Summary:
Sometimes you get so close to someone, you end up on the other side of them.
An exploration into my Female!Harry headcanon from book 5 and onward where good men are greater, some men are monsters, and there is almost always room for redemption. Isn't it awful to hate them when bad people do such good things?
Notes:
You can read this under the assumption that books 1-4 can be seen as canon aside from the gender of our main character. This is just an amalgamation of all the headcanons I have accumulated over the years of being a Harry Potter fan. They MIGHT only make sense in my head. We'll See! Not Beta'd. Never will be. Kisses XXX
Chapter 1
"... there is no certain way for me to prove myself yet, but I endeavor to do so as soon as possible. I have loved you longer than I have known you, Harriet. There will come a day that I can be The Godfather I was intended to be for you. Write to me soon. Tell me all about your summer. All my love..."
Sirius Black's letter ended with no signature.
His handwriting was immaculate. Even after 12 years in prison, he could practically teach all those penmanship classes Harriet's pureblood classmates used to complain about.
Harriet received the letter two weeks ago. It was void of any information on Voldemort she had asked about but full of long devotionals and subtle apologies.
His letters since were short and demanding. "Stay inside the house. Don't do anything stupid."
The nerve, Harriet thought. If saving herself and her worldly challenged cousin from death by soul-sucking dementor was stupid, then she had done much more idiotic things in her past. Turning back time and releasing her incarcerated godfather might be one of them. As soon as she had that cynical thought, she rescinded it. She would save Sirius a thousand times over and her cousin as well, she supposed.
Only lately she struggled. She wasn't sure of the cause, be it hormones or her true self coming out but she had felt hateful for months. Felt cynical and short-tongued. It had gotten her into more trouble than she had ever been with the Dursleys. Her patience was short. Her nerves were shot. It was all she could do not to sit down and write what Hermione would call a "strongly worded letter", in ten copies and send it out to wherever she was sure they were all huddled up together planning a war.
"... all my love," Sirius had said. Harriet couldn't remember the last time an adult had told her they loved her. Molly perhaps had done it in passing a few times. Accidentally chucking her into the pile that was her own children. Remus had told her how much she meant to him during his departure from Hogwarts. Reminding her to write to him and know he was always close should she need someone.
Cedric had said it once or a dozen times. Her memories of him so clouded with shame and guilt that even now, weeks later, Harriet struggles to discern what must have been real between them and what would have otherwise been a childhood crush.
Even Dumbledore had told her once that he cared a great deal for her. But to see it so clearly on paper. So matter of fact. This, Harriet thought, must be what it is like to have a family.
A trial had been set. For the end of June, concerning her godfather's freedom. He was currently confined to his family home in London until a decision had been made. Minister Fudge having witnessed first hand, Harriet falling back into the quidditch pitch by way of port-key clutching her Yule Ball date's dead body and Peter Pettigrew's severed hand, couldn't quite deny that Sirius had been incarcerated under false charges. However, he did deny entirely the idea that Wormtail's hand had been used in a gruesome ritual to reincarnate Lord Voldemort himself.
The circumstances had been announced to the public as the work of two madmen. Barty Crouch Jr. was administered the kiss on Hogwarts grounds right on the spot, and Peter Pettigrew had a bounty on his head equivalent to the price and severity Sirius had only days previous. Reparations would be made to Lord Black and his estate however his presence was needed nor welcomed at the ministry due to the money spent in the past two years on recovering the prisoner. Sirius had explained in a letter earlier that summer that this was code for "we don't need you up here spouting all this You-Know-Who nonsense."
While Harriet wanted to scream it at the top of her lungs, the adults in her life believed that the best approach was not to waste any energy at all on trying to convince the ministry and to continue working privately on a resistance. So private in fact, they had refused to include Harriet at all.
Vernon's heavy feet stomping down the hallway brought her out of her musings just in time for the door to swing open. No knocking, no locking. That was a rule during the summer. Despite Harriet's maturing body and budding need for privacy, she was resolved to the fact that even having a door was a privilege.
"You'll help Petunia get the food ready for her brunch this morning," Vernon stated matter of factly into the air between them. "She will have to be gone by 9. Go to the kitchen and ask her what she needs you to be doing."
Harriet knew she was to be helping Petunia. She had heard about it for days as her Aunt went about writing grocery lists and obsessing over the way her new dress did not hide the extra skin on top of her arms like she thought it ought to. Petunia had even gone as far as to buy Harriet a brand new dress to wear as well, once the Women's Group asked one too many questions about just why Petunia's niece had not been present at a meeting since she was home for the summer from the young ladies academy they were under the impression she attended. However, Harriet's invitation was null and void as of two nights ago when she received word not to leave the house until she was told otherwise. Besides, the ghastly new welts she had received on her legs would not go over well with the luncheon ladies. Petunia thanked her good graces she never tore the tag off the dress.
Two days was a long time Harriet thought, as she cut cucumbers into uniform sandwich slices. Two days was long enough to receive three letters. All giving quite nearly the same commands. Long enough for a slap in the face to turn red. Then yellow, then black and blue. Long enough to cut a new hole in a belt with a pair of tweezers she found in the bathroom cabinet. Her waistline shrinking once again like it did every summer. Long enough to consider running. Going against the instructions she was given and getting out of here. The ministry is less of a threat than Vernon's violent hands and Petunia's frantic anger. Long enough to decide not to run, afraid to look guilty of something she didn't do. Afraid to tamper with the good fortune Sirius was having with the ministry. Long enough to consider running again.
"Stop daydreaming and pay attention to what you are doing" Petunia's shrill voice echoed off the stainless steel in the kitchen, "we can't very well take you to A&E if you slice your finger off after being threatened the way that we have."
"Remember my last..." the howler had said before combusting into flame and burning into ash. Harriet could only assume it was Dumbledore. What must he have told her to convince her to reluctantly take Harriet in all those years ago? What threats must he have made?
"When have you ever taken me to A&E?" It was out of her mouth with an eye roll before she could contain it.
Petunia turned on her, her own knife held sharply in her hand, she raised it before she could collect herself but with a gasp, she pulled it back and continued her slicing. "Do you see what you do to me, girl? You're like a pestilence." The kitchen was silent aside from Petunia's angry whispers. "You push and you push and you try me. You will never get what is coming to you. Never get what you deserve. I ought to let Vernon try but I doubt he would be able to stop."
This was not about the cucumbers. It wasn't even about the knife. It was a hatred that went deeper than the horrible summers they spend together. Harriet had stopped blaming Petunia long ago for the way she was treated in this home.
Her Aunt could love. She had seen it every day. In the way, she fixed her husband's plate for dinner. Kissed his cheek as she placed it in front of his chair by the television. She had seen it in the way she fawned over Dudley. Small accomplishments turning into parties and celebrations. No: this hatred for her niece was not Petunia's, she thought. It was Harriet's. Something deep inside her that repulsed her relatives. Something beneath her brown skin, or perhaps her brown skin itself. Maybe it was her mother's eyes staring back at them rekindling a resentment Harriet was not even alive for. Some days Harriet thought perhaps it might be her scar that caused it. The tree limb lighting shape starting deep beyond her hairline and ending right above her cheekbone, the reason people in her life just couldn't seem to love her like they ought to.
"Get out of my sight," Petunia continued. "Go back to your room. Don't come back downstairs until I tell you you're allowed."
This was commonplace in the Dursley household. Being sent to her room and left there for days. They must know she leaves on occasion. To use the restroom or pocket food from the fridge in the middle of the night. They must know she finds her means to meet her basic needs or perhaps they think her "freakish magic" keeps her alive. Either way, being sent to her room and forgotten about was a favorite punishment of Harriet's. So she went. Willingly.
Passing the time while she was up there, however, was an unwilling task. She had read and reread every book she was allowed. Cleaned the room until the floors shined out of boredom, her Aunt's compulsive tendencies passed down another generation. Braided and brushed her dark Lebanese hair until it was greasy and straight as a board. Done sit-ups and push-ups that would make Ginny Weasley jealous once they started admiring each other's bodies in the quidditch locker room once more. Laid on her back and pleased herself. Imagining a faceless boy that looked shamefully similar to the one she ought to be grieving the loss of. Hoping to touch herself in just the right spot and just long enough to feel good before anyone tried the handle on the door to be sure she hadn't broken any rules.
Sometimes she would reread letters. Much like the one she read that morning from Sirius. These notes and antidotes being the only tether she had to the world she belonged in.
Now, four days after what she was now mentally referring to as "Dementor-gate", here she was. Passing the time.
The Dursleys were out. Attending some lawn-care festival or something else that made no sense in Harriet's opinion. She had used the opportunity to change into shorts. Something that despite the hot weather she was not allowed to wear in the house. Petunia had explained the rule to her when she first reached puberty as being considerate of Dudley's developing manhood. If she were to go parading around in short or tight-fitting clothing, her aunt had explained, she was just asking for Dudley to do something he otherwise never would have done. Harriet was especially not meant to wear anything revealing after Vernon had punished her. It would be most inconsiderate that she walk around the house allowing just anyone to see the marks he had left on her backside seeing as he only did it to try and rear her out of her delinquency. Petunia had an answer and an excuse for anything her men might do.
In her newly donned summer clothes, Harriet threw up her sweaty hair and went to the kitchen. Long ago were the days she would sneak softly down the stairs after her relatives left the home, frightened they might return at any moment. Now, she stomped. Practically frolicked at the idea she had the house to herself for at least an hour. She would find food and then she would shower. Leave the door open so the mirrors and floors would not collect any steam giving her away once her Aunt returned. But first, she would eat.
The three-day leftovers Petunia was sure to throw away, being delicately picked through as to avoid eating anything too old or close to mold. She ate a slice of toast made out of the end of the bread loaf. She drank water from the tap, humming a tune she had heard Flitwick's choir sing at summer departure only a month ago. Everything was going according to plan until a glint out the kitchen window caught her eye. Harriet slowed her chewing and humming to a halt and gazed out at the distraction. There. In the backyard was Alastor Moody. The sun gleaming brightly off his silver knee. He was staring straight at her. Harriet ducked down beside the counter and held her hand in front of her food-stuffed mouth, now quickly chewing to clear itself should she have to scream.
Pulling her wand from her belt line she duck walked to the edge of the kitchen, getting a clear view of the back door. She could hear him. Standing on the patio. The knob turning slowly Harriet swallowed the remaining food in her mouth and half her tongue, pointing her wand directly at the door as it opened
"Merlin's sake, step in or over. You've got me out in the sun here. I'm too delicate don't you know." A pink-haired woman stepped into the kitchen foyer followed by a tall black man. She scanned the room and let her eyes fall onto Harriet, who was slowly standing up to full height. "Wotcher, Hari." The woman said kindly. More wizards followed in the door despite Harriet's stunned silence. A taller witch and a short dumpy wizard Harriet couldn't quite place. Followed by Mad-Eye himself and then, Remus.
"I imagine I gave you a fright out there, Potter. Apologies" Mad-Eye began. "The last you had seen of me would have been my imposter. Bet that brought up a lot of scenarios, eh?"
Harriet nodded her agreement but couldn't quite take her eyes off of Remus. Her father's old friend had been a comfortable constant since he walked into her life two years ago. At times only a pen-pal, but at worse times a shoulder to cry on. Which she had, after her return from the graveyard. Curling up into the man she had once only called professor, seeking comfort he had never been given the chance to give her, she fell apart. Shaking and losing her breath over shock or grief or the lasting pain of being subjected to the cruciatus curse, she was sure she made a fool of herself but he held her. Padfoot at their feet licking at her ankle curled up in Remus' lap, comforting her in the only way he could. Remus was struggling to take his eyes off of her as well.
"Hello, Hari. We've come to take you away." He said quietly, with a smile. Harriet ran into his arms and squeezed him tightly. "Blimey, she does look like James Potter doesn't she? Just like you said, Remus." The pink-haired woman remarked over their embrace. She could feel Remus' nose in her dirty hair, breathing her in.
"I told you," Remus replied holding Harriet out in his arms to look at her. "Everything but her... what's happened here?" The bruise on her cheek was looking much better. Now only a deep yellow marred the bone under her mother's eyes. Harriet raised her hand to her face instinctively, only to drop it just as quickly.
"I'm not sure," she lied. "I guess it happened that night. You know? The dementors."
Remus's face of concentration dropped to disappointment and something Harriet couldn't quite place. "Oh yes," Mad-Eye chimed, in a deadpan tone. "Have you not heard the new ministry allowances, Lupin? Not only can they suck your soul out they can rear back and knock you one, now."
Remus looked annoyed at the dark joke, causing Harriet to try much harder than normal not to laugh. "I only meant I might have fallen or something that night." She said with a reassuring smile. "It's not a big deal. It doesn't hurt."
Remus seemed to want to say more but spared Harriet the embarrassment turning to the rest of the room instead. "Hari, these are a few of our friends I'd like to introduce to you quickly. This is Nymphemdora Tonks." He gestured to the pink-haired woman who looked offended to have been addressed by her own name, "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle-"
"Oh, we have met before. It's nice to see you, dear." The short, dumpy man replied. Harriet smiled sweetly at him.
"And of course this is Alastor Moody, I know you've met. In a way. Nonetheless..." he trailed off and placed his hands on her shoulders. "... everyone this is Harriet."
"Nice to meet you, "she turned back to Remus looking up into his amused face. "er, why are you all here?"
"We are your guard." He replied with a smirk. "I tried to convince Moody it would be alright to come and retrieve you alone, but I was outnumbered quite quickly. Seems you had a lot of people volunteering to come and bring you back to us."
Harriet looked around the room at everyone's smiling faces. Miss Tonks' toothy grin and Mr. Shacklebolt's tight-lined mouth smiling more with his eyes than anything. When she landed on Moody, he dropped his grin with an eye roll, seemingly embarrassed to be seen playing along, "All right. No time for niceties. I suggest you go and pack unless you would like to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back, Potter."
After a glance back at Remus' face for a nod of agreement, Harriet jumped out of her shock and started to make her way upstairs.
"I'll come to help you in a moment, Hari!" Tonks said excitedly, sounding more like a girlfriend than an adult charged with the task of being in a "guard".
Once in her room, she began to get self-conscious. What must she have looked like to them? Four days without a real shower, stuffing her face with cold chicken and dry toast. And her legs. Her summer shorts she had only an hour ago been so relieved to be wearing, did little to nothing to cover what was clearly belt marks on her upper thighs. She twisted and turned in the small mirror by her window and tried to look at them from an outsider's view.
"I wouldn't worry too much about them at this point, babe."
Harriet jumped at Tonks' voice coming from the open door. The pink-haired woman shrugged and walked into the room. "It's whatever. Nobody is going to bother you about them downstairs if I've anything to do with it. And if you cover them up now, you'll just look a bit suspicious." She smiled sneakily. "Let's just pack your things and get out of here, huh?"
Tonks had a soothing way about her. Reassuringly smooth as if nothing really ever was a big deal. She reminded Harriet of the older Hufflepuff girls she and Cedric would hang out with. Blurry-eyed and slightly high, they spoke slow and low like the world might end but they would still be cool about it. Harriet thought she could get used to that.
"I like your hair," Harriet replied dumbly.
"Thank you." She replied with a wink, "where's your trunk?"
They spent the next ten minutes stepping around each other, packing all of Harriet's things. Tonks would hold up a blouse or a pair of shoes and Harriet would say yes or no to adding to the pile on top of her open-faced trunk. Harriet skipped in and out of the bathroom packing hair ties and crimson ribbons she had saved for quidditch games.
Once she was satisfied with her hoard, Tonks waved her wand over the mess and it began to float and fold itself into perfect piles inside the trunk. She floated the trunk down the stairs followed by Hedwig's empty cage, the bird somewhere over in London pecking Harriet's friend's hands off if she was doing as she was told.
"I supposed we are packed," Tonks announced to the room. Remus stood and took his place back at Harriet's side hugging her to him once more. "Slight change of plans, Hari. The others are going to take you back, and I am going to wait for your Aunt and Uncle to return. I'll let them know we will have you for the rest of the summer." Remus nodded reassuringly down at Harriet.
"You can just leave them a letter," Harriet suggested, trying to prevent any contact between Vernon, Petunia, and the man they would be sure to call a freak if he were waiting for them in their kitchen upon their return.
"Yes, well. I would rather speak to them."
The gears in Harriet's head began to turn in hopes of concocting a good enough reason Remus shouldn't wait around for her relatives. But before she could work up an excuse Remus was shaking his head. "I'm going to stay and speak to them, Harriet. And you'll go back with the others. Sirius is about to explode waiting to see you, as it is."
Harriet wasn't stupid. She knew how adults manipulated their words to get you to do what they wanted. Sirius' name being mentioned was supposed to be exactly what Harriet needed to hear to get her to go along with the plan, and unfortunately, it was going to work. Because she missed him. And she had a thousand questions. But she also knew Remus was not staying behind to inform her relatives of their missing ward. She knew it had everything to do with her dirty hair and the bruise on her cheek, the marks on her thighs, and the look on his face.
"They're just afraid, is all." She heard herself make the excuse. "They don't understand all of it. Magic. You know? Anytime anyone has ever used it in front of them, someone ends up getting hurt. And now this with my cousin. They're just afraid Remus. It makes it hard..." she waned off into a whisper at Remus' patient face. He nodded in understanding and kissed Harriet's forehead, a gesture she could count on one hand having ever received.
"It's nothing to worry yourself about. I'm only going to speak to them for a moment, and then I'll follow you back."
"... we'll go by broom," Tonks announced tightly to the room. "Remus says you're a fair flyer."
"She's excellent!" Remus replied pushing her softly out into the backyard with the crowd. "You ought to get up to the school and watch a game this season, Dora."
"What a lovely way to ensure the Order remains discreet," Mad-Eye commented with a roll of his good eye.
"What's the Order?"
"Never you mind. Mount your brooms everyone we kick off in 5...4." The guard mounted their brooms and looked skyward.
"Wait, where are we going?" Harriet asked, panicking.
"I'll be with you shortly," Remus stepped away from her, gesturing for her to mount her own broom. "Quickly, love."
And as quickly as the guard had come, they went.