Author's Notes: This story is set in the twenty-first century.

It is a female version of sorts of my other story, Darius Potter. As you can probably tell, I'm much more decisive of final pairings with Iris than I am with Darius. I have Iris's ending all planned out. Darius readers, I'll be interested to see what you think of the other changes…

"Never put your faith in a Prince. When you require a miracle, trust in a Witch."

- Catherynne M. Valente

1.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley sat down across the kitchen table from each other with cups of tea, and had a calm, rational discussion. The Dursleys liked to think of themselves as reasonable people. They had panicked at first when they'd found the baby girl left on their doorstep, then dealt with upset, mixed feelings and grief upon reading the letter she'd come with.

But they were calmer now, and so they were sitting at the kitchen table, the baby on the table between them and their son Dudley in his high chair off to the side.

"Iris Euphemia Potter…" Petunia reflected, troubled, staring down at her infant niece.

"We are not having a witch in the house," said Vernon firmly. "Magic is completely unconscionable."

"Agreed," said Petunia. "But…"

"But what?"

"Well… we always wanted a daughter," said Petunia, wincing. "A baby girl. Now we have one." The girl had Lily's almond shaped bright green eyes. Petunia told herself she was not thinking of having a second child Lily when she said these words.

"It's true, you always did want a girl," Vernon admitted.

"Exactly. A perfect, obedient little girl to make in my own image," said Petunia eagerly, sitting forward.

"And you think she can provide that? What about the magic?" said Vernon skeptically.

"We could save Iris from her magic," said Petunia. "Stamp it out of her. It's only the moral thing to do."

"Yes, that might work," said Vernon, warming to the idea. "She would have to lead a very controlled life, of course. All school, chores, and either with a babysitter or inside her own home. Very plain food, perfect grades, no friends. And no imagination - nothing that could lead to magic."

"Yet she would be treated well. Dudley, her surrogate brother of sorts, would protect her while at school," said Petunia.

"Exactly. Any son of mine could handle manly sibling duty," said Vernon proudly.

"And she could have nice clothes and a cute little hairstyle…" Petunia was gushing now. "And an adorable pink bedroom."

"And her perfect manners and grades and properly demure mindset could be shown off at dinner parties with my clients," said Vernon. "With any luck, she'd grow up to a perfectly normal, sensible secretary, school teacher, or housewife."

"Precisely," said Petunia crisply. "Do you see now what I mean?"

"Yes… I rather like this idea a lot, Pet…" said Vernon thoughtfully. "Iris can become our daughter. And it is our parental duty to save her from her own freakishness."

Petunia smiled, congratulating herself on her good idea and her understanding husband.

And thus, Iris Potter completed the perfect little Dursley family. This caused a radical shift not only in her own life… but in her cousin's.

Six Years Later

Mrs Higgins was a school counselor at St Grogory's, a primary school. She dealt with the girls. Boys always got male counselors, girls always got female counselors, unless a different arrangement was requested.

And right now Iris Potter was sitting, silent and shy and expressionless, her hands folded, across from Mrs Higgins in her office.

"Iris, you seem to be having trouble making friends in school," said Mrs Higgins. "Are you having problems with the other children?"

"My cousin Dudley is there to protect me from distractions like friends," said Iris matter-of-factly.

Dudley Dursley was indeed a large, intimidating, silent, serious boy. He was completely dedicated to his cousin and he never made any friends either, as he was always by Iris's side. They shared everything with one another.

"Your grades are very good," said Mrs Higgins, probing further. "Everyone tells me you're an excellent student. Intelligent, clever, inquisitive, curious, focused, and hardworking."

"Perfect grades are expected of me," said Iris, still in that matter-of-fact tone of voice. "As are perfect manners. I'm also given plenty of around the house chores."

"Is this all enforced by your aunt and uncle?" said Mrs Higgins, worried.

"Yes. I am to put in a good showing at dinner parties," said Iris. There was no real emotion to her when she spoke.

Iris was indeed a very pretty girl. She was dressed nicely in Winter-shaded clothing that went well with her pale skin. Her wild black curls were drawn into a bun with a few loose curls bouncing around her face. And her eyes were quite striking.

"You look very pretty," said Mrs Higgins. "Does that help?"

"Yes," said Iris. "My fringe hides the scar on my forehead." She lifted blunt bangs to reveal a lightning bolt shaped scar. "And I had eye surgery two years ago to get rid of my bad eyesight. I like using scented bubble baths, lotions, candles, and body wash, so I always smell nice too," she added, smiling for the first time.

"So you like scented things. What's your favorite food?" said Mrs Higgins.

"I am only allowed very plain food, Mrs Higgins," said Iris.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I am never taken out of the house or anywhere fun," said Iris, "though I did quite enjoy swimming and bicycling lessons. I am also not allowed to play video games, read imaginative fiction, or watch television. The only place besides my house that I ever go is Mrs Figg's to be babysat, and I am also expected to do chores there. Mrs Figg is old and ailing, you see, and needs my help."

She was obviously parroting things her aunt and uncle had said almost eerily.

"What is your bedroom like?" asked Mrs Higgins. "Do you have any posters or photographs or drawings up on the walls for example?"

"I have a very nice bedroom with a big bed. It's decorated in hot pink colors and I always make sure it's perfectly neat," said Iris proudly.

"Oh yes? You keep your things very tidy?"

"Yes, ma'am. Aunt Petunia taught me. She taught me how to make food, too, and sometimes I help her with her flowers in the front garden."

"That sounds very nice," said Mrs Higgins. "What sorts of toys do you have?"

"I am not allowed toys, ma'am," said Iris simply.

"You live with your aunt and uncle, correct? Where are your parents?" asked Mrs Higgins.

"They died in a car accident when I was a baby, ma'am," said Iris. "That's where I got the scar on my forehead."

"What were they like? Do you look like them?"

"They are never to be discussed. There are no pictures of them in the house," said Iris. It was hard to tell how she felt about this. She was mostly silent except when asked a direct question, and completely repressed. "There are pictures of me and Dudley in the house. But no pictures of my parents."

"What were their names?"

"I don't know, ma'am." Iris stared straight ahead of herself, toneless.

"Yours is a very controlled environment, isn't it, Iris?" said Mrs Higgins kindly.

"Even my mail is opened for me, ma'am," said Iris stoically.

"What do you see yourself doing in your future?"

"I have been told I will either become a secretary, a school teacher, or a housewife," said Iris calmly.

"I see," said Mrs Higgins, troubled. She put Iris through a few basic tests, and then decided it was time to call in the Dursleys and talk to them.

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, I must be blunt with you," said Mrs Higgins when the Dursleys had sat down across from her two days later. "Some of the things Iris has said trouble me.

"Her life should not be so controlled. She needs fun, and friends, and she needs information about her parents. She needs a life, not just an existence."

"Iris's health is delicate," said Petunia passionately. "Everything we do is for the good of her health."

"And her parents were unemployed drunks," Vernon rumbled. "We're trying to protect her from the disaster that was her parentage."

"What about your son? He deserves a childhood as well. Does he really need to be so serious and look after Iris all the time?" Mrs Higgins pressed.

"If you're implying that any child of mine isn't capable of looking after his own sister -!" Vernon began angrily.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Mrs Higgins sighed, pinching her nose and closing her eyes. "I'm sure you have your reasons," she said, trying to keep a hold on her temper. "But it does neither of the children any good.

"At the very least, Iris needs hobbies. Ways to express herself, things she enjoys, something to talk about besides her good grades at the dinner parties you supposedly care about so much," Mrs Higgins added sarcastically. "I've taken the liberty of giving her a personality test. Iris is an ISFP. Probably the only reason you haven't had more rebellion from her is because she's so quiet, introverted, expressionless, and heart-based. She wants to get along. She's also only a child yet.

"Let me explain ISFPs to you," said Mrs Higgins when the Dursleys looked confused. "They are very reserved people, but they feel things and have inspirations very keenly. They express themselves best, not in person, but in their artistic works. If they find no artistic way to express themselves, their personality simply never comes out, and they end up unhappy and no one knows them.

"She needs an art through which to express herself."

"We don't approve of art and imagination," said Petunia immediately, and Vernon nodded.

"With all due respect, not all art involves surrealist painting, Mrs Dursley," said Mrs Higgins. "Art is any technique the next move of which is a free variable. Sports are arts. Anything technical, anything in business, anything creative. It's all artwork.

"She needs an art. I'm telling you, she needs a way to let people know who she is."

Vernon and Petunia took this last piece of advice seriously. They did want their daughter to be happy, after all. And having a hobby was not such an unreasonable thing, as long as it didn't encourage Iris's magic.

So they sat down and had another rational discussion.

"There are two main qualifications," said Vernon. "The hobbies," he refused to call them arts, "must be properly feminine and good accomplishments. And they must not encourage imaginative, off the ground, impossibilities thinking. You know, all that rubbish."

"I have some ideas for things she could try," said Petunia. "Dance, figure skating, gourmet cooking, and classical music - piano, violin, and voice. What do you think?"

"I think those are all perfectly acceptable ideas," said Vernon. "They would look good in any accomplished young woman. But no songwriting!"

"Agreed. We could even buy her her own instruments. She is our daughter, after all," said Petunia. "I believe she's worth the expenditure."

Iris fell asleep at the piano in the sitting room while practicing late one night.

Iris was a slight, quick, graceful girl who was blessed with natural intelligence and was good at putting long, lonely hours of practice into a single art. She did genuinely enjoy the hobbies she'd been assigned. The gourmet cooking even got her excellent food (though no dessert).

But sometimes too much practice was expected from her and too many expectations were placed on her. This, like her anxiety over getting good grades, left her with a guilt complex.

Suddenly, Aunt Petunia shook her awake. Iris looked up and gasped, realizing she'd fallen asleep.

"We pay good money for these lessons you're sleeping over," Aunt Petunia snapped. "I would expect you to have a little better attitude while practicing something you enjoy!" She bustled out of the sitting room.

Young, tired, overwrought, and guilty, Iris felt tears fill her eyes. She put her face in her hands and began sobbing… when suddenly, she heard the piano begin playing a soothing little tune. She looked up in surprise, tear tracks still on her face -

And she saw the piano playing itself. It had played in response to her emotions.

Iris stared, and realized she felt a tingling up and down her body, a prickling in the back of her neck, and it was leaking off into the piano. Somehow, something in her body was making the piano play itself.

Iris would learn to term this power she had found "magic." She would also come to realize that some of it leaked up into her head when she slept - forming what she called "future dreams."

She hid these things instinctively from her aunt and uncle, but used them to make her life better and soothe herself in secret for many years - to cheer herself up when alone, or to satisfy herself by doing imaginative creative things, or to sneak chocolate sweets, for example. Her dreams were also useful in predicting what was to come in her life, though they did not always come true.

She also began writing songs in secret, hidden from her aunt and uncle. She hid the sheet music underneath the loose floorboard in her bedroom. She was allowed an iPod, iPhone, and laptop - she mostly used the Internet to watch ASMR videos to help herself get to sleep, or stand-up comedy routines, as she had a dry, incisive wit - and so she just didn't tell her aunt and uncle what kind of music she bought on iTunes. It was one of the only things they never looked into. Iris formed a deep, profound love for music of all kinds.

Secretly, even as a young girl, Iris wanted more in life. She wanted to use her good grades to get a high status career, achievement, money, travel, and adventure. She wanted to see the world! She felt trapped and imprisoned with the Dursleys, and realized she disliked it. But she didn't know how to escape, and in any case, she felt bad feeling that way about her surrogate parents.

Suffice it to say, Iris's imagination was not repressed quite as successfully as the Dursleys had hoped.