Harry Potter is a young boy(girl) who entered Hogwarts, like every other British witch and wizard does at 11. Except, what if this time around, Harry knew a little more about him(her)self.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. J. K. Rowling does.

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Chapter 1: The Grimm, the hedge and the boy who dreamed.

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Harry didn't like Dudley much. Not very much at all. In fact, if you were to speak to the six year old right this moment and asked the child what he thought of his cousin, you would hear a whole lot of complaining about the other, bigger boy.

Dudley had taken Harry's shoes in the pretense of showing them to his mother for whatever reason his young mind had made up. But instead of showing the shoes to his mother and returning them to Harry, the boy had instead avoided showing his mother completely and had opted to tie the laces together shoddily and throw them over the telephone line that hung over the street three blocks down.

Now Harry stood under the towering black line, wishing he was just a little taller. The very fact that Aunt Petunia would shout at him when he returned past sundown did not faze him right now, his thoughts were much more centered on how he would retrieve his hand-me-down shoes without the use of any nearby trees or walls - the likes of which he had used the last few times Dudley had stolen his older shoes and thrown them over lines. The only form of nature close to him was the prim bushes that were not nearly stable enough to hold him.

The street was empty and even if it hadn't have been no one cared to speak to the boy the Dursley's had so 'kindly' taken in. Harry, even at six, had garnered the reputation of 'trouble child' despite the fact that Dudley was the one who pulled all those pranks and ruined the neighbour's flower gardens and kicked the old lady across the street's cats into bushes.

A soft wind blew, ruffling Harry's tousled hair and making his shoes swing. Very suddenly, Harry felt like crying.

Petunia would be mad, Vernon would come home from work and would agree with his wife on Harry's punishment for returning late and with no shoes; the cupboard.

Harry didn't like the cupboard.

On the pavement beside the road on which he wobbled on, a pair of yellow eyes peeked through the bush of 67's front garden. Harry sniffled and looked at it, trying not to feel silly as he stood possessively underneath his shoes. He was hit with a sudden thought; what if this yellow eyed being wanted to steal his shoes?

He shuffled, teetering in place just barely as he stared down the daunting yellow eyes. The bush made a sniffing sound in response.

And a dog emerged from its shadowed green depths.

The dog was slimmer than most dogs, held its head a little lower and walked out with such a tentative waver to its step Harry wondered if it was a stray. Athough his wonderance was based off its tatty, knot entangled black coat.

"H-hello," he mumbled out to it. His eyes flickered between the dog and his shoes before he decided his shoes were going nowhere whereas the dog was steadily crawling towards him.

The dog snuffled and flicked its nose up to the telephone line. It opened its mouth and, "Are those yours?"

Harry blinked. The dog had just spoken. Opened its mouth, uttered real words and then licked its nose. He had to be dreaming, or imagining this. Maybe the Dursleys had been right, maybe he was a weirdo, was this why the dog was talking to him?

"Y-y-yes," he managed, stutter nearly making it impossible to get the word out. Harry hated his stutter, Dudley always laughed at him for it when he spoke.

"How'd they get up there, huh?"

"My c-cousin," he explained, feeling like there was something special about this dog. There was a nice glint to its eyes that Harry rarely seen with people. "H-he threw them u-up there."

"Ah," the dog padded forward, it's long tail wagging. It sounded like a man when it spoke, voice deep and reassuring. It made Harry feel welcomed. It made him feel safe — a feeling he hadn't been privy to since he was eighteen months old and even then he'd been too young to remember such a thing. "That just won't do, will it? Would you like some help getting them down, Harry?"

"How do- How do you k-know my name?" Harry squinted at him a little closer, noticing a scratch along its muzzle that was old and pink.

The dog walked up to him and Harry realised his full height with a startle. He came up to Harry's mid-chest and his tail was long and thick. His coat was really long, too. Maybe longer than some of Petunia's long winding necklaces that drooped down half her front.

"We knew each other a long time ago, kid." He said and in the blink of an eye had twisted into a long haired, thin man. "I'm Sirius, Harry, and old friend of your dad's."

Harry stood there, gaping, as Sirius snapped his fingers and floated the shoes down, catching them in his dirty hands. He handed them to Harry, knots untangling from their messy ball as the younger boy grabbed them.

Sirius, with a harried look around him, transformed back into a dog.

"You can't let anyone know I helped you, Harry. I have to go now."

"What, w-wait! Why?" Harry, one shoe on, one clutched in his hand, jumped towards the dog. "Why can't I t-tell anyone?"

Sirius hesitated, tail wagging a little slower. He looked sad when he turned to look at Harry. "Because a lot of people think I betrayed your family, but I didn't, Harry, I solemnly swear. I- your dad was a good man, your mum an even better woman, I would never..." The dog gave another rushed look around himself. He edged towards the hedge. "I'm sorry, Harry. I need to go, I'll come back soon."

And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadow despite how Harry stared at him as he left. There was one question on his mind that remained, even as a news report came out two days later speaking of Sirius having escaped prison and being dangerous.

Harry wondered, if his parents had been killed in a car crash, then how had that man been accused of betraying them?

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At eight, Harry had started realising things. He wasn't as into the actions figures and WWE fights that Dudley was into, disliked the dress shirts that Vernon wore -even the nicer ones- and held a complete disregard for punching things, unlike Dudley.

No, at eight Harry liked looking at pretty dresses that the women on the front page wore, liked watering Petunia's roses and often took over the job of doing so whenever she forgot, enjoyed reading and maybe even looked forward to getting out shopping with Petunia whenever she took him on the rare occasion.

A lot of the time, Harry found himself feeling weird in his own body. He liked his hair long and whenever people mistook him as a girl instead of a guy there was a hint of pride instead of shame.

When he'd turned eight and three quarters, Harry had read a few books in the public library that hinted towards what he felt being called gender dysphoria.

Which meant he felt more like the opposite gender, encased in the wrong body.

It was as if his consciousness had been trapped in the wrong shell, the soul being entwined with the wrong heart and body.

It was one of those more feminine days when the dog emerged from the bushes in the back garden and licked his leg before darting halfway down the garden.

Harry jerked, almost dropping the bush clippers he held most studiously. Petunia and Dudley were busy in the living room and Vernon was out at work. He peered down at the dog and supposed he could shoo it away quietly.

So, very quietly and slowly, he lowered the bush clippers and approached the black furred dog. It was large, with a long tail and a sturdy build. Its coat was clean and something about it seemed so reminiscent that Harry couldn't help but stare.

There was a scar on its muzzle.

"S-Sirius?" He murmured, crouching low to cautiously pat the dog behind his ears. In response, he rumbled a little, shaking his head into Harry's warm hand. Harry let out a soft laugh and felt himself smile a real smile.

"Wow, I t-thought for sure I'd imagined you." He said. His voice dipped at the end of his sentence, uneasyness swamping him. "Wow."

Sirius nuzzled his arm. "Long time no see, Harry. I'm surprised you're still with these Muggles."

"'Muggles'?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow like he'd seen a teacher at school do to show her curiosity.

"Ah, non-magical people." Sirius looked like he was smiling, his yellow eyes twinkling. Harry wondered what had happened him, how he was doing; he hadn't heard anything about the 'armed fugitive' in a long time. "We call them Muggles, I'll teach you more when you're older, kid."

"Hey," Harry pouted. "I am old enough."

"Alright, alright, Harriet," Sirius joked. At Harry's confused look he elaborated. "I'm only joking kid, don't you know only girls pout?"

Sirius was grinning. Harry couldn't help but feel the man had said something very, very right. It was the kind of right that resonated tgrough his bones, mingled with his heart and made his chest feel tight and warm. Harry ran over what Sirius had said and felt his chest give a warm burst of joy whenever he thought of the name Harriet.

"Hey, I just thought I should be a good godfather and what use is an isolated godfather?" Sirius circled around him, pawing at the grass. He spared the clippers a distasteful look. "But if you're busy I can wander back through the hedge again."

"Stay," Harry -- no, Harriet said. "Petunia's too scared of dogs to come out if she sees you. We can talk while I trim the bushes."

Sirius opened his mouth slowly and looked ready to talk about how Petunia had her doing work, eyeing the bush clippers, but closed his mouth and nodded at Harriet's excited smile. "Alright, kid. Anything I can do I will."

Harriet seized the chance. "How did you get that scar on your muzzle?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Sirius let loose a soft, nostalgic laugh. "Your dad did this one night. You see me and him were friends with this werewolf, right, and the werewolf was called Remus, a real nice guy. One night, when we were at Hogwarts, we entered the Shrieking Shack--"

They got through five minutes of Sirius' story before Petunia walked through the back door and screamed bloody murder at seeing the large dog standing beside Harriet. Harriet had never seen someone or something run so fast in all her life.

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By the time she was readying for her tenth birthday, she had seen him only twice and yet she knew him to be trustworthy. One quiet day, the man appeared in her room.

"I heard you went with it," called a voice from behind her. With a gasp, Harriet turned around, nearly dropping her bundle of clothes and grinned at the man standing before her. Years on, he looked much better, hair cut short to the sides of his head, top gelled back, clothes clean, skin radiant and grin sparkling and full.

Years on, she looked skinnier, paler, hair just as messy. But now she was female — or as female as one could get with puberty inhibitors flooding her veins monthly. The doctors had been wary to inject hormones, seeing as she was only ten, and surgery was out of the question yet for years to come. So the GP had prescribed her leuprorelin which came in the form of a monthly visit to get jabbed by a needle. It only stunted the growth of sexual organs and stopped the mass production of gender-identifying hormones that occured during puberty but something was better than nothing.

The doctors had said it would give her time to decide. Harriet had decided years ago.

At least the Durselys had taken her with open arms; something about Petunia being overjoyed at the prospect of having a girl. Plus, they could put on the front that they'd ditched Harry and had turned him a new leaf, a new obedient little girl peaking through.

"With Harriet? Yes," she answered, stutter long gone. It had taken her months of constant speaking to herself in the mirror, and then to Dudley at whatever opportunity but she had gotten over it. "You're looking well. Come."

She opened the door and beckoned out into the hallway. Sirius hesitated, "Thank you. Are the Durs not in?"

"Out picking Dudley's early birthday presents," she responded, already down half the stairs, clothes bundled in her arms. She was taking the chance to do her laundry while the Dursleys were out and busy for the next few hours. Too often did she find herself with bleached clothing when Dudley was near the washing machine. "They won't be back for the next few hours. What brings you here?"

"What, I'm not allowed to visit my goddaughter?" Sirius smiled, following her and pulling the front curtains shut as he entered the living room. At her curious look, he said, "Can't trust that old lady across the road, out spying for Dumbledore, she is."

"She does act a little weird," Harriet shrugged, loading her washing before snapping the door shut and powering on the machine. She stared Sirius down with her arms crossed when she'd finished. "So, where you staying at now?"

Sirius snapped his fingers and a dull thrum filled her ears until she blinked and it vanished. "What-?"

"The Light have their ways of spying, Harriet, and although they may not be looking right now it's best to destroy those roots before the trees grow." Sirius looked grim, patting down the sofa pillow before he sat on it.

Harriet went with it. "Sure."

She rounded the sofa and blinked. Sirius was levitating inches above the actual chair, but was acting as if he was sitting on the real thing. Harriet supposed she couldn't blame the man, he was on the run.

Truth be told, she had no idea why she wasn't afraid of him with all the information she knew about him. But then, most of it was made up for the Muggles, wasn't it.

"I'm staying with an old friend," Sirius continued. He ran a hand through his hair, ruining what remained of the gel. "Remus Lupin, he was part of our group when we were all in Hogwarts; him, your dad, Pettigrew and I."

The man's face twisted into a snarl at the man Pettigrew's mention and looked away from her like he'd said something horrible.

"Who's Pettigrew?" She asked quietly.

"The real traitor, the one who ratted out you and your folks," Sirius barked. "Peter Pettigrew, I swear if I get my hands on him I'll--" he cut himself off and took a deep breath.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harriet offered.

"Nah," Sirius looked up at her and pulled his lips into a tight frown. He motioned beside him, "Sit down, kid. I'll tell you everything."

And tell her everything he did. This time was different, put separate from the last in the way that when Sirius left Harriet wasn't left feeling so confused.

Her parents had been hiding from the Dark Lord in a charm and ward protected house. Peter Pettigrew had ratted out their location like the rat animagus he was. You-Know-Who, otherwise known as Voldemort, had used the spy and had killed her parents. Yet Harriet had survived, Sirius reckoned it was Lily, her mother, who had saved her, with some old spell she'd known or a last act of desperation. Still, to the wizarding world she was known as the Boy Who Lived.

She would've prefered if the community knew of her gender change but she'd take what she could. Sirius had told her all about Hogwarts and she was sure she could make her grand entrance there.

Sirius had actually told her a lot, told her about the back alley shops in Diagon Alley being better than the forefront ones, told her about the War and Dumbledore and Snape and the houses of Hogwarts. He'd told her all about his days at Hogwarts, about the Marauders, about Remus the Werewolf, James the Stag, Lily the Brainiac and Padfoot the Grimm.

Harriet felt assured now. She knew what she needed to, and Sirius assured her he would be there if she needed him. Remus was hoping for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching post after the previous professor quit, so she had the possibility of meeting him whenever she moved on.

She couldn't wait for her eleventh birthday.

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