A/N: If you haven't read In Love of Quidditch, most of this story probably won't make sense.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters of this story. In addition, the premise for this story is based on Murkybluematter's Pureblood Pretense. I have received permission from my fellow fanfic author to play with a somewhat similar plot. I would like to note that I have not read any of the sequels to Pretense, in order to better preserve my own originality, such as it is. Any similarities are coincidental. I would also like to point out that both of us are working with a general plot that combines some aspects of Tamora Pierce's Song of the Lionness quartet, which almost certainly contributes to aforementioned similarities.

Warnings: Fem!Harry, twin!Harry, violence, minor swearing, implied mature topics

Harry glared across the chessboard at her brother. "Really?" she asked, half-whine and half-sigh. She reached out and flicked her king over. The white piece muttered something in French - the set had come to Potter Manor as part of her Grandmother Dorea's dowry - and hauled itself to the side of the board.

Alex just grinned smugly. "It's educational," he said with a grin. "And plus, I'm one of the four best players at my school; it's only logical that you be good at it."

Harry rolled her eyes at his rather pitiful argument, but didn't protest as Alex set up the board for yet another game - the fifth of the afternoon. It wasn't like she had much else she could do; she and her father had been at odds for nearly the entire summer. It had taken James Potter an entire week to be at home long enough to realize that his daughter had chopped her hair off and was sporting a very unfeminine and extremely untraditional cut, but when he had, the resulting explosion had been…well, not pretty would be an understatement. There had been screaming on Harry's part, and shouting and threats and, in the end, cutting disappointment on James' part, with Alex doing his best to try and calm both his twin sister and his father down to more reasonable states. Poor Triss, the youngest of the family house elves, had hunkered down in the far corner of the dining room, rocking and crying as the argument progressed.

Neither Harry nor her father gave in: Harry had kept her short hair, refusing the hair-growth draught her father had waved under her nose, and had been confined to her room until she drank it. She hadn't, not even when Alex pointed out that she could always cut her hair again come September.

"That's not the point," she'd snapped at him. "Dad's got to get used to me having short hair eventually; might as well be now." In any case, the confinement wasn't very good. She had two methods of escape - the first through the secret passage that led down to her brother's room, and the second out her window on her Nimbus 2000. Her father had spelled the door (and try as they might they couldn't figure out how he'd managed to create such precise wards; Alex had spent nearly two weeks studying them before giving up), but had neglected the windows, thinking that the fourth floor was far too high for anyone to think about climbing down. After all, he didn't know that she had a broom; if he had, he likely would have shut her into a room in their cellar, because flying a broom was a far greater offense than cutting her hair could ever be.

Girls weren't allowed to fly - not even on the outmoded family-sized brooms or the outlawed flying carpets. And not being allowed to fly was what had driven Harry to cutting her hair in the first place - but that had only been the beginning. Harry had spent the past year at Hogwarts pretending to be a boy. Her father was - thankfully - still under the impression that she had spent her first year of magical schooling at Asclepius Academy of Magic in the tiny country of Andorra. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Even though she had initially been slated to attend the internationally-acclaimed school, she and her brother had devised a plan that would allow each of them to follow their hearts: Harry would attend Hogwarts disguised as a boy so that she could play Quidditch, and Alex would study at Asclepius in the Curse-Breaking program, which would allow him to graduate as a fully qualified curse-breaker instead of studying for the extra two years that a Hogwarts graduate would have to.

The trade had gone smoothly, despite three of Harry's peers discovering her gender. Even when she'd been attacked by a troll, her father hadn't traveled to Hogwarts. She could only praise the oft-lamented fact that her father was working more often than not, as he had been for as long as she could remember. Now she and Alex were gearing up for their second year in their respective schools.

Some of their deception was easy. They both took most of the same classes, the only differences being that Alex was enrolled in the mandatory Basic Law course, and had to study Astronomy on his own. A good portion of the summer had been spent with Alex tutoring Harry in what he'd learned at Asclepius, and not just subject-wise. Harry had had to memorize the names of all of his teachers, all of the class names - because not even those were the same - , and all of the students in his year. She could only take pleasure in the fact that he had to do much the same for what she'd learned at Hogwarts, right on down to the six members of her Quidditch Team and the forty members of her class. Alex didn't even know all the names of the people in his class without looking at his stack of notes, and there were only twenty-one of them.

But even while grounded by her father, Harry wasn't idle. She had already completed the summer assignments from her professors at school - including the extensive essays for Professor Snape - and had discussed everything from the topics of the homework to which classes she wanted to take in her third year with her best friend, Hermione Granger, via owls. She had written her other best friend, Neville Longbottom, a few times, but since he and his grandmother were on a retreat to the Ivory Coast, they hadn't exchanged more than four letters in the past six weeks. Fred and George had written once, which, in all honesty, was more than she'd expected, to tell her the date of their annual shopping trip to Diagon Alley, and a request that she 'show her ugly mug'. She'd written back with a rude response that had Alex grinning appreciatively as he read over her shoulder.

She had also been exchanging periodic letters to Remus Lupin, the man who had raised herself and Alex for the first five years of their lives, and Alex's godfather, even though the wards around the manor wouldn't allow any of his replies to enter the grounds. Instead, she would fly the edges of the wards, searching for where the disgruntled owls would drop the letters on the ground before flying the rest of the way to their roosts. The last letter had come only that morning, after nearly two weeks of nothing. Remus had been sent on a long country-hopping trip by his employers - a high-end Muggle book store that specialized in rare tomes - to search out new books.

Remus' letter was part of the reason that Harry was being so patient with her brother's flimsy excuses to get her to play chess. Normally, she would have abandoned her room after the second or third game for either a long fly around the property or quiet solitude in the room in the dungeons of Potter Manor that her father had turned into a sort of mausoleum for her mother's belongings. But today, she was willing to put up with far more than usual, because tomorrow she would be getting out of the house for real. Tomorrow, she and Alex would be Flooing to Diagon Alley to meet Remus for the first time in almost seven years. They were guaranteed safety from their father finding out, too, because it was their birthday, and the anniversary of their mother's death. In accordance with how their previous birthdays had gone, James Potter would present them with their gifts that night at dinner, and then be gone by the time the two of them woke up on the day of their birth. They wouldn't see him again until one, or maybe even two, days into August.

True to her expectations, Harry's father showed up at half-past six, much earlier than he normally returned from his work as an Unspeakable. Alex had gone down to his room twenty minutes earlier, and Harry had, grudgingly, put on a dress and done her short-cropped hair in as feminine a style as possible, held back with a blue silk ribbon that matched the embroidery on her dress.

When her father showed up at her door to escort her down to the dining room - she'd been receiving all of her meals in her room - she couldn't help but give him a half-hearted scowl.

"Father," she said loftily, allowing him to take her hand so that she could bypass the wards.

"You look lovely, Harriet," he replied in a stiffly formal voice. He relaxed a little and added, "Alexander is waiting downstairs for us."

They walked along in silence, greeting those few portraits that called out to them. Harry thanked a fair few of her ancestors for their birthday wishes, and ignored some others when they commented on her hair.

As they approached Alex's room - directly beneath hers - Harry asked, "Why don't you want me to have my hair short? Most of my friends have short hair."

"Most of your friends are boys," James pointed out tersely, and then sighed. "Your mother took great pride in her hair, and talked at great length of how she would fix yours on your sixteenth birthday." Harry was shocked into silence - her father had never once spoken of her mother to her face.

"I - " Her question was cut off by Alex opening his door and stepping out into the hallway. Like Harry, he had dressed in fancier clothes than he usually wore. In lieu of his normal denims, he wore beige slacks and a collared shirt.

When he saw her, he grinned and quipped, "So the animal has escaped at last!"

Harry grinned back at him. "The animal has been let out for good behavior." Then she relented and asked the question that she always did just before dinner. "First or second?"

He hesitated before saying confidently, "First." It was a constant bet between the two of them: which of their cakes would come out first. Every year, the six house elves of the Potter Estates - Triss, Troy, Tiber, Leena, Matilda, and Roquefort - made Harry and Alex their own birthday cakes, going overboard with the embellishments until the confections were almost too beautiful to eat. Leena and Matilda would often work for three days just planning the decorative pastries.

"Yours came out first last year," Harry pointed out as she fell back to walk with Alex behind their father. "Don't you think the elves will switch it up?"

Alex shrugged. "They might forget. And it's not like I actually lose anything if mine isn't first." Harry nodded her agreement. The 'prize' for the winner was a day of the other agreeing to do whatever they wanted, and since they were planning on sneaking out to Diagon Alley anyways, this year it didn't matter. Last year Harry had won and they had spent most of the day reading, although she had made him wear one of her frilliest - and therefore most hated - dresses for an hour during lunch.

Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable. James spent a good portion of the meal talking with the portrait of his parents, the only functional portrait in the dining room. Over lamb chops and mashed potatoes, Harry noticed that her mother's mute portrait was empty, as it usually was when her father was around.

Finally, the cakes came out, as well as all six of the house elves. For the occasion, the cakes were carried out by hand instead of merely floated along with magic. Harry grinned smugly at Alex when Troy brought the first cake to her. Alex pouted good-naturedly, but cheered up when his own cake, decorated to look like a crouching dragon (Harry grimaced slightly, remembering Norbert), was placed in front of him. Harry swallowed heavily when she looked at her own cake; it seemed that Leena and Matilda had focused on magical animals this year, because hers bore an uncanny resemblance to a dozing unicorn. She hadn't been able to think of unicorns in the same way since the disastrous detention in the Forbidden Forest only a few months prior.

"It looks amazing, thank you," she told the anxiously waiting elves. They relaxed and beamed at her, and then at Alex when he echoed her sentiments.

"Dad?" she asked.

"The usual," he replied. Harry nodded and sliced a piece from the hindquarters of the unicorn. As always, her cake was plain vanilla, with a layer of orange filling in the middle. She passed the slice to her father before cutting a piece for herself. Across the table, Alex was slicing himself a piece from his dragon. Whereas Harry preferred the simple vanilla cake, he always had carrot cake, which she despised.

With themselves served, Harry and Alex each cut three more slices - one for each of the elves, who bowed and curtsied their thanks before disapparating soundlessly back to the kitchen where they would enjoy their rare luxury. It had taken Harry and Alex years to get their father to allow the elves to have a piece, and that was with Remus to help them.

When the dessert was finished, James summoned their gifts from the cabinet in the corner of the room. Harry received a new dress robe in a sophisticated style - pale lavender with a sleeveless sheer overrobe in dove grey -, a new hairbrush with her initials embossed into the silver backing, and two books: Magic Threads: A Compendium of Sewing Charms and The Hairdresser's Helper. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at the first title, but thanked her father all the same. His attempts to form her into a proper lady were too little and too late. Although she had to admit that the robes were very nice.

Alex had smothered a grin at her gifts, and she watched in turn as he unwrapped a beginner's Futhark runestone set, a large book of Quidditch tactics, and an even thicker book titled Runes of the World. He barely had time to thank James before their father was on his feet and leaving the room. Harry and Alex stared across the table at each other and heaved a sigh in tandem.

Harry followed her father's example, only pausing to gather her gifts before heading back to her bedroom. Their birthday was never a happy time of year in the Potter household.

The next morning, Harry was woken by an incessant tapping at her window. Yawning and muttering vague threats under her breath when she caught sight of the clock on her bedside table - not even six yet! - she stumbled to the window and opened it, letting five owls in. One of them was a Potter family owl - a common Barn owl by the name of Sylvester - but none of the others were immediately recognizable. It was only after three of them dropped their packages on the bed and roosted on various perches around the room - the back of her desk chair, the top of one of the posts of her bed, and the top of her armoire - that she was able to identify them.

The Weasley twins, it seemed, had managed to 'borrow' Percy's owl, Hermes, who was now inspecting the room with quiet solemnitude. A tawny owl that she knew to be from Neville had taken advantage of the end of its journey to rest; it was a long flight from Africa to Wales. The owl belonging to the Potter family had dropped its package and flown right back out the window, doubtlessly headed for the small room set aside for the three owls they owned. Of the unknown owls, the larger of the two had allowed its letter to flutter to her desk before wheeling around and leaving, while the smaller - the smallest of all the owls, actually - was staring at her with an almost baleful expression on its face.

"Erm. Thanks?" she said uncertainly to the unhappy owl. It screeched, and she winced.

"Right, right! Let me just…" she moved to the bed and picked up the small, flat package that it had carried. She tore open the paper, only just catching the parchment that fluttered lose by the tips of her fingers. Quickly, she read it.

Dear Harry,
Happy birthday, to you and my godbrother. I look forward to seeing
you in a month's time on the Hogwarts Express. In the meantime,
perhaps you and he should study your gift. Not everyone with the talent
is registered, after all.
Your Brother by Oath,
Cedric

Harry turned the present over; it was a slim book, almost certainly second-hand judging by its scuffed corners. The title explained its disrepair: Building Walls: A Comprehensive Guide to Shoring Up Your Mind and Exploring Your Center. Books on Mind Magic were very rare, and impossible to buy without having to register your name with the Ministry of Magic. Cedric must have gotten the book for when he was learning Occlumency. She made a mental note to write him a very thankful response; both Dumbledore and Snape were Master Occlumens and Legilimens, and both knew that she knew a modicum of Legilimency. It would only take a single thought on her part for one of them to find out her secret. Even though Cedric wasn't her brother by blood, he was looking out for her like one.

The owl screeched again, and she swore, using a phrase she had learned from Oliver. "Alright, I'll write a note for you!" she snapped, shooing it off the back of her chair and taking a seat at her desk. She lit the lamp with a tap of her finger at the base of its stand and hurriedly penned an appropriate response, taking care to use her best penmanship. The owl barely waited for the ink to dry, nipping at her fingers as she rolled it up and tied it to its leg.

"Little monster," she muttered as it spread its wings, clipping the side of her head, and soared out the window, leaving only a few feathers behind to show that it had ever been there. Still scowling, she picked up the letter the largest of the owls had dropped on her desk. A smile crept over her face when she saw that it bore the Hogwarts crest. She ripped it open eagerly.

Dear Mr. Potter,
As a returning student to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
you are reminded to ascertain that your uniforms and robes fit properly,
and to replace those that do not. In addition, please note that you are
now permitted to bring a broomstick, although having a broomstick
does not in any way guarantee a position on your House's Quidditch
Team. No flying is allowed between sunset and sunrise unless
supervised by a Professor or a Quidditch Captain.
Second year students will require:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Two) by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
Please purchase your supplies before the first day of class. The Hogwarts
Express will depart from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters promptly at
eleven o'clock a.m. of the first of September.
Sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Harry frowned at the book list. She'd never heard of Gilderoy Lockhart before, but the titles of his books didn't seem very promising. 'Gadding with Ghouls'? 'Wanderings with Werewolves'? She sighed and put the letter down. Ghouls weren't capable of conversing, and werewolves, while essentially normal wizards for twenty-seven days a month, weren't safe to be around on the full moon, even if they had taken the Wolfsbane Potion.

Her spirits picked up when she saw the three other gifts on her bed, and she abandoned the letter for a later date. Leaving Hermione's gift for last, she somewhat hesitantly opened the parcel from the twins, half-expecting a prank. Instead, she found herself holding a soft, stretchy piece of fabric. When she held it up, her face flushed bright red. The twins had sent her a camisole - a muggle skin-tight one, not the old-fashioned kind she sometimes had to wear under dresses - in a pale cream, only a few shades lighter than her skin-tone. A note pinned to the front of it read, quite simply, For your comfort. F & G

Her embarrassment faded and she smiled, touched by the thought. The twins might be insensitive arses and incredibly frustrating at times, but they could also be surprisingly insightful. Over the summer, her body had started to change - not very much, and certainly not enough for any of the boys on the Quidditch team to notice, since the the majority didn't have a clue that she was a girl, but enough that she was going to feel very exposed in the locker room during the coming year. If any of the others asked about the camisole, she could just say she was cold. It was a running joke among the older players that Harry was always cold. She was far smaller than the boys on the team, and as she tended to stay high up in the air where it was colder and always breezy, and didn't have to wrestle with the Quaffle or the Bludgers, she often caught chills, despite the two layers of the Quidditch uniform.

Neville's gift was just as thoughtful as the twins', although a bit less personal. He had, probably with the influence of his grandmother, sent her a golden tie-clip in the shape of a lion with real rubies for eyes. It was a very handsome gift, and she wondered if the Lady Dowager Longbottom knew that there was a young female Potter around Neville's age. In any case, she hoped that Neville liked the Preservative Globe she had ordered for him; it was a rather uncommon item that would preserve anything placed within it for an indefinite period of time, which made it perfect for herbologists who needed to keep a clipping fresh in order to cultivate it. It was also used for medical purposes, but on a larger scale and with a lot more risk involved.

Hermione's gift was not a book. When the small wooden box fell out of the wrapping, Harry's mouth dropped open. Her one female friend - the one that knew least about Quidditch - had sent her a brand new Snitch! Her astonishment morphed into a grin as she deftly opened the box and plucked the shining Snitch from its satin-covered case. The wings sprang open and started to flutter against her fingers, but she didn't let it go; she couldn't risk it getting out into the rest of the house. Instead, still grinning, she waited for the wings to close - it took exactly thirty-three seconds of constant contact with flesh - and gently placed it back in its box.

Her good mood lasted well past breakfast. Alex was equally as happy, having received presents from his own friends, and the two of them spent until eleven o'clock in Harry's room, long past when Triss came to clear away their dishes.

Harry had just finished fully explaining the concept of Occlumency and Legilimency to Alex - they had only briefly discussed it in their first weeks back from school - when she glanced at her clock.

"We should get ready," she said, closing the tattered book Cedric had sent her and putting it at the bottom of her stack of school books. "Remus will be at Fortesque's in half an hour."

Alex also looked towards the clock. "Excellent," he said enthusiastically, already moving towards the bathroom door and the secret passage within. "I can ask him about Brazilian ruins!"

"He didn't go to any ruins!" Harry shouted after him as she pulled a pair of trousers from her trunk. Although Remus would probably be scandalized at her wearing boy's clothes, it couldn't be helped. Diagon Alley was a public place, and the only easily-accessible place to shop in England. There was, supposedly, a small wizarding street in Dublin, but Harry didn't even know the name, let alone how to get there. Since it was very likely that Harry would see some of her fellow Hogwarts students, she had to dress like she did during the school year: as a boy.

The trousers were followed by socks and sturdy, sensible shoes. The shirt - Gryffindor red - was mostly hidden beneath the lightweight summer cloak she fastened on over it. But when she cast an eager eye over her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she sighed. Her hair was too long; her disguise as a boy mostly hinged on the fact that somewhat effeminate features weren't all that uncommon on boys of pureblood background, but it was a thin line between 'effeminate' and 'girly'. It might have been the fact that she knew she was a girl, but going out into public with her hair down to her chin was far too risky.

With a lingering glance in the mirror, Harry called out, "Triss!"

The house-elf was there in half a second, already curtsying. "How may Triss help Mistress Harry? Is Mistress Harry hungry? Is Mistress Harry wanting some tea?"

"No, I'm not hungry," Harry said hurriedly, aware that her time was running short. "Will you bring me the kitchen shears?"

Triss's brow wrinkled in confusion but she acquiesced, curtsying once more and saying, "Whatever Mistress Harry needs, Triss shall bring," before vanishing with a slight pop. Harry only had to wait for a few moments; Triss reappeared after less than ten seconds, the wooden-handled kitchen shears in hand.

Harry took the offered tool. "Thank you Triss, that will be all." She didn't know if Triss would report Harry's actions to James, but decided it didn't matter. Once she cut her hair, there was nothing her father could do about it short of jinxing her or forcing a potion down her throat. Which he wouldn't. Probably.

As soon as the elf popped back to whatever she had been doing before she called her, Harry turned back to the mirror, shears in hand. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, raising the scissors and making the first of many cuts.

"What took you so long?" Alex asked impatiently, almost fifteen minutes later.

"I cut my hair," Harry replied. Her brother spun to look at her, nearly dropping his runestone set on the floor.

"Oh." He paused. "Dad's not going to be happy when he finds out."

"Which won't be for several days," Harry snapped.

Unperturbed, Alex nodded his agreement, carefully setting the runestones on his desk. "Let's go, then."

"You have the money?" Alex pulled a small pouch out of his pocket as an answer, a slightly mocking smirk on his face. "Right, right, you've got it covered," Harry muttered.

"Too right I do," he boasted as the two of them made their way down the hall and towards the dining room, the only room they had access to that had a Floo connection.

"I think being a student at Asclepius is making you big-headed," Harry told her brother, who grinned smugly at her. She felt a brief surge of affection for Alex, and smiled sweetly at him. "But it didn't seem to make much of a difference on your height." The grin was wiped from his face.

"You're only an inch taller than me," he glowered.

"Correction: I'm an entire inch taller than you."

He muttered something that sounded like, "Just you wait."

"And," she added, "Your hair's gotten darker." She'd noticed as much at the beginning of summer, but it was even more obvious now. Alex's hair had been light auburn when they were children, and had slowly been darkening until it was now a rich mahogany brown. Harry personally thought that it made the two of them look even more alike, even if her hair wouldn't ever lay as flat as Alex's.

"I know." He sounded glum, and Harry knew immediately what was wrong.

"Mum wouldn't have minded," she said.

He didn't answer, and they walked the rest of the way to the dining room in silence.

One of the three portraits in the dining room was occupied. "Harriet, Alexander," their grandmother greeted them from her frame, one hand languidly stroking the head of her faithful greyhound.

"Hello, Grandmother Dorea," they chorused politely. Dorea Potter née Black was a kind-hearted woman, but was very strict. She, like James, was extremely offended at Harry's short hair, and as expected, her eyes narrowed when they landed on Harry's newly cropped hair.

"What have you done to your hair, foolish girl?" she demanded, standing up. "No respect for tradition, no sense of propriety…!" Still muttering, the woman left her frame without waiting for a response from Harry, her greyhound trotting after her.

Alex snickered, and Harry glared at him. "It's not funny!" she insisted, striding towards the unlit fireplace. Her brother kept up easily.

"Yes, it is. Grandmother Dorea is the only portrait that even realized that you aren't just one of my friends on the entire walk down here. The rest all think you're still in your room!"

"They're portraits," Harry pointed out waspishly. "They haven't got a brain anymore." She was both insulted and pleased that her own ancestors, who had seen her almost every day of her life, couldn't recognize her with such short hair. At least, not yet. They would learn soon enough. She took a pinch of powder from the marble bowl on the mantel and threw it on the cold hearth. Small, green flames rose from the unlit logs, and she stepped in, breathing in at the same time, getting a mouthful of ash by accident. "L-Leaky Caul-auldron!" she coughed out before the Floo kicked and whisked her away.

Fireplaces flashed by, too fast for her to see the contents of the rooms beyond the green of the flames. She closed her eyes, dizzy, until she started to slow down. Harry opened her eyes as she started to tip forward, and stumbled out of a grubby, short fireplace. The smells she associated with beer and cheap food assaulted her nose, but her glasses were, once again, so clouded with filth that she couldn't see out of them.

Cursing quietly under her breath, she pulled her glasses off and polished them on her cloak, wishing she could use magic without getting in trouble for it. When she put her spectacles back on, she took a sudden step back, bumping her head on the mantle of the fireplace. This wasn't the Leaky Cauldron.

A/N: If you think I should add warnings to this story or change the rating, either PM me or review. Anonymous reviews will most likely be disregarded.

Also, this story is complete. I will be releasing chapters on every day that ends with a '5', so approximately every ten days. While I am posting this story, I will be working on year three of this arc, as well as various other stories that may or may not ever see the light of day.

If you find a grammatical or spelling error, please let me know. I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are my fault, and I will be eternally grateful for aid in smoothing out the kinks.

Comments or suggestions? Just review. Please note that I laugh at flames.