Chapter Text
“Lucifer in heaven, before his rebellion, was a high and exalted angel, next in honor to God’s dear Son… Lucifer was envious of Christ and gradually assumed command which devolved on Christ alone.”
“How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low! You said in your heart, ‘I will ascend to heaven; above the stars of God I will set my throne on high; I will sit on the mount of assembly in the far reaches of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.”
The light bringer. The Morningstar. A being modeled in perfection, full of wisdom, and perfect beauty. It was incredibly tragic, Harriet thought, for she did not understand why an archangel was punished for refusing to worship Man. Why should they bow to their whims? They were flawed creatures–corrupted. God had freed Lucifer by allowing him to choose good over evil. Humanity had been granted the same gift, though they were inferior to beings like Lucifer. Harriet wondered if his jealousy had fueled his desire to take the throne from God. After all, would it have been possible for Lucifer, with ill intentions, to manipulate and sway millions of other angels to fight those who sided with God? She thought that many had sided with him as a result of the privileges and love freely given to humanity. It was deeply rooted in jealousy–jealousy of man. Man, who would receive more simply because they were made in the image of God.
Harriet sat obediently as she listened to Sister Anne’s words. She would never dare to utter such thoughts out loud; To go against the word of God in front of the Sisters would surely lead to a harsh punishment. Harriet instead pointed her wandering attention to the other girls present. Most, if not all, seemed to be staring blankly ahead–not a single thought behind their eyes, heads filled with mush. Aggie, on the other hand, looked as though she was minutes away from falling asleep. Harriet couldn’t fault her; Sister Anne’s monotonous voice could send anyone to sleep. It wasn’t as though the Sister required their engagement during these lessons. Religious lessons were a place to heed God’s words. You did not–could not oppose the words of the scripture. To do so would be blasphemous, unholy, and sacrilegious. Something a good, faithful, girl won’t do.
The lessons were an absolute bore, so Harriet, more often than not, observed her surroundings. The room itself wasn’t all that memorable. It had cream-colored walls adorned with religious imagery and wooden floors chorused in shades of brown. Their aged school desks were assembled in neat rows, facing a dark chalkboard littered with various bible verses. At least the windows had a nice view of the garden, she thought. Harriet despaired at being indoors when the sun was out. She looked at the greenery outside with something akin to envy. She too would like to feel the sweet caress of wind and sun and summer on her skin.
Suddenly, the doors opened revealing the intimidating form of the Reverend Mother.
“Harriet?” She called, “With me, child.”
At once, the girls broke out of their stupor and turned to look at Harriet. Hushed whispers began as girls were prone to do. She stood and walked through the rows, albeit befuddled. What had she done now? The Reverend Mother motioned her to follow, closing the doors behind them.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No, child,” the Reverend Mother glanced at her dully, “It seems you have yourself a visitor.”
“A visitor? From where?” As far as Harriet knew, she did not know anyone who would care enough to visit her; Her relatives a thing of the past.
“A headmaster, he told me–said he knew your parents.”
Her eyes widened in realization as she and the Reverend Mother made their way towards her study.
“Do not stare into his eyes for longer than necessary, Harriet.” Tom’s voice echoed in her mind, “I need you to be careful.”
Tom had just confirmed what she already knew. She could scarcely contain her glee upon hearing his words, though she did try to tamper it. Harriet did not wish to elicit suspicion from the Reverend Mother, after all. She needed to act as if she knew nothing–that this was merely an everyday occurrence and not something that would change the course of her life forever.
“Harriet,” Tom repeated, “Remember.”
Harriet tried, in vain, to calm the wild beating of her heart, “Always.”
The Reverend Mother opened the doors to her study, revealing the sitting form of a man. Upon their arrival, he rose and directed his focus at her.
“Hello, Harriet,” he greeted, eyes twinkling.
Reverend Mother gestured her hand towards him, introducing, “Harriet, this is Headmaster Dumbledore.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” she intoned with a small smile.
The headmaster switched his gaze onto the other woman, expression polite.
“Sister, may I speak to Harriet alone?”
The Reverend Mother hesitated for a second before nodding. She left the room as quickly as she had entered it, but not before giving Harriet a stern look prompting her to behave.
“Please sit, Harriet.”
Sitting in front of the headmaster allowed her to examine him closely. He looked similar to the Dumbledore from Tom’s memories, though his beard and hair had gotten significantly longer. He looked kind–grandfatherly. A biblical verse reverberated through her mind: Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves. She will not fool herself into thinking that he was as docile as he looked. She, of all people, should know.
After a meaningful pause, Dumbledore spoke, “It has been a long time since I saw you last.”
“Sir?”
“The last I saw you–you were a small babe.” His expression was solemn, yet his eyes were sharp.
Harriet did not know what to say and remained silent.
“Why are you here, Harriet? Where are the Dursleys?”
What could she say to that? That her so-called ‘family’ had left her at St. Mary’s a few years ago after showing the first signs of freakishness?
“Aunt Petunia! Look! Look I’ve made the flowers better!”
Harriet looked at the other woman with an expectant grin. Perhaps if she made Aunt Petunia’s flowers beautiful again, she’d love her like she loved Dudley.
Petunia gaped at the flower blooming from her niece’s palm and her satisfied smile. At that moment she did not see her niece. She saw a different little girl, with the same fiery hair and bright green eyes. Petunia pursed her lips, her entire form rigid with something equivalent to fear.
Petunia's gaze hardened, “You are to never do that again, Harriet. Do you hear me? Your freakishness will not be tolerated in this household!”
Harriet’s hopeful expression fell, her smile dimmed, and her eyes filled with stubborn tears. “I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia,” she whispered, looking at the ground. Her tears fell in quick succession. All at once, she felt overwhelmed. All she wanted was to be loved. Did she not deserve it? She did her everyday tasks, whether that be cleaning, cooking, or caring for the garden. Harriet did so with no complaints. She did not understand why her family did not love her. She did not understand why Dudley was showered with endless gifts while she was confined in her cupboard. Unseen and unheard. She did not understand why her Aunt hated her mother and father. She did not understand why she hated her .
“I-I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” she hiccuped.
Petunia gazed at her niece with contempt, love, anger no – never love. She could not love the little girl who wore her dead sister’s face. Her memories got the better of her, however, as images of a young Lily filled her vision. No, she refused to love the girl who wielded the same unnatural abilities as them. She refused .
“If that were true, then you would cease to flaunt your unnaturalness! That same freakishness killed your mother and your father, and it will kill you too!” She shrieked, “Your parents were just like you, both freaks!”
Harriet, to her own surprise, yelled back. “I’m not a freak! And neither were my parents!” She had regretted the words as soon as she said them. Harriet had never raised her voice at her Aunt. She knew that this would be bad. Harriet peered fearfully at the older woman. Aunt Petunia’s face was splotched red with anger, her usually perfect hair undone.
Her breathing quickened as her panic rose, “I-I’m s-sorry Aunt Petunia, please I didn’t mean to y-yell,” Petunia ignored her cries in favor of yanking her arm and marching back into the house. She dragged Harriet past the kitchen and threw her small body into the cupboard.
“Aunt Petunia! Please I’m sorry! Please don’t! Please!” Harriet mustered her strength to pound on the door of her cupboard. Harriet cried and begged and screamed, but the door remained closed. She scratched at its surface for what felt like hours. Her nails bled, her tears dried, and her strength waned. Harriet hugged her knees close to her chest, wincing as she did so. Desperate for a reprieve, she retreated into the calming embrace of her mind.
Harriet remained inside.
“The Dursleys left me under the care of the Sisters,” her voice flat, “I haven’t seen them since.”
Dumbledore frowned as he processed her words, “Petunia is your family–your mother’s sister,” He sounded disbelieving as if she had already given him a reason to doubt her. Aunt or not, she had abandoned her. Petunia and her family did not see her as one of them. Harriet had been an unwanted burden. He must have sensed her discomfort since he did not say more. Another tense silence followed.
“I’m certain I can speak to Petunia on your behalf, Harriet,” His words earnest.
Harriet had to suppress a sardonic smile. She would much rather share her quarters with Martha than go back to the Dursleys.
“The Sisters are my family now,” Harriet replied, “I’ve made my home here.”
Thankfully, Dumbledore dropped the topic. Talking about her life before St. Mary’s had always been uncomfortable. Harriet did not like revisiting the old wounds from her life with the Dursleys. Their neglect. Their hatred. Their abuse. She rather liked her life now. A life with magic. A life with Tom.
“As Sister Ingrid has told you–,”
“Reverend Mother.”
“Pardon?”
“She is the Reverend Mother, Mister Dumbledore–she is the head of our home.”
“As the Reverend Mother has said, I am the headmaster of a school,” he acquiesced, “However, the school I lead is far from being an ordinary school.”
He was looking directly at her now. Once again, Dumbledore tried to catch her eyes. She remained undeterred; instead allowing her gaze to fall onto his nose, his forehead–anywhere but his eyes. She kept her silence and waited for him to continue.
“You’ve made unexplainable things happen, haven’t you Harriet?” His gaze scrutinizing, like a predator looking at its prey, “That, Harriet, is magic.”
She widened her eyes as if digesting his words.
Harriet felt Tom’s amusement, “Marvelously done, dearest.”
“M-Magic?”
Dumbledore, satisfied with her reaction, resumed. “Could you tell me of these instances, Harriet?”
She quickly racked her brain for something to say–something minor, something that wouldn’t ruin the image of an awe-stricken, albeit naive, child. Her mind flitted through all the times she’s used her magic. The time when she transported herself from the field and onto the roof of the home. When she yanked Martha’s plait. When she killed the coyote chasing her by sheer will alone. When Sister Miriam ‘accidentally’ cut herself while chopping vegetables. It took her a while, but she managed to recall a memory that she could use.
“I’ve made the books float in my room,” Harriet whispered in false excitement.
“Look at him and conjure up the memory,”
Harriet followed Tom’s order. Her expression transformed into something trusting, guileless. She brought the memory forward, playing it repeatedly whilst looking directly into Dumbledore’s expectant gaze. He smiled at her once more, his form relaxing, as if reassured.
“You’re a witch, Harriet,” Dumbledore revealed, “You were born with magic, just like your mother and father.”
He looked upon her kindly, “Hogwarts is a learning institution for magical children. The very same school your family once attended,”
A pregnant pause.
“When does term start? When can I get supplies? Where can I get supplies?” Her excitement was palpable. She needed to sell the act, right? What’s the harm in exaggerating her cluelessness?
Dumbledore regarded her in amusement, “I, unfortunately, will not be able to take you to Diagon Alley. Though, I can assure you that one of our staff at Hogwarts will happily accompany you there tomorrow.”
“That would be much appreciated, headmaster Dumbledore.” Harriet flashed a dimpled smile.
Tomorrow. She could wait for tomorrow.
Harriet tossed and turned all night–she simply could not wait until someone from Hogwarts arrived. After her meeting with the headmaster, she returned to her lessons. Harriet did not need to stay for long, however, as lessons ended early that day. Which left the girls free to do whatever it was they wished. Aggie, somehow, had managed to track her down afterward to interrogate her on what had happened. Harriet gave enough information to satisfy her curiosity. Yes, he knew her parents. No, he was not adopting her, he was the headmaster of a school. Yes, her parents had attended and even met at the school. No, she would not be able to join her since it was a school in Scotland. Upon learning that particular tidbit, Aggie acted differently. Harriet did not excel at dealing with other people’s emotions. She was, quite frankly, rubbish at making others feel better. Quickly realizing that a moping Aggie was worse than a regular Aggie, Harriet resolved to revisit the topic in order to, hopefully, make her feel better. The conversation went better than she expected it to. Honestly, she half expected the entire thing to be tearful, but Aggie was surprisingly very easy to reassure. All Harriet did was promise her that, yes she would write and no she will not forget her.
She woke up the next day feeling like she hadn’t slept at all.
“Who’s at fault for that?” Tom grumbled.
Harriet rolled her eyes in exasperation, “You were the same way.”
Ignoring Tom’s mumblings of denial, Harriet busied herself with getting ready. Her morning ritual was sacred to her. It was, oddly enough, meditative. She began by changing out of her nightclothes and into daywear. Harriet opted to wear something simple for Diagon Alley–tights, a black skirt, a cream-colored cardigan, and sensible shoes. Sister Judith had always emphasized the importance of how one presented themselves. Harriet agreed wholeheartedly. People will always judge you based on how you look, how you talk, and how you carry yourself. So why shouldn’t she take advantage of it? It certainly wouldn’t hurt to be seen as harmless, she thought. She’d much rather have people underestimate her, anyway. Harriet brushed her hair and chose to leave it down for the remainder of the day. Her scar didn’t bother her much, it was pretty high on her forehead and was easily covered by her long hair. She was in the middle of finishing when she heard the sound of knocking at her door.
“Harriet! Open up! You have another visitor!” Aggie’s voice sang.
“Coming!”
She hurriedly opened the door to reveal Aggie’s smiling face.
“He’s outside waiting for you,” the girl supplied, “I’ve never seen such a tall man in my life.”
Aggie looked a bit disturbed at the fact, though Harriet wouldn’t put it past her to exaggerate. Doubtful, she raised her eyebrow.
“What? I’m being honest,” Aggie responded, affronted, “Just wait till you see, Harriet! You won’t judge me then!” She stuck her tongue out childishly.
They walked to the main doors, all the while greeting the Sisters they had passed. Harriet listened to Aggie’s nonsensical ramblings with little mind, nodding and humming in agreement sporadically. As they got closer, she noticed that the Reverend Mother had already been waiting for them.
“Good morning, Reverend Mother,” the girls greeted.
The Reverend Mother responded in kind, “Girls,” She then turned her gaze towards the hulking figure of the man outside, “Harriet, this is Mister Hagrid. He had kindly offered to assist you with retrieving your supplies for the upcoming term.”
Holy Mother. Turns out Aggie wasn’t exaggerating after all. Harriet cast a brief glance at the other girl and was met with a look that clearly meant I told you so. Mister Hagrid was not just tall. He looked like a giant. Can he even fit through our doors? Harriet wasn’t sure.
She greeted him with a polite ‘hello’ and was given a bright smile in return.
“All set, Harriet?”
Harriet felt excitement bubble within her once more. Though Tom was silent, she knew he felt something akin to happiness too.
They were going home.