Harry's Little Bow and Puffy Dress

[The ships in this book are 100% open-ended. Harry shines on his own and is basically loved by everyone. Ship Harry with whoever you like, whether it's bg, yuri, or bl [though there isn't any bl, but whatever, bro, you know what I mean]. Snape/Harry, Lupin/Harry, Draco/Harry, Voldemort/Harry, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Hermione, whatever works. If you really want to go for a crack ship like Pink Toad x Harry, I don't mind that either [just kidding]. Just don't split up GGAD.]

[So Harry won't have anyone he likes. If his interest seems clearly directed at someone, then a person [or a snake [not spoiling this, but there is someone specific]] is definitely up to something.]

[Please don't fight in the comments. Everyone can enjoy their own ships. You're all good babies.]

[The journey doesn't matter; I promise a happy ending where everyone gets together to make dumplings. A little heartbreak along the way is normal [said with confidence], and so is the atmosphere gradually getting heavier, because everyone is growing up! Also: this is a women's-audience novel, not a men's-audience story where the protagonist gets cheats and becomes invincible, nor a leveling-up story for a men's audience, nor a running account that has to spell out every detail. If you keep judging me by men's-audience standards, blah blah blah, I'm going to grow Snape's mouth.]

You don't understand love.

You don't understand anything.

The final battle came to an end with Voldemort's death. Poor Tom Riddle never learned what love truly was, right up to the moment he died.

The Chosen One slipped invisibly out of the lively banquet and returned to his dormitory alone.

Voldemort was dead, truly and utterly dead, never to return. But the people Harry loved had left him one by one as well.

Draco was a bastard, and so were his parents. But both his father, who had still been looking for him at the very last moment before leaving, and his mother, who had betrayed Voldemort for her son, filled Harry Potter with envy.

How wonderful. They're all still alive.

He buried himself under the covers.

Harry sighed.

If only there were a time spell that could let him start over. There were so many people he wanted to save.

Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Lupin...

He closed his eyes, and in a daze, Harry fell asleep.

"Get up, Harry! It's my eleventh birthday today! Dad got me birthday presents, so come unwrap them with me!"

Someone shook Harry awake by the shoulders. His mind was still foggy, and when he forced his eyes open, he saw a chubby boy whose features were so squashed together they were barely discernible.

The chubby boy was still gripping Harry's shoulders, his face flushed red with excitement. Perhaps because of his excessive weight, he sweated easily, and even a little excitement was enough to leave his head dripping.

"...Dudley? Dudley Dursley?" Harry could hardly believe it as he managed to identify the owner of that face from memory.

Why would he dream about Dudley as a child?

He and Dudley weren't nearly close enough for Harry to dream about him. Honestly, dreaming about him was even a little disgusting.

Dudley didn't notice Harry's disgust.

"Stop sleeping, Harry! Dad said some of the presents he bought me are for you too! Let's go downstairs and open them! Mum and Dad are taking us to the zoo later!"

With that, he left Harry behind and rushed out of the room. As he went downstairs, his excessive weight made the stairs creak so badly that Harry could hear them clearly from his room.

Harry stared silently at the bedroom door for a long time before throwing himself back onto the bed.

The soft bed, which he sank into as soon as he lay down, made him even more certain that he was dreaming.

If he weren't dreaming, how could he have slept in a bed that even smelled of sunshine when he was little and living at Aunt Petunia's house? How could he have enjoyed a room where he could see the sun the moment he opened his eyes?

"Harry, my little darling Harry, wake up. Are you feeling unwell? Does anything hurt? Tell Auntie, and I'll have your uncle take you to the hospital."

Harry had only been lying down for a few minutes before he was pulled up again.

Aunt Petunia's hands were much softer than he remembered, and they carried the jasmine scent of hand cream. When her cool palm touched his forehead, Harry flinched instinctively.

This was nothing like the Aunt Petunia he remembered, who had always pinched the back of his neck with her knobby fingers.

"Thank goodness, your temperature's normal." Petunia breathed a long sigh of relief.

"I'm fine..." Harry heard an unfamiliar, clear voice come out of his mouth. It was worlds apart from his old voice; even as a child, before his voice had broken, he had never sounded this crisp.

The realization made him clap a hand over his throat. As he moved, a strand of vivid red hair slipped over his shoulder, blazing like a flame in the morning light.

What was this? Didn't he have short black hair?

Harry practically fell out of bed. His bare feet landed on a fluffy wool carpet, something that would have been unthinkable in his original childhood. In front of the bathroom mirror, a strange yet familiar girl stared back with wide, frightened eyes.

Those almond-shaped eyes were indeed the shape of his own, but their outer corners were softer, like a watercolor blurred by fine rain.

His once-messy black hair had turned into waist-length, copper-red curls that shone like honey in the sunlight.

"Merlin's..." He instinctively reached for his pajama trouser pocket, but of course there was no wand. As his trembling fingers undid his pajama buttons, Aunt Petunia knocked worriedly on the door. "Darling? Do you need Auntie to help you brush your hair?"

Harry didn't answer.

He stared at the girl's budding curves in the mirror and carefully touched the spot beneath his collarbone, where there should have been a scar from Quidditch practice. Now there was only pearly skin, and...

Harry hastily pulled his collar shut, the tips of his ears burning redder than his hair.

See no evil, see no evil.

The girl in the mirror bit her lower lip as he did.

Harry had no choice but to accept that the person in the mirror was his eleven-year-old self, only...

A girl version of himself.

His features were still the familiar ones from his childhood, only softer because he was female. The biggest differences were the almond-shaped green eyes and the smooth, long red hair.

Compared to his father, he probably looked a little more like his mother.

"Harry?" Petunia's voice suddenly came from right against the door. "Vernon says that if you're not feeling well, we can go to the zoo another day."

The zoo.

The word hit Harry's mind like a Golden Snitch.

He remembered the birthday when he first met the python. It had been the beginning of his magical life.

If time really had turned back...

Harry-now Harry.

Suddenly yanked open the bathroom door.

"I want to go to the zoo," Harry heard himself say, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. "Right now."

Harry's fingers gently traced the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. It was still slightly raised beneath his fingertips, like some indelible brand. She stared at herself in the mirror.

The red-haired, green-eyed girl wore a white lace princess dress that Aunt Petunia had carefully chosen, with a pale pink bow tied at the waist and a skirt as puffy as a blooming lily.

The outfit made her feel uncomfortable all over.

"Harry, darling, your hair clip is crooked." Aunt Petunia crouched down and gently arranged the wisps of hair over her forehead, her fingertips carefully avoiding the scar.

There was a tenderness in her eyes that Harry had never seen before, and even a trace of... guilt?

Uncle Vernon stood in the entrance hall with his belly sticking out. For once, he didn't complain about how long he had been waiting; in Harry's previous life, he would ordinarily have started swearing outright by now. Instead, he patted Dudley on the shoulder with a smile. "Take good care of your little sister, all right?"

Dudley, the little bully who had once chased Harry all over the streets, was now gripping Harry's hand tightly, his palm sweaty with excitement.

He wore a brand-new plaid shirt, and his round face was wreathed in smiles. "Harry, I'm going to see the gorillas later! Want to come with me?"

Harry managed a nod.

He wasn't used to the Dursleys being so close to him.

Nor did he understand why the Dursleys treated him so well in this world.

Could it be because he was a girl in this world?

A girl who looked a lot like his mother?

Harry found the absurd answer hard to believe, but the facts were right in front of him, and he had no choice but to believe it.

The sunlight at the zoo was as dazzling as ever. Crowds milled about, and the cloyingly sweet smell of cotton candy and hot dogs drifted through the air.

Dudley pulled Harry along, with Petunia and Vernon following behind, talking quietly from time to time. Yet their eyes never left her, as though they were afraid she might suddenly disappear.

Harry's feet stopped of their own accord in front of the python enclosure.

Behind the glass, the Brazilian python lay lazily coiled, its golden vertical pupils gleaming coldly in the dim light.

-Exactly as he remembered.

Harry stared at it, his throat tightening.

Last time, she had spoken to this snake, accidentally set it free, and been punished with confinement by the Dursleys for it.

Now, however, she simply stood quietly, looking into the python's eyes.

Dudley excitedly slapped the glass beside her. "Look! It moved!"

The python slowly raised its head, its gaze passing over Dudley and fixing directly on Harry.

[Hiss... you're back again.]

Harry's eyes flew wide.

It remembered her?

Harry wanted to ask about it, but Dudley tugged on her sleeve and interrupted her.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered softly. The python was no longer looking at her, but she could feel her heart beating faster.

The snake remembered her. What did that mean?

She didn't know.

Perhaps the world hadn't been completely reset, or perhaps she and the python had come back together, or perhaps it was something else...

In the car on the way home, Dudley chattered nonstop about everything he had seen that day. Uncle Vernon chimed in as he drove, while Petunia turned around from the front passenger seat from time to time, her gaze resting gently on Harry.

"Harry, are you really all right?" Petunia asked again, her voice so soft it was as though she feared disturbing her. "Are you too tired?"

Harry shook her head and looked out at the scenery rushing past the window. The glow of the setting sun fell on her red hair, giving it a golden rim.

She was fine.

She had just suddenly realized.

In this world, she was still "Harry Potter."

She would still become the Boy Who Lived... no, the girl who lived.

She would still be the Chosen One.

Harry clenched his fists, hatred for Voldemort flashing in his eyes.

Whether he was Harry or Harry, it didn't matter. Now that he had a chance to start over, he wouldn't let a single one of those tragedies happen again!

Harry sat by the window with a copy of A Guide to Birds open on her lap, her fingertips absently rubbing the edge of a page.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains onto her red hair, giving it an amber sheen.

By now, she had grown used to the weight of her long hair, the feeling of a skirt brushing against her calves, and even Aunt Petunia's gentle movements as she brushed her hair every morning.

But some things, ultimately, were impossible to get used to.

For instance, she still woke with a start at midnight, her hand instinctively reaching for the wand under her pillow, only to touch soft cotton.

Or she still tensed whenever she passed a street corner, as though she might hear that familiar raspy laugh the next second.

The psychological scars that brutal battle had left on her wouldn't disappear so quickly.

"Harry?" Aunt Petunia's voice came from downstairs, unusually taut. "Could you come down for a moment?"

Harry closed her book, her heart suddenly beating faster.

Judging by the time, it was about when the Hogwarts acceptance letter should arrive. Aunt Petunia could only be calling her down because of her admission to Hogwarts.

Coming down the stairs, Harry saw Uncle Vernon sitting in an armchair in the living room, a yellowish envelope pinched between his short, thick fingers, his face frighteningly grim. Dudley was huddled in the corner of the sofa, looking back and forth between his parents in confusion, still holding half a chocolate biscuit.

Most importantly, Petunia stood in front of the fireplace, her back ramrod straight, though her fingertips trembled slightly.

Harry's gaze fell on the letter: parchment, emerald-green ink, and the familiar Hogwarts crest printed in the corner.

Harry showed nothing on his face, but he was puzzled. When he had still been himself, Aunt Petunia and her family had done everything they could to keep him from entering the magical world.

They wouldn't have given him a chance to see the envelope at all.

"Harry." Petunia took a deep breath, her voice barely audible. "We need to talk... about your mother."

Harry froze for a moment, then slowly nodded.

As for his parents, apart from the time Hagrid came to take him to Hogwarts, his aunt had practically never been willing to bring them up of her own accord.

He wanted very much to know about his parents, and he also wanted to know what kind of people they had been from his aunt's point of view.

Lily.

The name was like a key, instantly opening the floodgates hidden deep in Petunia's eyes.

At the mere mention of it, her eyes reddened, yet she stubbornly raised her chin.

"I... I used to envy her so much."

Petunia's nails dug deep into her palms. "I was jealous that she could receive a letter like this, jealous that she could go to that... that place."

Her lips trembled. "It wasn't until later that I understood. Magic took her away."

Harry said nothing.

He wanted to argue that Lily hadn't been taken away by magic; Lily had chosen magic herself.

But he still didn't speak.

Aunt Petunia was right.

The grown-up Harry had learned to put himself in someone else's shoes. Magic had taken important people away from him too.

From Aunt Petunia's point of view, magic had taken her away, taken Lily away, taken Aunt Petunia's younger sister away.

Vernon let out a heavy grunt and slapped the envelope onto the coffee table. "We could have burned this thing straight away! But Petunia insisted on letting you choose for yourself-"

"That's enough, Vernon!" Petunia suddenly raised her voice. "Don't let her know about those things. We only need to tell her about her mother, and let her decide the rest for herself!"

"We can't make decisions for her all her life!"

Even though Dudley couldn't understand what his parents were talking about, he could still read the mood. He jumped up in a panic. "Mum! What's wrong? Where's Harry going?"

Petunia didn't answer her beloved son's question. She only stared fixedly at Harry, as though she wanted to engrave her in her soul with her gaze. "You can stay. Go to Smeltings School with Dudley, wear a pretty uniform, go to dances, grow up safe and sound..." Her voice caught. "Do it for me."

Harry's chest ached.

In his memory, Aunt Petunia had always been the very picture of harshness and strength. She had never seen Petunia like this: vulnerable and desperate, yet stubbornly giving her the right to choose.

The woman who had once locked her in a cupboard was now opening a door for her with her own hands, yet silently pleading with her not to leave.

Dudley awkwardly grabbed Harry's wrist. "I can protect you! Nobody at Smeltings would dare bully my little sister!"

His small eyes were full of sincere panic, even though he didn't know what had happened or where Harry was going.

Harry looked down at the hand around her wrist.

In her previous life, Dudley's fists had landed there countless times, leaving dark bruises. Now his palm was warm, and even his grip was careful.

She looked up and met Petunia's tear-filled eyes.

"Auntie," Harry said softly, her voice gentler than even she recognized. "Thank you."

She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the letter. The parchment felt rough and real.

The distant castle, moving staircases, the presence of talking portraits.

That was his home, his true home.

"But I have to go." Harry unfolded the letter, the Hogwarts crest gleaming in the sunlight. "I belong there."

Petunia drew a sharp breath, as though pierced by an invisible blade.

She staggered back a step and sank onto the sofa in defeat.

"I knew it..." Petunia gave a bitter laugh. "You and Lily... you're exactly alike."

Vernon rose in a rage, walked into the room and slammed the door behind him. Petunia fiercely wiped away her tears with a handkerchief, then turned and took an old little leather suitcase out of a drawer.

"At least let me help you pack." Petunia's voice was broken, yet held a determined tenderness.

Harry hugged her.

Aunt Petunia's family's mistreatment of him could not be erased, but at the very least, in this moment, as Harry, she could understand them.

But there was still something he couldn't quite figure out.

Why was there such a huge difference in the way they were treated??? Was it just because Harry looked like Lily while Harry looked like James???