Chapter Text
The journey to Diagon Alley was unique, to say the least. Mister Hagrid had summoned the Knight Bus – A truly impressive sight, Harriet thought. Although coming from someone who has never even been to the city, she wagers that her opinion doesn’t mean much. Harriet had been a tad apprehensive; the bus materialized out of thin air, after all. Regardless, her childlike curiosity and excitement outweighed her fear. The bus itself was spacious and bright – with well-worn seats positioned along its entire length. There were even miniature spheres of light that seemed to float above the brackets furnishing the wood-paneled walls. Harriet had just managed to get comfortable in her seat when their arrival was announced.
Her first impression of London was that it was loud. The city was lively, filled with vibrant colors and beautiful buildings. Harriet hurriedly followed her guide, Mister Hagrid keeping her close as they wove their way through the rapid onslaught of people. This was something she was unused to, having lived at St. Mary’s for as long as she had and with the Dursleys before that. Harriet chose not to dwell on those memories any longer and focused her attention on the seemingly vacant wall they arrived at.
She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, “Are we in the right place, Mister Ha–?” Her mouth closed as quickly as she had opened it. The bricks assembling the wall moved in unison, forming a small hole at first, before becoming a large archway.
Harriet could scarcely believe her eyes. She had never seen so many people in one place! Wizards and witches of all ages littered the cobblestone streets, their brightly colored robes swaying lightly as they passed. Harriet noted that all of them were wearing robes of varying fabrics, colors, and cuts. Looking around, she observed a gaggle of children entering, what seemed to be, a store for brooms. Brooms? Harriet thought incredulously.
“Brooms for quidditch, dearest.” She felt Tom’s amusement, “It’s truly a dreadful sport – awfully dull I’m afraid,” He intoned dismissively.
She hummed in response and chose to keep her attention on the sight in front of her. The alley had an assortment of restaurants and shops, with some having tables out front with colored umbrellas. There was a shop selling the robes everyone seemed to favor wearing, a shop selling telescopes and other twinkling trinkets, a shop heavily filled with books and large tomes, and windows embellished with glittering baubles. What had truly caught her attention, however, was the grandiose marble structure that towered over the rest of the alley. Gringotts, as Mister Hagrid explained, was the only wizarding bank in Great Britain and was owned and operated by goblins.
“Never mess with goblins, ‘Arriet. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – ‘cept maybe Hogwarts.”
Harriet bobbed her head in understanding whilst keeping a close distance between her and the much larger man. The alley was bustling with activity; men, women, and children lined the busy streets as they made their way through the shops. She briefly considered holding onto Mister Hagrid’s cloak, though she quickly discarded the thought. The girls at St. Mary’s barely left the confines of their home, if at all. Harriet found herself somewhat overwhelmed by the environment around her, leaving her a jumbled mess of nerves and excitement.
“I have to retrieve somethin' fer the Headmaster. Yeh wouldn' mind taggin' along now do yeh?”
“Of course not, Mister Hagrid,” Harriet responded. “May I ask where we’re going?”
Mister Hagrid smiled, “We'll head over to Gringotts first, then get yer supplies after. How does tha' sound ‘Arriet?”
“Perfectly acceptable, Mister Hagrid.” That suited her very well indeed.
“Bah! Call me Hagrid! None o' tha' Mister Hagrid nonsense – I'm jus' Hagrid,” He grumbled, a bit embarrassed.
Harriet thought him to be very interesting – Hagrid. Tom’s memories of him were few and far in between, though not wholly insignificant. She has seen this man as a boy; a young Hogwarts student surrounded by red and gold, blamed and punished for a crime he did not commit. Harriet could hardly justify Tom’s actions but perhaps sometimes the end justifies the means. Anyway, it’s not as though he can no longer use magic. The girl wonders if he has somehow found a way to salvage his wand after the entire ordeal. She noticed how he appeared to favor his pink umbrella, however, she did not know, for certain, that would come to be. For all she knew, it could have been a perfectly normal umbrella, though Harriet had a strong suspicion that there was simply more to it.
The pair arrived at a grand set of stairs that led up to burnished bronze doors. There were goblins flanked on its sides, all adorned with various fabrics of red and gold. A small entrance hall and another set of doors greeted them upon entering. Harriet marveled at the engraved words on its surface.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
The entirety of Gringotts was surrounded by glittering white marble, with long counters positioned neatly across its length. Engraved pillars and stone arches trimmed the walls in addition to the lavish crystal chandeliers that loomed above them.
“You remember what we discussed, yes?” Tom’s voice echoed in her mind.
Of course, she remembered. Their plan had tormented her thoughts throughout the day and well into the evening.
It was after supper that Harriet was finally alone. None of the Sisters nor Aggie would come to bother her at this time – they were preparing to sleep after all. Harriet settled on her bed, lulled by the gentle rustling of tree branches outside her window. It was nearly pitch black outside, the only form of light being that of her candles. She forced herself to stay within the realm of sleeping and wakefulness; it was only then that she could see Tom. Harriet retreated into the recesses of her subconscious, feeling wholly at ease by the darkness that surrounded her. She continued to delve deeper and deeper until the never-ending darkness slowly transformed into a comforting space. Dark wooden bookshelves filled with an assortment of tomes adorned the creme-colored walls. In its center was a sitting area with armchairs and a daybed bedecked in rich velvet. It was there that Harriet saw the form of a young man. His figure was tall and imposing, a stark contrast to how young he looked. The man couldn’t have been older than sixteen, yet he held himself as if he were older. His eyes softened as his gaze landed on her.
“Dearest,” Tom breathed.
Harriet sat on one of the chairs and he moved to do the same. Being so close to him was a privilege that Harriet would never tire of. It was here, in the dark corners of her mind, that Tom existed. A gilded cage to his youthful countenance. A prison to repent his sins. A prison made for penance. A prison to worship his God. And who else would be the God of her own mind, if not her? His devotion was hers and hers was his.
“Are you ready for tomorrow, Harriet?” Tom’s voice cut through her musings.
She was . God, but she was! Harriet had dreamed and longed to escape the monotony that plagued St. Mary’s. “Of course,” she settled, “We’ve discussed it plenty.”
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” He tutted, tone scolding, “You’re most disagreeable when you’re worried.”
Harriet pursed her lips as if disagreeing. She can hardly say that the excitement, fear, and general anxiety regarding her outing tomorrow were threatening to consume her. But Tom knew. He knew her fears, joys, and sorrows, and in turn, she k¸new his. Harriet knew of his deepest desires, his longing, and most of all his loneliness. But they were no longer alone, were they? They were nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter—just Tom and Harriet.
“I cannot mess this up,” she admitted softly.
“You won’t,” he insisted, “You’ve nothing to worry about, Harriet. You’ll continue to act how you should, and once you lose whoever’s escorting you tomorrow, you will speak to the goblins.”
Tom guides her gaze to him, “You’ll excel at whatever needs to be done tomorrow.”
Harriet willed herself to believe his words, convincing they may be. “You’ll be with me won’t you?” She felt foolish, of course, he would – it’s not as if he has anywhere else to go. And yet she needed to hear it. She needed to hear him say that he will. That he will always be there. That she was not alone.
“When you call, I shall answer.”
“Right then, ‘Arriet! Wait ‘ere, won' yeh?” Hagrid’s voice boomed.
Harriet nodded in obedience while sitting in the common area. She sat with her back ramrod straight, offering Hagrid a reassuring smile when he turned to look at her. Harriet waited until Hagrid was out of sight before rising from her position. She took deliberate steps toward the nearest goblin teller, which luckily, wasn’t all too far.
Remembering what Tom had taught her, she bowed her head, “Merry meet,” Harriet began, “May your gold prosper and your enemies fall against your blade.”
She waited for the goblin to respond in kind before lifting her head once more.
“How may I assist you, Miss –?”
“Potter.”
A flash of surprise came over his face before quickly disappearing, “How may I assist you, Miss Potter?”
Harriet felt the steady thrumming of her heart, the nervous knots in her stomach. “I’d like to request an inheritance test, please.”
The goblin grinned, his sharp canines peeking through his lips, dark obsidian eyes twinkling.
“That can most certainly be arranged, Miss Potter.”
Ragnok, the goblin, led her down a hall with several golden doors. He opens the one near the end and motions her to enter first. The room was as opulent and grand as the rest of Gringotts; It had the same engraved pillars and boasted the same grandiose visage.
“Merry meet, Miss Potter.”
Harriet turned her head towards the speaker. It was another goblin, though he seemed much older than Ragnok and had far less hair.
“Merry meet,” she bowed her head quickly and sat in front of him. Harriet did not need to look to know that Ragnok had not stayed in the room.
“The head goblin is the only presence allowed during an inheritance test,” The older goblin spoke once more, “I will summon Ragnok once everything is done.”
A silver basin sat atop the table, its color a striking contrast against the deep mahogany. Next to it was a small blade engraved with gems and runes.
“A few drops of blood should do,” The head goblin proclaimed, “Hold your hand over the basin – the wound will heal immediately.”
Harriet took the blade and held her hand over the basin. Gripping its hilt, she made a small cut on her palm, crimson drops striking against the silver. Not a moment later, the wound on her palm healed, stitched together by an unknown force, leaving behind unmarred flesh. She studied her skin in fascination as the head goblin left the room, taking the basin with him.
He returned after a few minutes, holding a piece of aged parchment and a small velvet box trimmed with gold. Taking a seat once more, the head goblin placed both items on the table.
Name:
Harriet Dorea Potter-Black
Parents:
James Charlus Potter (deceased)
Lily Margaret Potter neé Evans (deceased)
Sirius Arcturus Black (blood-adopted)
Godparents:
Alice Eleanor Longbottom neé Prewett
Remus John Lupin
Heir Apparent:
The Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter
The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black
His wiry fingers delicately opened the box, revealing two rings. The rings were made entirely of gold and their sizes were identical. Two differing coats of arms adorned each ring, one primarily comprised of ravens mid-flight, while the other had crowned stags. The names ‘Black’ and ‘Potter’ were inscribed beneath each crest.
“These are heirship rings, Heiress Potter-Black,” The head goblin intoned, “They are a declaration of one’s standing as much as they are a symbol of prosperity for its House.”
His gravelly voice continued, “Since you are the last remaining member of House Potter, you are automatically granted ladyship. However, seeing as you have yet to reach the age of majority, your title will remain as heir apparent.”
Harriet expected as much. What she did not expect was to learn that she was also heir apparent to House Black.
“And what of House Black?”
“House Black does have a Lord,” He clears his throat, as if uncomfortable, “Regardless, Sirius Black cannot resume his Lordship whilst in Azkaban, therefore you will be granted the title of its Lady once you come of age.”
Tom had said he was her godfather. He had adopted her? What does it mean to be blood-adopted? How does it work? Harriet had so many questions, but she was running out of time. The last thing she needed was to be on the receiving end of Hagrid’s suspicion, or worse, his interrogation of her whereabouts.
Not sensing her dilemma the head goblin droned on, “The goblins that manage the Potter and Black Family vaults are Gornuk and Grodbik, respectively.”
“Should you have any further questions, feel free to request their aid.”
She voiced her understanding, nodding slightly as she did so. When the head goblin moved to stand, Harriet followed soon after.
“If that is all, Heiress Potter-Black?” He quirked his eyebrow in question.
Harriet shook her head, “Thank you, Head Goblin.”
“Merry part, Heiress Potter-Black.”
“Merry part,” she echoed.
Harriet wasn’t alone for long before Ragnok came and retrieved her. She took her previous place in the common area and patiently waited for Hagrid to return. She had way too many questions and too few answers.
Hagrid’s jovial form walked towards her, “‘Arriet! I didn' keep yeh waitin' too long did I? Bloody cart's too old – kept breakin' down.”
“Not at all, Hagrid,” she smiled sweetly. Of course, there were things she needed to discuss with Tom, though that was to be for later. For now, she’ll allow herself to act like the child she truly was and not the abomination she’s turning out to be. Harriet entertains this girlish fancy and basks in its simplicity. For now, that will have to be enough.
The last days of August ended and with it, its warmth. Life at St. Mary’s remained unchanged in its monotony. She continued to attend her lessons and complete her chores, stealing a few moments each day to retreat into the safety of her room. Harriet often sat within its confines, poring over the various texts she had purchased in Diagon Alley. Wizarding Etiquette: A Guide, History of Magic, Great Events in Wizarding History of the Twentieth Century, and the list goes on. Much to her delight, she also found several interesting tomes in her family vault: texts detailing her family’s history, their family magiks, and so much more. Harriet took to learning her family’s history with a sense of urgency and desperation, studying knowledge typically reserved for Lords and their Heirs. But she was all that remained now–her, the last scion of a once proud and noble House.
“Do you think Grodbik will let me to take books from the Black vault?”
Tom’s smooth timbre held a teasing lilt, “Are you not its future Lady?”
Harriet huffed and allowed her thoughts to drift. Athena, her very new and very beautiful snowy white owl, was out hunting. Hagrid had gotten the owl for her as a gift during their trek around the alley. She had been shocked, however, Hagrid was insistent that she accept the gift. Harriet could do little but accept, offering her thanks in return. Athena wasn’t a difficult animal to take care of, preferring to fly across the vast greenery around St. Mary’s. The Sisters were surprised at the new addition and Harriet feared that she would not be allowed to keep her new pet. After a brief explanation from Hagrid, the Sisters let the matter be. They quickly realized that the bird did not bother the other girls, nor did it distract Harriet from her duties.
She also discussed the contents of her inheritance test with Tom. If she was being honest, Tom’s impromptu lecture on blood rituals did little to answer the questions she had regarding her parentage. She wanted to know why. If she was his daughter in blood, why did he abandon her? What could he possibly have done to warrant imprisonment? Tom had little recollection of Sirius – mostly memories of his other self attempting to sway the young heir to his cause. Alas, Sirius remained steadfast in his opposition to Voldemort and slowly became a force to be reckoned with during the war. Harriet knew that Tom, though he’d never admit it, had respected his ferociousness in battle.
“I would like to meet him, I think,” Harriet whispered, all of a sudden, feeling small. He was the last true family she had, and regardless of the reasons for his imprisonment, Sirius was still her father.
“We can plan on retrieving more information once you arrive in Hogwarts. We, unfortunately, cannot do much right now–surrounded by muggles as we are,” his distaste was palpable.
“I know you have noticed a lapse in my presence during these past few weeks, Harriet,” Tom began after a lapse in silence, “I’m afraid it’ll only worsen once you’re in Hogwarts.”
She had noticed, of course. Tom’s consciousness had been a constant shadow upon her own, yet his absences have gotten longer as of late. Harriet comforted herself with the fact that she could still feel him, his existence a constant shadow of her own.
“What are you planning, Tom?” Her tone was tentative, “What aren’t you telling me?”
He kept his tone light, “Nothing that requires your immediate concern, dearest. Why don’t you tell me about your readings instead?”
Harriet dropped the subject, convinced that Tom would tell her soon enough; at least she hoped.
She had breezed through the required first-year texts with a quickness, unbeknownst even to her. There was a lot more to magic, as Harriet quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words. The curriculum included subjects such as charms, defense, transfiguration, astronomy, history, and so much more. She read and re-read each text, not wanting to be left behind by her peers. Tom had reassured her that she was doing more than enough, but she desperately wanted to practice the numerous spells in her books. Of course, he had also explained that she was not allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts as a result of the Trace, but oh was she excited to finally use her wand! Harriet had waved, what felt like every wand at Ollivander’s, until she had found one that suited her. Interestingly enough, Mister Ollivander had told her that the phoenix feather in her wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort’s. Harriet found herself pleased, knowing that this was just another thing that tied her and Tom together. Tom was surprisingly silent throughout the entire ordeal, his thoughts blocked off from hers. Harriet hoped that he was as pleased as she was– didn’t this prove that she was his just as much as he was hers?
“You will need to familiarize yourself with the other heirs in your House, Harriet. Building alliances within the wizarding world is just as important as learning magic at Hogwarts,” Tom reminded her.
She inelegantly flopped back against her small bed, her eyes tracing the ceiling of the dimly lit room. “You seem to be sure that I’ll be in Slytherin, Tom.” Her tone teasing.
“And if I am?”
“I could very well be sorted in Gryffindor like my parents, you know.”
Tom responded with a scoff not believing her words, “I suppose we’ll see which House you end up in at the sorting then, hm?”
Truthfully, Harriet didn’t think she would. In a different world, perhaps she would have thrived in the den of lions. But that was before Tom; before the Dursleys and St. Mary’s. Perhaps she would have been satisfied, happy even, with being in Gryffindor, but that version of Harriet had long since disappeared. She wanted to be in Slytherin. She wants to be powerful like Tom. She wants to make him proud.
Harriet peered outside her window, noting that the hour had gone late. She gathered the numerous books strewn about her bed, disappointed that she could not continue to read well into the night. After all, she had kitchen duty tomorrow and would need to rise before any of the Sisters. Aggie, bless her, had also volunteered for kitchen duty so she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Just one more thing.
She quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote her letter to Grodbik. If she was to be House Black’s future Lady, she would need to learn their histories and magiks as well. Harriet wanted to flourish in her role as heir of not one, but two noble and ancient houses, and to do so, she needed to learn. She had learned, from texts in the Potter vault, that she had been named after her grandmother, Dorea Potter neé Black. Harriet relished this connection and was determined to learn everything she could from her grandmother’s maiden house. Satisfied with the requests she had made in her letter, Harriet neatly folded the parchment and placed it on her nightstand. She observed that Athena was still out and would most likely return sometime during the night. Opting to sleep rather than wait for the wayward owl to return, she settled on sending the letter first thing tomorrow morning.
Harriet felt herself slowly drifting into slumber, her mind finally quiet.
“Goodnight, Tom,” She mumbled sleepily.
“Goodnight, darling.”