She missed magic and Madam Pomfrey.
Hours spent in the hospital had confirmed that much, the ability to wave a wand and fix a broken limb in seconds a far cry from what she had to deal with then. A hum escaped her as she sat in the passenger seat, safely on her way back home after the scare of the night previous. Sunlight shone, already low in the sky, painting the waters a glistening amber which seemed to sparkle in the fading light. She wondered what her father was doing, as the time of his domain came to an end, before she shook her head sharply. That wasn't a safe topic to think about, what with how things stood. A sigh escaped her, long and heavy, and she brought her knees to her chest and shifted awkwardly in her seat.
She didn't need to look into the future to see the scolding she knew she would be getting as soon as they crossed the threshold into their apartment. Her mother was stony silent, all but radiating disapproval and anger. Harriet couldn't find it within herself to shrink away from that much. She had survived the Dursleys. Somehow she didn't think her mother could do worse than that. Even if she didn't want to experience anything which might make her think back to those long eleven years before Hogwarts had provided a much-needed escape from that hellish place.
She didn't even react when she spied those grannies across the street, sitting on the steps, knitting their threads, and watching – always watching – her. A sigh escaped her lips yet again, that pool of dread in her stomach only building as they pulled up in their parking space and the car came to a final definite halt.
Her mother took her hand as she climbed out of the car, glancing down at her briefly before they began the walk up the stairs which felt eerily like a walk to the gallows. Her hand felt awfully clammy, and Harriet didn't understand why because she had known what she was going to do would earn her mother's disapproval – perhaps even anger – but she had been prepared for that much. Or so she thought she had been, because it didn't quite seem that way.
The front door closed behind her with a distinct thud of finality, and Harriet flinched, the mottled purple marks wrapped around her throat throbbing with pain. "Harriet," her mother said, and she tensed, the image of Aunt Petunia rushing to the forefront of her mind. The sharp hiss of that word "Girl!" and the feeling of bony fingers impacting her cheek thudding about in her skull as she shivered and shook where she stood. "Harriet!"
"'m sorry," she murmured, repeating the phrase over and over again like a mantra, wondering where the slap was – where the scathing biting comments about everything she had done wrong and how very freakish she was. Then she remembered that it wasn't that life. She was a Carter who lived with her mother, not a Potter who lived with the Dursleys. Rather than being dragged by her too thin wrist to her cupboard and thrown in, she was sitting on the couch with her mother, cradled in warm arms with a hand smoothing down her hair as she sat on her mother's lap.
"Harriet," her mother spoke, blue eyes looking down at her so severely that she couldn't maintain eye contact. "Has anyone every hit you?" she asked with a voice which sounded like hoarfrost. "Tell me, baby. Was it someone at school? Mrs Thompson? Someone else?"
"No," she answered, shaking her head, fingers curling in the fabric of her mother's blouse.
"Harriet," her mother said again, and she could feel the scepticism radiating off her in waves as she sat there. "For all you say you're good at detecting lies, I must say you are rather terrible at telling them. Perhaps you get that from your father too… or perhaps…" she trailed off, fingers brushing against her cheek gently, a far cry away from the slap she had been expecting for some reason. Silently, she scolded herself for even daring to think that her mother would slap her. She wasn't Aunt Petunia, nor was she anything like Uncle Vernon. Those two were nothing more than relics of her past. A past she wished could've vanished into the wind like smoke. Things were never that simple though, more so for her.
"It doesn't matter," she said flatly, giving into the urge to bury her face in her mother's shirt and hide away from the world. She had done that far too much over her years in that world. Yet even after all that time, she still couldn't forget. She couldn't move on. Not properly, in any case.
"Harriet," her mother said, and she only sighed at the constant use of her name. "I'd say this matters a lot. Especially to me."
"Mn," Harriet grumbled. "It doesn't matter," she stated crossly, "because they can't hurt me anymore."
"That's not the point," her mother muttered, shaking her head. "Honestly, sweetie, why must you be so very stubborn? You're far too hard-headed for your age."
Harriet sighed, nuzzling her head into the crook of her mother's neck, all but basking in the soft, warm grasp she was held within. She almost thought it felt so very safe. Yet safety could never last for her – not in her world before, and certainly not in the world after her death. "There's a truth behind that," she murmured, wondering then if somehow the hospital had drugged her and made her lips ever so loose. "But you have to promise not to hate me." Her fingers curled in her mother's top once more, ever greedy for her affection. "Because I'm always such a freak…"
"Harriet – you are not a freak, and so help me, if I find out who's been calling you such a thing—"
"Mama," she mumbled, the inflexion falling from her lips without much thought. "Tell me… have you ever heard of arbiters of fate?" she asked, golden eyes cracking open and peering up at Celeste Carter as if she could gauge how the coming information would affect her mother. She doubted her father had said anything of the topic, if dream being's words were anything to go off of.
Her mother's brow crinkled. "No. I haven't…" she said matter-of-factly. "I don't see why that matters when—"
A small finger pressed itself to her mother's lips. "It does. Lemme explain," she said, sighing for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "You know about fate, yeah?" she trailed off, waiting for her mother to nod before she continued, heedless to the squirming of fear in her belly. "It controls every being on this world. No one within the bounds of this world's fate can escape it… but what happens when you have a soul from outside this world?" Harriet tilted her head, sighing as she saw the confusion on her mother's face. "You can reincarnate in the underworld, yes?" Harriet spoke. "Yet not everyone does, and so many new babies are born. Where do you think those souls come from?"
"New souls?" her mother mumbled, still looking rather perplexed by the topic of conversation.
Harriet nodded. "For the most part, yes," she said, rubbing her fingers together nervously then. "But occasionally you get a soul like mine," she murmured, locking eyes with her mother. "One who didn't live in this world and forget to visit the River Lethe before reincarnating, yet one who isn't a new soul born free from everything. A soul which lived before in a different world, born outside of the fate's web in this world, brought in from outside. A soul able to change fate."
"Wait," her mother said, confusion and realisation warping her expression into something Harriet hadn't quite seen before. "You can't be saying…"
"I remember my past life, mother," she stated flatly, lowering her eyes and staring at a spot on her mother's collarbone. "It's why I'm—"
"Don't you dare say a freak, or so help me…" her mother trailed off, brows knotted together in confusion as a silence filled the air for a brief few moments, a lull in the conversation as she struggled to digest the information Harriet had, undoubtedly, dumped in her lap like a steaming bowl of boiling water. Or perhaps it was more akin to a bomb? Harriet wasn't quite sure, beyond the fact she knew her existence was dangerous for most, if not all, parties involved. Well, if her grandfather was as bad as rumours portrayed him. "I still don't quite understand if I should believe this… What you're telling me sounds crazy…"
"Yet you told me before that I can't lie to save my life… besides, is it really all that strange, given how literal gods walk among us?" Harriet raised an eyebrow, fingers curling in her mother's top once more, somehow finding comfort in the soft, silky material as she sat there, the truth about her and her unnaturalness ringing in the air around them heavily. "Tell me, mother. Am I lying when I say I'm a reincarnated soul?" she asked, tilting her head and finding the courage to meet those blue eyes which were oh so familiar by that point.
"No. You're not. But that just means you believe it to be the truth," she stated, and Harriet could hardly deny the truth of that statement. "You inherited prophecy from your father, after all…"
"Mn." Harriet blinked. "I'm an oracle," she said. "Also, there's this—well, I'm fairly sure he's a god—being who visits me in my dreams. He's the one who told me all of this," she added. "And I'm fairly certain he's the one who brought me here in the first place." Her eyes darted to her mother's face, taking in what had to be characteristic worry by such a point. "If you don't believe me, then you can probably believe him, because I assure you, he's no figment of my imagination… He's far more terrifying than what I could come up with…"
"You say that like you've experienced something terrible," her mother acknowledged, hand brushing down her hair as she sat there, suddenly feeling so old and tired. "I'm almost terrified to ask…"
"Well, I did have a madman trying to kill me during my teenage years," Harriet mumbled, resting her head against her mother again, enjoying the feeling of warmth and the sound of her heartbeat – proof that she was undoubtedly alive. "In my last life, that is…"
Her mother sighed, a long sigh which sounded as though she was bearing the weight of the world on her thin shoulders. "I suppose what matters is that you believe you went through these things," she murmured. "Tell me about it then, sweetie. This past life of yours…"
Harriet sighed. "It's a long story."
A hand ruffled her hair. "We have plenty of time," her mother said, fingers rubbing a soothing circle on her back as she sat there on her mother's lap, basking in the novelty of it all.
::
Her mother was a smart woman. Harriet knew that much, and she probably ought to have expected her to work something out from the stories she had told her mother the evening previous. She hadn't been expecting the train of waffles which her mother had dished out at most mealtimes afterwards. Something about cheering her up by making her the one dish she had a particular fondness for.
It was why she choked on her mouthful of waffle when her mother sliced right to the very heart of her issues. "It was those past relatives of yours, wasn't it?" her mother asked, pushing a glass of water her way when she immediately began choking on her breakfast. "The… Dursleys, wasn't it?"
Harriet felt her eyes slide down to stare at her chocolate-covered waffles which were so very interesting all of a sudden. Honestly, if she kept eating them so regularly, then she'd probably end up like dear cousin Dudley in all his beachball glory. "Mn," she said in lieu of an actual answer, never wanting to linger on the thoughts of her once so-called family. They were, in essence, dead to her. Though it would probably be more accurate to say that she was dead to them, what with her being the actual one who had died. She paused, lips clicking shut with a soft pop as nostalgia and wistfulness came around to call, as often they did whenever she mused on her past life. She was seven-years-old in body in that world – equal to roughly a third of her previous life's time. Sharp sorrow had since faded into something far mellower and bittersweet.
"They're the reason you barely make a sound when you cry," her mother said, a mix of sorrow and anger warping her face.
She shrugged at that, not wanting to linger on those memories when she had made far better ones in that life of hers right then and there. "They didn't… like it," she mumbled. "Or should I say they didn't like my existence in general," she added, tilting her head and smiling as her mother brushed her hair back out of her face. "So I pretended to not exist."
"They were terrible people," her mother grumbled. "And they've left their marks on you," she said, no longer sounding so sceptical about the prospect of her past life. Harriet supposed it was probably because of the sheer detail with which she had told those stories of her past with… That was beyond anything the mind of a nearly seven-year-old could really come up with.
"I'm fine," Harriet mumbled, wondering then if she truly believed such words – yet if she wasn't fine then what exactly was she supposed to be? "I have a better family in this world, and I won't let a terrible fate befall any of my family."
Her mother only sighed. "You do realise you're only proving my point, don't you, sweetie?" she whispered, a hand threading through her golden locks.
"Mn?" Harriet tilted her head, confusion marring her brow as she looked up at her mother, lost as to what her mother was going on about.
"Never mind," her mother said, sighing yet again, and Harriet could only wonder if that was going to become a theme. "I love you, Harriet," she said matter-of-factly and without any hint of a lie. Harriet felt her cheeks turn red at the acknowledgement. It was something she hadn't been told much, and certainly not always truthfully. It had been the Girl-Who-Lived everyone had loved before – not Harriet Potter. "That protectiveness you feel for the rest of your family… Can you not imagine the fact that I feel that same protectiveness for you?"
Harriet's lips popped open, brows twisting in momentary confusion before she closed her mouth and sunk her teeth into her lip. "I—I can't just let them die," she said, fingers curling into far too tiny fists as she sat there. "I'm getting stronger too! I can save them – look!" She stumbled to her feet, thinking on the three D's of apparition and twisting on her heel. Her eyes cracked open, a smile curling at her lips as she appeared on the other side of the room. "Cool, right?" she spoke, grinning at the way her mother was looking at her in utter shock. "I just need more practice, but I can't do that in the daytime…"
Her mother opened her mouth to say something, only to pause a moment later, a frown twisting at her expression. "Why wouldn't you want to practice during the daytime?" she asked. "That's when I'd assume you'd be stronger… given…"
She wandered over to the window close beside her then, looking up at the sun which was concealed by light clouds. Her vision flashed gold, the image of a cherry red Maserati popping into her mind for one reason or another. She blinked, the vision vanishing into smoke, leaving her standing there and looking upon the world in all its sunlit glory. "Mama," she murmured ever so softly, the memories of those other arbiters and their arrow wounds brought to the forefront of her mind. "You remember what I told you, don't you? About arbiters of fate?" She turned then, all too aware of how the sunlight haloed her as she stood there, staring at her mother with glowing gold eyes.
"You're one of them," her mother answered succinctly.
"Mn." Harriet nodded. "I'm not the only one to ever exist," she said, smiling sombrely. "You know what one of father's domains is, don't you?" She tilted her head, golden hair shifting with the movement. "Prophecy." She shuffled on her feet. "The gods don't like it when things are changed from how they're meant to be. Well, most of them don't," she explained, well aware she was probably babbling by that point. "So they get rid of arbiters of fate… and mother… who do you suppose they send to deal with them?"
Blue eyes narrowed. "No," her mother hissed.
She nodded in response, already knowing her mother had made the connections in that head of hers. Ever did she seem to have intelligent mothers. Harriet wondered then if she'd die and reincarnate again and have a third mother. Yet she didn't want to linger on such a musing. "Mn. That's right. They send daddy dearest," she said, playing with her fingers as if that could alleviate the constant worry which loomed before her like an executioner's blade over her neck. Yet she had lived once before with a blade hovering over her neck in the form of dear old Tom. She was tired of it. "Though dream guy thinks he might try to spare me, since I'm his kid… but it's not always down to father alone. It's why I don't make a nuisance of myself in the sunlight… because dream guy is concealing me from father's gaze somehow…"
Her mother sighed yet again, rubbing at her temples and looking so incredibly perplexed as they sat there, eating their breakfast. "I think I'll need some time to understand all of this," she mumbled. "Part of me wants nothing more than to think it's all some bizarre daydream." She shook her head. "Yet I can't shake the feeling that this makes far too much sense…"
Harriet hummed to herself at that, focusing back on her waffle, chewing on the delectable sugary goodness as she watched the many facial expressions of her mother as she digested all the information given to her. "It's the truth," she said between mouthfuls. She glanced between her plate and her mother. "Are you going to let me go to Camp Lagoon with the twins?"
"Harriet," her mother hissed, blue eyes narrowing, indecision and worry scrawled over her face. "Not now…" she said, burying her head in her hands. "Honestly… your father warned me that a child of his would be exposed to danger… that it was inevitable, and it would come for you too soon. I didn't want to believe it."
Gold tinted her vision, the image of her mother coming into sight. Only she looked younger, holding a pregnancy test. The scene changed, red blood staining sheets, her mother crying and a man holding her. Only that probably wasn't a man, or so Harriet mused to herself, thinking on the golden locks and bright blue eyes she'd seen in that flash. "Oh," she mumbled, realising in an instant what that was as she came back to the present. "I could have had a full-blooded sibling…" she trailed off, meeting those blue eyes which widened as a confused expression crossed her face. "I see past, present, and future, mother," she explained, watching the look of bitter sorrow which appeared.
"Your father thought I was just the unlucky kind of person who couldn't bear a child with a measure of divinity," she murmured. "You were my little miracle, Harriet…" Her mother paused then, blinking as though she had just realised something. "But you don't need to worry about that—"
Harriet blinked. "Oh," she said, tilting her head as she remembered how she probably wasn't supposed to know about bearing children and everything that entailed. Yet she had already given her explanation. "Don't worry," she said swiftly. "I already know everything I need to about… uh, the birds and the bees. Past life, remember? And, well…" she trailed off, thinking then on some of the visions she really hadn't wanted to see. "Visions…" She shrugged, feeling mightily uncomfortable at the sudden weight of her mother's undivided attention. "They're not always about blood and death…"
Her mother's laughter was caught between hopeless amusement and a sob. "Well," she mumbled, threading her hands through her hair and staring down at her plate. "I suppose that's one thing I won't have to worry about telling you…"
::
"Hey, did you hear?" Laurel plonked herself on the seat next to her, a cross between a smile and a scowl on her face. "Mom's tryna find a new archery range we can practice at while the club is sorting things out still."
Alexander stared down at the musical score they were all crowded around the table working on. Three instruments were set in one corner; her violin, Laurel's grand piano, and Alex's cello. "Can't believe someone really burned that place down," he mumbled softly under his breath.
"An arsonist," Laurel said matter-of-factly, folding her arms with a huff, ignorant to the fact that the arsonist herself was sitting next to her. Harriet shifted in her seat guiltily, thinking of the fire which had swept through the archery range and the forest beside it. "Now we've gotta go somewhere new."
"It's just for school time, Laur," Alex murmured. "Mom's sending us off to this camp she found next summer. She's got something to do, I think," he said, and Harriet felt like a boulder had sunk in her stomach all of a sudden. "Maybe…"
"Hey! Maybe you could come along too?" Laurel turned to her. "Otherwise you'd probably get bored next summer. Ask your mom, yeah?" Blue eyes seemed to sparkle, light reflecting off them, making them seem to glow in the light of the evening sun. Bright and so full of life. Like a moth to a flame. "It's this place called Camp Lagoon!"
"Oh," Harriet spoke, stomach twisting uncomfortably, because there was a date set. Suddenly it wasn't potentially multiple summers away. She was turning seven soon enough. The twins would be turning ten, and they'd be ten-years-old the next summer. Ten-years-old when they were destined to die if she didn't do a thing. A smile curled at her lips – colder and full of determination than it had any right to be. "I'll ask my mother about it," she said, fingers curling to make little fists.
By the time the next summer came around, she'd be ready.
She had to be.
::
Before that, though, Harriet mused, staring down at the dress she had all but been forced into for the blasted competition Laurel and Alexander had signed them all up for. Some Young Musicians contest which Harriet hadn't thought much about, given what was set to be going down next summer. She had been far too preoccupied with saving the lives of her siblings, known and future ones, to bother over a simple musical contest.
Only it was no simple contest.
"I can hardly believe it," her mother murmured, standing backstage with her as they waited in the wings for their number to be called. "It seems like only yesterday you were first learning the violin," she said, ruffling her hair, and Harriet could only be thankful that the twins were in a similar situation with their mother a couple of metres over. "Now look at you… a budding little musician in the making."
"Mn," Harriet grunted, feeling inordinately shy all of a sudden. She didn't quite understand – once eyes had followed her everywhere, always wanting to know her next move. Though perhaps since she had lived so long without those eyes she had grown complacent? If such a thing was possible. Rather, she felt like she had enjoyed her days with a smaller group of people, safe from the gazes of others and her father in particular. Part of her wondered then if her father would even pay attention to his children when they participated in a musical contest. That was one of his domains, after all. Yet he was probably far too busy—
Gold glinted, and Harriet was met with the same sight she had seen from peering around the curtain only moments ago. The focus shifted, her mouth running dry at the vision of long blonde hair tied in a bun, crystalline blue eyes, a bright grin on his face, and a bag of popcorn in hand. "Oh," Harriet muttered, the present returning to her, and her mother looked down at her and frowned. "He's here."
"What?" her mother asked.
"Father," she said, thinking then on something which had been bothering her for a while. "He's here," she repeated, all the while musing on whether or not she had some degree of control over what she saw. She had just been musing about whether or not her father was watching only moments before – and she had a vision all but answering that question in an instant.
"Oh," her mother said, looking as if she wanted to grab her and make a break for the exit. She looked around frantically, grabbing something from one of the shelves. "Wear these," she said. "To hide your appearance…"
Harriet looked at the glasses pressed in her hands. "Oh," she mumbled, feeling a well of nostalgia even as she did as she was asked. She had seen it happening, after all. Though she doubted glasses would conceal her all that well – or at least not as much as the probable god who had shrouded her true appearance.
"Good luck, sweetie," her mother spoke, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes betraying her nervousness. "Though I doubt you'll need it."
Gold seeped into her vision once more, the harmony of notes thrumming in her ears, and Harriet could only sigh as the future was lain out bare before her. They were going to take first place. Though Harriet supposed that was a given, what with three children of the god of music being present and playing instruments. Part of her wondered if that classed as cheating, before she shook her head. It was like being a metamorphmagus. One couldn't control who they were born to nor what talents they had. Harriet tilted her head. Unless they were an annoying, terrifyingly powerful being who met her on a train in her dreams. A soft sigh escaped her, even as she focused on the vision and the sounds of music.
Still, she rather enjoyed the melody, listening to the resonant hum, and thinking then as visions of wailing arrows and notes of pure rage flashed before her eyes in a myriad of colours and sounds. Her brows drew together, even as Alexander nervously tugged on her hand. "It's our turn," he murmured. "We've got to go…" Harriet blinked, letting herself be tugged forwards, walking onto a stage framed with thick curtains, the lights bright to her eyes, and thousands of stares set upon her tiny form.
The silence lingered in the air as they went to their locations, musical scores set, instruments tuned, and Harriet exhaled shakily, violin ready, eyes narrowed, a determined smile curling at her lips even as Laurel counted them in.
::
Her fingers traced over their names engraved into the plaque on the trophy's base, a smile curving at her lips as she stared at it – the proof of their winnings, of how they had succeeded. A hum escaped her, vision turning gold as yet another scene of the near future slammed into her.
"Well, what have we got here?" a cheery voice rang out as Laurel and Alexander milled about in the corridor beside the room she was in. "Two of the winners of this fine music contest." Blue eyes almost seemed to shine in the light of the room, long blonde hair tied in a messy bun, strands framing an all too familiar face. The same face she did not want to see up close anytime soon.
"Um…" Alex blinked. "Who are you?" he asked, looking rather incredibly hesitant at the appearance of someone he didn't know.
"Just a fine connoisseur of music," their father answered, ruffling their hair in a blink of an eye, and Harriet could only frown at that – because she knew of a good few Ancient Laws. One of which prevented much interaction between godly parent and demigodly child.
Her vision shifted, pain pulsing in her skull as blackness flashed before her eyes, rimmed with gold. "You are playing a dangerous game," a feminine voice rang out, ignorant to the amount of pain she was in. "You know the Laws…"
"And yet father all but gave me permission to break this one?" the much more familiar voice came. "All thanks to a darling plague-causing child of mine who needs to be found… You worry too much, lil sis!"
Harriet frowned, the vision returning to that of the twins, and she only paused – the words taking a few moments to sink in. "Oh," she murmured, even as Alexander and Laurel hesitantly interacted with their father. The same father who was searching for a plague-causing child of his. Her stomach twisted. Her father was looking for her. Though she supposed that was all the more reason not to let him find her.
Dimly, she thought she heard the sound of someone cackling in the back of her head, and she had her suspicions that, so long as she wasn't going mad, she knew exactly whose laughter that was.
"Oww," she grumbled, feeling the tell-tale trickle of hot liquid from her nose. She had yet another nosebleed. Hands grabbed at her head, and she had only a moment to take in the sounds of voices from outside the door – it had been a vision of the present rather than the future – before a rasping, hissing voice took up her attention.
"Golden-Eyed Daughter of Apollo," the almost familiar raspy hiss, and Harriet froze as she locked eyes with slitted reptilian ones.
"Huh?" Her confusion was almost palpable as she stared at the gigantic snake resting on the table in front of her. It was thick bodied, ridiculously long, and Harriet could only wager that it killed its prey using its body rather than venom. "What?" she spoke, blinking at the familiar rasping note to her voice which had ever indicated she was speaking parseltongue. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, fear rising as gold flashed in her vision, lamp-like yellow snake eyes staring down at her before the scene vanished and a forked tongue flickered in and out of the snake head only a matter of centimetres away from her face.
"My namesake sent me," the snake hissed, and Harriet could only frown, dumbstruck at the appearance of a large snake in the bowels of a concert hall and the fact that she could still understand snakes. "You will—"
"Harriet!" The door slammed open, Alexander appearing. "There's this guy who…" his words faltered, blue eyes widening rapidly at the sight of the literal snake and her – both of which had turned to face him at his sudden entrance.
"Foolish Sun's son who dares—"
Gold flashed in her vision, snake lunging for Alexander, a fraying yellow thread. The vision vanished, and Harriet was already moving on autopilot as one tiny fist slammed into the side of the snake's head, offsetting its lunge, startling it just enough for her to make a break for the door as Alexander screamed and stumbled away from the doorway. Her legs burnt, panic thrumming in her veins as she sprinted out of that room, into the corridor, and slammed the door shut behind her.
Alexander feebly looked between her and the door, legs shaking much like her own. "S-s-snake!" he cried, pointing at the door which was safely shut, just as a loud, meaty thump rattled the thick wood.
"What?" Laurel asked, looking between them in puzzlement as Harriet breathed heavily from the sudden excitement and exertion, the taste of copper heavy in her throat.
A third set of blue eyes bored into the side of her head, and Harriet was abruptly reminded that her father was there in that corridor. Not that he knew he was her father. Or so Harriet hoped. Even with dream being's concealment, she still looking incredibly similar to one of her father's children. Then again, there were millions of blue-eyed blondes out there unrelated to her father.
"This place has a reptile problem," Harriet found herself saying, feeling yet another trickle of blood leaking down over her nose and mouth. "Ugh," she grumbled, rubbing at the blood with her hand, scowling at the fact she didn't have a tissue pack on her.
"Oh, stop!" Laurel cried. "Stop, stop!" she proclaimed, and Harriet could only blink as she found herself accosted by a tissue-wielding Laurel. "Honestly, it's like you want to look like something which belongs in a horror movie!"
Harriet scowled. "Mn. 'm fine," she grumbled, even as Laurel pinched her nose shut and made her voice sound funny.
"No you're not," Laurel declared, and Harriet became acutely aware of the thudding, pounding pain in her head. "Where are our moms?" she mumbled, frowning then, and Harriet finally noticed the crown of leaves she was wearing. A laurel wreath.
A soft laugh escaped her, fingers brushing against the rich green leaves. "Wearing your namesake," she mumbled, refusing to think about that snake's words then, even as another thud rattled the door.
"Kids, what were you saying about a snake?"
Harriet blinked, abruptly reminded of the fact that their father was standing under the same roof as them. "There's a snake in the room," she said, pointing at the door, even as Laurel continued to fuss over her nose. "Maybe it escaped from the zoo," she added, not wanting to think about how that snake had addressed her. Like it had been trying to find her specifically. She didn't think there were many golden-eyed daughters of Apollo. A shiver rolled down her spine, vision flashing gold, images scrambled, popping into her mind far too quickly and leaving just as fast. Her head pounded, a reedy whine escaping her lips as she swayed on her feet.
"Right." Hands clapped together, the sound making her wince. "I think it's time you went back to your… parents, and we can let someone know about the… wildlife on the way," he said, eyeing the door as it rattled yet again.
"Mn," Harriet grunted in agreement, startling as she was bodily picked up by her father. She stiffened, only able to silently watch as their father corralled them all effortlessly towards the more populated area of the building. Acutely aware of the shroud protecting her, she could only sit there, balanced on her father's arm like a startled rabbit. Suddenly the protection of that being felt like a bubble about to pop, and Harriet felt her stomach squeeze, nervousness thrumming through her because she didn't want to be found out. For all that she had thought herself prepared for things – for a possible second pointless death – she really, truly wasn't.
She curled up against him then, hiding her face in his shirt, as was seemingly her preference. Silently, she hoped that Laurel had gotten rid of all the blood from her nose, lest she be staining her father's shirt. Dimly, she wondered if that was a smiteable offence.
"Laurel, Alex!" the familiar sound of the twins' mother, Josephine Woods, cried out upon seeing them, or so Harriet presumed, given how she was still hiding her face away, eyes closed. "Oh, and Harriet… did you have another nosebleed?"
Turning her head, she nodded, blinking as she noticed the pounding and pain in her head had vanished, and she was just being shy rather than being shy and in pain.
"Pass her here," Josephine said, holding out her arms. "I'll get her back to her mother – we're travelling—" Her words cut off abruptly, eyes widening as she took in who exactly was passing her over into her grasp. "Oh."
"Lovely to see you again, Josephine," their father said smoothly, smiling ever so easily as he was freed of a Harriet-shaped burden. "I'd best be off. Take care!"
Harriet grunted, securing her hold on her half siblings' mother, resting her head against her shoulder as she let herself be carried towards the car. "It's rush-hour traffic," she muttered, thinking then on how it was going to be one long drive back to each of their respective homes.
"Harriet!"
She turned at the sound of her mother's voice.
"What happened?" her mother demanded, taking her from Josephine's arms in a blur of movement.
Harriet shrugged. "Nosebleed."
Her mother sighed, setting her down in the backseat of the car and handing her the seatbelt. "You feeling alright, sweetie, or does your head hurt?" she asked, all too aware that nosebleeds and headaches generally came hand in hand for her.
"I'm fine," she said, pondering then on the fact that she didn't have a headache. But then again one of her father's domains was healing… Even though she didn't seem to have an ounce of talent when it came to that. She wondered about that then, thinking on how none of the other of her half-siblings she'd seen had used light. She wondered if that had been given to her instead of healing, musing on whether she was just made to be as destructive as demigodly possible.
"Let me know if that changes," her mother said, Harriet being well aware that her mother stocked both Tylenol and tissues in her handbag for her.
"Mn. Will do." She nodded, swinging her legs back and forwards as Laurel and Alexander sat in the back with her.
Several games of I Spy later and they were back home, laurel wreaths and trophy in tow.
::
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" He sat opposite her, seated cross-legged on those train seats, head in the palm of his hand as he stared at her, amusement lining his mouth and eyes. "Or do you not wonder about it?"
Harriet frowned. "About what?" she asked, puzzled by the odd line of question her dream had taken tonight.
"You met your father, yes?"
She nodded at that. "Yeah. I did," she said, thinking on that golden-haired, blue-eyed figure who had only haunted her visions up until that very point. "He's looking for me…"
"Such a shame he won't be able to find you just yet," he purred, tilting his head. "Yet that is hardly what I am trying to steer you towards. Say, darling, what did your father look like?"
Harriet frowned. "Long blonde hair, blue-eyed, tanned… I don't know what else you want me to say," she said, folding her arms. "I don't even understand where you're going with this."
He sighed – a long, drawn out thing, as if exasperated with her stupidity and slowness. "What does your mother look like, darling?" he asked. "Humour me."
"Red-haired, blue-eyed, and paler," she answered.
"And you?"
"Blonde, gold-eyed, and pale, I guess."
One eyebrow quirked up sardonically, as if to say Really? "Tell me now, darling, how often do you think it is that two blue-eyed individuals have a child with golden eyes?"
"I…" she trailed off. "My father's eyes turn gold—"
"When?"
Harriet blinked. "What?"
"When do your father's eyes turn gold?"
She thought back to her visions, turning them over in her head. "When he's angry," she said. "And? What does that have to do with anything?"
"Silly child," he murmured. "I'm trying to point out one of your fatal flaws. A warning… A warning, and perhaps a promise," he spoke, reaching out with one hand, cool fingers brushing against her cheek as he cupped her face. Sharp teeth glinted in the light, his grin positively shark-like as he stared at her, ever amused and infinitely entertained by her presence there. "Your wrath will be something to behold."
