My name is not JK Rowling; I don't own Harry Potter, although I enjoy playing around in her sandbox. However, any grammar issues are from Grammarly and my own.

Iris Potter, 'The Girl Who Lived. 'The Woman Who Conquered' stared up at the strange night sky and decided she had been cursed to lead an interesting life. Any thoughts of normalcy had long been forgotten, so she shouldn't have been surprised, but transportation to somewhere else as a side effect of closing a portal to the underworld was a bit of a surprise.

"Ahh, hello, who are you? And where are we?" She hoped the groaning boy struggling to his feet next to her had some answers.

"I'm Dudley, you know, your cousin."

Funny, the only cousin she knew was named Violet.

"You wouldn't happen to be a Dursley?"

The boy grimaced as he finally got off the ground. "Did you hit your head?"

"I take that as a yes, so that would mean we're in England, not Guatemala?" Another thought came to her. "Hmm, can you tell me the year?"

"You're kidding me?"

She ignored the look he was giving her. "Humor me, please."

"It's 1995."

"Shit, fifth year," Iris hated her life.

However, a more pressing concern, the bone-numbing coldness surrounding the two, gave some clue what might have happened.

"I think Dementors attacked us, ahh, soul-sucking wraiths."

It had been well over a decade since her fifth year, but her memory wasn't so bad as to not remember a confrontation with these horrible creatures. So, not just transportation through space but time as well.

"Did you kill them?" Dudley looked around in a panic before helping Iris to her feet. "One second, we were lifted in the air, and next, it was as if I was standing in the middle of the sun."

"I don't know, maybe."

Her team had been trying to close the entrance to the Mayan underworld, so perhaps the destruction of the Dementors was a fortunate result. Of course, she had a niggling suspicion that her possession of three magical relics associated with Death kept her soul from being scattered across the cosmos.

"Hey, your scar is bleeding." He pointed out.

Reaching up, she ran her hand over for forehead. The blood was black as pitch. That was a good sign, at least. She would have to ignore the whole little tidbit of jumping realities for the moment and unpack it later.

Leaning over, she pocked her glasses and said, "I don't think I need these anymore."


She could only shrug. It had been the same in her world when the Horcrux in her head had been destroyed.

"OK, that's not weird at all." Dudley looked around nervously. "Are we safe?"

"Safe?" Brushing herself off, Iris looked around, "No clue."

The two didn't stick around long, and as they crossed the dark empty streets, she couldn't help but ask, "So, we live on number three Privet Drive, right?"

Dudley stopped giving her another incredulous look, "You really did hit your head, didn't you?"

"Let's say it's all fuzzy and leave it at that."

"Alright, well, we're a door down, at number four. The Morrisons live on three."

"Huh, I don't remember the Morrisons."

She could see that he was still upset about almost getting his soul eaten, which was understandable. "So, how are you holding up?"

"So bloody cold." Dudley groaned. "Aren't you?"

"A little," Iris replied. "But thankfully, I know just the cure."

"What were those things, anyway? I mean, you called them Dementors."

"Soul sucking fiends, they feed on happiness and if able will deliver a kiss that will consume one's soul."

Dudley looked at her with horror as she continued. "Their origin is unknown, but all agree the creatures tend to appear in ancient magical places where a great tragedy or many magical deaths have occurred. The only way to make sure you don't get kissed is to be able to cast the Patronus charm. Which also happens to be a spell that most magicals cannot cast. Oh, and the wizarding world uses them as prison guards."

The young boy blinked. "How can you remember that but not remember where you live?"

"Good question." Iris thought for a moment. "Not sure, but I think I was kissed."

"How in the world do you still have your soul then?"

She gave him a Cheshire grin, "I got better."

"Christ, your people are fucking insane."

"I agree; they are foul creatures."

Dudley wasn't sure if she was talking about the Dementors or wizards. Pausing in front of the door to number four Privat Drive, he asked, "Is magic always this horrible?"

"Actually, it can be pretty wonderous."

Dudley sighed, "Wish I knew more about it. But you know mom and dad."

"I get it," she gave him a warm smile. "Anyway, let's get you inside."

Vernon Dursley moved too quickly with his hand raised and promptly found himself silenced and tied to a chair. His wife Petunia soon followed as she started to scream obscenities.

"The two of you might not care if Dementors ate my soul but figured your son liked to keep his."

Dudley looked at his parents before shaking his head and collapsing on the couch. "You didn't use a wand, Iris."

The two adults looked even more frightened.

"True, I'll be back in a second."

Returning from the kitchen, she tossed her cousin a box of chocolate truffles.

"Eat a handful of those; that will help. I'll be back."

Iris didn't know which bothered her more, the locks on the bedroom door or the wardrobe. The contents of the room lacked color. It lacked life. With a troubled sigh, she ran her hands over worn jumpers, torn trousers, stained blouses, a horrible-looking dressing gown, and a single sundress. The shoes were not much better.

Turning away, she stared at the empty owl stand before reluctantly sorting through the dresser and, in the end, taking only a familiar rosewood jewelry box that she refused to leave behind.

Her magic lashed out, and something began to rattle from under the floor. Inside a small hidey-hole sat an empty box of chocolates, a goblin vault key, wrappers from a dozen pumpkin pastries, and a small bag of galleons.

Still no school chest.

Finally returning to the living room with the key and bag of galleons in hand, Iris asked, "Hey, Dudley, can you help me find my school things?"

Finishing off another chocolate truffle, her cousin pointed to a small door under the stairs.

Opening the door, she knew she needed to leave as soon as possible.

"What the actual fuck," Iris growled. "There's a bed in here. Is that blood on the walls?"

Dudley looked down, embarrassed.

And she thought her aunt and uncle were horrible people. Her childhood wasn't sunshine and roses but finding the small bed under the stairs was beyond the pale. Could it be as simple as Petunia having a daughter in her world? Dudley seemed OK, though; not his fault his parents were utter shits. Once out of the house, her cousin Violet became quite a nice person, so maybe there was hope for him.

Gods, she wanted to punch someone. Giving the adults a scathing look, Iris floated the chest out of the cupboard before shrinking it and placing it inside the galleon's bag.

"Hey, I am going to take off. Probably won't be back anytime soon."

"Your leaving?" Her new cousin looked up but didn't seem surprised.

"Yea, better if I left, but I'll keep in touch."

Standing up, Dudley put out his hand. "Really? I'd like that. Even after the way I treated you growing up, you went ahead and saved my life."

Iris laughed and hugged him instead. "You're welcome, and don't worry about those two. The spell will wear off as soon as I leave."

Looking at his parents, he said, "Well, I just wanted to say thanks."


And with a soft pop, Iris vanished from Privet Drive.

At the entrance to Diagon Alley, the heart of magical London stood the Leaky Cauldron. Built around the 1500's it stood as a meeting place for magicals from all over England to gather. Up the stairs from the dark shabby pub, Iris Potter stared at her reflection after paying for one of the better rooms.

Skinny to the point of malnourished, exhausted, and young, oh so very young. And apparently, a Gryffindor if the school robe color was correct. The former Ravenclaw wondered how that was going to work, but that was the least of her worries.

Time had not erased horrid memories of the graveyard and the shame of being fascinated by the magic involved in the resurrection. Was there a prophecy, and was it still active? The Horcrux in the scar at least had been taken care of when she entered this world but had the diary been destroyed already, or how about the others? And more importantly, how many soul anchors did Tom Riddle, aka Dark Lord Voldemort, create?

And as if life wasn't complicated enough, according to the local rag, The Daley Prophet, she was an insane malcontent, trying to gain attention after lying about Voldemort's return.

And Dumbledore, Headmaster of Britain's premier magical school, who had plenty of political power, seemed to be sitting on his hands again, seemingly more interested in protecting his standing than the children he swore to protect.

"Probably good old Lucy's fault," she frowned, tossing the paper aside.

The Malfoys were in the center of the whole war in her world. However, she could care less about the head of that family, Lucious, but his wife, Narcissa, was another story. Even Draco, their son, didn't deserve his fate. Of course, then again, neither did the Bones, Longbottoms, nor the numerous other magical families.

After a long soak and eight hours of sleep, Iris felt a little more human and began working on her plans for the day. Central London and Diagon Alley had plenty of places to find what she needed, including a good selection of women's clothes. The school chest provided a change of clothing, but a visit to the chemist was necessary. Afterward, a quick visit to Madam Malkin's Robes. The school uniform had seen better days.

The holly wand needed to be replaced as well. It felt dead to the touch, but it wouldn't have been a good match anyway. Her proficiency at wandless magic was just as potent, confirming the mastery of the Hallows, but the Elder wand was currently out of reach. Thankfully, there was another wand that worked as well as her old one, but it sat inside a trunk in the Black's family vault. However, that shouldn't be a problem. Sirius had access, or perhaps not just her wandless magic carried over.


Suddenly a short ancient creature with bat-like ears appeared in the room. The so-called house-elf started at her for a moment, confused, before stating, "Mistress, you are of House Black, but I do not know you."

She couldn't help but smile as the Black family magic washed over her, connecting, welcoming. "Kreacher, my name is Iris Potter. Can you answer a few questions? Then afterward, I believe there is something I can help you with."

The ancient house-elf slowly nodded. "Yes, mistress."

"Excellent; who currently resides in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place?"

"Nasty master Sirius, the Weasley's and their spawn and some mudblood, mistress," Kreacher grumbled.

Even in a different world, the old house elf's disposition hadn't changed. The muggleborn was a mystery, but at least the Weasley's family presence confirmed Sirius' innocence. So, no evil godfather. Pettigrew must still be slinking around unless Lupin was the traitor.

"Have they taken sleeping on the third floor?"

"No, mistress, except for the nasty master; he sleeps in his old room."

"Excellent, please make, let's see." Iris thought for a moment. "Andromeda's room available for me. I will most likely be staying there for the rest of the summer sometime towards the end of the week."

The oldest Black sister might have fled the country with her husband and grandson at the end of the war, but she left some rocking vintage clothing behind at Grimmauld Place as a teenager. Well, good news, at least she would have access to most of a wardrobe—no need to spend all of her godfather's money when there were other possibilities.

"Yes, mistress."

"Also, I need one of Melania Black's trunks retrieved from the family vault. Is that something you can do for me, or do I need to look inside the vault myself?"

Kreacher thought for a moment, then nodded. "It's something I can do."

Even if she didn't have a deep connection to the older witch's wand, Melania Black was one of Iris' heroes. She had been an enchantress and a rune mistress and had a short career as an Unspeakable. Melania didn't slip into obscurity after marrying into the famous Black family but continued to write numerous books on both subjects.

"Brilliant, then let us discuss Regulus' last command to you."