A day and a half after the Dursleys had grudgingly accepted the child of Petunia Dursley's murdered sister into their home, Petunia found herself screaming.

Her sister's child, Harry Potter, appeared to have changed from a boy to a girl at some point after the last time she had changed the child's diaper.

Petunia didn't know how to deal with something like this, something so obviously magical. Would it happen again? Would other changes occur? How was she supposed to raise a child like this? How would she explain it to a school? She couldn't help but be relieved that Vernon was away at work — he would no doubt have reacted even more poorly to the situation than she was, and as much as she resented her sister she didn't truly want anything horrible happening to the child.

There was only one option available to her, and so she picked up the phone and mechanically dialed a number that had been listed in the letter her sister received so many years ago, a number she had never been able to forget.

"You've reached Hogwarts School for Gifted Children," the bored voice of a young woman greeted her. "This is Jane MacGregor. Are you a parent or relative of a current student, or are you looking to enroll someone?"

"I need to speak to Albus Dumbledore," Petunia said, barely able to keep her disgust out of her voice. "Tell him Petunia Dursley is calling. He knows who I am."

"…right," Jane drawled, voice doubtful. "Hang on." There was a moment of silence, and then, more respectfully, "Are you available for a house call? Professor Dumbledore would prefer to speak to you in person."

"That would probably be for the best," Petunia managed. She didn't want that freak anywhere near her home — anywhere near her precious Duddikins — but in this case she felt like she had no choice.

"He'll be with you in five minutes," Jane told her, then hung up the phone.

Petunia exhaled slowly as she placed the phone back on the receiver. With any luck, she would be able to convince Dumbledore to take the child somewhere else. She wasn't equipped to raise a magical child, not in knowledge or in temperament. Petunia knew herself, and she knew she was a bitter, jealous, spiteful person. Her grudge against Lily — and against magic — was no weaker now than it had been in years past, and she knew she would find herself taking it out on her sister's child. Harry had done nothing to deserve that.

A knock on the front door broke her out of her thoughts, and she hurried to answer it.

"Good afternoon, Petunia," Albus Dumbledore greeted genially. He was dressed in a sharp suit, and the only thing that marked him as anything but an ordinary old man was the length of his beard and hair. Petunia thanked the heavens that the man knew when to display tact.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dumbledore," Petunia replied tersely. "Would you like to come inside and sit down?"

"Most gracious of you," Albus replied, eyes twinkling as he stepped into the house. "I must say, I was surprised to hear that you had called. Is everything well?"

"No, it's not," Petunia snapped, finally unable to hold back her frustration. "My sister's child has turned into a girl!"

"Truly?" Albus asked, blinking. "I hadn't thought… could you show me to little Harry?"

"In here," Petunia muttered, leading the old wizard to the kitchen. Harry was still lying on the table, bare from the waist down.

Albus let out a soft hum and drew his wand, ignoring Petunia's flinch at the action. He waved it over the baby a number of times, then let out a long sigh. "It appears that Harry is a metamorphmagus. They must have inherited it from their father's line — the Potters are distantly related to the Blacks, who are known to produce a metamorphmagus every now and then."

"And what in the world is a 'metamorphmagus?'" Petunia asked, spitting the word.

"A metamorphmagus is someone with the ability to transform their body at will," Albus replied, stroking his beard. "They're quite rare. I only know of four others born in Britain this century, all with connections to the Black family, and one of those is only a child herself." He sighed again. "I suppose Lily and James simply saw no need to inform me of young Harry's abilities, as I have no doubt they had already manifested. Metamorphmagi almost always perform their first transformation within a week of birth… Still, this complicates things, and throws into question quite a few things that I thought I knew." Strangely, Albus sounded hopeful rather than worried. "I'm afraid that this is unlikely to be a suitable environment for a metamorphmagus to grow up, Petunia. They rarely gain full control of their abilities until puberty, and even then they're prone to minor transformations based on their emotional state. If a young metamorphmagus were to attend a non-magical school…"

"It would break that secrecy law you lot love so much, I'd expect," Petunia sniffed.

"Indeed," Albus chuckled. "Quite seriously at that. It's fortunate that it's an ability that can only manifest once enough magic has built up in a bloodline." A flick of his wand had Harry cleaned and dressed in a new diaper. "I'm sorry, Petunia, but I'm going to need to take little Harry to be raised by someone else. If you would like, I can still arrange for you to visit."

"No, that's quite all right," Petunia replied, barely able to believe her luck. "I believe it would be for the best if we had as little contact as possible."

Albus hummed, peering at her sadly over his glasses. "Oh, Petunia… still holding on to a grudge from so long ago? I had thought…" he broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind. I wish you and your family all the best." He scooped little Harry up into his arms and headed for the door. Petunia followed to see him out.

After the door had been shut behind him — slammed, really — Albus looked down at the infant in his arms and smiled.

"You may not be the subject of the prophecy after all, little one," he whispered, tickling baby Harry's chin with one long finger. "Wouldn't that be wonderful? If the prophecy applies to another dark lord…" Albus strolled down the street to the secluded alley he had Apparated into, plans spinning in his mind.

If the prophecy didn't apply, there was no reason that Albus Dumbledore couldn't seek to end Voldemort himself, a thought that cheered the old man immensely.

If there was one thing that Albus Dumbledore hated, it was the idea of making children fight a war. If there was a chance that could be averted, he needed to investigate it immediately.

He had two stops to make: one at Hogwarts, to convince an old friend to raise a child, and one with an oracle in Greece.