Hello there.

Only a few words about this story before we start with the plot. This story starts about 8 years after the end of Book 7 and completely disregards the horrible events of Cursed Child. The main figure is a female version of Harry, who spent the years after war learning to become a healer instead of an Auror. Why a female Harry? Because this is based on a challenge I've received based on a previous short story idea I had published about a year ago. A female healer in Westeros during the better years of King Aerys time on the Iron Throne.

The story in Westeros will start in the year 271 AC...


It had been a tumultuous and straining day - one of those not nearly rare enough days that demand all you can give and then some. Work at St. Mungos had been a frenzied nightmare with too many hours and too little breaks and by the time Dorea Potter returned home, she felt more dead than living.

Home… To many of her friends, it was still odd that she had chosen Grimmauld Place of all possible houses as her permanent residence. After the war, the repeat year and Hogwarts and all that followed, she had needed a home, quick. Grimmauld place, grim and dark as it had been, was the best choice to make, or so Dorea had thought.

But no matter how dark the memories of this place still are, it was a home and in her less than lucid state, she was just happy that she had gotten somewhere with a bed.

"Mistress has returned! How may Kreacher serve mistress today?" The crooked old House Elf appeared, as usual, the moment she had left the fireplace.

"Nothing for now. I just…," she yawned loudly, much to the elf's annoyance. It likely wasn't proper for the lady of an ancient and noble House to yawn, even at home, "I just need my bed and at least a week of sleep."

If a week was enough. Her movements were sluggish, her eyelids heavy and her muscles sore. She hadn't felt this beat since Oliver Wood's last big torture… training session before the final game Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Oliver had been a slave driver, just so everyone would remember him after he had graduated. She still had sore spots and creaking bones from that training little over a decade ago.

"As you say, mistress," Kreacher replied. He didn't show it, just like he didn't show his disdain for her, but he was disappointed. A House Elf exists to serve, that was the way Kreacher had been taught, so it was obvious that the lack of work for his mistress was bothering him. "But there is someone waiting for you. The nasty woman wouldn't leave without speaking to you."

The nasty woman. There was only one woman that Kreacher would call that. Well, at least only one that still visits Grimmauld Place. The rest of the former Order members never dared return after Dumbledore's death. Now the pressing matter was why Hermione Weasley of all people had come.

"Just what does she want now," Dorea grumbled, "It's such an ungodly hour, too."

"It's close to noon, mistress," Kreacher told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had thought that it was still somewhere in the early morning hours. "Damn… just how long have I been up this time?" She did the math in her head and nearly staggered when she realized that the frenzy at the hospital had taken nearly an entire day of her time.

Kreacher shot her a nasty look, disapproval radiating from him as he heard her curse. Yet another thing a lady isn't supposed to do, go figure. Hell would likely freeze over before she would ever become the noble lady the titles she had inherited from Sirius would imply.

"Alright, where is she?" she asked, grim-faced by the unwanted distraction from her much needed rest.

"In the kitchen, mistress," Kreacher groused. "Helped herself to some tea. The good one, too."

"That's fine," Dorea grumbled.

She pushed past the elf and wobbled towards the kitchen, intent on getting this surprise visit over with. She wasn't happy about the unannounced disturbance, though they had become increasingly rare in recent times. All of them barely saw each other anymore, mostly due to their busy careers.

As Dorea entered the kitchen, she could hear a soft humming, some muggle tune whose name she couldn't remember at the moment, and the clicking of a spoon hitting the tea cup.

Hermione was sitting at the table, the Daily Prophet in front of her. Dorea's old friend looked prim and proper, as usual, wearing her smart skirt suit, her once bushy hair now tamed in a strict bun. She stirred her tea absent-minded as she read the newspaper. Only when Dorea sat down across from her and Kreacher appeared with an audible crack to bring his mistress the tea she hadn't asked for, the woman realized that she wasn't alone anymore.

"Wow, you look awful," were the first words out of Hermione's mouth. "Are you alright? Maybe you are sick or not eating right." And then came the mother hen mode, or as Dorea like to call it, Hermione's inner Molly Weasley. On some days it was frightening to see how alike Hermione and the Weasley matriarch could be in certain situations, even though their goals and outlook in life are completely different.

"You know, I feel even worse," Dorea sighed, "I'm dead tired and," she sniffed a bit, "And I'm in dire need of a shower right now."

"Busy morning then," Hermione hummed.

Dorea replied with a mirthless chuckle, "Rather a nightmarish day. Apparently, I've spent a little over twenty-nine hours at work..."

"That can't be healthy. The Ministry regulations for work hours are..."

"Your regulations are worth shit when you get dozens of badly wounded burn victims while you are one of only six active healers during your shift," she growled in reply. All Hermione knows are paragraphs and law texts and it annoyed Dorea to no end.

"What happened? A house fire or something?"

"Try dark idiot playing with Fiendfyre in a busy Knockturn Alley brothel. Ron can tell you more about that. Heard he was the Auror to lead the cleanup," she sighed and shook her head, "Seriously, one of these days I will lose what little faith in wizards I've got left."

"That's terrible. The use of Fiendfyre is highly illegal and not to mention that prostitution has been outlawed in Wizarding Britain almost a century ago and..."

"Hermione!" Dorea had to put an end to Hermione's ramblings, or she would fall asleep during another boring lecture about laws and regulations. "One, I don't care about your laws, I just do my job, and two, why are you here? I mean, really, why are you here today, stealing my sleep?"

Hermione frowned, clearly thinking different about the importance of her laws and regulations. It was an argument as old as their friendship.

"I'm worried about you," Hermione told her, after some moments.

Dorea arched a delicate eyebrow in surprise, as she heard this. Sure, she looked like shit at that very moment, but that didn't mean that she was entirely incapable of taking care of herself.

"I'm fine, seriously. Stop worrying or you get even more gray hairs."

"I don't have a single gray hair..." Hermione huffed.

"Yet. Can't be long, though," Dorea joked. Hermione even cracked a smile, if only for the briefest of moments.

"Dorea, just listen to me, for once. Something is wrong here. With you, I mean. And people are starting to see it, too. People are starting to talk."

"Is this the whole twenty-five and unmarried hogwash again? I've told Molly just a week or two ago that I will find the right man in my own time and start a family. I don't need a husband and though Charley surely is a nice guy, I'm not interested in her only unmarried son. I'm just more focused on my work at the moment!"

"Not that… Not only that," Hermione sighed. "Have you looked into a mirror lately?"

A mirror? Oh… she had a hunch where this was going and she didn't like it one bit.

"I do know that I look like shit. Thank you oh so much for pointing it out for the second time in like… five minutes? Makes me feel so special," she tried to avoid the elephant in the room by being sarcastic. Works wonders with most of the Weasleys and even Headmistress McGonnagal.

"Not that," Hermione replied, now visibly annoyed all of a sudden. "You need to take this more seriously."

"I am taking everything seriously. It's my life we are talking about." The tone of their conversation had become much more gruff, as both women were unhappy with the road their meeting had taken.

"Then you do know that you haven't aged a day in..."

"Around eight years, give or take a few days?" Dorea told her icily, "Yeah, I've noticed. Hard not to notice when all the friends from school suddenly start looking like their parents and only you remain an unassuming adolescent. I mean, I'm fine with the way I look. I look great. Many people tell me that. My patients tell me all the time and compliment me even. There is that one dude at work, Robert, he hits on me all that time and… Damn. I know, I'm rambling, but… It's freaking me out as well."

"Do you have any idea how this has happened?"

"Me not aging? Not a damn clue, but I sure have tried to look for clues. But I've found nothing. Unless Kreacher has somehow smuggled Flamel's elixir into my tea every day, I've got not one damn clue," she growled. Her annoyance only grew when she saw the incredulous look on Hermione's face. "Don't look at me like that, Mione, I do read from time to time. I just don't inhale whole books in one sitting like you do. Now that's an unhealthy hobby."

She took a sip from her tea but nearly spat it out. It had gone too cold, she can't stand lukewarm tea. She took out her wand and cast a heating charm on it before she downed it in one large gulp. It was too hot now, but the scalding heat in her throat took her mind off the tiredness and the annoyance she felt.

"That wand…" Hermione almost screeched, "Why do you still have it?"

Dorea sighed again. Of course, out of all the people, Hermione would recognize the Elder Wand on sight. She never seems to forget anything.

And the wand… Dorea quickly put it back in her sleeve, into the carefully hidden wand holster on her arm.

"I thought you wanted to put it back into Dumbledore's tomb," Hermione accused, "You promised you would. It is a very dangerous and dark artifact."

"I tried," Dorea growled, "God dammit, I've tried it, twice, and every time it is in my hand the next time I wake from sleep. Do you know how many nightmares I've had of an Inferi Dumbledore sneaking into my bedroom, watching me sleep with that damn twinkle in his half rotten eyes? Even in death, he has to make my life an even greater mess than it already is..."

"This is no laughing matter," Hermione chided.

"No shit, you don't see me laughing," Dorea shot back.

This entire conversation was getting nowhere and only made Dorea's already crappy day even worse. Just why does Hermione have to be such a pain in the ass all of the time? Always busy butting into her friend's business, it was getting annoying.

"You need to do something about this. Maybe if you go and consult the Unspeakables you will get some answers. They have studied all kinds of artifacts," Hermione mused.

"Oh, you mean those guys who still randomly show up for checks of my credentials as a healer just to mess with me and undermine my authority? Yeah, I think I'm gonna pass on that one."

"It can't be that bad," Hermione defended, albeit somewhat more subdued.

"Hermione, they hate me. They still blame me for the whole desaster in our fifth year. Remember, the whole battle in the Department of Mysteries? We crashed so much stuff and destroyed so many of their little experiments and rituatls that it is more likely for me to fall madly in love with Voldemort and Snape at the same time than them ever helping me. And remember, Snape and the dark tosser are dead, so there you have your chances."

But Hermione, stubborn as she could be, would have none of it. "You need to make the first step then."

"I'm done making amends with everyone and their mother," Dorea shouted. "And my wand," she pulled the Elder Wand out of her sleeve once more and held it up, "this wand has saved hundreds of lives in the last few years. Not to mention the lives I have saved when I offed that pesky dark lord for those god damn ingrates. I'm sick and tired of people looking at me oddly or treating me like shit because they feel that I have wronged them in the past."

"Dorea..."

"No, Hermione. I won't ever go and apologize to those constipated, bullheaded, ungrateful shites. Accept that or leave!"

She knew that she was getting more worked up about this than she should be, and Hermione was likely one of the very few persons who did not deserve any of her anger. But she was getting so tired of wizards and witches and their idiocy.

Hermione only shot her one of those disappointed looks that Dumbledore must have taught her, as she stood up. "I see that your looks are not the only thing that hasn't changed with age," she said, "I'll come back in a few days, when you are in a more agreeable mood."

"Don't bother," Dorea said, as Hermione left the kitchen. She was just happy to be alone now. She took some more moments to calm herself, before she stood up. Her friend's troublesome visit was soon enough forgotten, as only two thoughts dominated her mind. A warm shower and her even warmer bed… And maybe a day or two without work… that'd be nice...


A few days after Hermione's ill-fated visit, Dorea was back to work. She was glad that for once nothing major had happened, so she could actually rest more than just a few hours. Somehow it felt almost as if she had slept for the entirety of those two days. And even if she had been out of bed and walking around, it must have happened in a state of mental exhaustion that kept her from remembering any of it.

Fully rested and in a good mood, for once, she did her rounds and visited her patients. Only a few of the burn-victims were still around, as the majority of them had fled the hospital as soon as they had gotten the necessary amount of treatment from the healers. None of them were too keen on being linked to a fire in such a… unconventional place.

She had laughed so hard, when her superior, an elder witch named Olivia Ashton, had told her about the mass exodus of patients that had followed the spread of a certain rumor. The rumor that the vilest reporter of the Daily Prophet was at St. Mungos, to find out more about the fire and the gentlemen who had the misfortune of getting caught up in it.

On some days Dorea rued that she had to take the healer's oath. St. Mungos insisted on it, to keep the secrets of their patients. No one was allowed to hear about what happens inside the hospital. No healer is allowed to divulge the secrets of a patient. A shame. This last incident alone would have ruined the political careers of some of the most despicable and antagonistic men in the Ministry.

But some things just couldn't be changed.

She finished her checkup on young Colin Creevey, the son of the former Gryffindor Dennis Creevey. The toddler had been brought in some days ago after he had somehow gotten his pudgy little hands on his father's wand. For some reason the child had chewed off the upper third of his father's wand before anyone had found him, which earned the boy a prolonged stay in the hospital for exposure to the dangerous core of his father's wand. All just a precaution, but still…

Dorea could only wonder how it was possible in the first place that the boy had managed to get a wand and try to eat it. The darn things did seem rather durable after all...

Dennis was not present for the checkup, only his wife. Dorea was glad for it. As much as she missed the old days, even the annoying Creevey brothers, she never knew how to act around Dennis. His brother had died because he wanted to help her in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was obvious that Dennis still loves his brother greatly, he did name his son Colin after all, yet he never blamed her for Colin's untimely death. But even years later, Dorea was still bad at dealing with these people. People who have lost family and friends because they had believed in her. None of them had ever blamed her, but she had done plenty of that all by herself. These days she just tries to avoid them if possible.

"Your son should ready to leave in a day or two. We just want to make sure that he suffers no ill-effects from the Kelpie hair, Mrs. Creevy. But so far all looks good," Dorea told the mother, who gave her an elated smile.

"Thank you. We had already feared the worst when Colin wouldn't wake up when we found him."

"Well, we don't have many poisonings through wand-eating, but your son was lucky that he only ate a very small part of the Core. Just please be more careful from now on," Dorea said, as she looked at the small boy on the bed. Little Colin grinned widely at her, "No more eating wands, my little friend. Visiting the big hospital is only half as cool as it sounds and wands taste icky."

She made a grimace, which brought an even bigger smile to the toddler's face. She smiled, too. Little Colin was a nice and normal patient. Not one of the countless others who see the Girl-who-lived and demand miracles from the fabled heroine.

"I'll be going then, Mrs. Creevey."

"Of course, thank you," the woman replied, truly grateful.

Dorea nodded once more before she left the room and returned to the busy corridors of the magical hospital. There were only a few other green robed healers around. Some of the nurses were running about, but the majority of people Dorea could see were normal witches and wizards. Visiting hours are always a busy time at St. Mungos after all.

And much to her consternation, all eyes seemed to follow her, as she made her way back to the break room. She was done with her rounds for now and still had some time before her shift would be over. Some moments of rest would be nice, she thought. Away from prying eyes, only surrounded by colleagues. Thankfully the other healers weren't nearly as rude and creepy as the visitors.

So she made her way down the corridor and down the stairs to the ground level of the hospital. Eyes followed her. As did the whispers. It would have annoyed her, but things had been like this for years now. Sometimes she wondered if this was the reason why Dumbledore had only rarely shown his face in public. The creepy hero worship that reminded her of a cheap horror flick.

"Dorea!"

Some called out to her, just as she was about to enter the break room. A familiar voice, one that belonged to a friendly face. One she was all too happy to see.

"Neville, hi," she said, as she saw her friend.

Some of these days she had a hard time accepting that the man she saw now had actually been that pudgy and clumsy little boy she had met and befriended during her first year at Hogwarts. The adult Neville was everything the child Neville had never been. Tall, confident and also rather good looking. Hannah, his wife, was a lucky woman and envied by many for that. Who would have dared to guess that Neville would turn out like this?

She quickly pulled him inside the break room with her. No one would bat an eye at her for doing this. They had several smaller rooms for meeting family and friends here and as long as no one decided to invite more than one or two people at once, there would be no problem.

The lavishly decorated room was nearly empty. Some trainees were playing cards at a table near the windows and some nurses were gossiping on the couches at the center, but overall the large room was nearly empty. She didn't bother greeting any of them, as none of them had relaized that she had entered. So she just pulled Neville into one of the smaller rooms, where they would have some privacy.

Neville didn't seem bothered by her pulling him around. It was hardly the first time she had done it.

"Busy day?" he asked her, as he pulled her in for a bear-hug that would have made Hermione green with envy.

"I'm doing fine. Just finished my workload for today. Unless some idiots start another war in the next thirty minutes I will actually get out of here on time for once," she told him with a smile, "Here to visit your parents again?"

Neville nodded, a somber smile on his lips. Both his parents had been permanent guests of St. Mungos for the vast majority of their lives. They had never seen their son grow up, never seen him marry or become a father. In many ways, he had it worse than her. Her parents just died, his, though, had been left behind as empty shells. Breathing but not quite alive anymore. Still, he shouldered this burden with a strength only a few possess.

"Mum's birthday is in a few days," he said, "But after talking with Healer Monroe, we have come to the decision that it should be her last. I'm letting them go." He sighed heavily. This obviously wasn't easy for him, but he didn't break down. She would have, had she been in his shoes. She was sure of it.

"I'm so sorry that we couldn't do anything to help them. Our best healers have tried..."

"Dorea, it is alright," he stopped her, one large hand on her shoulder. "It's time to allow them to go. I've been too selfish to keep them here for so long."

She nodded solemnly but dropped the topic. "So, how is teaching at Hogwarts? Still as fulfilling as you have expected?"

"Better," he beamed, "Professor Sprout has given me free rein over all the lessons now and only acts as a support for the NEWT classes. Next year she will retire and I will be her offical successor."

"Good to know that at least Herbology remains a subject where the students actually learn something," Dorea replied with a laugh.

"And you? Still the enthusiastic healer?"

"Yep. Most people are assholes, to be honest, but I like helping others and this way I actually undo damage instead of causing more chaos. Unlike Ron," she laughed again.

"Yeah, I've heard about that incident in Paris last year. Didn't go as planned, huh?"

"Nope," she could hardly control her mirth, "Though they managed to repair most of the damage done to the streets, Ron has managed to add his name to the exclusive list of people banned from ever entering France. Must suck for Hermione, she really loves her vacations in the south. But Ron still won't tell me why he had the brilliant idea to incarcerate a necromancer in the catacombs beneath the city..."

Both laughed a bit more before they calmed down again. Dorea loved such moments. Just being around those few true friends she has. Being herself instead of the woman the world wants her to be. The woman the magical world demands her to be. Kingsley had already been quite cross with her when she had defied public expectations and became a Healer instead of an Auror. Apparently the people don't like it when the powerful witches and wizards surprise them.

There was a small commotion outside of the room, but Dorea paid it no heed at first. Likely just one of the trainees being unhappy about the outcome of their game. They had to separate those hotheads several times in the past few months, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise to see them argue again.

"Uhm… Dorea?"

"Yeah, something wrong, Neville?"

Why was he suddenly acting so strange?

"What did you do this time?" her friend asked, as he pointed at something behind her.

She turned around and within a heartbeat, all amusement and every single positive thought had left her. At the entrance to the small room stood two men, clad in dark robes. Their looks were stoic and their faces contorted into sneers, as they looked at her.

"Neville, maybe you should go and see your parents now. This two gentlement from the Ministry and I have some unfinished business," Dorea told her friendly calmly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can handle them."

He didn't seem convinced, but trusted her enough to leave. There would be questions later, she knew that. Questions she would answer and answers he wouldn't like. He was a member of the Wizengamot as well, though an inactive one at the moment. He would try to help her, loyal as he is and she would ask him not to. She already knew how that argument would end. He would cave in and feel bad about it. And she would feel bad about him feeling bad.

The two wizards waited until Neville was gone before they approached the only table in the room. One of them sat down, the other took his place standing two steps behind the chair. One to talk, one to guard. They didn't trust her at all. Good, she doesn't trust them either.

"Sit, Ms. Potter," the sitting one ordered.

She complied, only to get this whole mess over with.

"So, back to check my credentials? I already showed all the necessary documents to the last two stooges your department has sent here. This is getting ridiculous," Dorea said. There was no reaction from either man, at least none visible to the naked eye. "Oh, they haven't told you about it. Must suck to be at the bottom end of the food chain."

"This is not a social call, Ms. Potter and you should know very well why we are here. So why don't you spare us the trouble and do as you are told?"

"Enlighten me, why are you here? Just for fun," she glared at the men, causing at the least the one in the back to look away in what might have been shame. If they had any. Those goons from the Unspeakables have neither morals nor do they know restraint. The result of working for the only department that doesn't even have to report everything to the Minister.

"Are you in the possession of any dark artifacts, either on your person, in your vaults or your home?"

Dorea gave him a blank look, that conveys just how much she doubted his intelligence at that moment. "You guys do know that I live at Grimmauld Place? The former home of House Black, before my godfather died and left everything to me? So you ask me about dark artifacts when everyone should know that House Black had a ton of those. And by a ton, we are only talking about the shit they bragged about. I'm not even halfway done finding and disposing of all the shit they have collected. But you should know that I am doing this with the support of the Department for Magical Artifacts, after all."

"We are not here to talk about the misdeeds of the extinct House Black."

"Then why are you here? Just to bother me?" Dorea shot back.

"Let me ask you this. Why is it that Undersecretary Hermione Weasley has recently asked for confidential documents pertaining to dark artifacts known as the Deathly Hallows? And why has she done this after a visit to your house?"

A stream of curses escaped Dorea before she could control herself. Hermione might have had good intentions, but she just couldn't stay the fuck out of other people's business. She should have trusted her and let things go, instead, she has caused this mess. Well done, Hermione. Well done.

"If you know about the Hallows, then I can assume that you also know who they belong to," she asked the men. The one in front of her nodded and motioned for her to continue, "Then you should be well aware that these artifacts, if they exist, are the property of House Peverell. Now make an educated guess who is the last living descendant of that family. That's right, you half-wits. I am. Whether or not these artifacts exist, they belong to my family. You have neither the right to ask about them, nor the right to claim them."

"This is where you are mistaken, Ms. Potter," the one before her replied coldly. "The Deathly Hallows have been classed as dark artifacts of the worst kind. No one is allowed to possess or study them without our supervision. The control and disposal of such dark heirlooms fall entirely into our jurisdiction."

She laughed coldly at him, "So you came up with a new obscure law to suit your needs? Good for you. Still, doesn't change much about the fact that I don't give a shit."

"We are not here to ask for them. Take this as your first and last warning. You have 48 hours to hand over these artifacts to us or you will be forced to give them up. And believe me, nothing would please me more than to go to that home of yours and tear it down, brick by brick, to drag out all those dark and dangerous things you are hiding from the public to protect your image as their picture-perfect heroine."

"Gentlemen, I would like to say that your visit has been a true pain in the arse, as usual. So please make sure to escort yourselves out of this hospital, before I have to see to it that you are removed," Dorea told them icily, "Next time don't bother with the threats or I will have to exact my right for self-defense."

Both men glared at her, but said nothing more as they left. It was better that way. But all Dorea could do now was curse. Herself for all but admitting that she has dark artifacts in her possession. But most of all, curse Hermione for being such a pain in the ass. Had her friend just left her alone, none of this mess would have happened. Now she would have to find a way to fix this before things get out of hand…

Did she even want to fix this, though? This could either be her undoing… or theirs…


A/N: And that's all for today.

One more chapter to go before Dorea ends up in Westeros. I hope you all liked this so far and see you all next time.