Author's Notes: Hello all and thank you for your continued readership of my story. As of writing this, my story has over 16,000 views and I'm grateful for each one of them. This chapter will begin the Half-Blood Prince. I will once again say that for the most part I am sticking to canon events, and yes unfortunately deaths, at least for the most part unless I need to tweak them for Heather's story. This will be her first, and only, year at Hogwarts mentally as a girl, even though she is not out to anyone outside her friends group. This year more than most gave me both more room to work with, there are really very few exciting events in Year 6, and almost too much room to play in. So we'll just have to see how it goes.
Again I want to give a huge shout out to the Harry Potter Fandom Wiki, which has helped me research characters, events, and highly obscure information about one of my favorite worlds.
As always, Harry Potter and everything around him does not belong to me. It's JK Rowling's sandbox, I'm just messing it up for her.
Chapter One
Heather Potter sat on her bed in her room at number four, Privet Drive, bursting with an eager anticipation. Three days beforehand a handsome tawny owl had arrived bearing a letter from Professor Dumbledore, saying he would be arriving tonight to escort her to the Burrow. It had been less than a fortnight since her return to this house and there hadn't been a day yet where there hadn't been an argument. Ever since her return after her first year at Hogwarts, her aunt and uncle had done thei best to ignore her. That is except to assign chores or during that ill remembered visit by Aunt Marge before her third year. Now it seemed that her "freakishness" had reached a level that they could no longer silently tolerate.
This was quite a feat considering their hatred of magic and anyone who used it. It seemed that everything that had happened in the past, from his bedroom window being ripped off the wall by a flying car to Mr. Weasley blowing apart the living room paled in comparison to one solitary thing. Heather now had hair that reached her shoulder blades. On her last day at Hogwarts she had decided that she was tired of returning her hair to "boy-length" whenever she wasn't dressed as Heather. With grim determination to tell off the first person who made a snide remark about it, she had cast the hair growth spell that Hermione had taught her all those years ago. She may still have to be Harry for most of the wizarding world, but from now on she would at least have the hair she wanted.
When Uncle Vernon had spotted her at the train station, emerging from the barrier with Hermione and Ron, his face had automatically gone that special shade of puce that was reserved only for Heather. It didn't take long for Heather to see her uncle and pale just slightly.
"Oh my" said Hermione when she saw what Heather was staring at.
"Yeah, this isn't going to go well." Heather said and with a sigh of resignation.
She set off towards the Dursley's with Hermione and Ron behind her for moral support, but not quite halfway there she was waylayed by a group of people she hadn't noticed yet. Lupin, Tonks, who had her hair in the usual bubble gum pink shade that she always did, Mad-Eye Moody, and leading them were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
"Wotcha, Harry. Nice hair!" said Tonks, grinning from ear to ear.
"Err, thanks!" Heather replied brightly. She had taken to Tonks at their first meeting, and would give anything to have her powers of transformation.
"What are you all doing here?" she continued when no one else spoke. It seemed that Mrs. Weasley was also eyeing her hair with a puzzled expression. No one else seemed to react, though that could just be because of the grim air that hung about them.
"We thought we might have a chat with your aunt and uncle before you leave with them." Said Lupin, before striding purposely over to Uncle Vernon, whose face had gone even darker at the sight of Heather's entourage.
Mr. Weasley took it upon himself to start the conversation, which probably was not the best idea. The memory of him in their living room, and the ton-tongue toffee was all to clear in the Dursley's mind. Mad-Eye set down in very firm, unquestioning tones that Heather was to be treated well at their house, and that if the Order didn't hear from him every few days or so, they might just have to drop by for a visit. Aunt Petunia paled at the idea of this group, and at those words her eyes darted to Tonks, showing up on Privet Drive and what the neighbors would think.
Despite the dire warnings from Moody however, the Dursley's did not seem inclined to treat Heather well at all. As soon as they all had gotten inside the door Uncle Vernon had stormed to the kitchen and returned with a pair of scissors.
"Get upstairs right now and cut your hair." He growled at Heather.
"No." she said, recovering slightly. The sight of her uncle menacingly holding what could easily be a weapon had made her recoil slightly, but now she stood her ground.
"Boy, you will do what I say!" Uncle Vernon roared.
"No, I won't and there's nothing you can do that will make me." Heather replied.
For a brief moment Heather almost expected him to finally snap and attack her. He had only ever once set hands on her since the revelation she was a wizard, and he had gotten a nasty shock for his attempt. His fists shook with silent rage, but a restraining hand on his arm from Aunt Petunia, who was ghostly pale, brought him back to his senses.
"Get upstairs, and don't come back down here." He said, and stormed off to the kitchen, Aunt Petunia and Dudley in tow.
"Gladly," Heather muttered to their retreating backs and pulled her trunk up the stairs. In her bedroom, which as always looked as though it hadn't been touched since last summer, she sat on the unkempt bed and sent Hedwig to Hermione with a note saying she had made it to the Dursley's and that she was as ok as she would ever be in this house.
Two weeks had now passed, and each morning her arrival at breakfast, hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail, started the same argument. Uncle Vernon would demand again that she cut her hair and stop looking "like a nancy boy." To this Heather always replied with the same calm "No." She hadn't raised her voice again to Uncle Vernon, a fact that seemed to frustrate him even further. Once this morning ritual was done, Heather pulled her portion of breakfast towards her and ate quickly, eager to get away from the table. In between meals she kept to her room, tidying it after it's neglect and unpacking her trunk. With nothing better to to fill her time, by the time the third day of her visit arrived she had already cleaned her entire room four times. She also took the time to completely empty her trunk, something she hadn't done since getting it, and found several items she thought had been lost.
When Saturday came around, absolute boredom had overtaken her. In previous summers she had tried to be out of the house as much as possible, wandering the streets of Little Winging. Now however, she had to stay inside. Lupin had made sure to extract a promise to not go wandering on her own before she left King's Cross.
It had looked like this summer would never end before the letter from Dumbledore arrived. Heather had received plenty of mail, both from her friends and her daily copy of the Prophet, which she had only recently started reading again. Most of this however had been left in a pile under Hedwig's cage.
Where before it had seemed that the hours dragged by because of boredom, now the prospect of leaving with Dumbledore made them crawl by even slower. Heather checked and rechecked her old alarm clock, and read the letter time and time again, to the point where she could recite it word for word. Sitting in her desk chair watching the sky start to darken, the now usual mist floated over the street below and the evening chill set in. Sleep overcame her, despite her excitement and her head drooped to the side, pressing her cheek into the glass.
Hours passed and the world outside faded into murky darkness, the streetlamps that were positioned ever few houses doing little to penetrate the mists. Heather sat there snoring lightly, her hand clutching tightly to the letter. In her dream, which had been a recurring one since the train ride from, involved her dancing slowly around the Room of Requirement with a tall boy in Hufflepuff robes.
Down in the street, with the faintest pop appeared Albus Dumbledore, in exactly the same place he had almost fifteen years prior. At his arrival, almost as if it the noise of his apparition had awoken her, Heather stirred. It took her several minutes to be able to remember where she was and why she had fallen asleep in this chair. Everything came crashing back at the sound of the doorbell going off in the hallway below.
"Who the devil is calling at this time of night?" roared Uncle Vernon. Oops thought Heather, she hadn't remembered to tell the Dursley's that Dumbledore would be coming. With a spurt she sprang from her chair and dashed down the stairs. Uncle Vernon's fuming instantly ceased at the sight of the man standing on his front step. Dressed in a long black travelling cloak and a tall pointed hat, there was no doubt that he was a wizard.
"Good evening" he said politely to Uncle Vernon, and without waiting for a reply stepped over the threshold into the hall. Almost unsure what to do, Uncle Vernon slammed the door and said "I don't mean to be rude-"
"Alas, but far too often accidental rudeness occurs. Best to say nothing." Dumbledore cut him off, spying Aunt Petunia coming in from the kitchen. He doffed his hat and bowed to her. "Albus Dumbledore, we have corresponded before."
Almost against their will it seemed the Dursley's were lead into the living room and sat on the couch, while Dumbledore took an armchair and sat staring at them completely at ease. When Heather asked if they were leaving, he said that he had a few matters to discuss with the Dursley's before they did. An uncomfortable fifteen minutes passed while Dumbledore informed him of the finding of Sirius's will, and that he had left everything to Heather. As a test to ensure whether or not Heather could actually own twleve Grimmauld Place, Kreacher was called, to see if he would obey a direct order from her. He did, though it was obvious if he had any choice in the matter they all would be dying painful deaths. With that done, Dumbledore asked that Heather be allowed to return one more time the following summer before she came of age, in order to allow the protection he had placed on the house to last. The Dursley's made no answer to this request, but Heather could see a small gleam in her Uncle's eye at the thought of her only returning one more time. His business complete, Dumbledore rose and bowed again, before leading Heather out into the night.
With a brisk pace, Dumbledore led them to the end of the street, Heather needing to take extra steps to be able to keep up with him. They chatted idly about the ministry pamphlets that had been sent out last week, and about the speculation that Heather was the "Chosen One." This had appeared in the paper after several of the details of what had happened in the Department of Mysteries had slipped out, and it seemed as though the idea had been quite run away with. It was quite entertaining, in a way, to have gone from an object of ridicule to now being toted as the only one who can stop Voldemort, all by the same paper.
"Professor, in your letter you mentioned something I could help you with." Heather said, asking what she had been pondering since her first reading of the letter.
"Indeed, Harry. I don't know how many times in the past years I've had to say this, but once again we find ourselves one short in the teaching staff. You will be coming with me to try to convince an old friend of mine to leave his retirement and retake his old position."
"Oh" said Heather. She hadn't been sure of what Dumbledore would need help with, but somehow being taken along to recruit a new professor was a bit of a let down.
"I must say Harry, I applaud your new hairstyle."
"Thank you, sir." Heather replied. It wasn't until this moment that she remembered Dumbledore handing her Sirius's letter in his office a few weeks ago, with the name Heather Potter scrawled on the front. Then he hadn't pressed for information about who Heather was, having more important matters to discuss. But on a night like tonight, anything was possible.
"It's sad that long hair has fallen out of fashion. I myself have always found it far more enjoyable than cutting it off so short."
Heather couldn't quite believe that here she was, walking down the street with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, one of the greatest wizards to have ever existed, and they were talking about hair.
"I've preferred it this long for a while now, just needed to work up the nerve to keep it." Heather said
"Of course, the possible ridicule of ones peers is a powerful force at your age." Dumbledore replied sagely. "Now, Harry I think we've walked far enough. If you'll take my hand…"
Heather reached up and grabbed his left hand, not wanting to touch his blackened right. Without warning Dumbledore turned on the spot, pulling both of them into darkness.