dice roll made it so, for fuck's sake! But she would adapt, eventually. She would have to. This body and its hormones and puberty would force her to and she was so not looking forward to that.

"Well, then," McGonagall stood up from the sofa, startling Rose from her musings, "I believe it is time for a shopping trip."

Rose couldn't hold back her smile at Harry's – her brother's – grin. Pure excitement and joy. She couldn't remember herself being like that, even when all that magic hit her right in the face the moment she stepped into Diagon Alley for the first time. It was odd seeing her old self, her old identity, like this. Was the fact, that he didn't grow up alone at the Dursleys' really such a game-changer? He certainly seemed socially better adjusted than she did in her old life at this age.

Well, if her being thrust into a new reality as a girl was what it took to give a different Harry Potter a somewhat, even if just marginally, happier childhood, then so be it.

She aimed her smile from Harry to McGonagall. "Yes, let's."

The shopping trip was just as exciting as the first time, without a doubt, if for no other reason than seeing the wonder in Harry's – her brother's – eyes. After visiting Gringotts first – Harry definitely enjoyed the ride to their vault – they got their potions equipment and ingredients and then went to get their robes, thankfully without Malfoy present, but being measured for skirts was a very weird and, well, different experience. Standing there, the fabric being measured and pinned around her hips while her legs were bare, while it felt airy down there, was just odd. And then she had to try the skirts on and-

Yeah. Standing there, looking at herself in the mirror, a small red-headed girl, too thin and small for her age, with the mind and memories of a fifteen-year-old teenage boy from a reality which was overwritten in favour of this one. Trying on a skirt. It was weird and odd and it was her but it also was not her. Yeah, sure, she looked cute. She did! But her mind wasn't ready for her to be a cute, ten-year-old girl who was trying on a skirt at Madam Malkin's. In her mind, she was still Harry Potter, whose first kiss was a mess of spit and tears…Death should have just overwritten that one. But there she was, ten-year-old Rose Potter, her legs bare and not covered in fabric, feeling airy down there, because she was at Madam Malkin's and trying on a skirt. It wasn't even uncomfortable. In fact, if she was completely honest with herself, wearing a skirt was bloody comfortable and she very briefly wondered if all skirts felt like this. It simply was weird in the sense that it was new and that she was used to being a boy and she had never seen a boy in a skirt – aside from Scots wearing kilts; did kilts count as skirts?

"You okay?" Harry asked her and she turned around, putting on a smile she didn't really feel.

"Yeah, it's just...I've never had anything like this to wear." She wasn't exactly lying there.

"It's going to be alright, Rosie," Harry said before hugging her and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Scratch wearing a skirt; that was the weirdest thing at Madam Malkin's.

Once they finished the rest of their shopping – they got Hedwig again! – Professor McGonagall invited them to eat lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. They sat down together at a table, both Harry and her enjoying the simple pleasures of fish and chips.

"Do you have any more questions?" McGonagall asked them. "Feel free to ask anything before I have to return you to your relatives."

Before Harry could speak up, Rose beat him to the first question. "Do we have to go back?" She couldn't tell if she actually wanted to ask this or something else, but it just came out. She couldn't help herself. Facing the wrath of Vernon when they went and meddled right with that freakishness behind his back, in a young body with no protection? Thank you, but no, thank you.

"Miss Potter..." McGonagall began but seemed unsure how to continue. Rose knew her. McGonagall was as strict as they came and expected nothing less than maximum effort from all her students, but that woman had a heart of gold.

"They are terrible people!" Rose insisted and looked at Harry for support, who just looked entirely uncomfortable. "Harry!" Yes, it was very strange to look at the boy she once was, addressing him by his name when it wasn't her who was him.

"They are bad," he finally muttered and that was a milestone. She couldn't remember ever actually talking with someone about what was happening to her in that home in her past life. The closest to it ever actually being discovered was, when the Weasley twins and Ron saw the bars in front of her windows just before the second year. That year was abysmal. Changes were definitely necessary there.

McGonagall looked at both of them before she sighed and spoke up. "Why exactly are they 'terrible people'? What exactly is going on in that house?"

"Do you still have your letter envelope?" Rose asked Harry, who nodded and handed it to her, Rose pulling hers from her trouser's pocket. "Who puts the addresses on the letters?" she asked with the envelopes still in her hands.

"They are written, signed and addressed magically," McGonagall answered.

"Can it be faked?"

"Impossible, Miss Potter."

Score. "Please look at how they are addressed."

McGonagall did just that and Rose could barely make out the anger flaring inside the Professor; the thinning of her lips, the flaring of her nostrils. It was there and years of testing McGonagall's patience taught Rose how to read her former – and hopefully future – Head of House.

"Both of you?" McGonagall finally asked.

"Our whole lives," Rose answered while Harry nodded. "We've...lived together in that cupboard our whole lives. And there's a lot more I could say about the Dursleys."

"Very well. I will speak with the Headmaster about this matter. However, for now," McGonagall put on a smile for the two of them, "would you two like to hear some more about your parents?"

She couldn't believe it actually worked. While she didn't exactly have to work her tear ducts, pointing out the conditions under which the Potter twins were forced to live definitely sang the tune needed to get McGonagall on their side, and now they were comfortable, upstairs in a two-bed-room in the Leaky Cauldron. She wondered what the Professor told the Headmaster and she wondered how the Headmaster reacted.

Not all was nice though. After McGonagall indulged Harry with nice and fun stories about their parents during their lunch, she moved on to the truth about the late James and Lily Potter and Voldemort. At first, it seemed that Harry had taken it rather pragmatically, as she had when she was him. Now, though, she wasn't so sure anymore. She looked at her...twin, sitting on the bed opposite to hers, brooding.

...was she like that during fifth year? Because that was getting old real quick and he'd done it only one time since she was returned to life. That one time was right now. Granted, she'd been back with the living for not even a whole day, but still.

With a huff, Rose got up from her bed and walked over to Harry's before sitting next to him. Her legs were again spread in a boyish manner, so, with a sigh, she very consciously closed them. She then glanced at Harry, who was deep in thought, frowning, silent. Oh yes, she'd been there a billion times.

"You okay?" She asked him and at first, Harry didn't answer. She knew that too well; thinking about what to say, how to say it, if something should be said at all. So, she remained seated, forcing her legs to remain closed. It was a conscious effort, which had to become second nature since she didn't want to accidentally flash her knickers to every other bloke passing by. Snorting internally, she imagined herself daintily crossing one leg over the other without even having to think about it. She wondered what her Ron would say. Her Ron. That sounded weird, now that she was a...She.

"I don't know," Harry finally said, pulling her from her thoughts. "It's just...our parents got killed...and I should have died, but I didn't...and everyone thinks I'm a hero because of it? It's...I don't know…"

"Crazy? Stupid?" she offered.

"Both?"

"Both it is."

"I feel a bit guilty," Harry continued, "that I didn't die when mum and dad did."

"Now you are crazy and stupid," Rose muttered even though she knew those thoughts and feelings intimately. Logically, they didn't make sense. It didn't make sense to feel guilt over other's decisions and it didn't make sense to feel guilty because one was loved so much that others would willingly lay down their lives for them. But emotions were what they were. They rarely made sense. So, she knew what this Harry was going through, the thoughts and feelings a whirlwind, intertwined and scattered and almost impossible to process.

"Shut up," he muttered and, what was that? Their first minimal moment of sibling bickering? Would that even count? The Weasleys were not really a great point of reference in that regard, as their 'bickering' was more prone to leave behind actual warzones.

With a sigh, she pulled him into a hug after turning her body fully towards him, and he just melted into it. It was curious, how hugging him felt so natural and normal. Was it because they were twins, something subconscious just between them? She didn't know. It was also a curious thing to grow attached to someone whom she was in another life and whom she remembered being, in her head but whom she wasn't anymore. And yet, here she was, growing attached to Harry Potter; a different Harry Potter from a different reality, but a Harry Potter still.

"Mum and dad loved us both more than their own lives," she told him, remembering how, in her previous life, she had to remind herself many times of that so she could stifle her own irrational feelings. "I'm sure they'd do it again every time if it meant we get to live."

"I know," he muttered, "it's just…"

Yeah. She understood. It was just...everything irrational and sad and it was tearing at something deep, deep down.

"I know," she said. Because she did.