Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own

A/N I previously had a story entitled 'With A Spark In Her Eyes' that was a female harry potter. The problem: I barely changed anything except for (some) genders. This story will be different. There will be many changes and twists not in the original Harry Potter storyline. I hope you all enjoy my take on the female Harry Potter idea. Please review to tell me what you think, to ask any questions (I promise to get back to you as soon as possible if you have any) or just comments you wanted to share.

P.S This is just a prologue, the chapters will get much longer and more detailed

When Hope Potter was born, she was loved. She had parents who would do anything to protect their baby girl from a horrid prophecy that declared her the destined enemy of the dark wizard Voldemort. She lived, out of sight and out of mind, in Godric's Hollow. The location wasn't ideal, but it was cozy and safe. The world around them was at war. They were hiding. They hardly knew who to trust anymore. Their friends were out fighting, dying, at the hands of a threat that no one knew how to beat. But James and Lily Potter had Hope, both literally and figuratively. When Hope Potter was born, she was the light that parted the overwhelming darkness in their lives and gave them some certainty in the confusion.

When Hope Potter was a year old, everything came crashing down around them. The safety they thought they'd had vanished. Unprepared to fight, they fell victim to Voldemort himself. Lily Potter begged him to spare her daughter, her baby girl, but Voldemort was merciless. He always was. With one short spell, Lily Potter died just as her husband had moments before and Voldemort turned his attention to the crying baby in the crib. But he didn't kill her. It wasn't for lack of trying, of course. In what would be told in hushed whispers all around the world for the next several years, the spell rebounded and Voldemort was gone. For a decade afterwards, no one would be able to say if he had run away, been injured so badly he was as good as dead or if he'd actually been killed. There were no witnesses to the legendary events that night. None except for a one year old baby girl in her crib, crying for her dead parents.

As the story spread and wizards all around the world celebrated the downfall of Voldemort, the baby girl was rescued from the half-destroyed house hours later. She was delivered to Albus Dumbledore as he waited on Privet Drive. The Muggle neighborhood was a far cry from Godric's Hollow. Unlike the rest of the world, it was quiet. No celebrations. No parties. No drinking and toasting to the baby they'd already dubbed 'The Girl Who Lived'. The Muggle world didn't know that a huge, terrifying threat had been neutralized. They didn't know that two innocent parents had been killed trying to defend their even more innocent child. Ignorance wasn't bliss; it was merely boring.

That night, she was left on the steps of her Muggle aunt and uncle's house. The only family she had left, no matter how horrible Professor McGonagall claimed them to be. That night, she slept peacefully, bundled up in blankets on the front step. She didn't know she was special. She didn't know that everything was changing. She didn't know that people were telling the story of her survival like it was a legend already. She just slept on, unaware.

When Hope Potter was three, she asked for her mommy and daddy. Aunt Petunia responded with a slap to the face and a night in her cupboard for asking too many questions. Hope sat in her cupboard on her old mattress and cried herself to sleep. She cried for parents she wanted so desperately to come and rescue her from what was supposed to be her home. But, after that day, she learned not to ask questions about her parents anymore.

When Hope Potter was five, her cousin Dudley was bullying her in class during art time. The teacher did nothing; it was easier to give Dudley his way than to spark an argument with his parents by sending home a note or calling them in for a meeting. Dudley pushed Hope to the floor, sneering and teasing her. It was his form of entertainment. His entertainment, however, ended quickly as all the paint around them exploded and coated Dudley. He started bawling, the tears almost helping to wash the paint dripping down his face. He blamed Hope, even if he didn't understand how it had happened without her touching any paint. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon blamed Hope too, even if they hadn't heard the whole story.

When Hope Potter was seven, she was swinging on the swing-set on the playground. She could swing higher than anyone else in her class. At seven, that was a major accomplishment. Naturally, Dudley didn't like that. As she was on the up-swing, a meaty hand enclosed around her ankle and yanked her off the swing. She hit the gravel below and scraped the skin off her hands, elbows and knees. Her glasses, only bought because the teacher informed her aunt uncle it was needed and if they didn't get her eyes checked there would just be questions, flew off her face. Dudley stomped on them, breaking them, and then walked away sneering. No one knew why that particular branch fell off the tree at that moment and hit Dudley in the head. Hope was blamed anyway.

On Hope Potter's tenth birthday, she dropped a plate as she was washing the dishes. It shattered on the tile floor and, the next thing she knew, Uncle Vernon was shouting at her and throwing her into the cupboard as punishment. That night, rubbing her bruised shoulder, she decided she was done. She was done crying. She was done being shoved around. She was done with everything. So she threw her meager belongings into her knapsack. She stole food from the kitchen. She stole money from the savings jar they'd tried to keep out of her reach for that very reason. Then she left the house and set off walking down the sidewalk. Any place was better than her so-called home.

No missing persons report was filed. No one looked for her. Perhaps teachers questioned why she wasn't in school months later. But no one cared enough to look for her or shed a tear for a missing little girl. She had money, she had food and she had plans to never return to Privet Drive.

On Hope Potter's tenth birthday, she turned her back on Privet Drive and began making her own way in the world.