Her brain felt like it had short-circuited.
Harriet blinked, the words Lady Slytherin ringing about in her brain like a ping pong ball, and blandly she looked around and behind her, searching for the aforementioned Lady Slytherin before she turned back to the goblin who was looking at her pointedly. She lifted a finger, pointing it at herself then. "Me? Lady Slytherin?" Laughter escaped her, high-pitched, faint, and failing so very quickly as the goblin just looked at her as though she were stupid. She probably looked foolish enough as it was.
The still unnamed goblin sighed, face contorting into a sneer. "It would appear your guardians have not informed you of your true name," he muttered. "Or perhaps they themselves did not know." He scowled, face twisting into something fierce and Harriet thought she heard him mutter about useless witches and wizards. "Nevertheless, Lady Aletris Cassiopeia Slytherin, I welcome you to Gringotts." A letter was held out to her. "This is your vault key," the goblin declared, and Harriet could only stare at the unfamiliar name written on the parchment. "Go to the teller and give them your vault key. Whatever you need can then be arranged."
Harriet blinked yet again. "Uh," she mumbled, stumbling over her words as one did when their world was turned that much more sideways. Try sideways, upside-down, and shaken up like a snow globe for good measure. "Are you sure that's right?" she asked, tracing the unfamiliar name which was apparently hers by magic. She didn't have many things which were hers. "I mean… I can't be Lady Slytherin…" Lady Potter, perhaps, but definitely not Slytherin. Although there was probably already a Lady Potter about, what with the fact, she reminded herself, that she was in the past. She didn't think her dad or her mum were alive just yet, and that just was… weird, to put it mildly.
"We do not concern ourselves with the mating habits of wizards and witches," the unnamed goblin muttered curtly, brusqueness returning as his face twisting into something unreadable. "We deal in gold and vaults, and you are entitled to the Slytherin Vault through blood and magic. Good day, Lady Slytherin. Any correspondence with you will henceforth be dealt with using that name."
There was a flurry of movement, and Harriet could only blink blandly as she was hurriedly ushered back to the main foyer, letter clutched tightly in hand. It was hers. Grip on it tight, determined not to relinquish it like the latest letter she had received, she made her way back towards where Shacklebolt waited.
"I, uh, have a vault," she stated, keeping a tight grasp of the letter with that damning name hidden away in her chest.
You'd do well in Slytherin.
Dark eyes locked on her own, flickering down to the letter in her grasp, and a hand went out, beckoning for the letter. Harriet clutched it to her chest, not wanting her apparent, bizarre, true name to be seen by a Shacklebolt. Isn't it obvious – Potter's the heir of Slytherin! Fear squirmed in her gut like a can of worms which had been popped open. She hardly wanted anyone to connect the Chamber of Secrets fiasco to her – after all, the time in her second year hadn't exactly been the first time. She wanted anonymity. Anonymity was her best friend right then and there.
Harriet blinked. Or was she supposed to be Aletris now? After all, the name Harriet had always been accompanied by Potter or, more recently, Evans. The names of her dead parents who hadn't even probably been born as of yet.
Not Slytherin, eh?
She closed her eyes for the barest of seconds, letter still clutched to her chest as Shacklebolt stared at her in mild confusion. "It's my vault," Harriet said, holding onto the letter as if it were her life's savings, which in actual fact was probably rather correct. There was no longer any sort of Potter Trust Fund waiting for her. Harriet didn't quite know how to get her head around that thought. It was as though Snape had decided to dress up in a pink tutu and take ballet classes for all the sense it made. A bark of laughter escaped her at the thought.
"I see," Shacklebolt said, hand dropping back to his side. "Ensure the number of your vault is written on the paperwork which I will forward onto you, in that case," he informed her. "For now though, you should head down to your vault and obtain some money for your school purchases." He held out a bag then, embossed with the Gringotts' Seal. "This will keep the money you draw out safe," he said, and dumbly, Harriet took the bag.
"Oh. Uh, I see," she mumbled, turning to find a goblin teller then and there – if only to escape how very awkward she felt. Getting money and inspecting her vault would be a wonderful distraction from the madness and insanity of it all. Even if the vault she was going down to inspect was the Slytherin Vault rather than the Potter Vault.
You could be great there, you know…
Harriet closed her eyes, shoving the rising tide of what in the actual fuck was going on with her life to one side, opting instead to focus on the vault she was going down to inspect. The goblin which lead her towards the cart was a different one to Griphook. Part of her wondered how likely it was that the goblin had been born yet. There was precious little knowledge regarding goblins, though the wars had likely seen to that.
Then there was the fact that goblins despised witches and wizards. Yet they were somewhat politer after learning she was the aforementioned Lady Slytherin. Harriet could only ponder over the fact, wondering what the Slytherin name meant to Gringotts. She dared not ask though. Rather, she wanted to be in and out of Gringotts as quickly as possible.
The cart ride was a familiar mix of twist and turns, but the journey itself was far, far longer than the one she vaguely remembered for the Potter Vaults. Down they went, the air becoming damper and cooler the longer the journey went on, and Harriet was only grateful she had a strong stomach as she clung to the sides of the cart for dear life. Brakes screeched as the cart came to an abrupt stop, and Harriet only blinked at the stone floor beneath the track, water dripping from stalactites in front of the track – or rather: where the track ended.
"Vault One," her goblin guide declared, and Harriet blinked at that, mouthing the number of the Slytherin Vaults. It was the first vault. She swallowed thickly at that, thinking of the fact that she would have to write down a vault number. She was supposed to be a muggleborn, or perhaps a halfblood at best in that time. How many would see that she had a single digit vault? How many questions would that arise? Because a vault with a single number could only belong to a very old family. Not even the Blacks had a vault like that, though Sirius had told her of the grumblings of his family about that very matter himself. Paranoid, the Blacks had been for too long – too unwilling to trust creatures such as goblins with their money.
Harriet played with her fingers, blinking at the cutting, impatient look the goblin gave her as he gestured for her to step forwards. She fumbled for the envelope containing her key, snatching it out then with all the grace of a new-born foal.
The door to her new vault was grand – something she would have expected of the Malfoy's, and likely the Slytherin Vault as well, had she known of its existence back then. Before her odd jump in time. Harriet shook her head, casting the thought back into the box in the back of her mind, focusing instead on the opulence before her. Marble columns lined the platform in front of the vault, seemingly holding the polished ceiling up. Everything was a mix of white, grey, green, and black. The vault door was dark, and on it was engraved three snakes, eating the other's tails as they encircled the circular entrance to her newfound vault.
Green eyes scanned the door, searching for the place to insert the finely wrought silver key in her grasp. They landed on the large, open snake maw and the keyhole within. Jade stones twinkled where the snake's eyes were, and Harriet swallowed at how very hungry the snake looked. Warily, she looked between the goblin and her vault door, sucking in a soft breath at the almost expectant look on the goblin's face.
'I'll bitesss your hand off,' came the rasping voice in the familiar tongue. Though it sounded like English to her, there was always a particular rasping hiss underlying the words of those who spoke in the snake's tongue.
"Voldemort's power, my left foot," Harriet muttered, thinking of how Dumbledore had claimed that the horcrux had been responsible for her parseltongue, no matter how he'd phrased it. She strode towards the vault door, glaring into those jade eyes. The snake was there, and prone to bite her, and there was only one way to prevent that much.
She strode forwards, green eyes narrowed and icy – a stare she had perfected by such a point if only by glaring at her enemies. 'No you will not,' she hissed, heart in her throat at the imperious command she wasn't used to giving without her anger to back it up, watching as those green jade chips started to glow unmistakably.
'Mistressss.'
"You really are the Heir of Slytherin," the goblin beside her muttered, shaking his head, and Harriet didn't stop to glance at him, if only because she had already inserted the key with a bated breath and twisted it. A loud clank echoed through the air, markings on the walls all around the vault seeming to glow for a moment, before the door clicked and opened inwards of its own volition.
Harriet sucked in a sharp breath and blinked.
If the Potters had been rich, then the Slytherins were filthy rich. The vault was far more expansive than she remembered her old vault being; mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins twinkling beneath the green light which had clicked on in the vault. Money wasn't the only thing stored in that vault though. There were bookshelves stacked full of books and what looked like scrolls. A quick peek at the titles revealed they weren't written in a language she could understand, and Harriet only scowled at that. She hated not being able to understand things, but maybe that was because she could never make heads or tails of her life and she liked being in the know about what went on regarding her.
She looked down at her too small hands, silently vowing she wouldn't let that happen again – she was no longer a puppet, no longer a pig for slaughter, and she didn't ever want to be again. Though she still had to get back to the present. Her present. Although she had no idea of where to start, or it if was even worth it. What would be the point of going back after fifty-five years of researching? She would be old, and probably unable to celebrate Voldemort's defeat with her friends as she would've liked to. The thought made her stomach flip nervously, panic rising for a few moments before she pushed it back with a mounting effort.
Her fingers reached out, heaping handful after handful of gold, silver, and bronze coins into the bag Shacklebolt had given her before stepping back and heading towards the cart, watching only as the strange, still vaguely unfamiliar vault closed behind her with a soft click.