There was grave-dirt under her fingernails. Her skin looked though the sun had never touched it, her lips were as red as blood without a single drop of lipstick touching. Her hair was not black but ebony, looking as though it had been touched by the underworld like it had been born of a world of black of white to the point that it sucked in the light rather than reflected it. Her eyes shone like brilliant green gemstones; but to those that had seen it, they would swear up and down the color was the exact shade of the killing curse. The dress she wore was ripped at the edges and stained at the knees, the unknowing would say she was a tom-boy playing in the dirt, the knowledge would know better.

Not a soul would say she was normal.

Hariel Lilith Potter breezed along the streets with a smile stained upon her face. She acted the part of a good little girl, never allowing the sharpness of her teeth to show itself with her practiced smile. For Hariel's genuine smile could curl hair and had not been seen by a single living soul, it was a smile that split her face like a carved pumpkin and was too wide to be natural.

It was impossible not to notice her as she glided would watch as she'd pause in the middle of the road and begin a conversation with the air. Then she'd been young people would coo and gush over the sinfully beautiful child speaking with her imaginary friends. Later they'd fret that the child was touched in the head and whoever her parents were, the needed to keep far better watch of their child. While to those that stopped to speak would soon blanch and shake as they realized the girl knew a little bit too much about their late Grandmother.

Hariel's aunt, one Petunia Evans, would like to say she was perfectly normal and truthfully she was. There was a good reason Petunia did not speak of her family and an equally good reason she'd never introduced them to her son or husband. Beyond the brief and foolish act of attending her sister's wedding. Petunia was quite firmly the only sane member of her family. She had a normal life, a normal home, a normal husband, and blissfully normal son. Petunia also had a very abnormal niece.

Really, Petunia never should have ended up with Hariel. She had living family outside her sister, and Petunia had never got on overly well with Lily. Really, had they not been related Petunia never would have considered associating with Lily at all. Considering the sheer amount of earth-shaking, literally, fights the sisters had gotten involved in Petunia expected to never be mentioned in Lily's will. She also hadn't expected Lily to die at all, the image of Lily dead had been something Petunia had thought impossible even as an adult. So her surprise had been well-founded when she'd discovered the hauntingly beautiful Hariel on her doorstep that night. And no, her scream of horror had nothing to do with the infant and everything to do with the very dead cat that had attached itself to Hariel sometime during the night.

Despite the cat incident, Petunia had prayed to every god that existed that her niece would not end up like her sister. Dudley, after all, was a normal young boy. So it was possible Hariel could be like her. The day Petunia discovered Hariel's toys floating above a delighted Dudley's head, her prayers had altered slightly. Petunia could accept magic, she might be a squib and hate that she hadn't gotten magic like the rest of her family, but Petunia could prioritize. Petunia would take magic over the Frump abilities any day of the year. Again and again, she whispered the words in the darkness 'please let Hariel be like her father,' 'please let James Potter' genes be stronger than the Frump ones,' 'I'll ask for nothing else, just don't let Hariel be like her mother.' A witch Petunia knew how to handle, she knew the system, she'd been trained, but a girl like Lily… Petunia didn't know what she'd do in that case.

At first, Petunia had hope. Sure, the cat was suspicious, but maybe it had been a lingering effect from Lily. And yes, Hariel's hair was a bit too dark, but that could be because of regular magic. The eyes could be the same. And the… the talking to invisible beings, witches did that, they definitely did. And yes, Hariel's sense of humor was a bit… darker than Petunia would like, but everyone has a few unique points… right? The girl seemed reasonable, or as ordinary as a witch could be, maybe her prayers had been answered?

And then Petunia walked into the backyard on Hariel's fourth birthday.

A week prior Hariel had been babysat by an odd being by the name of Arabella Figg, a woman with four dozen cats and none of them fixed. The entire area by then knew the excessive amount of strays in Little Whinging was entirely because of crazy cat lady Figg. Petunia didn't mind cats, but that many strays were never a good thing. Still Petunia kept that thought inside her head because Figg babysat for free and no one else would take Hariel without complaint. Not to mention Petunia heavily suspected the mad Figg was in actuality a squib, so she wouldn't blink at the odd happenings that Hariel caused by proxy.

That incident had occurred when Dudley had become violently sick, and Petunia had not wanted two flu-ridden violently hurling children around at the same time. Dudley was enough thank you very much. Hoping to remove Hariel from the area early enough that her niece didn't fall ill to what had caught Dudley, she'd called Figg to take her for a few days. Only to later learn that Hariel had been witness to the public and violent death of one of Figg's numerous cats; naturally, you'd be unsurprised to find it had been a pitch-black male with blood-red eyes which she'd gotten attached to.

The week following Petunia had been on pins and needles waiting. She remembered in great detail the first incident with Lily had resulted from a similar event, except with Lily it had been a snow-white owl fondly deemed 'Hedwig.' Mother and father had been so proud when it happened, they'd hardly noticed Petunia fleeing in absolute, petrified, terror.

But a week passed, and Petunia allowed herself to relax, to let her guard down. With Lily, it had happened within a day, and it seemed that amazingly with Holly, Petunia would actually have a semi-regular family member. A plain witch instead of a, well, what the rest of the family was. Relaxed as she'd been, Petunia had been caught unaware when she entered the backyard. Hariel and Dudley had been left playing on the lovely play-place in their backward together. In the time Petunia it took for her to craft a snack for Hariel and Dudley, a cat had located the children.

For a moment, at the distance she was at, Petunia thought it was another stray, there were certainly enough for the children to find a friendly one. As she moved forward Petunia already intended to shoo or adopt it if her Dudders was attached, one it was adequately cleaned that was. Until she got closer and saw it.

Half in Hariel's lap, it pawed at her niece playfully, and half its body was stretched out across the ground. It's lower portion was caved in, run flat from the tire that had killed it.

It had dragged its carcass seven blocks to reach Hariel.

That was only the beginning, unfortunately. Petunia had to confess the truth to Vernon about her niece and about her family. For Vernon had no real problem with witches, he already knew about magic, about his niece possessing it like her parents had. To him, witches and wizards were perfectly fine. But he hadn't known the other secret in her family tree, in the Evans tree, in the Frump tree.

She whispered to him the truth in light of the day while the sun was at it's highest point. The way her parents would attempt to poison them every other dinner, that Lily had tried to poison them right back, how Petunia was now immune to most types because of exposure. She told him of the dungeon and the torture chamber; how her mother and Lily had crooned about whips and chains trying to get Petunia to try it. How her uncle would visit and hurl knives at her and how she'd had to catch them lest she be run through, a skill she still possessed out of sheer paranoia. How Lily used to dig up corpses, how dead birds would follow her home. How that strange hooked nose boy had been beaten to death by his father and the dead Lily used her awakened magic to bring him back.

Then she whispered the word, the one she knew would follow Hariel around just as it had Lily.

Necromancer.

Vernon tried to stamp that part of her out of Hariel. He punished her for bringing home dead things; told her again and again not to dig in the dirt out of fear she'd find more than worms. Vernon put her in the cupboard and tried to give her proper discipline. But Petunia knew it would not work, she told him that dead animals were really tame in comparison of what Hariel could do when she got older and that angering her now when she was weak would be dangerous in the long run, but he dismissed her.

When they accidentally passed a graveyard one night while Vernon was yelling at her because of an incident at the children's school; that had been the last straw for them all. The sight of a dozen graves shaking as corpses tried to climb free of the concrete, the wood, and the dirt to get to Hariel. To do who knows what to the rest of them. The incident resembled her and Lily's last too much, the feeling of a dozen skeletal rotting hands holding her down would be something Petunia would never forget as long as she lived. She refused to let that happen again that or worse due to the lack of control her niece had. Petunia put her foot down, she and Vernon agreed to leave Hariel be. Better the necromancer that liked them, than the one that didn't. Though it didn't stop Petunia from encouraging Hariel to keep it away from the neighbors.

So Hariel became known to most as the sinfully beautiful young mentally off girl of Privet Drive. The one who needed a bit more help when she stopped randomly in the street and spoke to herself. The girl who had imaginary friends and a soft spot for odd-looking animals that followed her home.

But Petunia knew the truth. She knew those imaginary friends were the deceased unwilling to move on. She knew those animals twitched as they moved did so because their hearts no longer beat. She knew that the odd dirty lump in her backyard was not because of a mole. And she knew what Hariel got up to every Halloween when instead of trick-or-treating, Hariel requested to be left at the graveyard and returned speaking of the new friend 'Hector' that she'd met that night.

They also never got rid of the cat, but that was another problem altogether.

The dead were fascinating. They changed depending on the culture, the religion, the age, and countless other variables that Hariel couldn't even name. She met people of all kinds, from the simple shades that glided past to the cursed endlessly repeating their deaths again and again until they faded completely. There existed reapers with their scythes that ignored her or inclined their heads in distant respect. Or the shinigami in their black uniforms carrying swords that had defended her on occasion for seeing. There were dead with great gaping holes in their chests, monsters that could rip apart souls, humans with chains keeping them bound to the land in punishment. There were skeletal figures with extravagant colors painted on their bones that appeared only one special night every year. Hariel learned of the grim, dogs who for-told the end but were far from malicious.

And every one of these dead beings had a story, luckily most were willing to share with her.

The spirit of a woman burned by her fiance as she waited for her true love to free her. A skeleton who continued to pass into the human realm every year to see his descendants that continued to speak his name. A little girl waiting, just waiting but unaware of what she was waiting for.

There were many differences in the dead. Subtle things like the way she could tell how most people died by looking at their corpses. To how they responded to her presence and questions. Some never acknowledged her, some were cursed to forever repeat their death over and over. Others were quite aware of what had happened to them. Some lingered to watch over the living. Others refused to accept death and move on.

Death and how souls responded to it was endless. She would never learn everything about it, she knew that. For she did not know what happened after, few knew and fewer still could or would talk about it, and they didn't know everything either.

Hariel knew people like Hector had a secondary death once he was completely forgotten about. She knew of shinigami who protected and collected the souls that refused to pass on. She knew of the grim, canines that gave her a considerable distance. She also knew the being known as 'Death' was endless and had countless forms, though she'd never met any of them.

Ghouls, ghosts, demons, and so much else. And Hariel patiently listened to them all as she instinctively knew to do.

No one actually told her what she was, it wasn't something spoken of by the living. But the dead, oh they were all too willing to share the truth.

"You listen to their tales, you help them pass on." A reaper once told her as an older woman resisted his efforts to continue on even as she faded.

"You will tell her how to find the money… right?" whispered a man stalking behind his daughter, who was going to lose their home because of money problems.

"You'll help him move on, won't you? To find a new adventure?" an older woman asked, staring at her husband who just stopped.

She was a necromancer. Hariel was the bridge between the living and the dead. She was alive enough to help and dead enough to see. Hariel slipped through death, accepting, unafraid, and with one step into the afterlife and one on the edge of life. She was the bridge, and she loved it.

She found him when she was eight years old. With her familiar Barghest staggering behind her, she really had to find him a new leg, the old one had gone rotten again. She strode through the darkness unafraid of the dangerous living who might harm a child such as she. The dead protected her, they'd come to her aid if she asked for it and should they not, Hariel knew the shinigami would instead if they weren't too busy that was. It was a tough business making souls cross on.

"E-…vans?"

Hariel paused in the street and backtracked several steps. In the alley stood a ghost that stared at her, but it was not his stare which caught her attention. But instead, it was his features. Hair that stuck up in every single direction, brown eyes that seemed almost familiar and a nose that matched her own. "N-….o Potter?" he twitched and glided towards her hand, reaching out as if he was unaware he couldn't actually touch her if she didn't allow it.

"Hullo." Hariel still greeted, "who are you?"

He twitched more eyes locking on her eyes: "she sees me… Evans…. Po—ter?"

"It's Potter." She told him firmly, "Hariel Potter to be precise, though my mother was an Evans… how did you know?" she'd heard plenty of stories about her parents from her aunt and uncle, not that any of them were terribly positive. She knew precisely what a drunkard was thanks to her uncle.

"Evans… Potter… isn't… not right- James?"

"Hariel." She firmly corrected, realizing this soul seemed to be one of the ones that weren't connected to the mortal realm. It happened, unfortunately, where souls were present, but their minds were gone. They were trapped in-between, unable to remember why they stayed, but unable to move on. It was a terrible thing, and frequently the reason darker monsters existed.

"James… right nose- Potter- not right… Evans… more of her." He reached up and ran his fingers across her hair, not touching, but lingering on the black of her locks. "Red?" he asked, and Hariel wasn't sure how to respond.

"I… I don't understand." She admitted,

"Mine… grand… daughter?" he started to smile as one of his legs sank into the ground, "Hariel."

"That's right… what do you mean, granddaughter?" she stepped forward, seeing the similarities. The uncontrollable hair, the same nose.

"It's Euphemia's chin, alwa- always loved her chin… s'cute." His eyes glazed over and he twitched, "she would be so ha-ha-ha…" he cut off, and his leg slipped further into the ground his form phasing for a moment. Hariel, unwilling to lose him just yet reached forward and snatched hold of his arm to keep him steady in her plane. She'd seen ghosts fall through the ground before, and she'd not seen them return. "Happy." He finished giving her had a cursory look.

"Who are you?" she demanded once again, "what do you know about my parents? Of me?"

He continued to ignore her: "so much of Lily, I don't know how anyone thought she was Muggleborn… she might have lost the name, but I recognize that family… I recog-recognized those skills. I can't believe I… missed it. Too worried about James new hobbies-hobbies-hobbies." He knelt down and tapped it his hand, touching her when he could touch no other. Most ghosts were shocked by this, shocked to be able to make contact with a living being instead of phasing straight through. And most were harmless when they learned this knowledge, asking her for hugs or simply touches to make them feel. But others were violent, taking what she did not offer and forcing her to call for help. Hariel briefly wondered which this man would be before she focused on his words and what they meant.

"You know my parents… you're my… my grandfather?" she guessed going off the names and similarities. But that was amazing! She'd never seen anyone from her family before, she'd thought it was impossible before that. Or that none of her living family cared, just as her aunt did not.

"Who are you!" Hariel pressed hoping he could answer some of her questions, her countless unending questions about herself and what she alone could do. "Why do you know about my family!?"

That seemed to be the right question as his gaze sharpened oddly: "this is wrong." He gasped, looking down at himself, "Potter's… we're supposed to welcome death. We don't become ghosts. I passed on… I chose to follow our old friend… why am I here?" he looked at her desperately: "Little Potter, grand-daughter mine… why am I her-" He vanished into the ground as if he'd been yanked right through it. He was pulled from her grip and away from her as if he'd never been there. But she knew he had, and Hariel glanced around the area looking for a sign, any sign, as to why he'd been right there.

It was an empty alleyway, seemingly deserted. But every place had history, everywhere had death. Hariel's only hint to her past and family was somewhere around there and she stepped forward carefully inspecting. He might have died there, in that alley years ago. Or he'd just blindly wandered until he happened upon her. The former worked far better for her as Hariel stooped down and pressed her palms to the ground where he'd been standing when she'd passed.

"Are you down there?" she asked, feeling for his soul, feeling for his corpse.

But nothing answered, and Hariel released a frustrated sound.

She'd been so close.

An hour later, Hariel gave up, she abandoned the alley and returned to her home with her aunt and uncle. She entered her room and curled up with her Barghest carefully brushing his fur, so she did not pull the skin out with her efforts. As she worked, the house slept as the moon rose and fell, before she fell into a sound sleep thinking of the man with the unruly hair. As she called to him in her dreams begging for information.

And the sun began to rise as Petunia Dursley slipped from her bed and soundlessly passed her niece's haunted room. As she strode down the stairs and entered the kitchen with bleary eyes, distracted, making coffee so she could begin to wake up. Petunia stood in the kitchen, hands nursing her mug - a gift from her niece that she actually had really wanted - and she heard it.

The back-door opened.

It could have been the chill of the morning air, ruined by the warmth of her coffee, that had every hair on Petunia's neck stand on end.

Thump-

Creeeeeeek-

Petunia stared firmly at the sink, begging, pleading to every god. As she dared not look.

Thump.

THUMP.

It was heading for the stairs, the stairs right at her back. Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Thump.

Thump.

Creeeek.

It dragged across the ground, and Petunia felt the tears of fear escape her eyes. No dead in the house, she had one rule for her niece. No dead in the house.

Oh god, it was in the house.

The sound of Hariel's door opened, a thump, then the door closed and silence.

Petunia pretended it hadn't happened, she went about her business. All the while on the floor above her a corpse with unruly hair whispered a story, told Hariel truth. Of a necromancer and a family that accepted death.

Until her niece came down hours later with grave dirt in her hair and a ring that should have been buried six feet under hanging off her neck. As her green yes linked with Petunia's, and a question fell from her lips.

"Why didn't you tell me that I'm a witch?"