Author's Note: I know, a HP fic from me? that's a surprise especially since I removed all my old ones. Anyway here is my new fic and I'll do my best to update it as often as I can depending on inspiration and time. Yep it's a Fem HP one. I love gender benders.

Prologue

2001 – 3 years after the final battle

The attic was as dark and dusty as she had imagined that it would be. After all, it was the one part of the house that Kreacher had not got around to renovating since Harriet – Harry – had moved in, claiming that it was much too dangerous for even a House Elf to attempt to perform magic within. That wouldn't even surprise her in the least given that this was a former Black household and after three years they were only just now managing to clear out the dark magic from the rest of the home.

Two days from now, Harry had arranged for the ministry to send a team of Aurors to clear out what dark and dangerous objects they could from the attic to destroy or use to help research other dark objects that might be lurking in the world and she intended to make sure that all of Sirius' stuff, specifically his photo albums and personal effects had all been taken out of the attic and there was nothing remaining to be destroyed. It was the least that she could do for her godfather's memory especially as he had no grave to visit.

Flashes of memory entered her mind of Sirius laughing, a flash of light and then his face as he fell through the veil. Harry blinked as dust got in her eyes and immediately shook herself out of her dark memories to focus on her task. She opened up a couple of boxes that seemed to be more recently labelled (within the past twenty years that was) and began to search through them. She didn't find anything that belonged to her godfather – that she knew of anyway – but she did find a green leather journal with the initials of Regulus Black engraved on the front.

Harry put it aside, thinking that Kreacher might like to have it, and continued in her search. She pulled her wand out and performed a few cleaning charms and a bubble head charm over herself so that she could see through the sheer amount of dust and filth that littered the room. Eventually, after hours of rummaging through tons of boxes, she began to realise that there was probably nothing more of her godfather in the attic. Walburga probably destroyed or burnt whatever else Sirius had left behind before he'd run away.

"Bugger, better put everything back then", she sighed and grabbed her wand, grateful yet again for magic, and cast a spell that put all the objects back into their original boxes. Harry began to pick herself up off the floor when a glimmer of something shiny caught the corner of her eye. She turned towards the gleam and out of curiosity, despite the obvious danger of heading towards an unknown object especially in Grimmauld Place, she leant forwards and put her hand around something hard.

Pulling it towards her, Harry was surprised when she found that she was holding an extremely beautiful and antique mirror. She wiped the dust from the glass and stared at her reflection for a moment. Though she was told that she was classically beautiful, Harry still didn't think much of her own appearance. Her green eyes were nice, she supposed, though hiding behind a pair of thick, black framed glasses that replaced the ugly round ones that the Dursleys had forced her to wear for years but the faded scar on her forehead was a constant dark reminder of her history.

"The scar doesn't make you Harry, Harry. Your brave and good heart does". Harry saw her own eyes glaze with tears at the echo of words in her mind, spoken to her once by her first love Fred Weasley, who was just another casualty of the war that she had been forced to lead from the moment that a mad man decided to kill her as a baby because of some stupid prophecy. She still wondered how the hell she had managed to survive all those years when so many good people hadn't…

"Sometimes I wish that I had the power to go back and stop any of this from happening. Maybe Fred would be alive and running the shop with George and maybe there wouldn't be so many broken people", she admitted to her own, lonely reflection as she thought of how much the war had changed so many of her friends and loved ones. Ron was harder, a little rougher around the edges; Hermione wasn't so quick to obey authority and rules and a lot more likely to question them, demanding to make a change for the better since the war had ended while even George didn't smile half as much anymore and it was rare to get a joke from him half the time these days.

"Your wish is my command", a whisper came from the mirror she was holding and Harry barely had time to blink in surprise as her reflection faded from the mirror and the entire room began to spin, as though she had touched a portkey. The Black Attic disappeared from view as her surroundings changed and she found the world beginning to change colour slightly. She screamed, confused and alarmed at what was happening but didn't have time to think much about it before the world began to slow down and stop spinning as she rematerialized in mid-air before falling to the ground and landing on something soft that grunted as she made contact with it.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" she gasped, noticing that she was now somewhere outside and sitting in a random street somewhere in what she assumed - hoped - was London.

"Pardon me, Miss?" a voice coughed from beneath her and she realised with a start that she was currently straddling a poor unsuspecting man that she had obviously landed on in her sudden and very unexpected arrival.

Harriet instantly apologised, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry!" She quickly scuttled off him and stood up, wiping down her jeans with her hands. The man picked himself up and mimicked her in wiping himself down before adjusting his purple bow-tie. He picked up the suitcase that he'd been carrying and dropped when she'd crash landed onto him and gave her a kind smile.

"It's quite alright, I'm not always very graceful with apparition myself. My name's Newton Scamander but you can call me Newt. Who are you?"

Her green eyes bulged with surprise and she had to force her expression into a more neutral one to hide her shock at his name. There was no way that this guy could be THE Newt Scamander. In her time, he was a very old man, not this young, lanky guy standing in front of her with a boyish smile and a youthful face.

"The name's Harriet Potter but please call me Harry. Could you possibly tell me where I am?"