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Suddenly, the father's gaze flicked to the window.

She shrank back and hid in the ever deepening shadows. Her little frame trembled with fright, even as she tried to still her rapidly beating heart. Her fingers nervously twisted at her dress, eyes widened with terror.

This might just be evul!Vernon having no logic, but where does he expect her to be? To the best of our knowledge, he or Petunia locked this angsty waif outside (with a blatant disregard for what the neighbours might see or think, which is extremely OOC by itself). Does he want her peering in other people's windows?

Maybe he thought she was Houdini and sneaked out of her cupboard?

Maybe she did — escaped into the awful pouring rain! Smart idea, kid.

We're serious - you're a real bright spark.

After a few nerve-racking minutes, voices again filled the air as the father laughed loudly. The girl huddled for several more heartbeats before again peeking inside once more.

They were eating dessert, a large and bubbling pie.

Wait. Bubbling? How can she see if it's bubbling? Also, how hot is this pie if the filling is bubbling?

Hubble bubble toil and trouble! I would love it if this pie was cauldron shaped, but considering this is Petunia I doubt it. Otherwise there isn't a reason for that word? Unless she meant it was steaming hot?

The mental image of Petunia's face after being offered a Cauldron Cake makes me laugh.

YES! Imagine her being given a Fizzing Whizbee.

She had to bite back her pathetic groan

Pathetic? That wouldn't be my word choice.

Not to mention they must have super thin windows if they can hear her groaning outside during a rainstorm.

as she watched the entire thing systematically disappear. It was gone rather quickly,

As implied by it systematically disappearing. Seriously, this author effectively conveys something then ruins it by overexplaining!

and the family went in the direction of the parlour. They didn't even bother to clear the table, clearly expecting someone else to do it for them.

Bullshit. Petunia is neurotically tidy and would never leave a table uncleaned, even if it meant getting her hated niece to do it.

Even if the author hasn't actually read the books and has only seen the movies - she is always pictured up to this kinda point in her apron. The house is SPOTLESS, and yeah, I assume Harry helped with that, but you can't convince me that Petunia didn't do something like move a vase so it looked neater or dust an area just because she saw a speck of dust in the room in general.

The girl simply put her head against the glass in a gesture of defeat, attempting to gain enough resolve to rise and enter the house.

Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. She can go in? She's exiled herself from the house during a thunderstorm? Why are we supposed to be worried about her being out in the cold when she can go inside?

Why would you do that?! I don't think I've ever met anyone willing to do that, horrible living conditions or not.

Belatedly, she noted that the rain had finally stopped and that the air had a crisp, damp smell to it. She glanced up to see that the sky had cleared enough for a few stars to shine through, but it was still rather cool outside, making her shiver.

Kid, you were outside in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. You don't just belatedly realise when that sort of thing stops.

You dance and sing songs that you aren't getting rained on. If it only changed temperature, I'd believe you; just not when a massive ass thunderstorm ends.

She again attempted to force herself to rise, but instead, she only inched quietly to the side of the window where she wouldn't be visible from inside.

I don't think an attempt to stand up usually turns into inching quietly.

Did her legs stop walking above a crouch?

She rested her head on the freezing bricks, which still managed to be warmer than the glass, using her hair as a pillow.

Points for realising (eventually) that glass is usually cold in cold weather. I redact points for using her sopping wet hair as a pillow (and it wouldn't have dried. It's damn cold and the rain's only been stopped for max twenty minutes.)

She looked up at the twinkling stars and momentarily wished she could share in their happiness. She quickly noted Sirius, the Dog Star, remembering that it was supposed to be the brightest one of all.

How does she know enough about astronomy to remember that Sirius is the brightest star (system) in the night sky at age six?

This kid is either an Astromomy genius or the author forgot what it was like to be six.

As always, a sense of profound calm filled her body. It was a common sensation when she stargazed, especially when viewing that particular one. It was her very favourite, but she was not really certain why.

Okay, this does not sound like a six-year-old. Six-year-olds don't think there must be some super deep reason why they like a certain star. It's bright! It's pretty! She shouldn't be thinking that it might remind her of her godfather have deeper meaning that she doesn't know about.


For some reason, it brought to mind a dark-haired man with the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen, like silver mixed with sapphires.

Um, no, they are not. Sirius has grey eyes. A lot of the aristocratic pureblood families seem to have grey eyes, now that I think of it.

It's all the inbreeding.

He always smiled impishly with a mischievous cast to his face, sometimes raking a hand through his long hair to purposely muss it.

Impish smile = mischievous cast to his face. Don't repeat yourself, author. Not to mention that purposely mussing his hair is not Sirius's thing — it was James who did that.

Oftentimes in her memories, it felt as though the man were holding her tightly, beaming down as he twirled her about and giving a barking laugh as she giggled. Though for the life of her, she couldn't clearly remember who the man was. Or if she'd ever really known him at all.

EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE ELEVEN SIX: 3 (for remembering Sirius and pondering his identity)

....James and Lily died when Holly was what, six months? The human mind can't remember that far! No matter what age you are. Maybe we should add a medical/psychological count.

I don't think it comes up again in the main fic, but this whole section fails babies/children forever. Although there are weird things about bruising and such... Well, you're the forensics lady, I'll let you be the judge.

Regardless, a small smile touched her lips as she thought of him, and she began to hum a nameless tune.

EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE ELEVEN SIX: 4 (I've been six, and you don't think about tunes not having names, not even deep and meaningful ones)

At the age of six I was still singing Hi-5 and for some reason I doubt she would have had the opportunity to listen to their music.

Instantly, she pictured flashes of a lovely woman with emeralds for eyes and vivid red hair. In the girl's mind, the woman murmured loving words and hummed the same song as she smoothed back a child's hair. The woman beamed, and the girl could almost feel lips rubbed across her forehead.

Would you like to add a little more corn there? I need some to go with my cheese.

EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE ELEVEN SIX: 5 (She also remembers Lily in detail)

A full moon peaked


through the clouds, bathing the entire house in a silvery light, distracting her completely. The images shifted to a man with brown hair and very gentle hands. He waved a toy, a stuffed wolf, in front of her.

Excuse me? Lupin hated his lycanthropy. He would not be giving his friend's daughter wolf themed toys.

And one of his best friends at that! I get what the author is trying to do, and I find it very sweet (and it makes me smile at the head canon idea as a COMPLETELY different au where Lupin ISN'T a werewolf, his Animagus is just a wolf) but please remember the character you're talking about. And what JK said lycanthropy was a metaphor for. Not cool, author.

EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE ELEVEN SIX: 6 (For remembering Lupin)

YOU FAIL SUBTEXT FOREVER: 1 (For the wolf toy — lycanthropy is an AIDS metaphor in Harry Potter)

His mouth twitched with laughter as she quickly exchanged it for a black dog. And he kneeled on a wooden floor, trying to prevent her from chucking a toy rat into the nearby fire.

And somehow she knows that Wormtail is evil at an age where distinguishing the difference between a stuffed rat and dog would be a task in and of itself.

This kid should go back in time and challenge Einstein in a memory test.


At a nearby house, a car pulled into the drive. She glanced over to see a mother and her son get out. The boy's square glasses reflected the streetlight, and another man appeared in her mind.

Is there a reason beyond being obvious flashback triggers that these two are arriving home in the middle of the night?

His warm hazel eyes were hidden behind round-rimmed glasses, and she tugged on his messy hair that stuck up in the back. Like the first man, he held her in his arms, cradled to his chest, and murmured enchantingly in her little ear.

EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE ELEVEN SIX: 8 (And for a full set, remembers James)

At least the author remembered the messy hair? The movies got that one wrong. But still. The only time I remember what my parents look like prior to a ten or so years ago is literally looking at photos and I've lived with them my whole life. And I'm 22. How is a kid going to defy brain studies and remember vividly from when they were six months old?

The girl sighed and hugged herself at the thought. She could hear his wonderful voice in her head as he whispered to her.
"Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a young and beautiful girl named Holly…"

I don't know that her brain would be developed enough to remember exact words said to her at age one or less.

Her skeleton would still be turning her collar bones from cartilage into bone, forget her brain being developed enough to remember this.



AN: Hello, everyone. I am a big fan of the girl Harry stories, so I thought that I would try my hand at one.

You know, I find the idea of Harry-as-a-girl stories reasonably interesting, but I've yet to read one I actually liked.

Also, I am not sure when Sirius is visible, if it even is in the Northern Hemisphere at all.

Google is your friend, grasshopper.

You tried.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Magically Delivered


Ever Hopeful,


Last minute counts! The "body parts did this" style continues throughout this fic and it only gets worse. It's paired with a habit of referring to characters as things like "the small girl", "the Slytherin", "the Muggleborn", "the half-Giant", etc., when we already know their names. Both of these incur the wrath of another count:

THE IRATE RAVENCLAW: 4 (for every disowned body part. Things like 'the girl' and 'the father' don't count, as we haven't been told their names yet.)

THAT ISN'T HOW YOUR BODY WORKS: 6 (for every time something is wrong either anatomically or psychologically.)





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