IX.

A young girl sat at her vanity later, brushing her hair, and realized with a start that it had been some time since she had last thought of herself as Harry Potter. Which was odd, to be sure. Ever since the Yule ritual, the memories of Harry Potter had, well, not faded, but seemed like they happened to someone else. She still remembered how he felt about Hogwarts and Gryffindor and all the other things of their lives. In some cases, she still agreed with him, in others- the ideas seemed so laughably different.

She lay down her brush and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was growing out rapidly, but Theo said that was to be expected, and Lady Malfoy had been teaching her the necessary spells and rituals to keep it in good health.

She had fallen into a comfortable schedule during her break. Theo and she would study, explore, or play in the morning. Most afternoons she was either invited to Malfoy Manor for tea and lessons with Lady Malfoy or summoned back to Hogwarts to report her doings to Professor Dumbledore and spend time with Ron and the other Weasleys.

Dorathea pulled the box of hairpins towards her with a sigh. She hoped Hermione would return to school soon. Things were becoming increasing awkward between her old friend and herself. It had started with the potion accident true, but she had never realized what a strong line Ron drew between boys and girls. Boy's were acceptable friends- people to joke around with, rough house, and have snowball fights. Girls were to be barely tolerated, if sisters, admired from afar, if Hermione, or ignored if anyone else. Ron hadn't known which spot to place Dorathea, especially under pressure from his brother's who didn't understand why he was hanging around with a 'bloody Nott,' and had valiantly tried to pretend that Dorathea was still Harry and nothing had changed. At least, until the Quidditch game. Dorathea shuddered at the memory.

Ron had invited her to a pickup Quidditch game with his brothers. She had hesitantly agreed, collected Harry's Nimbus 2000 and joined the red-heads on the snow-swept grounds. It was strange, she immediately realized, how she could remember quite clearly how to fly. She knew how to position her hands, how to sit on the broom, how to push off from the ground. But Harry was a natural-born flier- a true gift- and Dorathea quickly found out that she was not.

The Nimbus had shot away with the first tap of her foot on the ground and Dorathea hanging on for dear life as the broom careened this way and that around the court screaming bloody murder. One turn proved too sharp and Dorathea came crashing off- luckily landing in a snowbank- winded but unbroken.

That was the final straw for Ron's pretenses. He couldn't square the image of his athletically gifted best friend with the white-faced, shaking witch who landed headfirst into the snowbank. After that, Ron was polite but distant during their forced interactions and was content to leave Dorathea to her reading and the occasional game of chess.

"It's just that flying looks so free and wonderful," She told Theo later that night after she returned to the Keep. It was hard to remember the absolute joy Harry had felt on his broom when she had been so scared. Theo had valiantly offered to buy her a broom and teach her- or, better, ask Draco to teach her to fly, but she'd turned him down flatly. While she was Dorathea, she'd keep her feet on the ground.

There was the crux of the matter, Dorathea realized as she critically examined her face in the mirror, she was Dorathea. She hadn't always been Dorathea. She might not always be. But right now she was well and truly Dorathea Nott, not Harry Potter.

Dorathea smiled at her reflection.

. . . . . .

In the evenings, Theo and Dorathea enjoyed exploring the storerooms below the Keep. Some houses had attics full of old treasures and family keepsakes, but the Nott's had endless cellars and storerooms where generations of Nott's had kept everything and anything they had once owned. Thea learned quickly that the Nott's did not believe in storing anything but gold in Gringotts and did not believe in throwing anything away. It made for great hide and go seek games.

. . . . . . .

"What is it?" Dorothea paused before the enormous wooden contraption. She had never seen anything like it - either muggle or wizard. Whatever it was, it looked old. The wooden beams were stained dark with long years and repeated use- the metal brackets, though no longer shiny, were still bright and strong.

"It's a loom." Theo hung halfway in and out of the door. "Mama used to weave beautiful tapestries. She was working on that one before she died." He said it so matter-a-factly, that Dorothea's heart broke a little. She would have liked to have known Theo's mother. There were no portraits or tapestries anywhere in the Keep.

Seating herself on the small stool, Dorothea glanced through the forest of threads and saw a mirror. The tapestry was reflected on the far wall so that as she sat and wove, she could watch her progress and make sure it still looked alright. Dora lifted one of the strange wooden sticks covered with thread and runic markings.

"What are these?"

Theo shrugged helplessly. "I think they move the thread through the other strings? All I remember is that Mama would sit there and wave her wand and all the sticks would move on their own."

"Really?" Dorothea ran her hands over the wooden rods and felt the shape of the magic move through her. One, then two, then ten of the wooden bobbins rose and began dancing through the vertical strings like birds through the air. Dora laughed in delight as the colors shifted and built in the wall. She could almost see the design that Lady Nott- Mama- had been working on.

"This is brilliant!" She told Theo but dropped her wand at his astonished gaze. "What's wrong?"

"You're brilliant." He told her, shaking his head. "Magical weaving is a gift. You've picked it up without any training!"

Dora beamed and rose from the chair. "Hardly. I have no idea what I'm doing. It's all so complicated."

"I think we might have some beginner looms in the other storerooms," Theo offered her his arm and she took it with mock-grandeur, "Shall we go look, Lady-Sister Nott?"

. . . . . .

"How goes it?" Thea asked as she entered their favorite sitting room, struggling with the latch of a new necklace. Draco, of all people, had given it to her as a belated Christmas present. If Thea didn't have Harry's memories of what a prat Draco could be, she might almost have been charmed by the boy's gracious attentions whenever she spent time in Hogwarts. It was, after all, easier to spend time with Draco than Ron these days. If nothing else, they could chat about what Lady Malfoy was teaching her during their teas.

Dorathea adored Lady Malfoy. She had never seen a more beautiful or gracious woman. Plus, she knew so much! Before meeting Lady Malfoy, Thea hadn't known there could be classes on literally anything: the proper way to stand, to sit, to serve tea, to drink tea, to write a letter, to chose the right stationery, the correct color of ink and more. It was equally exhausting and exhilarating.

When she was Harry, the world had seemed so incomprehensible. He had known nothing about the Wizarding world and assumed there was nothing to learn but what was taught in class. But Dorothea was seeing that there was a reason, usually seeped in centuries of tradition, for the smallest detail. The entire world operated according to special laws that she could learn if she only focused enough. Narcissa declared her an ideal student and her growing reputation as a quick learner gave her an easy excuse for Harry's memories.

"Slowly," Theo sighed. He was sitting on the floor, piles of different colored ribbons around him and a thick, handwritten book on his lap. Another, smaller and slimmer volume was open on the floor in front of him filled with his own notes and ideas.

For the past three days, her brother had been trying to memorize a special charm that would change not just the color of the ribbon, but the material itself. A few days before he had been studying a charm that would distill a memory into a color. His notebook was filled with ideas to practice once he returned to Hogwarts. Dorathea thought sadly that if Lord Nott had been a little more accepting of his son, Theo would have made a very happy Ravenclaw rather than a very lonely Slytherin.

"You'll figure it out," Thea said confidently, taking a seat in her chair and pulling her practice loom towards her. They had no plans this afternoon- though Theo was supposed to be finishing his Christmas break homework. His textbooks sat in the corner and Thea had flipped through them to further the disguise that she was just bright, and didn't have Harry's Hogwarts history in her memories. To her surprise, she found the books more interesting than before. They were easier to read now and she found she could sit quietly for longer and focus in a way she hadn't when she was Harry.

"Are you going to finish your charm's homework?" She asked, but Theo just waved a dismissive hand without looking up from his book. Her brother was smart, but could rarely be bothered to apply much effort to classes that didn't interest him. Thea signed and pulled her practice loom onto her lap. The pattern was still quite simple: a geometric representation of a garden maze. Stripe work had come intuitively to her as she played with different widths and colors and she was eagerly practicing with more complicated representations.

But before she could even set the first bobbin, Euphie popped into the room. The house-elf had much improved since Thea first arrived- she could now stand on her own and do some light cleaning and cooking for them. But there was no denying that Euphie was old. Thea had planned to broach the subject of House-elves with Lady Malfoy during their next tea.

"Mistress Dorothea," The house-elf croaked, "There is a fire call for you. Apparently your friend, Miss Hermy is returned?"

. . . . . . .

A/N: Thank you for following this story! Your support leaves me with the biggest smile!

As a heads up: this is as far as my initial spurt of inspiration took me. Future chapters may arrive but on a much less frequent basis.

Re: Guest- thank you so much for your comments! I very much appreciate your thoughts. There is an addition in Draco's conversation in chapter 7 about how he found Harry!

Edit: 9/19- continuity suggestions thanks to guest (who would be an excellent beta reader should they ever desire!): changed Firebolt to Nimbus 2000, tweaked the Notts activities to be story cannon compliant.