Rooms at the Gryphon's Roost, Harriet found, were rather cushy and nice. They weren't decked in opulence, but for a girl who was used to a cupboard, the smallest bedroom of the house, or sharing a space with a number of other girls, it was rather pleasant.
The bed was a four poster which brought back nostalgic memories, the covers on it a scarlet red, and probably a far cry from the green she would probably have to get used to for the next… four years or so. Somehow Harriet doubted she would be getting back to her present anytime soon, not least because she still didn't have the faintest idea of where to start.
She was sat by the desk facing one of the two windows which looked out into Horizont Alley. It was just off Diagon Alley, and Harriet was still wondering about what she ought to do that very day. She had wasted the night curling up in her bed and mixing it up between screaming and sobbing and asking the all important question: why? Why did stuff like this always happen to her? Why did she have to be ripped away from everything and everyone she had ever known and loved?
Harriet closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. "Okay," she murmured. "Think, Harriet," she continued, grateful no one was around to hear her muttering to herself. "What do you want to do? What are you going to do?" She could hardly continue hiding away and feeling sorry for herself. Feeling sorry for herself had never done anything except get her bogged down in her own thoughts. She needed to sit down, think, and write out her plans.
"You always need a Plan B, and probably C and D, knowing your luck, Harry," Hermione had told her time and time again. To make a plan though, she needed to write it down. Her eyes darted over to her trunk, where her writing equipment lay. A simple quill and rolls of parchment lay inside, and Harriet contemplated breaking into them and laying her plans out there. But given she was about to write about her private plans involving what was probably forbidden knowledge, she paused. This was the time where she really wished Shacklebolt had allowed her to deviate from what was on her list. She needed a diary or something.
"Honestly, Harriet, it's like you don't know the joys of shopping!" Lavender Brown's words came to her then, and she blinked in an odd sort of realisation about the situation she was in. Namely that she didn't have any so-called adult supervision. She had her vault key. She also had the bag with too much money still stored in it. She also didn't have Shacklebolt hovering over her shoulder anymore.
"Oh," she mumbled, staring at her cheap, standard trunk. Her gaze drifted onto her school books, tucked on the little bookshelf on the corner, given she had around five weeks before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave. Her trunk was only a single compartment – all Shacklebolt had said she would need – and she hardly wanted to have to forage for her books every single time she wanted to read. She had textbooks to read and runes research to complete if she wanted her vague Plan A of get back to her present in the future to be put into motion.
Flustered, she got to her feet and hurried over to her cupboard, blinking as she realised the only things she had to wear were her school robes. Another thing to be added to the list of what she needed to buy. Hurriedly, she got to her feet, tucking her wand into her pocket and wincing at what Moody would think of her keeping her wand there. Another thing. The list was mounting up, and Harriet could only try to keep everything in mind as she picked up her vault key and her bag of money.
Off to Diagon Alley it was.
Stepping out of Gringotts, more money added to her bag since she wasn't sure if what she had would be enough, she surveyed the street, wondering what ranked first in terms of her priorities. She glanced down at what she was wearing, immediately deciding that clothes were her first priority. Her eyes found the shopfront for Madam Malkin's, wondering if she ought to go there… or if the other store would be better. Certainly, Shacklebolt hadn't told her not to go back to Diagon, but she didn't want word reaching the wrong ears, given how she was supposedly an orphan and under the care of the Ministry for that exact reason.
Harriet looked around, part of her just telling herself to hurry it up – she didn't have all day to get her supplies. Twilfitt and Tattings it was. The green storefront loomed before her, unfamiliar, and yet most things there were vaguely unfamiliar. Silently berating herself for cowardice, Harriet entered the shop, blinking as she was assailed by the sights of bright fabrics.
"Can I help you?" a tall middle-aged lady with a hawkish nose asked. "Are you lost, child?" she questioned, undoubtedly having spied the Hogwarts robes.
"Um. No, I'm not, uh, lost," Harriet said, resisting the urge to squirm in her shoes. "I'm here looking for clothes. A full wardrobe of sorts," she continued, finding her rhythm the more she spoke. There was nothing quite like time travel to knock her thoughts and words off balance. "I recently lost… all of my clothes…"
The lady took a second look at her, and Harriet found herself gritting her teeth at how those searching eyes passed over her. "Do you truly have the money to pay for my services?"
Harriet felt her eyes narrow. "I do."
"I see," she said, making it rather apparent that she did not believe her. "Well then, step up onto the stool and I will take your measurements." A tape measure snapped to life, whirling around her in a flutter of metal and cloth. Despite the lady's disbelief, she was apparently going to go along with her request. Harriet could only be marginally grateful for that fact. It wasn't like going back to Madam Malkin's would be a terrible option, but she didn't want to risk it. She didn't have her invisibility cloak anymore, so it wasn't like she'd be easily be able to sneak out from under anyone's nose. "Do you have a preferred colour, or perhaps a colour scheme you are looking for?" the lady asked, waving her wand, and a selection of fabrics in varying weaves and colours rolled out before her.
"Uh," Harriet stumbled over her words, feeling completely out of her depth. She always was when it came to fashion. "Whatever you think is best?" she tried, knowing from both Lavender, and even Hermione herself that she had zero sense of style. A life in old castoffs had seen to that much.
The lady clicked her tongue, taking a second look at her. "Will you be requiring dress robes as well?" she asked, and a roll of green fabric came to hover at Harriet's eye level.
"Yes," Harriet said, the answer leaving her lips without much input from her brain. Who knew what lay ahead in her future? Though she doubted there would be a Triwizard Tournament coming up, or a subsequent Yule Ball held on the grounds of Hogwarts, it didn't hurt to consider all possibilities. Especially seeing as she would undoubtedly end up in Slytherin.
Her supposed name – the same name Gringotts would use to address any mail to her – did, after all, involve the name Slytherin. Harriet couldn't remember how long the Slytherin lineage had been without an heir. Voldemort had been the closest, though he had never officially claimed the name for one reason or another.
Time seemed to fly by in a swirl of silks, cottons, and other fabrics she wouldn't name, and all too soon she was making a rather large dent in the small fortune she had in her little bag. "Thank you for your patronage," the lady – whose name Harriet still didn't know – spoke, putting the money away in what could only be the wizarding equivalent of a till. "I will send these to your current address by owl in five day's time."
Harriet nodded at that, all too eager to be out of the shop, if only so she could head to Scribbulus Writing Implements. Ink, quill, parchment, and other writing supplies were calling her name. After the whirlwind of fabric and clothes, the scent of ink and parchment was comforting, and strangely enough, nostalgic. The scent had clung to Hermione like a perfume, and Harriet hadn't even realised she had missed it until she set foot in that store.
Quicker than she had thought possible, she was leaving the shop, green leather diary and a fancy new quill in tow. It had a white feather, long and much too large to belong to a snowy owl, but Harriet was nothing if not sentimental. She thought it fitting to have a reminder of her feathered friend – the one who'd always somehow been there for her until she wasn't. It helped that she was now a teenager with very deep pockets, so splurging on things like quills didn't make much of a dent in her savings. Not that she was planning on making many impulsive purchases that day.
Planning for the future, as Hermione had often liked reminded her, was very important. Only now planning for the future was that much more important and ironic. She wondered about how things were in the future – was there a dead shell of her left there for Voldemort to tote about like a prize on display? Were they already realising that she was missing?
Harriet bit her lip, venturing into Flourish and Blotts for her last stop of that day, what with how much time had been spend labouring over fabric, colour swatches, and what exact shade of green brought out the colour of her eyes. She shuddered at the memory of it, and idly wondered why most girls seemed to like or at least discuss fashion in that manner. Or maybe she had just had an odd childhood too focused on the shadow of a Dark Lord dogging her footsteps thanks to the prophecy which hung over both of their heads like an axe ready to fall…? Maybe it was that. She let out a soft sigh, feet gravitating towards the section of the bookshop dedicated to the study of ancient runes. Fingers found the spines of books, multiple copies stacked next to one another, and Harriet began her search in earnest.
Her knowledge of ancient runes mostly came from the little snippets Hermione mentioned from time to time, and so Harriet wasted no time in grabbing The Beginner's Guide to the Study of Ancient Runes by Hattie Babbling off the shelf and into the basket she had procured. Runes: A History by Markus Leftwent was quick to follow into her basket, and Harriet was lost to her search for more information. Ancient Runes, she was quickly figuring, was going to be a task and a half to get through.
Coldness filled her, fingers stilling on the spine of a red book she had decided to add to her growing collection, as she realised the enormity of the task before her. Time travel was something people spoke about in hushed tones. Time turners had been the closest people had come, and even then time turners had specific limits – such as the amount of time one could go back for one reason or another. A reason no one had really been able to explain, or so she had learnt.
Her eyes scanned the shelves again, eyeing up the various titles, telling herself only five more books. That would be enough to cover the next five weeks or so until she would have further access to the Hogwart's Library. Green eyes narrowed, a chill running down her spine as she spied the silvery lettering which almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting of that particular row of books.
It was a black book, rather thin in comparison to some of the books she had already decided to add to her collection, but the name and the subject matter stood out to her.
In a Name: A Guide to True Names and Taken Names
The space for the author's name was left blank, and Harriet could only frown as she settled it into the basket and wondered why. Why was a book about names in the ancient runes section? Why was a book which might hold some answers about her new odd name suddenly right in front of her?
Harriet didn't quiet believe in coincidences. Not with the kind of life she had lived, with enemies around every corner and a Dark Lord after her head.
Soft laughter rang in her ears at that, and the oddest sensation against her left ear had her spinning around to face the other shelf of books behind her. It had felt like a puff of breath from another's mouth too close to her.
Yet there was nobody there.
Harriet swallowed thickly, turning on her heel and marching towards the counter to ring up her purchases and leave the place before anything else could happen. There had been enough weirdness for one day – a lifetime for normal people, if she wanted to be specific, but then again the life of Harriet Potter-turned-Evans had always been a strange one.