Hey, so I know it's been a while but I 've been taking a full subject load this session at Uni so my life has been a bit chaotic. I've been working hard to improve my writing. Over on AO3 I have a few more stories currently on-going so while this story is important to me (and as the only story I have stuck with over the years it has a pretty special place in my heart) it isn't the only thing I'm working on at the moment.

Since I've significantly aged Delilah up in this new version I'm struggling to get the story moving onto more important events and I hope to have a time jump in the second next chapter. However, since my previous fic left quite a few things unresolved I'm fixing those up as well.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Remember, reviews always make my day! If there were any things from the previous version of this story that you remember as particularly problematic feel free to mention them and I'll make a note of it.

Love you all xx

Amelia

The address on the letter was a dimly lit building called 'The Leaky Cauldron.' Delilah lingered by the door, tracing her fingertips over the coarse paper. She'd figured out that it was a bar after a man had stumbled out with the thick odour of alcohol wafting from him. She'd almost turned away but, after checking the address once more, she decided to stay for a moment longer – if only because it she had no other option.

She was tempted to sit down and close her eyes. The bus trip had taken longer than she had expected and fear of missing her stop had kept her from sleep. She couldn't risk it, though. She'd seen the way people looked at the men and women perched beside buildings with signs and scraps of fabric. She wasn't sure what would be worse, the pity in their eyes or one of them giving the cops a call.

She carefully opened the door to the tavern, surprised by the ease behind it. She had always expected bar doors to be heavy and sticky, a reflection of their occupants. There were less people inside than she expected: a trio in the back corner, a solidary man at the bar and the bartender. She smoothed a hand over the letter and approached the bar.

"What can I get you today, young Miss?" The bartender's smile was young despite his bald head and wrinkled fingers.

"I'm looking for Tom." Delilah slid the letter across the bar.

The bartender's eyes lit up as he scanned the letter. "Potter? You must be Harry's sister. How is the young lad? What would he be, eight now?"

"You know Harry?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone knows 'bout little Harry. You trying to get to Diagon Alley? Follow me."

He led her to a brick wall and her stomach twisted. He pulled a mangled stick from his coat and tapped the bricks with it. For a moment she was certain that he was insane and that the whole thing had been a trick after all – send her into London to be killed by a madman. But then the bricks shifted and, with a groan, began to slide away. The street behind the wall was flush with colour. It, like the bar behind her, was sparsely occupied, but the few people there held owls and cauldrons and broomsticks. She couldn't blink, so sure that if she did the world in front of her would vanish and she would wake up back in the musty basement.

Beside her Tom was speaking.

"I'm sorry," she replied, eyes glued to the alley before her. "Could you repeat that?"

"I was just saying that you look like you could use a good meal. How about you grab some lunch before you set off?" Tom gestured to the Alley. "It'll still be there afterwards, I swear."

Delilah's cheeks burned. "I don't have any money."

Tom offered a friendly smile. "That's alright, you can just pop over to Gringotts. I'll show you the way."

She examined the frayed edges of her shoes, they were at least two sizes too small, and tried to ignore the rising blush across her face. "Even if I knew what that was, I'm afraid I have no money at all. I spent the last of it on the bus fare here."

She peeked up. He was squinting at the letter she had handed him, a crease wrinkled across his forehead.

"But," his eyes darted between the letter and her, "you're a Potter, Miss. Your parents left you their fortune, surely."

She blinked. "Their what?"

"Their fortune. Your father's family came from quite a bit of money, if I recall correctly. It should be in their vault at Gringotts. You have your key, don't you?"

"No, I don't have any key. I didn't know, I…"

"Well, that's okay. I simple blood spell will clear up any confusion in the mean time." Tom frowned. "Say, what were you planning on doing for school supplies then?"

She averted her eyes. "Whatever I needed to, I suppose. I'm good at figuring out… other methods."

Rather than the lecture she expected, Tom let out a rich thrum of laughter.

"You'll end up a Slytherin no doubt." At her expression of confusion he grinned and added. "Take it as a compliment, Miss."

.

Gringotts was the biggest building she had ever been inside. It was also the most beautiful. Alternatively, the creatures there were the strangest and ugliest beings she had seen – Goblins, the sign stated. As she waited, her mind drifted away, lost in thoughts about the other creatures she would encounter in this new world.

"Next."

Delilah stepped forward at the command. "Hello."

The goblin's ears stuck out in dramatic points. "Name and purpose, please."

"Delilah Potter to, um, take money out."

"Key, please."

"I don't have one, I'm sorry."

The goblin peered over the counter with a scowl. "No key, no entry. Next."

"Wait. I was told about a blood spell?" In her pocket she crossed her fingers.

"Those who fail to pass a blood examination face extreme consequences. Know that you are not the first to attempt to access the Potter vault."

"I'm not lying," she insisted. "I'll take the blood test if that's what it takes."

The goblin narrowed its eyes and stood. "Follow me, Miss Potter."

The goblin led her down a hallway, before stopping at a door at the end and knocking twice. From inside a voice told them to enter. The office was small but organised, at the desk sat a goblin almost identical to the one beside her. At their entry it stood and adjusted the wire frames on its face. She noted that the goblin before her was perhaps an inch taller than the one at her side. Despite their small stature, Delilah could understand why these creatures were in charge of something as important as money – authority radiated from them in waves.

"Another Potter, it seems," the goblin at her side announced.

She bristled at the implication. The other goblin examined her, eyes lingering on her tattered clothing and frayed shoes.

"She has requested a blood spell." The shorter explained.

The taller scoffed but waved her forward. "This will not be pleasant."

Delilah refused to break its gaze. It circled her, mumbling in a language foreign to her, and she followed with her gaze for as long as she could without twisting around. A chill raced down her spine – like stepping into the shower late at night, long after her uncle and cousin had fallen asleep, and letting the frigid water wash over her skin. A mercy Petunia granted only once a week.

The taller of the two stopped in front of her and stretched out a wrinkled hand. "Hand, please."

She held out her hand. In one quick movement the goblin snatched it and dug a pin into her palm. A thick scarlet droplet seeped through the wound and the goblin beside her reached out and dug its fingers into her shoulders, holding her steady as the other continued chanting. Her stomach twisted violently and her vision blurred. She swayed in the goblin's grip but, while the sensation was unpleasant and disorienting, it wasn't painful. The taller goblin stopped chanting with an undignified scowl and the other released her shoulders.

"It seems you were telling the truth, Miss Potter." The taller of the two stepped towards the desk and drew a large brass key from the drawer. It gestured towards its companion. "Nagnok will escort you to your vault."

Nagnok took the key from the other creature and stepped into the hallway, stalking forward at a fast pace. She followed, widening her steps to compensate for the distance Nagnok had already created between them. He led her to a track, where a rusted cart lay in wait. He climbed in and at his grumbled insistence she carefully copied him.

The cart jolted and she reached over, digging her fingers into the rusted metal tightly enough for the tips of her fingers to flush white with pressure. The journey was a whirlwind of twists and turns; she half believed that Nagnok was purposefully taking a more complicated route to confuse her. However, when they stopped she realised that it couldn't have been more than a few minutes since they took off.

"Vault 687, Potter vault," Nagnok announced, picking up a lantern.

The door to the vault was several metres taller than Delilah, with thick bronze plating and multiple locks. Nagnok twisted the key into an almost invisible slot and, with a groan, the locks clicked and the door opened. Gold overwhelmed her vision. Piles stacked higher than her head glittered against the light from the lantern in Nagnok's hand. It could very well have been more money than even her aunt and uncle had ever seen.

"29 knuts in a Sickle, 17 sickles in a galleon," Nagnok explained, holding up three coins and a small bag.

She took the bag and ran a finger across the surface of a galleon. "What happens if I run out of money during my time at Hogwarts?"

"You may request for more via owl."

She nodded and began to carefully place gold coins in the pouch, as well as a smaller amount of silver and bronze. Holding the bag up she questioned, "Is this enough to cover school supplies?"

Nagnok breathed out a puff of air, as if irritated by her question. "That is more than sufficient."

She tucked the pouch into the pocket of her pants. The weight pulled the already too large pants down to settle uncomfortably at her waistline.

She kept her fingers in her pocket during the trip back, not taking any chances with the golden coins. It didn't matter that she had many more back in the vault; years of survival salvaging couldn't slip through her fingers over the course of a few hours.

When they arrived back at the main entrance of the bank, Nagnok pressed the brass key into her free hand then pulled their hand back as if repulsed.

"Do not lose it again, Miss Potter," Nagnok instructed. The goblin turned and left before Delilah could remind them that she'd never had a key to lose to begin with.

.

She had been sent to a small, dusty store, hidden between two more prominent buildings. If not for the sign out front proclaiming the space to be the home of 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' she would have kept walking, despite the set of precise directions given by the woman who had tailored her Hogwarts robes. At first glance Delilah assumed the store to be empty of both customers and assistants, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting she could make out the silhouette of a man. He stood as she walked closer, and the faint orange light of the lamp on the counter cast his winkled face half in shadow.

"Lily Evans; 10 ¼ inches, Willow, good for Charm work," the old man – Ollivander the sign proclaimed – declared, cutting through the dusty silence. "You look a great deal like her, your mother."

"I wouldn't know, I have no pictures of her." Delilah tugged on a strand of auburn hair, the only thing she had of her mother.

"You could be her twin, I'd say. If not for your eyes, such a radiant blue. No, not quite blue, something deeper–"

She cut him off. "I'm here for a wand. I was told you're the best."

"You were told correctly, my dear. Step forward and let me see you." At his instruction she moved forward and a measuring tape flew through the air and began to take her measurements. What the width of her nostrils had to do with wand choosing was a mystery to her, but it wasn't the most shocking thing of the day so she stood and let it finish.

Ollivander took the results and hummed. He walked over and held his hand over one box, and then another before finally picking one up. He returned with three boxes tucked against his chest, a fourth in his hand. Setting the boxes gently on the counter he opened the first and held out a wand to her.

"Careful now, give it a swish."

Delilah had done little more than lift the wand up before it was snatched from her grip and replaced with another. She sent Ollivander a startled look, only to be encouraged to try that wand instead. With a gentle flourish, she did – and set the first wand alight with fire that shone golden.

"I'm sorr–"

"No, no, no. Not that one." Ollivander had already switched the wand out with another, waving his hand to put the fire to a stop. "Try again."

With hesitance, Delilah moved the wand. The lamp on the counter went dark and Ollivander muttered to himself, reaching out to take the wand from her hand. Without conscious thought Delilah stepped back, pulling the wand out of reach, and watched as the lamp slowly reilluminated, filling the room with a gentle shade of lilac.

"Curious," Ollivander whispered. At her look of surprise he chuckled. "11 inch, Vine and White River Monster Spine; Elegant but capable of producing spells of force, usually suited to those with a higher purpose. I suspect we will see great things from you, Miss Potter.

Thanks for reading!