"This is… my old clothes."
Aunt Petunia's toweling off Harry—no, Holly—that jet-black mane, both of 'em staring into the mirror. Petunia's voice drops to a whisper.
[Back in 2007, Rowling told a crowd in Edinburgh that if Harry were a girl, she'd go by Holly—winter holly, same vibe as his holly-wood wand. Brits say "Holly," Yanks slur it into "Ha~lly." Whatever, we're rolling with it.]
"Your mom had the exact same one. Grandma bought us matching sets every time so we wouldn't fight over which looked better."
"I still don't get why this happened, but listen, Holly—you're the spitting image of her. Not just the eyes. First glance and I swear Lily walked back through the damn door."
"Your mom's hair was this deep, fiery red—darker than mine. We'd bicker nonstop about whose was prettier. I'd never admit it back then, but hers won. Wind caught it just right under the sun? Pure liquid sunrise, all gold and crimson."
"Everything else? Straight out of the same mold. Those eyes—clear emerald, brighter than any gem Granny ever wore."
Holly's just staring at the mirror, glasses off, vision fuzzy up close but damn she can still see.
"Don't freak out. Don't be scared."
Petunia finishes combing that silk-smooth hair, pulls her into a hug. "Auntie's got you, kid. You're safe."
Holly's got a million words jammed in her throat, fists clenched white-knuckle tight. Just like Lynn said—scarf down that cookie, pay the price, and boom: Petunia does a full 180.
This softness? Real. That hug? Warm, solid, undeniable.
Fists loosen… then clench again.
She can't accept this body—not yet, maybe not ever.
She needs Lynn now, but the bastard's vanished. Only option? Wait 'til tomorrow. He'll be back on that swing.
Petunia leads her out of the bathroom. Living room's empty except for the two of them. Upstairs? Grunts and thuds—Vernon and Dudley hauling ass, actually working for once. Dudley, the king of slacking, is suddenly Employee of the Month. Guess getting reamed by Mom lit a fire under his fat ass. Boys grow up fast after a reality check.
"Your uncle and cousin are clearing out a room—the old toy dump. I'll tidy it later. You're sleeping there tonight."
"I was awful before, Holly. Don't hate me, there's a—" Petunia bites her lip, steels herself. "Your parents didn't die in a car crash."
Holly shoots ramrod straight, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling, then bites down hard enough to taste copper.
"Lily… she wasn't like me."
Deep breath. Go.
"When we were eleven, an owl dropped a letter at our door. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not some fancy prep school—magic. Real spells, potions, the works."
"Only Lily got in. I didn't have the gift. I was pissed. Felt like the universe flipped me off."
"But I got over it. She graduated. Then she told me the wizarding world was a warzone. Some psycho named Voldemort was slaughtering people left and right. Ten years ago, Hogwarts' headmaster—Albus Dumbledore—showed up with you. Said Lily died shielding you, left blood magic on you that only works if you live with family. Grandparents were gone, so… just me."
"I was terrified. Voldemort was dead, but his fanclub was still hunting you. They blamed you for his flop. One slip—one weird accident—and they'd sniff you out."
Petunia grabs Holly's hands, grip tight, shaking.
"Don't hate me for the yelling, the cold shoulder. If they found you…"
"I'm sorry…" Holly's voice cracks, dry as dust. She's not dumb—she gets it now. Every freak accident, every explosion of rage from Petunia? Pure terror.
"I didn't mean to… I don't know how I did it…"
"Shh. It's over. I'm the one who should apologize."
Petunia cups Holly's face, eyes glassy but smiling through it. "You used to take after your dad—God, we couldn't stand him. Total flake, zero manners. Handing my sister to that? Nightmare. But now? You're Lily, through and through."
Fingers through that black silk. "Hair's different, but damn if it ain't gorgeous. Tomorrow we hit the mall. Boy clothes, girl clothes—whatever you're comfy in. You'd rock a potato sack, just like your mom."
Holly's cheeks burn. Lip-bite city.
"Lily did that too when she was stuck."
"…Yeah?"
Half an hour later, the upstairs ruckus dies. Petunia glances up—two guilty heads duck behind the banister like cartoon villains.
"Time to rip the Band-Aid off, Holly."
She pats Holly's hand. "Vernon! Downstairs!"
Vernon waddles down, sheepish grin plastered on. "Yes, dear?"
"Sit. Brace yourself."
He plants his ass.
"Just now—" Petunia jerks a thumb at the bathroom—"Harry turned into a girl. I saw it. And—"
"YOU! SAID! WHAT?!"
"SHUT IT!"
"…Yes, dear." Vernon shrinks, sneaking a peek at Holly's back.
"She looks exactly like Lily. Minus the hair. First look and I thought my sister came home."
"No way… no freaking way…" Vernon mutters, eyes glazing. "Some kinda trick, right?"
"Nope. Holly."
Holly turns. Vernon's jaw hits the floor—pure shock, awe, the works.
After a solid minute: "…It's Lily. Petunia, you're telling me that's Harry? Holy hell…"
"No mistake. I'd know my sister anywhere."
"But a boy turning—"
"Maybe to protect her?" Petunia theorizes. "Everyone thinks Harry's a boy. But she's gotta go back to their world eventually. She's turning eleven end of July—owl post incoming. If she's Holly the whole time…"
"OH! I get it!" Vernon slaps his thigh. "No one's looking for a girl! Genius!"
Holly's screaming internally: I was a dude five hours ago! One cookie and—poof!—tits! But explaining magic biscuits sounds dumber than actual magic.
The two Sherlocks spiral deeper into their fan-theory, nodding like it's gospel. Vernon's whole vibe shifts—he's soft now. If Holly had been a cute girl from day one, he'd never have barked. Hell, he always wanted a daughter to spoil. Close enough.
Their conspiracy hour gets cut short by a THUD-CRASH-AIYEE from the stairs. Dudley, eavesdropping again, eats shit and rolls down like a meatball.
Everyone whips around. Dudley blinks through tears—locks eyes with Holly.
"AAAAAHHHH!!!"
"SHUT UP!" x2
Vernon yanks Dudley up by the arm. "Too complicated to explain. Bottom line: you got a cousin now. Holly's a girl. We all thought boy. Got it?"
Dudley's brain blue-screens. SMACK—Vernon's palm cracks across his back.
"GOT IT?"
"YES SIR! Holly was always a girl! I was a bullying dick! I deserve the chair!" Dudley's brain hits 180 mph. Vernon nods—close enough.
"Don't blab. She's off to boarding school soon. You keep your trap shut, I'll handle the rest."
Vernon channels Dad Mode™. Moving's tempting, but the mortgage laughs. Pray the nosy neighbors stay clueless 'til he's cashed out.
"If anyone asks where Harry went? Boarding school. This is your distant cousin Leah Evans visiting for holidays. Holly, roll with Leah outside."
Holly nods. No choice—unless she magics herself a dick overnight.
Fat chance.
"Tomorrow we hit the mall, Vern. New wardrobe for Le—Holly."
"On it. She looks killer in that shirt, but variety's the spice of life. I'll take half-day, drive us."
Vernon's grinning at her. First time ever.
Meanwhile, Dudley's frozen, gears turning. Something clicks. A slow, dopey grin spreads. "Leah… heh… I got a cousin… hehehe~"
SMACK "Quit grinning like an idiot!"
Dudley snaps salute. "Yessir."
Petunia pipes up: "Oh, and Dudley? No more snacks. You took boxing, right? Back to the gym. Now."
"Wha—WHY, MOM?!"
"You're the big brother now. Look at your dad pre-blimp—girls swarmed him. Drop 20 pounds by term start or kiss your allowance goodbye."
"NOOOOO!!!"
"QUIET!" x2
Dudley's eyes go dead. He shuffles upstairs like a zombie, each step dropping shards of his shattered soul.
Snacks. Gone. Childhood. Over.