For those of you that follow my Tumblr, you will understand where this delightful little story came from. I hope you enjoy, my lovelies. This story will be mature - fair warning. I will tag appropriately as the chapters come out.

Harry was four when she heard the loud crack behind her.

She was kneeling in the garden, nails black with dirt and legs scraped from the thorns of Aunt Petunia's rose bushes. Her trowel lay discarded to her right, because sometimes it was easier for her to just use her hands – fingers nimble and thin enough to snake through the roots – to press the soil down.

It had been hours since her aunt had shoved her out the back door and told her to start working, and Harry's throat was parched. Her back was aching and her skin was a blistering red. She did not know when Aunt Petunia would be home from visiting her friends, but Harry hoped it was soon. The harsh heat of the sun was making her light-headed.

Which was why she at first thought she imagined the strange little creature standing before her.

It was a hideous thing, with a warped face and long drooping ears, a stubby nose and mean eyes. It sneered at her when she popped her head out from the bushes, yellow teeth bared.

Harry blinked at it, confused. She looked uncertainly towards the Dursley's house, but there was no movement. Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley to the park, she remembered, to spend the Sunday afternoon together before he had to go to work again tomorrow.

Harry was alone.

With the odd creature.

"Hello?" Harry asked, voice scratchy and high with bewilderment. She had never seen anything like it before, and was swaying from exhaustion. The glasses on her face were too big, sliding down her nose and making everything blurry. She pushed them back into place, leaving a streak of soil on face as she squinted at the creature.

Its face twisted more, the expression reminiscent of Aunt Petunia whenever she caught sight of Harry being someplace she was not supposed to be. "Harriet Potter?" It asked, the words garbled, like there was a stone lodged in its throat.

Harry frowned, because she had never answered to anything but girl or freak before, and only knew her name was Harry because that was what Mrs. Figgs called her whenever she had to spend the day with her.

She shrugged, uncertain, and said, "My name is Harry."

The creature's snarl deepened. "Harriet Potter, daughter of James Potter?" It asked again, stepping forward with a limping gait.

Harry's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She had never – she knew that word. Knew what being a daughter meant, because Uncle Vernon was always so quick to correct people that assumed. She knew that she had had parents once but that they were dead – but Harry had never heard either of their names before.

She stumbled forward, heedless of the thorns that cut into her legs as she drew closer to the creature. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, one hand raising to carelessly swipe her tangles of black hair from her face.

"How – who are – do you know them?" She asked, breathless and desperate.

The creature stepped back hurriedly, avoiding her searching touch, something like panic in its bloodshot eyes. "Kreacher cannot say!" It hissed, "Mistress said to find and bring the girl – not speak!"

Harry flinched back from the flailing arms, hurt and scared. "Mistress?" She asked, not knowing what that meant.

The creature calmed down, though held itself at a distance. It nodded sharply, "Mistress wants the girl, Kreacher was told to find and bring the girl."

Harry stopped, her hands curling into her oversized grey shirt. "Someone – wants me?" She gasped, trying to understand.

It nodded again, more hurriedly. It looked uneasy, "Mistress wants the girl home."

"Home?" Harry mumbled, unable to grasp the concept. She knew what that meant, but she had never had a home – not in the way it looked like on television, or in the stories she sometimes heard her aunt telling Dudley. She was not welcome with the Dursleys, she knew. They had made it clear to her from the beginning. She was a burden, an unwanted blight on their lives. Harry had always known it.

But the thought that someone out there wanted her, that they wanted her to come home –

Harry focussed on the creature intently, something warm spreading through her chest. "Who? Where? Are you sure they want me?" She asked again, because she had to be sure, she had to know.

The creature nodded once more, "Mistress Black, in her home – she wants the girl." After a pause, it held out a gnarled hand to her. Its fingers were like sticks, long and pointed and brittle from hard work.

Harry stared at the outstretched hand, her breath coming fast.

She thought of her aunt, of the woman's stinging disapproval and quick insults. She thought of her uncle, big and hulking and terrifying for all he had never actually hurt her. She thought of Dudley, who always hurt her.

Harry took its hand.

And fell to her knees, heaving as the world righted itself once more.

Her stomach squirmed, and the last time she had felt like this was when Dudley had punched her, when Harry had not been fast enough to escape he and his friends. She had learnt from her mistake that day.

The sensation passed slowly, and Harry realised that she was sprawled out on carpet. The smell of it tickled her nose, and she coughed as she pushed herself up, casting her eyes around curiously.

The room she was in was old. The walls were dark and covered in paintings of people that seemed to stare down at her in disapproval, their lifeless eyes judging her and finding her wanting. Harry, disturbed but used to that, chose to ignore them.

She carefully climbed to her feet, hands absently pulling her loose pants higher from where they had slipped. She narrowed her eyes, fixing how her glasses sat, and turned around.

A woman sat before her, dark grey eyes lit with some unnatural gleam as she stared at Harry. She was old, older than Aunt Petunia, and looked tired underneath the shadows that danced over her high cheekbones and narrow face. Her hair was as black as night, but instead of tumbling around her face as Harry's did, it was pinned and neat, not a strand out of place. Her dress too, was very elegant – dark green fabric with delicate lace patterns over the top, high-necked with pearl buttons running down the front in a single line. Her lips were as red as the roses that lined the garden, and dark lines edged her eyes, making them stand out sharply on her pale skin.

She was beautiful.

Harry felt ugly in comparison.

She hunched a little, unable to handle the scrutiny in those eyes. Her cheeks burned in shame, though she did not know what, exactly, she was ashamed of. Her tangled hair, her too-big clothes, the dirt clinging to her. She was not so sure she wanted to be here anymore.

"Come here, Harriet."

The woman's voice was high and rasping, as if from disuse, but there was a certain curl to her accent that made Harry instinctively straighten. It was like what Aunt Petunia tried to sound like but could never quite manage. Polished and refined, reminding her of glass and crystal.

Harry shuffled forward, shoulders still curved with fear. She stopped a few feet from the woman, peering up at her meekly, and waited.

This close, the woman was even more fearsome. More beautiful.

Her eyes scanned Harry critically, and her upper lip lifted slightly in barely concealed disgust. Harry shrank back immediately, dropping her gaze.

"Despicable," the woman spat loudly, "how they treat a child of your standing. Filth, the lot of them – not fit to even lick your boots. Stand up straight, girl."

Harry obeyed, staring up at the woman in confusion. Their eyes met and though Harry longed to look away, she forced herself to hold still, even when her skin began to prickle.

The woman stood abruptly, a cane coming into view as she circled around Harry with uneven steps. She did not touch Harry, but with the way her gaze scoured her, she did not need to.

The lady came to a stop before her, thumping her cane once on the floor, and made a despairing noise in the back of her throat. "Well, it is not what I was hoping for, but I have seen worse. At least you are here now, rather than with those horrid beasts. Muggles, honestly. I have no idea what that fool was thinking, placing you with their kind. Look what they have done to you. Kreacher!"

Harry jerked at the sharp call, and again when there was another deafening crack and the creature from before appeared off to her side. Harry looked between the woman and the creature rapidly, but did not dare to speak just yet.

"Prepare a bath for the girl, I want to see what is lurking under all that grime. Lay out some clean clothes for her and prepare some food – gods know she needs a decent meal. Go."

The creature bowed low, then vanished, its body twisting in on itself and leaving nothing but air behind. Harry's mouth fell open in surprise and wonder.

"Close your mouth," the woman reprimanded, "no Black should ever be caught making such an indecorous expression."

Harry snapped her mouth shut, then tentatively looked up at the woman. "Black?" She asked, still unsure if she was allowed to talk.

The woman stared down at her with a face carved from stone. "Black – my family name. I am Walburga Black, and from now on I will be your guardian. Come." With that, the woman – Walburga – set off towards the door Harry had failed to notice before. She hurried after her, thin legs almost tripping in her haste.

"Guardian?" It burst out of her, "What – what do you mean? I –"

"What is your name?" Walburga barked over her shoulder, throwing Harry off guard at such an odd question.

"Harry –"

"Wrong." The woman spun around, pinning Harry in place with a glare that strangely did not make her want to crawl away. "Your name is Harriet Potter, daughter of James Potter, heir to the Potter House. And now you are my heir as well. I will not have you calling yourself such a plebeian name as Harry. You might be halfblood, but while under my care you will act with the dignity befitting your position."

The point of the cane jabbed into her chest, not hard enough to move her, but Harry rubbed the spot anyway. She frowned at the floor, mind whirring as she tried to keep up with what was happening.

"I don't –" Harry's mouth twisted in distress, "Are we family?"

Walburga stopped, her cane clicking against the wooden floor. Her gaze had a physical weight to it, and something close to sorrow stole across her face. "Distantly," she replied after a moment, "our families were joined once, but our connection goes far deeper than that. The Potters once took my eldest child from me, lured him away with lies and deception, and that decision led to him being betrayed and cast aside. Blood demands blood, so I have decided to claim you as my own, to balance the injustice."

"What?"

Walburga's mouth pinched, her brows furrowing in annoyance. "I am adopting you. You are my granddaughter now."

Harry's hand fell limply to her side, green eyes growing wide and disbelieving. "Grandma?" She whispered, the title reverent on her tongue.

Something in Walburga's face softened, just enough to ease the harsh lines of her eyes and mouth. "We are family now, Harriet. I have no one left besides you, no one worthy of carrying my name or titles. You are all the remains of your line as well. Through you, both our families will thrive."

Slowly, Walburga unfurled a hand from her cane and held it out to Harry. Her nails were clean and short, and her skin looked soft except for a few prominent callouses on her fingers. Harry, unlike with the creature, did not hesitate to place her own dirty hand in that inviting palm.

"Come, child," Walburga said, "we have much to discuss."

Magic.

She was a witch.

Harry absently played with some of the bubbles in the tub, her fingers peeking through the surface of the water and twitching at the cold air.

She had magic.

It was revolutionary to her, and yet at the same time, Harry felt like she had always known it existed.

So many small things could be explained now. Broken objects that repaired themselves before her uncle could see them, lights that flickered when she cried, hair that refused to stay short whenever her aunt chopped it off.

Harry had always known she was different. She had just never realised how different.

But being different was not so bad, not when there were others like her. A whole world of people that could do the things she would one day be able to do. Harry closed her eyes, sinking into the warm water up to her nose, remembering the light Walburga had made – bright like a star, a gentle white glow that had hovered in Harry's hands.

One day, she would be able to do that. One day, she would be able to do all the things Walburga had whispered of with a fervent glint in her eyes.

She could not wait.

Things were strange in the house.

There was much to explore, levels and levels of different rooms and spaces that she could only reach because she was still small.

Most of her time was taken up by Walburga's lessons. Learning her letters and how to count and writing with a quill, which Harry still found rather silly. But she had always been an inquisitive one, and having someone that was willing to answer her questions – no matter how stupid they were – fed a hunger in Harry's mind that she had not known was there.

It was like a switch had been flicked deep inside her, and when she was not exploring or with Walburga, Harry often had a book in her hands, eager mind devouring the pages.

Reading was fascinating.

And Walburga encouraged her in a way Harry had never experienced before. She was not a particularly nice woman, Harry had come to realise. But she was leagues better than Aunt Petunia had been, and though compliments were rare that was only because she had high standards. For everyone. But where the expectations had once seemed unattainable – nothing she did ever being good enough for her aunt and uncle, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried – with Walburga it only drove Harry to excel.

She wanted to succeed. She wanted to have those tight-lipped smiles directed at her. She wanted the weight of a warm hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing through her wild curls.

Already there was a fire burning in her chest. And every book Walburga pressed into her too-small hands only made it burn that much brighter.

Harry's knees gave out and she tumbled to the floor, shaking and cold.

"Again!" Walburga snapped.

They had been here for hours. It had been two weeks since she had first come to live here, and never had Walburga pushed her this hard. Harry did not even know how to do as the woman asked.

"Get up, we don't stop until you manage it, girl. On your feet."

Harry's arms trembled as she forced herself up. She wobbled, unsteady and tired, but too stubborn to lay down and quit. The portraits on the walls watched her efforts with disdain. They could talk, Harry had discovered, and she hated how they sneered at her. Their whispered jibs were always just loud enough for her to hear.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but no matter how she tried, she could not summon the power Walburga insisted was there. Her failure rankled, and Harry could feel tears begin to form in her eyes, hot and revealing.

"Disappointing," one of the paintings tittered.

"As to be expected," another spat, "halfblood, mudblood, they are all the same."

Harry pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block the words out. She knew now what those names meant, and it never ceased to make her want to run away whenever she heard them. Walburga banged her cane on the floor. "I said again!"

"I can't!" Harry shrieked, anger roaring through her. A pressure built in her chest, rising higher and higher until Harry thought she might explode. It ripped out of her, ferocious and wild, and every window on the floor shattered.

In the aftermath, only her hitched breathing could be heard.

Harry lowered her hands, staring at the shards of glass covering the floor around her bare feet. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and fear wrapped tight around her neck and squeezed. She looked at Walburga, dread flooding her – only Walburga was not mad.

The woman observed the carnage of her living room with a practiced eye. Her face was littered with small cuts, blood beading on the one above her brow, and Harry began to shake. She had never meant to hurt anyone.

Walburga's grey eyes smoothly rolled to where Harry stood, shuddering and exhausted. A dark smile slipped onto her face, making her seem so much younger. A pleased laugh filled the air, growing in intensity until the woman was clutching her middle with the force of her mirth.

"Excellent!" She crowed, looking back at Harry with burning eyes. "Excellent." She repeated, stepping through the broken glass like she did not even notice it was there. Her hand reached out and grasped Harry's face tenderly, curling under the jut of her chin and lifting until their eyes met. "Maybe there is a little more Black in you than I first thought."

"What?" Harry mumbled, her sight blurring horribly. She leaned into Walburga, desperate for support as her limbs turned numb.

Walburga's grin was small but no less satisfied. "Destructive displays of accidental magic speak to a strong core. You just needed a push to unlock it. We will make a Black out of you yet, little star."

Walburga settled the girl in her bed, tucking her under the blanket and pulling it up until it was nestled around her shoulders.

Harriet slept deeply, the session driving her to unconsciousness. The strain on her magical core would have shocked her system, but the results were better than she had been hoping for. The Potters had always been a strong family, renowned for their skills in transfiguration and potions – and more than one claiming the title of master dueller. The last had been Henry Potter, Harriet's great-grandfather. Fleamont had been more inclined towards potions, but had his son lived, Walburga had no doubt that James Potter would have managed to claim the title himself eventually.

Though she held little affection for the Potters, she could mourn the loss of talent. There were not many families left that held those skills in high regard.

But it appeared Harriet carried more than just her father's ridiculous hair. That burst of magic, the force of it, the way it had resembled a molten wave as it rushed through the air –

Yes. They could work with that.

Walburga settled beside the girl on the bed, watching the child sleep.

She was grateful for this opportunity. For years she had sat in this house, old and tired and drowning in her own brand of madness. Widowed. Childless. Cracking under the weight of her own failures.

Walburga had been lost for so very long, but that day, sat in front of her family tree, a moment of clarity had clawed through her. Regulus was gone. Sirius was gone. Her nieces married off or disgraced. No one left to carry on the Black name after she died.

It was an unacceptable reality – the end of House Black. It was something she would not stand, something she refused to let come to pass.

The realisation that she had needed an heir had been enough to pull her out from her spiral, and the only acceptable candidate she uncovered was before her now.

Harriet Potter, daughter of a pureblood and a mudblood, goddaughter to her eldest son and the proclaimed saviour of Britain. It had not been ideal, not with how entrenched the girl was in the war, and certainly not with Dumbledore's toxic interest. But the only other options were too old, too close to the enemies that were circling. So, she had made her decision.

When Kreacher had first deposited the girl before her, she had wanted to sneer at the filthy child. To mock and belittle the spectacle the girl made of herself, trembling in her boots and without an ounce of pride in her. But Walburga had already invested too much in preparing for the girl, and she would not be deterred.

It was a good thing, too.

There was a strength in her, a fire that Walburga intended to nurture into the forest fire it should be. She would turn this meek little mouse into a wolf, and through her, ensure that her name lived on, respected and feared as it once was.

Walburga reached out and brushed a thick lock of hair away from the girl's face, eyes straying to the scar. The paper-thin branches of lightning that stretched from her hairline to just passed her eyebrow, the discolouration faint enough to be noticeable, but not detracting from the elfin beauty the girl already possessed.

"You are still out there, aren't you?" She murmured, remembering a boy too brilliant for his own good, that grew too fast and was burnt by his own hubris. "You always were a stubborn one." She trailed a finger over the scar, feeling the Dark magic clinging to it, still there even after all these years.

"You can't have this one, Tom," she said, baring her teeth to the phantom in her mind. "You can burn Britain to the ground if you want, but you can't have her. She is mine now. My family. My legacy."

She had failed with two children already, two sons – one to each side of a pointless war. She refused to lose her granddaughter.

"You won't touch her," she vowed, smoothing back Harriet's hair. "When you try, I guarantee your next grave will be your last."

Harriet would never be vulnerable again, not with Walburga at her back. This girl was the future of her House, and Walburga was willing to do whatever it took to keep her alive. She would prepare her for anything. Never again would a Black bow to another.

Leaning over her, Walburga pressed a feather-light kiss to the scar.

Tomorrow.

Walburga stalked down Diagon Alley with brisk steps. She had left her cane at home today, feeling strangely invigorated since the incident with Harriet's magic.

Excitement thrummed through her, making the tips of her fingers tingle.

She marched her way directly into Gringotts, ignoring the handful of stares she received from those intelligent enough to recognise her. It had been over a year since she had stepped outside of her home, and how quickly she had fallen into obscurity.

By the end of the day, word of her unexpected appearance would be circulating, of that she had no doubt.

Walburga walked up to the first free teller and smacked her identification down on the desk. The goblin glared up at her, and Walburga met it sneer for sneer. "My family accountant," she demanded.

It did not speak to her, but within minutes she was seated in a private office, across from a goblin she vaguely recognised.

"Madam Black," it greeted with a hoarse voice. "To what do we owe this visit?"

Walburga's smile was like a sickle. "I have come to finalise an adoption. Blood."

The goblin's beady eyes gleam with interest, but it was far too sly to outright ask. "Of course, and the adoptee?"

"My son's goddaughter, Harriet Potter."

There was silence. Then, "Lady Potter already has legal and magical guardianship."

"Truly?" Walburga asked, twisting her signet ring around her finger. The gold caught the light. "I found the girl grovelling in the dirt, being forced to work herself half to death under her muggle family's instructions. Forgive me if I found the situation intolerable."

The goblin leaned over the desk, curious. "Indeed?"

She hummed, head tilting to the side and eyes narrowing. "I find it fascinating that I never received any notification that my son's goddaughter was being raised under the care of muggles. To my knowledge, his claim supersedes any ties to that lot. As Sirius is not in a position to provide for the child, the duties should have fallen to me, as the head of his House."

"Sirius Black was disowned," the goblin said, but there was a knowing curl to its thin lips that Walburga could not help but match.

"Not officially," she said, "it was always my hope he would return one day, after seeing the error of his ways." Lies, of course. One of the only traits from her Sirius had inherited was his stubbornness. But it was true that Walburga had never legally cut her son loose. If she had, he would have lost his right to their name completely. "I request all guardianship of Harriet Potter be transferred to me at once, so that I might begin to make up for her, so far, deplorable childhood."

The goblin lowered its head, twisted amusement sparking in its eyes. "Such efforts take time, Madam Black."

Walburga stood, hands running down her dress. "I can wait – and if I might make one request?" It was not a question.

She received a nod.

"Her current guardian need not know. Clearly, he does not have a vested interest in her life if he has not even noticed her new living arrangements. I know such transfers can be done in confidence, and as Sirius' mother, I should have always held rights over her. Anyone who tries to resist is breaking the law."

The goblin sat back with a grim smile. "Consider it done, my Lady."

Harriet ran her fingers over the letter, eyes tracing the words there fondly.

She was glad to hear from Viktor so soon after the first task. The reports she had read had worried her, more than she liked to admit. But from what he had written, she knew that even with the tournament taking up a large portion of his time, he was doing just fine.

"Good news?"

She looked up as Adalard slid into the seat beside her. His hair was ruffled, likely from the wind if he had been outside, but his blue eyes were sparking as he smiled at her.

"Viktor has made a friend," she told him, tapping the thick parchment against her lips. "A girl." She clarified; face creased with mischief.

Adalard hummed, bracing his chin on his palm. "And you are not frothing at the mouth with jealousy?"

Harriet chuckled, swatting him lightly. "I am happy for him. He needs more friends in his life."

"Friends or friends?" The other asked slyly, mouth curling impishly. Harriet laughed, shifting so that she was leaning against him firmly. She tucked one of her legs up on her seat and sighed.

"Both," she replied, eyes fluttering closed. "He said he was going to ask her to the Yule ball. Is that not the most adorable thing?"

Adalard carded a hand through her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers idly. He had always had the oddest fascination with her hair. "Adorable is not a term I would use for Viktor."

She smiled, tilting her head into his touch. "You have evidently never seen him sleep. There is not an intimidating bone in his body when he cuddles someone."

Adalard turned, pulling her closer and looping his arm around her waist. "You are the only one Viktor cuddles with. And you wonder why there are so many rumours surrounding you two." He playfully tugged on the strap of her overcoat, hard enough to make her smack him away.

"Now you are the one sounding jealous. I'm cuddling with you, aren't?"

His laughter ghosted over her ear. "We both know I am your second choice, don't give me false hope. My fragile heart cannot take any more of your cruelty."

Harriet opened her eyes, cocking an eyebrow. "If you think that is cruel, remind me to never let you in a room with my grandmother."

He shuddered in an exaggerated way. "Keep your dragon-woman away from me. I think she eats souls for breakfast, and I am far too young to go out like that."

"I don't know," Harriet mused, hand coming up to poke him on the nose, "I think you would make a cute morsel."

There was a clatter, drawing their attention to the newcomer. "Leo," Adalard greeted, dipping his head in the polite nod.

"Adalard, Harriet. I see you two are working hard for our upcoming exam."

Harriet groaned, pulling herself up fully and giving the boy a glare. "Leo, I love you, and I would kill for you – but we both know studying for Ryker's exam is a waste of time and effort. He will ask the same questions he asks every term, and while we are fighting back yawns, he will try and subvert our expectations by throwing a 'trick' question at us. A question that is, I might remind you, the same every term."

Leo grinned, delighted. "Ah, my dear, but what if this is the one time he decides to change things up?"

"Then I will accept my failing grade with grace." She declared, tucking Viktor's letter into her inner pocket. "But until that day comes, I will go with my tried and true method of topping that class."

She started to pack up her books, slipping them into her bag and fixing the mess Adalard had made of her hair. She adjusted her coat one last time, then put her hands on her hips. "How do I look?"

"Like a vision," Adalard said, gaze caught on something on the other side of the library.

"Thanks," Harriet said dryly.

"Are you heading up to the dormitories?" Leo asked, running a hand through his hair.

Harriet narrowed her eyes, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. "Probably. I need to go terrorise Catherine. She still has not returned my notes from potions. If you're with me she will fold faster."

Leo raised his eyebrows, amused and indulgent. "Are you leveraging me against my twin? Cold."

Harriet flapped her hand, "If she gave me back my things, I wouldn't have to use you." She reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling him after her. "Bye, Adalard," she called over her shoulder.

Leo trotted after her placidly, content to follow. They walked in silence, dodging the other clusters of students in the hallways as they went.

"Did you come to find me for a reason?" Harriet asked, glancing back at him.

Leo shrugged, "Yes, but it is nothing urgent. Our birthday is coming up, during the Yule break. I wanted to invite you to the party." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out to her.

Harriet plucked it from him and flipped it open, reading over the formal invitation. "I will have to ask my grandmother, but I should be able to. The twenty-eighth, right?"

Leo sighed, head dropping back. "We have known each other for four years, Harriet. Why do you persist in pretending you don't know everything about me?"

She beamed up at him, fighting back her laughter. "It's fun," she told him plainly, "and without Viktor here to trick, I have to make do with what I have on hand."

He shook his head, "You are a menace."

"Only sometimes. Now, come help me make your sister cry."

Leo snorted, shaking his head. "It is a wonder you even have friends," he sniped, tucking her under his arm comfortably. "But on another note, are you feeling alright?"

Harriet frowned in confusion. Leo gestured to her head, concern shining in his eyes.

"You had that headache yesterday."

"Oh," Harriet skimmed her fingers over where her scar sat, hidden beneath a number of glamours, as well as a rune necklace. Even those measures only just kept the mark from being seen. "Yes, I get them from time to time. It's nothing to worry about."

Leo appeared unconvinced, "If you're sure. But if you ever need any potions or drafts, just let me know. My mother is an apothecary."

Harriet smiled at him, though her gaze had grown distant. "Thank you, Leo. But trust me, it really isn't serious."

Hope everyone liked the first chapter.

As always, my tumblr is 'Child_OTKW'. Come along if you want to discover theories, or scream at me, or discuss my new snippets! Thanks guys!