Notes:
So this is a Fem!Harry fic, because I wanted to do one for a long time.
I do love my heroines, but I don't think I could pull off a Hermione because my level of English is not good enough to follow all the complicated and difficult stuff that goes in her pretty little head. Plus, I just love Harry.
I would love to know if you prefer her to be referred as Harry or as Hariel, as I know it can be sometimes annoying.
There will be no BASHING of anyone in this fic. If you are expecting it, you will be disappointed. I am a big believer that all characters are three-dimensional beings and as such flawed, and even if some characters will be hated on by other characters that doesn't represent my own feelings.
For example, Harry will still hate Voldemort, and be very angry at Dumbledore.
That said, I want to have some fun with this and the KHR world because I feel that there are a lot of things that they have in common. I don't know if this fic will have any pairings or not as of yet, but if you have ideas, you can always send them my way.
The canon will diverge in some ways, because Harry is a woman, and as such has had different experiences growing up. Think of the butterfly effect. There are going to be some big changes and some other things will remain the same. Also, the timeline is changed and is set in more modern times.
Hariel Jamie Potter-Black, or Harry as she preferred to be called, was actually vibrating with excitement just looking at the enormous train that was going to be part of her next adventure, or well deserved vacation, like Hermione used to say. They were in Paris, and she was soon to be traveling alone, discovering the world by herself.
The war had ended, and all of them had gone back to Hogwarts so finish Eight year. Hariel was going to just drop out and enroll to be an Auror, just like Ron, but both Hermione and all the adult Weasley's (minus Bill and Charlie) had nagged at them to just finish their education, have an actually normal year for a change and take those NEWTS. They had even tried to send the twins with them, but they were just so busy with the joke shop and no one had been able to convince them.
Molly was still heartbroken for the tragic loss of Percy, and would tear up every time school was mentioned, talking about how his baby had loved academics so much and how they couldn't lose such an opportunity.
Hariel feel pretty bad for them all, even if she and Percy had never been the closets of friends he had been a good study partner sometimes, and had been very level-headed. Specially during the whole Heir of Slytherin debacle he had tried to look aloof and maybe somewhat pompous, but he had taken a lot of points off anyone who caused her trouble or bad named her, and a lot of people had done just that.
It has been hit and go, but the thing that actually had convinced Hariel was her Godfather, or at least the portrait of her Godfather, looking so young and happy that it had made her cry ugly tears until he had started needling the strange girl who had found him.
It had been so surprising finding him. She had looked in the Black vaults, after all, even if they were such a death trap, so full of the foulest of dark magic that had made her gag.
After that unforgettable visit, she had paid the goblins a nifty sum to hire a team of Curse breakers to clean it up a little. She wanted to be able to get inside without permanent damage to any of her organs, thank you very much. Her only request was to have Bill as Head Curse-Breaker, because, one, cleaning the Black vault was a job that would boost his career a lot, so infamous that they were, and two, he would get very well paid.
Yes, maybe it was nepotism, but Hariel didn't fucking care. The Weasley's were her nearly adoptive family, and she wanted the best for them.
It had been when she, less wary, had been looking through the Potter vaults, that he had found Sirius Black portrait. It was a younger Sirius, just not an adolescent one. He did look older than her.
After much pestering, and some threats about leaving him in the Black vaults with some of his dear family members, he had conceded.
"That mind is just like Lily," he had grouched, "Pure evil Slytherin in a pretty and innocent looking package."
"Well, the hat did try to put me in Slytherin," she had conceded with a little smirk "But that's no one's business, since as I remember vividly when I talked about it with you, you said you had had the same issue with the sorting hat."
"Evil, just pure evil. Remembering a poor bloke, those kinds of traumatic memories."
He was so lively and charming that Hariel had wanted to sob, because it was not her Sirius.
Apparently it was an old wizarding custom to get a portrait made when one reached 21 years, and since his family had disowned him, the Potters, that is, her grandparents had wanted to give him this, even if he had wanted nothing to do with tradition, thank you very much.
Arguing with Dorea Potter, née Black, apparently had been a lost cause, and James had been busy with baby Hariel and just told him to suck it up and make his parents happy.
They had died soon after that in a death eater attack, and then, he had found himself carried and dropped in there, losing contact with every other portrait that was not inside the strongly spelled wards of the Potter main vault.
"So, then, my parents had portraits done as well?" she had asked, some kind of hope flourishing inside her, but then she had seen Sirius downcast look and had shrugged it off.
"They were in hiding She-Prongs, I doubt they had time for such things, but well… if you find either of them bring them to me."
"Don't call me that," she had muttered remembering the unending list of nicknames names her Sirius had bestowed her because he didn't quite get a good marauder name for her. It hurt.
And then promptly she had taken the portrait and put it in Grimmauld Place, just in the place her mother had been. It had been a gleeful memento of victory.
No spell had been able to take Walburga Black and her constant shrieking off the wall, but, then, no one had tried to protect it against muggle methods.
So, one day when she had been specially irritated, she had bough five gallons of gasoline, drenched the entire portrait and set it on fire. Muggle fire.
It had worked like a charm, no pun intended. Her other option had included a chainsaw and a lot of destruction.
But oh, seeing Walburga going out in flames had been truly beautiful. Even Ron said it was one of the most iconic moment of his life.
Anyway, she and young Sirius had kind of bonded over the summer. He was just so easy to talk to, and he wanted to hear about everything that had happened to everyone.
He hadn't talked in a week after she told him about the rat, the change in secret seekers and his years in Azkaban.
She had left him to grieve, choosing to spend more time in the Burrow, or going on long walks through London with Ron and Hermione.
Ron had run away soon, the traitor.
Hariel had had to visit an unbelievable list of places of interest, museums, art galleries, operas, the ballet and theater, and that was just to name a few.
She had enjoyed the Ballet the most. It had been so beautiful, and how could these muggles move like that without magic, and how did they not fall and just how even?
Hermione had laughed at her, truly laughed, like a full belly laugh, like the ones she had not seen since Before.
She had been told to fund a fan club of all things muggle with Arthur Weasley. Hariel had laughed at the idea, not commenting that her ignorance in such things came from living with the Dursley's, who didn't even let be in the room when they were watching the telly and not of some kind of Pureblood shenanigans, since well, she was obviously not one.
She had lived in the muggle world for eleven years and sixteen summers. It was not her fault most of the time she had been gardening, cleaning or locked in her pink room. Not the cupboard, not since she had had an strong episode of accidental magic when she was five and set it on fire… with her inside. Her magic had protected her as much as possible, but she had spent 6 months in the burnt Unit in the Hospital.
Even if the Dursley's had wanted to hide it, it had been impossible. The police had been involved. There had been question as to what a little kid was doing inside a cupboard in the middle of the night. The Dursey's had played like she liked playing in small spaces to hide in, like a lot of kids did, but they couldn't really justify her being there at 2 in the morning on a Tuesday with the door closed from the outside.
She didn't remember all, or much of it to be honest. The hospital staff had been really nice to her. There was one nurse, Claire, that had filled her room with little knickknacks, since the Dursey's had left only a ratty bear in a chair and only visited when they had to talk to the doctors.
If they could get away with phone calls, the better. After all Aunt Petunia didn't know how to drive and had another small child to take care off, and his husband was working non-stop to sustain their family with had included Hariel, since her drunk parents had left her an orphan.
Really. It had been exactly like that, and most of the people had just bought it.
What a tragedy, what a kind family doing the best for their children, even if they couldn't visit the younger one because maintaining a family was just too costly.
Hariel had learned to read in a bed in the hospital. It was the most comfortable bed she had been in, and they brought her food at least four times a day!
Claire, the nurse that had take quite a liking to Hariel, had sat by her side when she had time and taught her the letters and the words, getting her a nice purple notebook, with the picture of a Purple Pony in its front, full of a rainbow-colored tail and glitter everywhere.
Hariel had loved it, and the boredom had made her a fast learner, so they had lent her books of the pediatric section, with the kids with cancer and other long-term diseases and when she had read them all, they had brought more for her for a library nearby or from their own homes.
She had not been allowed out of the room, though, because she had been very nearly killed and 60% percent of her body, had been burned. They had explained to her patiently that her immune system, whatever that was, was very low, and that she had some symptoms of malnutrition, and all in all, people could infect her with different viruses and bacteria and kill her.
They had not used those words on a 5 years old, but she had understood.
After six months of living in constant pain, one morning she had woken up whole and hale. The burns in her body just gone except three that had stubornly remained, just like that, and the doctors and nurses hadn't had found anything strange about it. It was almost, as if suddenly they had forgotten about her. Even Claire.
His uncle had to drive her home, where a social worker had wanted to talk to her and supervise her surroundings. Apparently the police weren't as gullible as most people.
His aunt had taken her hand quite hard, and guided him to the guest room, which had been decorated in so many pink colors that she had been shocked.
The bed was pink, the bedding were hot pink, the room was painted pale pink and the furniture was pink too. Everything was pink, even when the social worker had looked inside drawers and closet, most of it was pink.
"It's just her favorite color, isn't it, sweetie?"
Aunt Petunia nails had clawed at her miraculously and inexplicably healed, but sore and sensitive skin, so Hariel had just nodded and told the lady she loved it, but that her second favorite color was purple like Princess Twilight Sparkle, her favorite my little pony.
The woman had seemed appeased at that, but told them she would be back every month for a year, and then every year until they were sure Hariel has been properly taken care off.
Of course, that didn't happen at all. But she had got a new room, way bigger than Dudley's second bedroom (Even if he had started to dislike the color with passion) and food.
She had to wear those frilly pink dresses all the time, but at least they were no longer Dudley's ugly and gigantic hand-me-downs.
Later, much later. Years and years later, she had learned the truth. Mrs. Fig had alerted Headmaster Dumbledore of the terrible fire, but the man had though that her injuries must have been just some scrapes and that she would just heal in a little while.
When the blood wards in Privet Drive had been nearly destroyed, he had had a wake-up call and had gone to visit her, given her a sleeping draught and brought her to Saint Mungo, where they fixed her in no time at all. After all, it was muggle fire. That was nothing.
Except for Walburga Black, that is. Yes, Hariel had had a pyromaniac phase that was mostly over, because instead of fearing it she was just fascinated by the flames.
Sirius had been outraged by the story, even if it was such old news. He had told her that someone should have treated her at the exact moment she was burnt and not let her suffer for half a year with strange muggle medicine!
And after listening to her adventures at Hogwarts, so differing from his and the Marauders, he had told her to please go back one last year and have fun.
It had been something like:
"Morgana's perky tits, Harry, just go back, have, fun, get drunk, prank the hell off of everyone, specially the Malfoy brat and enjoy yourself."
His voice has been light, but his silver-gray eyes had been somber, stuck in the state in whitch he was painted, the times he most remembered were of the war, and he didn't like that.
"As your Godfather, I order you to go, Mini-Lil's."
"As if you could order me to do something," she had scoffed amused with his antics, since she had already decided to go back and was just playing with him a little.
"Well, you are my heir, blood adopted and all, so I get a say in your education."
"You are a portrait, Sirius. Try to convince the Wizengamot of it. Or no, let's not. Because those morons may actually think that you are right, and that's just not going to happen."
In the end, they all, that is, the Golden Trio, had gone back to Hogwarts for their last year. Ron had been morose for weeks, but he didn't really want to go to Auror training alone.
And, well, Eight year had been, well, different. Good different and bad different. There were just too many memories there.
Hariel had broken down when Remus silvery ghost had come to say hello to the firsties, and then to talk to them a bit. He could not move on, not like this. Not until he saw Teddy grow up happy and healthy. He had mused, that maybe then he could go on, and maybe be reunited with Tonks, but for the time being he was the new Gryffindor favorite ghost.
And he and the Portrait of Sirius, which had of course come with them, because Hariel could not make herself leave him alone in that old house, held the most interesting and sometimes absurd conversations.
Both of them, egged each other to think or a more ludicrous prank each time.
Hariel just went with it, because it was actually a lot of fun, but she vetoed anything that even slightly resembled bullying someone, and had had words with Sirius about his treatment of Snape. Even if Snape was a bloody git.
The Potioneer had been gravely injured in the last battle bitten by Nagini and her potent venom had been inoculated very near his shoulder… well, the only way to save his life was cutting his entire arm, and even then, he had taken months to wake up from a magically induced coma.
He had been so angry. But now they had another Potion Teacher, named Sabinus Stokes, and Snape who had abhorred teaching (even if he no longer could) had been given permanents rooms in Hogwarts by Headmaster McGonagall for research purposes.
Last she had heard from Remus ghost, who loved to pester Snape, was that he was formulating a limb-regrowing potion.
Hariel wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make it, but well, he was The Half-Blood Prince, and his lost arm was not his wand arm, plus a lot of people said he was the youngest Potion Master in his entire generation and a prodigy.
Hariel couldn't see it, she truly couldn't, but she guessed that being a teacher must be quite different from being a brilliant inventor, so she had put her galleons in his favor in the bet poll run by the twins.
The NEWTS had been near all the time too, so there had been a lot of studying. The reconstruction had been mostly done by them, using a class named "The architecture of magic" that was compulsory since first year.
It had been, well, different, good, bad, but she was glad she had done it, and one night whilst Hermione was telling her of her summer hols with his mom, (his dad had sadly been killed by Death Eaters), well, she had wanted to do something special too.
Hermione was well traveled, having gone with her parents to a lot of places through the years, both accompanying them for work and for holidays, and she was the one to suggest that she could just take a train to travel around all of Europe and just relax and have fun.
Hariel had been kind of enthused with the idea, and Hermione being Hermione had planned every little detail of the trip. Even giving her a bound travel book hand written by her (and when had she had the time to do that with the NEWTS?) and charmed it with such sophisticated spells, that Hariel had asked her to present it to a Jury to get a Charms Mastery.
Hermione didn't think it was that impressive, but had started to make another one, after using an altered Geminio spell on the original several times to have multiple copies for herself, that she said it would be way better.
And well, after a lot of preparation, a week with Fleur family and sightseeing around Paris, Hariel was going to go on her own adventure. She felt a little like Bilbo Baggins.
Money was no issue, so Hermione had booked her the best she could in a luxury train. She would have a cabin all to herself with a big enough bed, in which she would sleep or do whatever she wanted and also she had booked half of the luxury compartment, so she could sightsee and read lulled by the travel. It sounded dreamy.
When asking why Hermione had not booked the entire compartment, she had said it was already booked by another person, and there were no other luxury ones left because it was summer.
Well, it was a bit annoying, but what can you do?
So he hugged everyone, Hermione, his mom, who was looking better already, Fleur and Gabrielle and his parents who had been delightful hosts for them and had already extracted a promise of a new visit soon.
Veela charm full on and all.
Hariel took her suitcase, and it was weird that it wasn't a trunk, but it had little wheels, and it was charmed to be light, so it worked.
She looked at her train ticked and entered after showing it of to the ticket inspector, who signaled a smartly uniformed lady to guide her to her compartment and rooms and to explain everything relevant to her.
It wasn't hard science. A key for the room, a paper with the hours it would be cleaned, when they served the food and a little map showing her to a restaurant in the end of the train, which was also a bar and a cafeteria. In the other end of the train was a small casino.
Her compartment was very pretty. Hermione hadn't joked about it being luxury. She had left her things in her "room" and had come back with a book and seated herself.
Then one of the doors of the compartment opened and a muggle man came in.
Hariel blinked a little because he was so very well-dressed, she could be wrong, but that suit was bespoke. She could bet on it.
It clashed a lot with her scuffed jeans, bright blue converses and Wesley-made green sweeter with the now traditional H in the front.
They looked at each other, almost at a staring contest. He had really black eyes, partially hidden by a black fedora, with had the only bit of color of his ensemble. Orange for Merlin shakes. An orange stripe.
Who wore orange?
Well, Mrs Weasley did, and some of her brood had been made to wear different shades of it. But that was a lost cause.
Tan, and lean, and with slightly tanned skin and spiky black hair that looked to be as unmanageable as hers when she had cut it short, and oh, those sideburns were so curly. Weird.
"Good morning, signorina ," he said at last, not breaking eye contact.
Hariel was not going to lose this contest. She was not.
"Good morning," she replied with saccharine sweetness, "Do I have something in my face?" she asked innocently, her glare not leaving his.
"A smudge in your left check actually, but I was not going to comment on it"
Oh, Harry, though morosely, the trip was just going to be lovely .
Notes: Thank you very much for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated but not necessary, so if you get commenting anxiety, I got you. I have high anxiety myself so I know how it feels.