We have all read Fem!Harry, but have we read about her along with Fem!Ron, Male!Hermione. What if everyone's genders had been flopped? How would that change the story? That is exactly what happens in this AU about Hera, Ronni, and Herman and their first year at Hogwarts under Alana Dumbledore and Mathew McGonagall. No romance yet but will eventually be cannon couples.

So this story was inspired by Stephanie Myers's Life and Death. I read it and thought it would be an awesome idea for a Harry Potter fanfiction and I searched and searched and couldn't find one. So, I decided to write my own. This is my first shot at writing fanfiction in years but constructive criticism is always welcome or if anyone wants to volunteer to be my beta it would be much appreciated. If ya'll have any questions just PM me or leave a review.

The Evans of Number 4 Privet Drive were extraordinarily ordinary. They had a house in the suburbs, a young daughter, and a white picket fence. Mr. Evans, who worked as a gossip columnist for a prominent Magazine, could be described as a lanky sort of man. He had yarn yellow hair and a giraffe's neck with an Adam's apple as big as his fist. Mrs. Evans had worked at a drill company before she took off to look after the baby and was working to get the baby weight off. Most People would describe her as plump or rounded, but she had always said curvy. The baby of the family, Daisy, was the apple of her parents' eyes and could do no wrong.

November first was like any other day for the Evans. Mr. and Mrs. Evans arose at precisely 6:30 A.M., Mr. Evans to get ready for work and Mrs. Evans to prepare breakfast. The young Ms. Evans, being over a year old, had taken to feeding herself and making quite a mess. The Evans, fussing over the mess, failed to notice the owls that had flown past their window.

At precisely half past eight, Mr. Evans put down his newspaper and kissed his wife goodbye. He thought for half a second about bestowing one to Daisy but thought better of it as he could not find a clean spot to kiss. " Little Angel," Mr. Evans cooed as he made his way out of the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Evans didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. Here was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Evans blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Evans drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Evans gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of the article he had to write that day.

By the time Mr. Evans had reached the city, and was sitting in the usual traffic, he noticed crowds of people in cloaks. These people reminded him of his brother. You see the Evans had a secret the neighbors didn't know about that made them a little less ordinary. Mr. Evans' had a brother whom wore cloaks and waved around a sick. He had always claimed to do real magic but Mr. Evans, as sensible people did, wrote it off as slight of hand and other such tricks. He was a bit embarrassed at having a magician as a brother but every family had its black sheep so he didn't pay it much mind. One aspect of his brother's oddness did still make Mr. Evans laugh; he had changed his name to match his wife's. Mr. Evans gave a chuckle as he pulled into work as he thought of his brother, Liam Evans Potter.

However, he soon put him out of his mind as he went to work. He had more important things to do. Mr. Evans was finishing up a column on the royal family that day. It was very important. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Evans, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large

doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"- e Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —"

"— yes, their daughter, Hera —"

Mr. Evans could hardly believe his ears. He had heard from his brother not too long after Daisy had been born that his brother had had a baby girl. These people couldn't be talking about his brother. He tried to recall what they had named her as he made his way back across the street. Helen or Mara must have been it. He was being silly. There are plenty of Potters in the world and lots of wanna be magicians as well.

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on news that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. "Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Evans realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare,

"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice,

for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself

should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Evans around the middle and walked off . Mr. Evans stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, a word he had not heard in may years. It was an insult his brother and a neighborhood girl had come up with to make fun of him when they were young. He had not thought this much of his brother in years. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things. As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

Mrs. Evans had a perfectly normal and ordinary day. She was telling her husband over dinner all about Daisy's new word ( Pretty) and what had been on the telly that day. Mr. Evans, in turn, talked about the magazine and his co-workers, but kept his mouth shut on the subject of the Potters. His wife thought even less of them than he and generally became upset whenever they were mentioned.

The Evans, after cleaning the kitchen and putting Daisy to bed, went to bed themselves as they were both too tired or drained to even watch the telly. Mrs. Evans fell asleep quickly but Mr. Evans lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. He had put so much thought into his eccentric little brother and what trouble he could be getting into with the people in the cloaks. He couldn't see how he and Vera could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them. . . .

How very wrong he was.

Bold Part are direct quotes From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling