A/N: Don't ask me why I'm starting another story when I still have two WIP. This story came to me at my son's 3 am bottle feeding and here we are. It just won't leave me alone.

If you follow After Midnight, you know that I really dig a female Harry. So just a warning if you aren't overly thrilled about that.

Please don't forget to review!

Fate is a fickle concept. Twisting and weaving itself into the lives of people and causing a domino effect of events that are beyond one's control.

But first a word on Draco Malfoy and Harriet Potter.

They say first impressions are important but when Draco first saw Harriet he did not recognize her.

He had seen her first in Madam Malkin's shop.

Seen her and yet did not perceive the significance of her.

Draco wasn't sure exactly what chosen ones were supposed to look like but mousy, scrawny with untamed jet black hair was not how he pictured the said girl who lived.

Indeed, the only thing striking about her, he thought, were her bright green eyes.

He would consider this his first impression of the girl. But if one were to ask Harriet when her first impression were made up of Draco Malfoy she would have to reply that it was the time he scorned her only friend in front of her and she in turn rejected his handshake.

To Harriet, that would set a precedence for years to come. It would be her logic behind every fight they would ever have, every hand slap that ever connected to his cheek, every time she would stomp on his foot.

The thing about impressions though is that, for some people at least, they can change over time. Such was the case for Draco as he fell in love with a girl he could never fully have during a war that wanted to take her life. This would be his reasoning for why he was unwilling to confirm her identity to his Aunt Bella even though he knew for certain that it was Harriet. And that would lead to Harriet's reasoning behind testifying for his family during the trials after the second war.

This would also be the reasoning, as fate would have it, that eighth impressions would matter most for Harriet.

Cause Behind Recent Attacks Still Unknown

Suspected to be the work of a newly rising Dark witches or wizards, the investigations behind the recent explosions in muggle London and several places across the wizarding community have so far turned up nothing.

The only thing that seems to be confirmed at this time is that the explosions are in fact due to a strong incident of magic although the aura left behind is at this time untraceable.

"The ministry is doing everything possible to find out who or what is behind these attacks," said the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "The attacks seem very amateur in nature and not thoroughly planned out and so we are confident that we should be able to close in on them soon. We understand that the wizarding community is on edge after the recent demise of Voldemort, but we urge everyone to remain calm at this moment."

Indeed, it seems that the peace that the wizarding community was able to endure only lasted for a mere two months. Many are expressing their concern that they would feel more at ease with the situation if Harriet Potter had taken the Auror position Shacklebolt had offered to her this previous May.

"Miss Potter chose to continue her education this year, and I fully support her decision," replied Shacklebolt when questioned about these concerns. "If she chooses to go into the field at a later date the ministry would be happy to have her. But until then we have plenty of capable witches and wizards in the department who are doing everything in their power to ensure the safety of our community."

Harry shut the Daily Prophet and placed it face down on the table before her. It was true that she had refused the position with the reasoning that she wanted to finish her education, but as the summer dragged on Harry was unsure if she even had the desire to go into the Auror profession at all. Was she expected to rise to the occasion anytime there was an outbreak of dark magic? She certainly hoped not. It was true that the current attacks did seem juvenile. So far there had been no casualties as most of the attacks were limited to secluded areas. Harry was certain that the ministry, under the new guide of Kingsley, would be enough to handle everything even if others were still doubtful.

And besides, Harry had other things to worry about. Like getting her school supplies for one.

Draco Malfoy was unsure why he had decided return to Hogwarts for his eighth year. Well, he knew why. Malfoy's weren't uneducated and his mother had insisted that she wouldn't raise the first Malfoy to dropout of school. But he couldn't understand why it mattered what Malfoy's did or didn't do anymore. They were no longer a symbol of high social standing within the wizarding world. In fact, the only reason he was so fortunate to even be able to attend school in the first place was because he got off on a technicality that was one Harriet Potter.

Draco was still unsure what led her to testify on their behalf but because she did so, his mother had gotten off on house arrest and his father had gotten one of the lesser sentences in Azkaban prison.

And Draco was able to return to school which is why he was in Madam Malkin's currently with the sleeve to his dress robe lifted so that the witch could hem it.

Draco tried not to think about the tattoo that was on his arm that branded him as on the wrong side of the war and Madam Malkin was apparently trying to avoid the damned thing as well.

And so Draco let his mind wander and, as it normally did whenever he allowed himself to daydream, his thoughts turned back to Potter.

He had met her here in this very shop years ago. He hadn't known then who she was or how significant she would be in his life. She would later scorn him when he offered her his friendship after he realized who she was. And if Draco had to guess, that had been when his infatuation with the girl had started. From that point on he would taunt and torment her just to receive any sort of attention from her.

But things had to change this year.

"Let's see, dear," said Madam Malkin shaking Draco from his thoughts. "That should do it."

Draco was thankful to be able to pay the witch and leave the shop. He was trying more and more to not think about Potter but it was becoming increasingly harder when he knew he would be seeing her at the start of term.

But he needed to find a way to keep his thoughts from straying from her. This year he was going to try to be civil and if that proved to be impossible, he was just going to have to ignore the girl.

One more year of this and would never have to see-

"Potter!"

Draco had rounded a corner without paying attention and had ended up running straight into Harriet Potter herself. She apparently hadn't noticed him coming either, for she was unable to brace herself and ended up being knocked backwards onto the street. The books she apparently had just bought were sprawled out around her.

"Malfoy," she hissed or at least that is what Draco thought she had said. She had a treacle tart hanging out of her mouth and her voice was muffled.

Draco was upset with how not-disgusting he found it. He bent down to help her collect her books so he wouldn't have to look directly at her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded after swallowing her treat.

"Picking up your books, Potter. Clearly your deduction skills haven't gotten any better."

"Why are you helping me pick up my books?"

"Because I was the one who knocked them out of your hands," said Draco handing them over to her as she stood. He tried not to smirk as she snatched them away from him.

"Yes, well. Thank you. I suppose."

"No problem."

They stood there staring at one another for the longest time and for a brief moment Potter raised her hand slightly towards him but the next second dropped it and then slowly side stepped around him, never once taking her eyes off of him. He watched her go until she turned the corner where they had collided and he could see her no longer.

Draco thought glumly to himself that her legs appeared even longer than he remembered them.

And then he apparated home.

The next morning found Harry back at Grimmauld Place in her late godfather's bed where she had taken up residence since the war had ended.

She rolled over on her side and pulled the covers up further around her.

She was thoroughly bothered.

Draco Malfoy had stopped slicking his hair back and it had almost a shaggy look to it. And for some reason that bothered Harry. It was falling in his eyes and Harry had to resist the urge to brush it away. Her hand had almost betrayed her and Harry was unsure what she had been thinking.

She shouldn't want to touch Malfoy at all.

And she certainly shouldn't be thinking about him now.

She should be thinking about her friends.

For the first time in a very long time the trio had been separated. Hermione had gone off to Australia to find her parents and had been dealing with the ramifications from erasing their memories of her. Ron was back at The Burrow with his own family. Harry could have gone with him and was offered so by Mrs. Weasley, but she wanted to give her friends time alone with their families.

Even if this left Harry alone in her dead godfather's house with all his memories.

She buried her head further into his old pillow. There was no way it would contain his scent after all these years but Harry wished each time she laid her head down there that it would.

Harry wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps she should have just gotten a room at the Leaky Cauldron or stayed with Andromeda Tonks who had offered her room at her home earlier in the summer so that she could get to know Teddy better.

But she knew that staying at Grimmauld Place was cathartic if not depressingly so.

The house needed, what Kreacher had deemed, a woman's touch. And though she were barely yet a woman, that is what she had tried to give the old house.

She had done away with any remnants of it's Slytherin past and the house had seen more daylight the past two months than it had in years. The walls were painted, the floors shined, the kitchen and living area redone.

And Harry had found solace when she had taken a sledgehammer to Walburga Black's portrait, successfully ridding the house of her presence for good .

Muggles were always underestimated, Harry thought happily.

The sound of her door creaking made Harry open one eye to peer over and see the Kreacher had entered her room.

"Mistress, there appears to have been another attack last night."

"Where at this time, Kreacher?"

Harry rose slightly from the bed. Kreacher rarely showed any sort of concern for events that affected the wizarding community lately. If he was was anxious, Harry assumed it was because it was causing him distress in some way.

"It appears as though it was near the Malfoy Manor, Mistress Harriet."

"But no casualties were reported?"

Harry felt her heart stop and felt it peculiar. Should she be concerned over Malfoy? Did he have that right to have her worry over him?

"No miss," he said handing her the paper. "It appears it did not actually touch the manor."

Harry skimmed the paper and saw that everyone had apparently been accounted for. She released a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.

"Good," she said folding the paper back and standing. "Kreacher, I think I'm going to take a walk this morning."

"Will Mistress be back by lunch?"

"Sure. I won't be gone long. I just need to get some air."

"Of course, miss."

Harry walked down the street. She rarely explored the neighborhood but she supposed this was as good of a time as any. She wouldn't have the chance soon as she would be heading back to Hogwarts within a few weeks time.

She wasn't sure what she expecting to find when she went back.

Hogwarts still felt like home, but Harry herself felt different. She didn't know if she looked different to anyone else, but for the first time since finding out she was a witch and learning about the prophecy that linked her to Voldemort Harry felt free.

Free to be just Harry.

Harry stopped in her tracks as something caught her eye. A hair salon was to her right and apparently empty save for a young woman with lavender hair who was flipping ideally through a magazine occasionally blowing a bubble with the gum she was chewing.

Harry twisted some of her long raven hair around her finger. Perhaps she could go back a little noticeably different after all. At least physically.

Harry walked into the salon and the lavender haired woman stood up and smiled at her.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I was hoping for something a little different."