~Chapter One: The Lady In Pink.~

... A stitch in time saves nine...

Harry vividly remembered her aunt, thin and bony, towering over her huddled form, watching her like a vulture as Harry sewn away. She remembered Petunia saying that to her, spittle flying from her sharp mouth, lips pressed together in agitation of likely having to converse with her young niece. Back then, back when she lived under the stairs and cowered from shadows, it didn't happen often, bi-monthly if that, Petunia was used to Vernon buying her new clothes as soon as colour even hinted at fading in her clothes, but there would come a time, every now and again, when Harry would be doused under clothes and expected to fix it, like they expected everything else from her. Abruptly, without explanation or guidance, and punishment given if a single thing went awry.

Harry loathed sewing.

That didn't count for much, not in the Dursley household at any rate. Harry did what she was told, silently and quickly, questioning or complaining led to anger and anger led to a very heavy, very red faced uncle. She had learned that lesson quickly. So, she would huddle in her cubby hole, bare bulb above her head obnoxiously flickering, under piles of clothes, Petunia at her door, peering through the grate, snarling orders and that damned saying. Harry would try her best to block it all out, to work her best, she always did back then. Sometimes she would have to go through the night like that, fingers numb and cold, bloody blotches where the needle had pricked, back aching from her hunched over form and lack of space, bone tired and sore.

Harry would admit, even to very recently, she had never fully understood that saying, never given it much mind before apart from an unwarranted thought popping to the forefront every now and again. After all, what had stitches got to do with her measly lot in life? How would stitches end lord Voldemort? How would stitches stop uncle Vernon's meaty fists when his temper inevitably snapped? Why not, instead of spending hours upon hours sewing, didn't you just look after your clothes better in the first place? That saying, for whatever reason, be it a lack of sanity, repetition or premonition, drove her up the wall whenever it crossed her often swirling mind.

She had just turned eighteen when the understanding of the saying finally sank in. When, alone in bed, staring vacantly at the peeling ceiling of her bedroom in Grimmauld place, she could have sworn black and blue she heard aunt Petunia's voice whispering that wretched saying, moist and hot, in the shell of her ear, it swirling down and burrowing into her mind like water down a drain. Around and around.

On instinct, her fist had almost relinquished its prison of bed sheets, an after effect of nightmares best left to her subconscious, and punched the empty space beside her. Still, in those early morning hours, with that saying repeating again and again in her mind, it did take her away from the nightmare imprinted on the back of her closed eyelids, still being able to see it's phantoms and shadows play out when she let her eyes drift close, snapping them open as soon as it happened.

People, in all walks of life, in all colours, flavours and smells, in their vast world, they all linked together, like threads to create life in all its beautiful diversity. Mother's, son's, friends, enemies, lunatics, children, strangers... So different yet side-by-side, together in what they called existence, weaving between and through each other until they were all linked as one. You could live on the other side of the world, yet you could bet you knew someone who cared for someone who was related to someone so opposite to you, living on the other side of the world. People, they linked even the most distant of souls.

That nameless, faceless, homeless man you turned your nose up at, turned away from and hurried passed? In another life, with different choices not took, could have been the bloody king of England, he could have been the surgeon to save your child's life, he could have been the policeman that saved you from a mugging, he could have been a war hero. That was the true beauty of life, the fact that...

He still could be.

He could be all that and so much more. If only someone, anyone, had given him the right choices, offered him options. But life, in all its beauty, was made from equal parts of unbound cruelty, and would not easily give such things to one person. People called it fate, you got your slot in life and that was that. Harry thought it was the ultimate form of oppression, and never, and she sincerely meant never, should you just sit back and accept things for face value. Why have free will if you weren't willing or brave enough to exercise it? That homeless man, though, he wouldn't change, too many people walked passed him, too many turned a blind eye to his suffering. So, Harry knew, no matter how much she wished it and hoped, he would forever stay as he was, a fraying thread. Life, while it created and glowed majestically in all its wonderment, it burnt and destroyed just as much. A poisoned gift if there ever was one. Harry knew that better than anyone she would wager.

But Harry wasn't as cruel and as heartless as life. She could make her own choices, give her own options if she was willing to bleed and sweat for it. And by Merlin, faced with what she was, she was willing to pay whatever price it took. She could do it all and more, just like that homeless man.

Over the following week after that horrid night, Harry watched and what she saw only solidified her determination as she took in the gormless and hollow faces that were once so full of exuberant life. They all needed that spark to light the way, that one single struck match and maybe, just maybe, the heat and light would create something new, something better.

Well, Harry had always been good at lighting fires under people's toes.

This world, this time, it was all wrong. So very, very, very wrong. All she could do, all she could feel, see and think when faced with all this, the failings of their forefathers, their parents, their ancestors... Themselves, was think of that bloody saying that had been dancing around her tortured mind. A stitch in time saves nine...

It was hard asking the right questions, the real ones that got down to the weeping core of the matter. However, finding the right answers to those right questions was like trying to find the needle in the haystack. Almost impossible. So, alone, as she was often these days, Harry spent days trying to puzzle it all out, locked in the library of Grimmauld place. Who was the first stitch that had come undone, leading to this unholy mess? Where, when, how, why did the first tear appear? And how in all that Merlin smiled upon could she fix it?

Like all peek-a-boo answers that teased you but then slipped from your grasp, it came to light under tears, a premature goodbye and another lost friend. Harry, still dressed in her mismatched pyjama's, hair a positively bed-riddled mess had received a floo call in the very thick of the night. Harry had rushed off, not bothering to get changed before the last sentence even left the Healer from saint Mungo's mouth. As she arrived, as she was led down to the bowels of the hospital, as she stared into the blank, puffy and lifeless eyes of one Luna Lovegood, her body covered by a sheet as it was levitated into the room, the healer rattling on about suicide and insincere apologies, the answer came to her in a pound of heart, blurry eyes and Luna's ageless face.

There had been a woman, long ago, who had died before her time like glittering Luna. A woman everyone overlooked, like Luna. Even the history books, the ones newly printed about the second wizarding war, had stricken her from their tight and stodgy, emotionless text. When, really, she had played such an instrumental role in it all... The catalyst even, Harry would say. A woman who fickle fate had beaten down. A woman who had choices taken from her, restricted by things out of her control, some her own foolish choices she had taken in desperation. The same desperation that had coursed through Harry like torrents of crucio through her blood and marrow as she stared at Luna's body.

There was once a woman that could have saved so many people if she had have just... Lived. She could have saved their world from soul-crushing war, saved their crumbling society that still hinged on an ideology long outdated. If only she had someone in her corner, someone she could have turned to, someone who would have listened, backed her corner, helped her build herself up, protected her... A friend.

Harry didn't come to a quick decision, even then as she marched out of saint Mungo's. Despite everything inside her yelling, screaming inside her to just do it, she could fix everything, she could make a better world, and wasn't that what she was supposed to do if Trelawney was to be believed? But, alas, she couldn't just jump in head first like she had so many other times before. She had rushed once and for her efforts, for her grave mistake, Sirius had paid the ultimate price. She wouldn't and couldn't make that mistake again. She only acted a year later, two months after her nineteenth birthday, when Molly had come over in a flurry of tears and sobs, harboring the news George had died, suicide too like Luna. The choice was chosen and set as she held Molly to her, silent, for there was nothing she could say. Another gone and another would follow, Harry was sure, until they were all dead and rotting in the ground, the last remnants of a war that had destroyed just as much when it was over as it had when it was raging.

It wasn't exactly that hard to snatch Hermione's time turner when she had to drag the woman back to her flat when she had passed out at George's funeral, a weeping and heavily pregnant Angelina present. It wasn't that hard to calculate the exact amount of turns the bloody thing needed to get where she was going, one-half a turn either way, less or more, could ruin this whole... Plan? Was that what this was? Or a rash decision sailing on the coat tails of immeasurable loss? It didn't matter. It only mattered she got it right, and while Hermione might have been the brains of their trio, Harry wasn't lacking far behind when she actually put effort into it. It wasn't hard to do the research needed to find who she was looking for, and where and when they would be, or what Harry needed to get ready for her trip. She needed to blend in, that meant the right clothes, the right back story... And the right things packed in case an emergency sprang up. What was hard, what Harry had to physically push herself to do, what made her heart pick up pace and doubt set in, was actually doing it. Preparation was simple, actions not so much.

If she did go, she could never come back. She would change too much, she wouldn't recognize the people around her and maybe they wouldn't recognize her either. No, that was a lie, a comfort she told herself. If everything went right, they would never know who she was, she wouldn't be known at all, maybe a footnote in their long and arduous history but nothing more. She would be dead to them and they would be nothing but memories to her. Molly, Arthur, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, McGonagall , Flitwick, Neville, even Lavender... But, it was either stay and burn in the fire or do something about it and well, Harry was after all a true Gryffindor. Maybe, in time, there would be a different her born. One who had two parents who loved her, one who would find her way to a bushy haired muggleborn and a temperamental redhead, a her who would have a life free from bloodshed, death and chaos. A happy life. A life many dead and alive deserved and it all balanced on what her choice was. Harry, at the tender age of nineteen, after having lived through so much, done so much, chose once again, action.

All she left behind, though she knew if she succeeded no one would ever find it because it wouldn't be written, was one piece of parchment and a splodgy scrawling stating one word, goodbye. And as the stolen, illegal Time-turner began to churn around her neck, as she counted down mentally, dressed in clothes from a decade-long passed and a tatty suitcase at her feet, holding things she just couldn't leave behind, all Harry could think was that damned saying, Petunia's voice practically singing it in her ear.

...A stitch in time saves nine...

"Is this seat taken by any chance?"

The woman glanced up with her eyes, not daring to lift her head or move and inch if the need did not call for it. People didn't speak to her, they walked passed, they looked through, they carried on. She was so used to it now that anything but that felt wrong and uncomfortable. So imagine her immense surprise and the unsettling in the pit of her gut when she spied the lady in front of her, smiling broadly, dimpled and rosy-cheeked... Staring right at her. The woman held no disbelief or exaggerated ego in her looks. How could she when faced with a mirror every day?

She knew how wonky one eye was, always pointing in the wrong direction, her form was always curled in on itself, in self-deprecation or fear, the woman didn't know, she just naturally fell into that posture nowadays. Her hair was heavy and lank, greasy from going unwashed. Mud stains and coal dust smeared across the sallow skin, broad and plain of face. No, the woman held no delusions on what she looked like, especially wrapped in her torn grey dress and even poorer blanket she used as a shawl. She blended into the brickwork, seemingly invisible to those who passed and she liked it that way. People didn't scorn her when they couldn't see her, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't point fingers, they couldn't bat her away with hard hands.

The crowd bustled around them, haggling and bartering, the sound of luggage being dropped and picked up, a man shouting for tickets, the sound of steam rising from the train as it beeped and honked for attention. Through all the smoke, all the people, all the... Life, the woman's eyes stayed trained on the lady in front of her, luggage held in front of her, knuckles white around the handle, two slips of paper crinkled and bent under the pressure, trapped between her unforgiving hands and the leather of her suitcase. And through it all, sitting on that rusted iron bench, through the smog and dirt and grime that was this lonely station in the backwaters of London, the lady in front of her... Glowed like a star.

You couldn't possibly get someone so far away on the spectrum of looks then this lady, for she was a lady, the woman was sure of it, then between her and herself. Her hair was a cascade of fiery curls, bouncy and with a life of their own, half tied back and away from her elven face. Her skin was light, peaches and cream, with a natural flush to her rosette lips and apples of her cheeks, a dusting of freckles ghosting over her delicate nose that begged to be counted dot by rustic dot. Her eyes were wide and thick-lashed, natural in their shade of deep red, topped with arching brows, all crowning her best features, the intense and vibrant green eyes that practically flashed and glowed from beneath the rim of her dusky pink cloche hat. All of it nearly blinded you, almost stopped you from seeing the rather prominent scar decorating her forehead, touching down on one brow and then nearly up to her hairline in a jagged line that resembled a lightning bolt of all things.

Her clothes were the same colour as her hat, a smoky blush, the dress and coat, no jewels or adornments, simple and plain in style, but they did nothing to subtract from her raw beauty, but simply add to it, letting it shine like the northern star. She was like spring brought to flesh and bone, sprouting out and forth truly from the concrete and coal filled place around them. Then the woman spied her feet, feet clad in woman sized men's shoes that already had scruff marks...

"No...No."

Her voice croaked as she scooched on over the bench, pushing herself as far as she could go into the metal bars, giving the lady as much space as possible. She looked young, nineteen, twenty at the very latest. A good three, four years younger than herself. Looking at the lady only flared her own obvious failings and stark ugliness back at her. Plus, when her brother and father were free they wouldn't be happy when they found out she had conversed with a muggle. They would know... They always knew. It didn't matter, people like the lady beside her never spoke to her, never looked. The lady would sit, wait for her train, board and then she would be all forgotten about. She always was.

"Are you planning on a trip?"

The bench cooed and groaned under the added weight, the sound of the ladies suitcase hitting the floor a jolt to her senses, making her jump slightly as she pushed herself further into her little corner she had squirrelled away on the bench. She didn't turn her head, simply peered at the ladies expectant face through a crack in her curtain of hair. The ladies face was bright, grin wide and open for all the world to see. Her voice was warm, airy and had a hint of husk in the background. It was all pleasant... And the woman curled further into herself, pulling tighter on her shawl. Pleasant things didn't come to her, she didn't get that privilege.

"No..."

That was all she could muster up as her eyes flickered back to the crowd, spying the roaming travellers as they passed from platform to platform, all on their way to places she could never dream of going. But oh, how she wished she could. If she did, she could mayhaps make friends, with muggles even, without the pressure of retribution for such an act coming from her brother or father when they finally walked free. Mayhaps she could have her own little flat, cosy and warm. Mayhaps she could even find someone who would see her, who would talk to her, who wouldn't laugh or poke. But that was all a dream and she had learned to stop dreaming a long time ago. Dreams were just one more thing not for her. However, despite thinking that would be the end of their conversation, she didn't mean to be blunt, she really just didn't know how to carry it on, the lady beside her surprised her once more by speaking up, voice just as light and comforting as before.

"Surely you are at the station for some reason, yes?"

Yes, she was, but not for a trip. She came here often, more now than before when her father and brother were home, hovering, making sure she did her chores, making sure she... Behaved as was fitting her blood. She came here to watch the people pass by. Sometimes she would mentally give them stories, errant lovers absconding to marriage, lovers separated by war only to be reunited on this very stone platform she stood on, families celebrating after years of happiness... They were always happy stories, always full of bright things that she couldn't have in her own life, but in a way, it eased her. It made her feel like she was a part of something, that the little slices of happiness she so fervently pictured and imagined could somehow rub off on her and seep into her own drab and dreary life. She was speaking before she could stop herself.

"I... I like to watch the people as they go on trips. The families... They look..."

The lady beside her gave her a long drawn out pause, waiting for her to finish, but the word got lodged in the back of her throat as if even the word was so foreign, she couldn't distinguish it any more. Maybe she had never known it to begin with. Thankfully, as her stuttering got worse, unlike many a people who would laugh and jest on her inadequacies, the kindly, spring wreath of a lady beamed brighter and jumped in for her, saving her from more embarrassment. Something sparked in her chest at the action, something cosy and fuzzy and totally alien to her. But nether the less, even if she couldn't put face and name to it, she liked it all the same.

"Happy."

She gave a stilted and jerking nod, harsh and fast, finally gathering enough courage to peep back at the woman through her hair, only to find her still looking at her. That was another strange thing about this even stranger lady. Normally people, even her family, couldn't wait until she was out of eye line, let alone willingly look at her for more than a passing glance. The spark came back, only this time it stayed and grew into a little torch right in her sternum. Without her knowing it, her stiff arms relaxed and her arms folded in her lap.

"Yes. Happy."

She wanted the conversation to carry on, it was her first since the night her father was dragged away and her brother already in the Auror's hands, how long ago was that now? Six months? A year? But no matter how much she thought, how many words she chose to say, nothing passed her lips and she was at a loss. She should have known better. She was never good at this sort of thing. Now would be no different. The sound of rustling paper drew her eye down to the ladies hands, watching as she idly flicked and fiddled with two slips, bending and twisting the corners.

"Well, all the more reason to go on your own trip isn't it? Unless you have family back home? A fiancée maybe?"

She grew stiff at the innocent question, her arms springing back up to her chest to tighten around her like thick, heavy, iron chains. The answer was simple. No. The reasoning wasn't as quiet as easy to say or acknowledge. Even if she did have her family back in the wooden shack they called home, what she called prison, that didn't necessarily mean she would ever want to return. But she had to. She had no other option. Her father had told her about muggles since she could first hear, her brother too, she had learned how untrustworthy they were. The horrors they would bestow upon you because they knew nothing better because they were animals. Glancing at the still smiling lady beside her, she couldn't help but shiver at the thought. She didn't look like an animal, didn't act like one... Didn't smile like one. Though, her father had told her about those ones too. They were the tricky ones. They looked, talked, acted like you, but were still nothing but savages waiting to cut your throat.

"No. No family or fiancée. I... Why do you want to know? Why are you talking to me?"

The suspicion that lingered in her words fogged in the air and created a barrier between the two. From her peripheral vision, she could see the ladies smile splinter and break at the edges, only, surprise, surprise, for her to get a shock once more when it grew back ten times stronger. The sparkle in the woman's eyes seemed almost proud. Not condescendingly so, despite the lady being younger than herself but appreciative, as if she had said the right thing. She was only forced to turn and face her head on, something she never liked doing, when a pale piano fingered hand shot forth, palm open and inviting.

"Oh, sorry, where are my manners? My name's Harry Potter, short for Harriet. I'm going on my own trip you see. My very first in all honesty. I'm... Well, I'm an orphan and it's my first day out of the orphanage and I'm a bit nervous. I was so nervous I even bought two tickets for the train when I only needed one. I just wanted to see if you had any advice for the road? If you've ever been on an adventure before?"

The boots, the men's boots suddenly made sense to her. Witches, wizards, they had trouble assimilating to the muggle population. Nothing obvious of course, nothing was ever that easy, but when you looked closely, you could always, or should always be able to tell if one was of a magical descendant. They normally looked like any other muggle, but on closer inspection, they always got something wrong. A hair pin used as a broach. Belts used for scarves. Bow ties as cuff-links... Men's boots as women's shoes.

Her father had schooled her on magical blood, of course he had, and she had previously heard the name Potter in the extinguished bloodlines of their world he had regurgitated to her. Though, that was about as far as her knowledge went, she wasn't... Talented enough for any more schooling and as she was kept at home, she hadn't learned to write so reading for herself was out of the question. Still, her racing heart calmed a little at this revelation. Although, more questions flooded her mind. A Potter, in an orphanage? Did something happen to the rest of the family, or was this warm lady a bastard, a squib, a blot on her families name... Like her?

"Did you say Potter?"

She was often like that, her mind further ahead that what her mouth was, it was annoying in a way. When she wasn't stuttering or curled in on herself like a wilted vine, she would repeat the same thing over and over again, thinking over the same thing repeatedly, almost obsessively. It was a habit she couldn't break herself from. The ladies hand fell back to her own lap when hers didn't reach up and shake it. She almost wanted to scorn herself, she had meant to shake it but it had slipped her mind and like so many things in her life, it was too late now to turn back. Thankfully, the lady, Harry she had to remind herself, was still smiling as if nothing was amiss, as if she was speaking and looking at a kindred soul, a friend. Then, conspiringly, she leaned in closer to her, whispering.

"Yes. Don't tell me... Are you like me?"

She gave a nod, this time, less harsh, though she did grimace by the end. No, now she had thought about Harry being magical, she could feel the waves of her soothing magic roll from her being and flutter in the air around her. Harry, despite her disarming appearance of a fresh rose, was strong. Very, very strong and talented in the magical arts. How did she not see it before? She scoffed at herself derogatorily. Another opposing thing between them, while Harry was strong, she was weak. She could barely cast a Scourgify without passing out from magical stress and depletion. No, they were alike but so different. the sun and the moon really.

"A little, yes."

Harry pulled back from her, settling her back along the benches bars. Now, Harry turned away from her, staring and watching the crowd that rumbled and bumbled passed, her hands going back to mindlessly flicking the papers she was holding. She almost wanted to tell her to look back at her, that she couldn't remember the last time someone had looked her dead in the eye and spoke so kindly, she missed the green warmth. Though, she managed to hold onto the tatters of her dignity with an iron grip at last possible second.

"You never answered my question. Have you ever been on an adventure?"

She relaxed back into her own seat, her arms loosening their bruising grip on her torso and scarf, she too staring off into the bustling swarm of people milling around them.

"No, I haven't. To be honest, I wouldn't know where to start. What are you suppose to do... Just board a train?"

Earlier she was having trouble getting her words out, now she had trouble to keep them from spilling forth like a plague. What was it about this Harry? Was it her calm and welcoming aura? Was it her easy but jovial laced words? Was it her friendly demeanour? Was it simply she had missed human contact so much that the first sign of affection she garners, she leaps onto it like a starving basilisk? She didn't know, all she knew was she wanted to tell Harry, she wanted the words to bubble forth and come to life, she wanted everything out there, yet nothing at all. Harry's next sentence froze the very blood in her veins.

"Yes. I would say that would be an excellent start to any good adventure. So... Why don't you?"

She floundered, her words gaining back that stuttering that would anger her father so and send her brother into fits of laughter as she gained more bruises and cuts for her failings. It was on the third attempt of her mouth opening and closing that her words finally found voice, as broken and croaky as it was.

"Are you... Are you asking me to come along?"

Harry finally turned away from the backdrop of the station, turning in her seat slightly so her body faced her too, her fingers stalling in their twiddling of crunching paper, smile back on her face, beaming through the grime that clung to the air itself, like a lighthouse through the fog, guiding a ship home... Or warning of danger. She was overwhelmed then. Well and truly overwhelmed as she simultaneously wanted to smile at this brilliant woman who had strolled into her life, or run and never look back.

"Why not? I don't have anybody waiting for me and you said you have no one waiting for you. What's stopping you? I promise, if you want to come back I'll pay for it and personally see you right back to this very bench. Maybe it will just be for a day, a week, maybe you'll like it so much you'll never come back here, who knows? But come on, I know that look. You can't wait for life to come to you, hoping, you have to go out there and grab it. Like I am. You know what they say, an adventure shared is an adventure worthwhile. So, what do you say?"

She shook her head back and forth, the straight locks whipping her cheek with the speed as she tried to formulate the words and worries creating a hurricane in her mind. Her own knuckles turned white as she wound her fingers deeper into her shawl, tangling them in the ratty material until she was sure it was going to rip under the pressure or cause her bones to break from the strain.

"I... I... I couldn't possibly! I have no money, no luggage, no idea where I would be going."

She had barely finished before Harry was talking, swatting her flimsy excuses, foolish to even her own ears, like one would with an annoying fly. The truth was... It was tempting. So tempting to just agree, to damn the consequences and stroll onto that train with a stranger at that and never, never look back. Well, was Harry a stranger, after all, she knew her name? Oh, she was terrible at this. No, she couldn't possibly do this. Her father and brother would be out soon, two years top, one year earliest, and she had to be here. She didn't want to think of what they would do to her if they came home to find her gone, if they ever found her that is. But Harry had said she would bring her back, any-time, even tomorrow if she so wished it...

"That's the fun part of an adventure, though, Isn't it? The unknown? Come on, you can't tell me you come to this station, watch the people live their own lives and never once thought about boarding the next train yourself? As for money, food or luggage, well, we're witches aren't we? We'll find a way. You can't let worries, what if's, should be's or anything else hold you back, you just have to... Do. Do you know what I mean? Now, what do you say?"

What could she say, it was everything she had ever hoped and dreamed being offered to her on a dull morning with sunbeams for smiles and crackling eyes of Avada green. An escape. She could find a new place, she could be a new her, she wouldn't have the locals chasing her down because they knew who her family was... She could make a life. Happy and hole and far away from her family. She could be free. She lurched forward, surprising Harry by the way one of her eyebrows quirked up and her smile grew, as her own joined the red-heads, her hands wringing her shawl.

"An adventure does sound awfully tempting... Oh, bloody hell. I'm going to do it! I'm actually going to do it!"

Harry laughed heartily, her laughter huskier than her voice, but triple its warmth too, almost feeling like a fire in the middle of a blistering winter, it drew you further in. She stopped momentarily, about to draw back into herself when she realized for once in her life, Harry wasn't laughing at her, but with her. Her own warbling chuckles joined Harry's in tempo, cautiously, still nervous. She didn't know what she would do if all this turned out to be another prank from the locals.

"Good! I don't rightly know what I would have done if I had to go on my own. Oh, look, the train's about to depart. Come on!"

Then Harry was off, bending down to snatch up her suitcase and darting between the crowd, stopping while she was still partially in view to look over her shoulder and smile at her, curls blowing into her face, dancing in the air. She froze. This was it. It was all good and well saying you were going to do something, but actually doing it was the tricky thing.

Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, she remembered what Harry had said just moments ago. .. You can't let worries, what if's, should be's or anything else hold you back, you just have to... Do. And do she would. Jolting into her own standing, she pushed through the crowd, chuckling as she heard Harry laugh and carry on, turning back around to find an open door in the long redwood and brass train. She was doing it... She was escaping... She was actually leaving.

When she, fortunately, caught up to Harry, she realized how much taller she was, a good shoulder and head. Although, while she was taller, Harry was more endowed than her own lithe and thin form. Willowy is what the nicest thing women would gossip about her, where as Harry was more hour glass. Just as she reached the red-head, she heard her questioning a man in uniform, half stepped out of the doorway, straddling the gap where platform met train, right hand holding onto the door frame, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. Did he work on the train? despite her numerous visits to this very station, she had never questioned how things had worked, she hadn't seen the need to. Now, however, she wanted to know it all.

"Excuse me Mister, where does this train go?"

The man, middle-aged by the sparse grey hairs dusted throughout his mousy brown, in his simple but pristine uniform finally noticed Harry who was standing in front of him. He pulled the cigarette out, billowing out a cloud of smoke, hazel eyes glancing between Harry and herself, his eyes widening when he spotted her behind Harry, eyebrows rising high on his forehead, puzzlement ghosting his features as if he was trying to figure out how the two knew each other or if he really was seeing what was before his eyes. Thankfully, he quickly gained composure and spoke in a thick Cockney accent, eyes settling on Harry and never drifting away. She didn't mind that, she preferred it that way.

"Small Heath, Birmingham miss. Are you two... Friends?"

Harry ignored him and swivelled to face her, smile smaller than earlier, nothing more than an upturn in the corners and a twinkle in her eye. Apprehension and excitement filled her, waiting for Harry to answer the man, almost jittering in her torn and scuffed shoes. If Harry said yes... She would be the first ever friend she had. It felt monumental right then, lost in a crowd and about to board a train to this... Small Heath.

"She's my... Sister. Does Small Heath, Birmingham sound good to you?"

Sister. Harry had told the man she was her sister. That little torch in her chest that had been burning since she had met Harry transformed to a full out camp-fire. She had never had a sister before. She had never really thought about having one, she knew what her brother and father were like, she wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy. But a sister. That sounded... Nice. Real nice. Sisters looked out for each other, didn't they? They protected one another. Laughed with one another. They were more than friends. They were family. And not like the family she had but a true one. When she spoke, she was speaking of more than this place called Birmingham.

"Small Heath sounds perfect."

Harry nodded and twirled back around, arm shooting out with the slips of paper offered to the man who was now scrutinizing the two, as if trying to see if they were really sisters, then shook his head as if he didn't get it and smiled, taking the tickets and tearing off the ends, handing them back. She was confused and bemused at all this ritual. Was this normal practice to enter such things as trains or was it special to this train? She had no more time to ponder questions as she felt a small hand with long fingers wrap around her arm, gently leading her onto the train. The carpet felt nice on the sole of her feet, her left one where the rubber had worn through and left her practically barefoot. As Harry led them down what seemed to be a long hallway, narrow and filled with glass windowed doors, she heard the man shout out behind them, Harry responding before they got too far down.

"Have a good day misses and keep an eye on your luggage! You never know whose on the same tram as you!"

"Thank you!"

Misses. Plural. He had wished her a good day too. She swallowed down the lump and pushed back the tears that threatened to mist her vision. It was no secret she hadn't known much kindness in her life, not much at all and today she had met Harry, someone she really and soulfully believed could become the person she had told the man she was, a sister and then a muggle, a muggle who her father and brother would swear black and blue would do terrible things to her, wished her a good day, even smiling at her with a short wave.

Maybe she wasn't the good for nothing clout. The girl with no brains. The one always in the wrong... Maybe they had it wrong all along, her brother and father. Harry sighed and let go, stopping at a door and pushing it open, holding the door open for her to step through. She did, eventually, when she mustered enough courage. She still couldn't believe she was doing this. But Harry's kindness, that man's kindness, that was all the cement she needed to solidify her decision. Harry was the first to sit on the worn leather seats that had patches rubbed through after she lifted her suitcase up and shoved it into the depths of an overhanging rack, near a window. She followed Harry's movements, not quite sure what was going to happen or what she should do, sitting down opposite Harry, near the window too. Just as a loud whistle rang out, a revelation came to her and for the first time in her life, she spoke first. However, she had a feeling this would only be the first of many to come. All of them were welcome if they held as much promise as Harry whirling into her life and this spontaneous adventure.

"Oh, there you are talking about bad manners, I haven't even told you my name. I suppose you will need to know it if we are sisters. I'm Merope Gaunt. It's a pleasure to meet you Harry Potter."

With a jerk and a rumble, the wheels began to move and Merope jumped, startled by the movement, her eyes flashing outside to see the station pulling away, all she had ever known growing smaller, all the abuse and suffering disappearing over the horizon. She had done it. She had actually done it. Unbeknownst to her, her hand unwound itself from her shawl and her palm, clammy and dirty, pressed against the cool glass, watching as they grew further and further away, eyes wide as realization set in that she was really leaving.

"Well, Miss Merope Gaunt here's to new tidings, adventures and a happy family!"

Her breath fogged the glass as her hand slipped and slid from the glass, falling into her lap as she finally tore her eyes away from the now gone station, smiling shyly at the redhead opposite her. She may be nervous, confused and anxious, but this was all she had ever wanted, but never before brave enough to take. She could have sworn she saw the sun break through the clouds then, glittering down upon her in favour before it was swallowed again. Yes. She had done the right thing. Adventures, Merope thought, were most unexpected. It thrilled her as much as Harry naturally calmed and eased her coarse and frayed nerves.

"A happy family indeed."

And a happy new life.

What is this? Where did it come from? Will I continue? What led to this? I have no clue what-so-ever XD.

AN: I've recently fallen down a very winding hole that is all things Peaky Blinders. I really couldn't help it, this just came to me one day and, well, I started typing and this came out. The thing I've noticed in time travel fics, especially ones where someone is trying to right the war, is they always go straight to young Voldemort as if he is where it all began. When, really, if you want to change anything, surely it would be his mother, Merope you would visit? I don't know, I'm interested in her character and unfortunately, she is hardly brought to life in the fanfic world so I thought I would try my hand at it. I hope I didn't do too bad.

Some facts about this fic:

1. I've obviously aged Merope Gaunt up. She was born in 1907, so by 1919 she would have only been twelve, and well, I wanted an older Merope in this fic, so I'm flashing creative licence here, please don't get too mad XD

2. This is set just slightly before season one of Peaky Blinders and obviously will be going through the seasons, if I carry it on that is.

3. There will be no Grace I'm afraid. While she gets a lot of hate I don't understand, I just personally don't like her character. Plus, it's easier for what I'm planning to take place if she is just cut out. I know, that's lazy writing but it's just the way it is.

4. The pairing isn't finalized. Though I have whittled it down to a three-horse race, though I am open up to suggestions if you want to P.M me or leave it in a review. Here are the pairings.

Tommy Shelby/Fem!Harry

Alfie Solomons/Fem!Harry

Or, the whole nine yards and have Alfie/Fem!Harry/Tommy

I really can't decide between the two, so like I mostly do in my fics, I leave it up to you beautiful people to decide, after all, you will be reading it, if you want it to continue that is. So, please leave it in a P.M or a review. I'll count them up, and in a weeks time, the 14th October, I'll post a new chapter and the pairing will be decided, so please vote before then.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the insane scribblings from a dribbling fanfiction author. If possible, could you drop a review, even if it's just to let me know whether to continue or if I'm wasting my time? Thank you once again and until next time, stay classy!-AlwaysEatTheRude21