Greta learns the truth about her parents' deaths on her eleventh birthday. The darkest, most feared wizard killed her mother and father on the Halloween—as one might expect of a sorcerer. Aunt Petunia sneered back then, saying that murderers respect neither tradition nor sentiment. But Greta soon forgets the news, lost in the realization that magic is real. All her strange, unexplainable incidents turn out to be completely ordinary for a typical wizard. No more beating herself up for being different or trying to squeeze into the norms of Little Whinging. Diagon Alley, a bank run by terrifying goblins, a mountain of her own gold, wands sparking like fireworks, real owls, and flying cauldrons—everything blurs together into a whirlwind of joy, full of memories a lonely, beaten-down orphan like her has always needed.
"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat shouts, ignoring the desperate pleas of a young girl, even if she's the heroine of the wizarding world. With trembling hands, Greta carefully places the battered artifact back on the stool and clenches her fists. She has no desire to be a Slytherin; she certainly doesn't feel like a dark wizard, but she moves under the green banners and takes a seat next to the ever-annoying Malfoy.
A bell chimes softly in the air.
It's cold, damp, and stifling in the dungeons. Pansy, far too arrogant for her age (though, according to Ron Weasley, it's quite fitting for a pure-blood witch), is shaping up to be Greta's worst nightmare for the years to come. Malfoy, always lounging around the common room with his goons, doesn't improve matters. The disdainful word "half-blood" follows her everywhere she goes.
In rare moments alone, away from her classmates, Greta always finds Snape nearby. She's convinced magic is involved, so she starts diligently studying tracking spells. Her stern Potions professor and head of her house seem to consider it his daily duty to humiliate her at least once. Potter doesn't get it, and finds herself confused, flustered, and frustrated.
The answer comes, quite unintentionally, from Hagrid. During one of their evening talks, he tells her about her father, his Marauder friends, and their endless pranks at the expense of the then-young and ambitious Severus Snape.
By the end of her first year, Greta loathes Snape just as much as he loathes her. She only wishes she could pull her father's memories of the professor's humiliations—she'd love to watch them unfold.
The faint ringing of a bell echoes again in the dungeons.
Potter doesn't have much interest in breaking school rules for midnight strolls or duels in secret corridors. She prefers the library (first in the main section, then, by third year, she earns access to the Restricted Section thanks to the eccentric Trelawney). Greta throws herself into her studies, practicing spells in abandoned classrooms.
Watching her from afar, Dumbledore can't resist inviting her to his office. He greets her warmly, offers tea with lemon slices, and praises her academic success, often pointing out how much her thirst for knowledge reminds him of her mother. Then, almost as an afterthought, he notes that it seems she's inherited nothing from her father.
Greta is silent, sipping her herbal tea. She has no urge to change her hair color on a whim or play Quidditch; her hair blazes bright red, her eyes a clear, striking green. Only a silly fondness for George Weasley is buried deep inside. It seems her love for redheads is her only inheritance from the Potters.
The bell rings again.
As Greta grows older, meets her godfather, and begins to piece together the whole picture of the magical world, she feels like laughing madly. Wizards don't seem very interested in magic itself—they're far more consumed by power struggles. Those who consider themselves above Muggles fall victim to herd instincts just as easily. Some are drawn to Dumbledore's abstract phrases, while others gravitate toward Voldemort's flattery and threats.
Dumbledore makes her nauseous, and Voldemort's slave-like brand isn't much better (a snake with a skull doesn't exactly make for great tattoo art, in her opinion). Both of the magical world's leaders seem to want too much from her. But she has no intention of becoming anyone's symbol of hope, nor of fighting the man who killed her parents and his Death Eaters. If anything, she'd gather them all in one place and blow them—with a Muggle bomb.
Nearby, the bell keeps ringing.
The constant speeches and guidance Potter endures finally push her over the edge in the summer after her fourth year. She packs her things and runs away from the Dursleys. After all, she's a teenager— she feels the need to laugh and cry at the same time. She has every right to act a little recklessly.
In the nearest café, it's crowded and noisy. Greta slips into a corner booth, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible—not that it's easy with her striking appearance. Small and thin, with sharp collarbones that look ready to snap, a mane of dark ruby-red hair like frozen blood, and eyes that gleam like a cat's. A modern-day Alice for a mad hatter.
The latter happens to be sitting nearby, scrutinizing her alabaster skin. His brown eyes take in her bold, unconventional look, one you'd never expect to see in a small English town. He licks his lips, intrigued. An unclassifiable little girl. The man is sure she must have a streak of madness in those emerald eyes.
"Hello."
The stranger, unwilling to let such an intriguing specimen slip away, approaches her. Greta feels a sense of déjà vu, like with the Sorting Hat—she knows this isn't the right path, she shouldn't, but she gives in to fate, nods politely, and tells him her name.
The chime of bells grows louder.
After Hogwarts (thanks to Umbridge hinting that education isn't mandatory after fifth year), Greta is certain she's nothing like a Potter, except for her hatred of Snape and her fondness for a Weasley. She hides the latter deep in her heart, trying to kill it. If Jim ever found out, the headlines would explode with reports of mass murder and terrorist acts by morning.
Five years later, Greta is convinced the Sorting Hat was right—Slytherin is her house. Principles and kindness dissolved over years of studying alongside spoiled aristocrats, leaving only survival instincts, a predatory nature, and dark humor.
Aunt Petunia, had she been alive, would be pleased that Greta now despises the magical world. Unfortunately, as a fifteenth-birthday gift, Jim left her with the hearts of all the Dursleys, not forgetting delightful Marge.
As a child, hiding from Dudley and his friends in the local library, Greta loved reading fairy tales. She imagined herself as a princess, drawing tall towers and dreaming of a prince (and she did eventually meet a dragon). But it turned out that being the villain was far more thrilling and fun.
Stepping off the Hogwarts Express, Greta heads toward the Muggle side of the station without a word to anyone. There, waiting for her, is a luxury car with a driver, is Jim Moriarty, eagerly awaiting his witch.
Greta, no longer Potter, never thought she'd enjoy unleashing her inner madness, defying everyone's expectations. Jim Moriarty laughed at Sherlock's attachment to his pet and never expected he'd become dependent on some girl (though, considering Greta's a witch, she's far from "boring").
Alice has finally come home, back to the land of the mad, breaking the silence that drove the Hatter insane and making the hare, to the sound of bells, pour fresh black tea into her cup.