Beyond the Boundaries of Time Chapter 2: A Child Called Violet, a Harry Potter + Fallout Crossover fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Fallout

Chapter 2: A Child Called Violet

It was the 31st of July, 2189—a quiet, warm morning within the carefully nurtured bubble of Vault 112's virtual reality. The suburban street outside Dr. Jennifer Braun's home was bathed in gentle, simulated sunlight, the quaint houses awash in soft pastel hues. Children laughed somewhere down the lane, and the rustle of a digital breeze drifted through meticulously crafted oak trees. It marked exactly one year since Harry Potter had appeared in this place. And much had changed since that fateful arrival.

In the living room, a small figure stirred. The child on the armchair had grown over the past twelve months. Harry—no, "Violet" now, as many called the young one—sat perched with knees drawn up, intently focused on a mechanical puzzle Dr. Braun had given her. With each passing month, Harry's desire to present in a more feminine manner had become clearer, expressed in shy whispers and hesitant requests. Jennifer, who had grown into a loving maternal presence, had honored every request. Within the simulation, bodies and appearances could be adjusted subtly. Now Harry had softer facial features, long, silky dark hair tied back with a lavender ribbon, and a few floral patterns stitched into the hem of a neat shirt. These small, gentle changes made her feel more comfortable, more like herself. And everyone around her accepted it without question, celebrating "Little Violet" as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

That name—"Violet"—came about months ago. One of the Vault's other residents, awakened to the truth of their existence and history, had commented on the color of the ribbon Harry favored and the gentle, flower-like aura of the child's presence. Another occupant had blurted out "Little Violet," and the rest of them took it up fondly. Every time someone addressed her as Violet, Harry flushed a delighted shade of red, feeling both cherished and seen. She had never imagined that her identity—so scorned and suppressed back in 1988—could be embraced with warmth and kindness.

The transformation of the Vault's community had been remarkable. Where once these digital inhabitants were mere playthings for Dr. Braun—who had, across centuries, toyed with them in various simulated utopias turned nightmares—they now enjoyed a lasting peace. They could not truly leave this vault simulation, but they lived free from the endless cycles of torment. The reason for this change was simple: Harry. The child's appearance and subsequent bond with Dr. Braun had broken a long-standing pattern of cruelty and experimentation. When one resident's memory fragment resurfaced—a recollection of Dr. Braun's past manipulations—Harry had bravely confronted Jennifer with tears in her eyes, asking why. The doctor, moved beyond measure by Harry's trust and affection, had chosen to change. She confessed her boredom, her centuries of isolation and madness, and in doing so, opened herself to forgiveness and understanding. It was Harry's gentle heart that stopped the killing cycle forever.

They had all been thankful to Harry for "saving" them from their eternal loop of suffering. With time, as Harry's intelligence and kindness shone, the residents admired her more. Some days, as Harry strolled down the manicured street, neighbors would greet her warmly. Mr. Anderson, who once was reset countless times, tipped his hat and said, "Good morning, Little Violet!" Mrs. Fitzgerald, watering her roses, offered a wave, "Hello, dear Violet!" The children might invite her to play hopscotch. Each affectionate greeting still turned Harry's cheeks pink with embarrassment and pleasure. She felt seen, loved, and valued.

Inside the cozy house at the end of the lane, Jennifer Braun—now "Mum" to Harry—stood by the kitchen doorway, looking into the living room. She watched Harry work on the puzzle with affectionate pride. Over the last year, Harry's growth had been extraordinary, if sometimes bittersweet. Jennifer had carefully nurtured Harry's intellect and supported her questioning spirit. She tested Harry's mind regularly, not as a schoolmaster might, but as a curious mentor eager to learn from her own pupil. Together, they explored mathematics, science, literature, engineering, and the perplexing phenomenon once called "magic." Harry excelled in every field, surpassing Jennifer's own towering intellect. Earlier in the year, Jennifer had given Harry an advanced IQ test—one she had painstakingly reconstructed from the Vault's archives and expanded with her own parameters. Harry scored a staggering 320, well beyond Jennifer's own 300. Harry was, quite simply, a generational genius.

Despite this, Harry remained a shy, hesitant child, deeply impacted by the abuse suffered before arriving here. Jennifer moved slowly, never pushing too hard, praising each achievement warmly. Harry loved these tests, these quiet sessions of discovery. She thrived when allowed to create, to tinker, to solve puzzles. She devoured books—both those Jennifer invented from memory and those salvaged from the Vault's archives—becoming a voracious reader. She questioned everything, from the nature of gravity in a simulation to the ethics of altering reality. She questioned herself, too, especially her femininity and identity, and Jennifer reassured her that self-reflection was a sign of growth, not something to fear.

The question of "magic," or the "freaky stuff" that had brought Harry here, never ceased to fascinate them both. Harry no longer wished to call it magic; she wanted a more scientific term, a framework that fit these impossible abilities. Jennifer humored her with a smile, ruffling her long hair. "Whatever we call it, my Violet, it remains something extraordinary," she said more than once. Harry would frown thoughtfully, trying to approach the phenomenon like a problem to solve, instead of a source of terror.

On this special day—Harry's birthday—Jennifer prepared a small surprise. Breakfast would be pancakes with honey and blueberries, a secret treat Harry adored. There would be a homemade card, a bouquet of simulated violets, and a notebook filled with blank pages, waiting for Harry's brilliant sketches and complex diagrams. Jennifer had even arranged a small celebration in the community park later that afternoon, where a few neighbors would gather to sing a tune and bring simple gifts—books, pencils, and handcrafted decorations. It was a far cry from the lonely cupboard of Harry's old life.

For a moment, Jennifer's gaze drifted inward as she remembered a certain night in March—30th of March, 2189, to be exact—only a few months ago. That incident still weighed heavily on her mind and Harry's. It had been a pivotal moment.

Flashback: 30th of March, 2189

Jennifer had grown frustrated. No matter how many tests she ran, how many theoretical frameworks she applied, the origin of Harry's appearance in Vault 112 remained elusive. Harry had been willing to submit to gentle scanning and analysis, but Jennifer hit a conceptual wall. If Harry came from 1988, why was there a record of a mysterious, magical world in the archives?

Determined to find clues, Jennifer delved deep into Vault-Tec's stored data. Amid geological surveys, old American newspaper scans, and inconsequential diaries, she found a hidden folder. It contained digital scans of something called the "Daily Prophet," a newspaper apparently from 1993. That was strange enough—why would Vault-Tec have these files? But what truly astonished Jennifer was that the images in these digital papers moved.

She sat in her private study, eyes glued to a holographic screen. A headline read: SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN—WIZARDING WORLD ON ALERT. The photograph beneath the headline showed a gaunt man's face, shifting and scowling at the camera. Jennifer zoomed in and recalibrated, certain it was some trick or animated GIF. But the system insisted these were simple image files, with no embedded motion. Yet the picture moved.

Jennifer's heart pounded. She scrolled through more editions of the Daily Prophet. Names like "Azkaban," "Ministry of Magic," and "Hogwarts" leapt out at her. Accounts of flying broomsticks, spells, and potions. Her logical mind rebelled. Magic was nonsense—or it should be. This was some glitch, some elaborate prank archived by Vault-Tec. Still, her curiosity wouldn't let go. She searched for "Harry Potter," the name that had ignited her quest. And there he was, mentioned repeatedly as the "Boy-Who-Lived," a child who somehow survived an attack by a Dark wizard named Voldemort. Articles from the early 1980s, referencing a prophecy, a magical war, parents named James and Lily Potter who died to save their son. The savior-child was fifteen months old when that tragedy occurred, which matched Harry's backstory.

Jennifer felt a lump in her throat as she read about Lily and James Potter. They were described as heroic members of a resistance group called the Order of the Phoenix. They died defending their child. Meanwhile, the Wizarding World celebrated Harry as a hero—"The Boy-Who-Lived"—turning him into a symbol rather than honoring the true sacrifices his parents made. Reading this, Jennifer's anger and sadness flared. Harry's old world hailed him as a mythic figure but overlooked the real cost, the real tragedy of his parents' end.

When Jennifer carefully approached Harry about it, the child's reaction was heartbreaking. Harry's eyes welled with tears, voice trembling. She admitted feeling distressed that so many people would call her by a title like "Boy-Who-Lived" without acknowledging her parents' real heroism. Harry wanted people to understand that Lily and James Potter were the true heroes, that their love and sacrifice mattered.

That night, as Harry clung to Jennifer's hand, both felt a heavy weight of sadness. The existence of a magical world—one that seemed determined to misrepresent or misuse Harry's story—shook them. Jennifer held Harry close, whispering that no matter what that world said, here she was cherished for who she was, not a legend. If Harry's parents were alive only in memory and archived stories, Jennifer promised they would be honored, their legacy cherished.

In the aftermath of that discovery, Jennifer and Harry resolved to continue investigating the phenomenon logically. They resolved to face this truth: Harry was from a world where magic truly existed. Jennifer's skepticism softened, replaced by cautious acceptance. If impossible images and inexplicable powers existed, they had to expand their understanding of reality.

Back to the Present: 31st of July, 2189

The incident in March remained a turning point. Since then, Harry had grown more determined to understand her origins. She read every scrap of information Jennifer had salvaged. Harry became angry at times—quiet, contained anger at the Wizarding World's blindness. She grieved her lost parents quietly, mourning the life she never knew. Jennifer comforted her as best she could, speaking fondly of Lily and James, inferring their love from what the documents suggested. If they had shielded their child so fiercely, they must have been remarkable people.

Over the months, that quiet sadness transformed into a motivational force for Harry. She channeled her emotions into learning, insisting that understanding this "energy," this "magic," might help her honor her parents. If she could define it scientifically, if she could rationalize it, maybe she could come to terms with her past. For Jennifer, watching Harry wrestle with these complex feelings was bittersweet. She was proud of Harry's resilience, but mourned the innocence lost to tragedy.

On this birthday morning, Jennifer turned from the kitchen and walked into the living room, holding a tray with pancakes and a vase of violets. "Good morning, my little Violet," she said softly.

Harry looked up from the puzzle, face brightening. "M-mum!" she stuttered happily. At nine years old—by the reckoning of this timeline—Harry still stuttered occasionally, especially when emotional. It never bothered Jennifer; it was part of Harry's healing process.

"Happy birthday, darling," Jennifer said, setting the tray on the coffee table. The scent of honeyed pancakes drifted through the room.

Harry's cheeks turned rosy. A whole year had passed since she arrived here as a terrified, malnourished eight-year-old boy from 1988. Now, she was a healthier, slightly taller nine-year-old girl—at least in appearance and identity—surrounded by love and acceptance she never imagined possible. She glanced at the pancakes, delight shining in her eyes. "T-thank you, Mum," she managed. "They l-look delicious."

Jennifer settled beside Harry, smoothing the child's dark hair. "We'll have a small celebration later in the park. Some neighbors will come. I know it might feel a bit overwhelming, but they're excited for you. They adore you, Violet."

Harry nodded. She still got shy around attention, but it was a kind of attention that warmed her heart. It felt so different from the Dursleys' cruelty or the wizarding world's distant adulation. Here, people knew her as a person, not a prophecy or a freak.

"I l-like the name Violet," Harry admitted quietly, taking a forkful of pancake. "It s-sounds pretty." She glanced at the lilac ribbon in her hair. "It makes me f-feel… more like me."

Jennifer smiled, glad that the chosen name helped Harry feel more comfortable. For all her brilliance, for all her strength, Harry was still a child seeking her place in the world. Jennifer vowed to provide that safe space.

They spent a peaceful morning together. After breakfast, Jennifer presented the notebook and a carefully crafted fountain pen. Harry's eyes sparkled at the gift. "Now you can record your thoughts, your theories, and your drawings," Jennifer said. "I want to see what you create."

Harry hugged the notebook to her chest. "Thank you, Mum," she said, voice trembling with emotion. She still remembered the hunger and fear of her former life. Being given gifts—thoughtful gifts that encouraged her talents—seemed almost miraculous.

Later, they dressed for the small party. Harry wore a simple white blouse and a navy skirt embroidered with violets. She had chosen this outfit herself, excited to present herself as she felt inside: a smart, kind-hearted girl who deserved to be happy. Jennifer wore a soft green dress and pinned a small lily brooch at her collar, a subtle homage to Lily Potter, whose story she now understood was central to Harry's existence.

As they stepped outside onto the pristine street, the simulation responded with its usual perfection. A handful of neighbors greeted them. At the park—just a short walk away—a small crowd had gathered: Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Fitzgerald, the Johnson twins, and a few others. The park itself was a charming green, with a neat gazebo and a fountain that tinkled merrily. The scent of roses drifted from carefully tended flowerbeds. A table in the shade bore simple refreshments—iced lemonade, sugar cookies, a small fruit tart.

They applauded softly as Violet approached, and she blushed fiercely. Jennifer placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They're here for you, Violet. It's all right."

Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward, managing a shy smile. The assembled group bowed or nodded politely, and Mrs. Fitzgerald cleared her throat. "Dearest Violet," she said, smiling warmly, "we want to thank you. It's been a year since you arrived and changed everything for us. We never thought we'd live in peace. But now our days are quiet and joyful, and we know it's because of your kind heart and understanding. We may be trapped in this Vault forever, but you've made it a pleasant life to lead."

Harry's eyes watered at that. She didn't feel heroic. She had only asked Jennifer—Mum—to be kind. Yet these people credited her with their salvation. She bowed her head, voice trembling. "Th-thank you," she said softly. "You're all very k-kind to me."

Mr. Anderson, a tall, mustached gentleman, stepped forward with a wrapped package—just a small box, neatly tied with a ribbon. "Just a token of our appreciation," he said. Harry accepted it, cheeks pink. Inside was a set of colored pencils and a fine eraser, perfect for her drawings.

Mrs. Fitzgerald brought out a small cake with white frosting. Jennifer had arranged for the simulation to provide all these treats, taking care to make this day special. The cake bore a single candle, even though Harry was turning nine, because they had decided it was a sweet gesture. Harry smiled at the candle's soft glow.

"Make a wish, darling," Jennifer prompted softly, standing beside her child and smoothing her hair.

Harry closed her eyes. A year ago, her wish was simply to escape pain and fear. Now she wanted something else. She wished for understanding—of herself, her powers, the world she left behind—and for her parents' memory to be honored as they deserved. The candle flickered as if in response to her unspoken plea.

When she opened her eyes, everyone smiled. Mrs. Fitzgerald cut the cake. They ate and chatted, the neighbors sharing stories about their newfound hobbies. The Johnson twins played hopscotch, and Harry watched them with a small smile, recalling how foreign all this had seemed a year ago. She was still shy about joining games, but the others never pressured her. They respected her boundaries.

As the afternoon wore on, the party wound down. The neighbors drifted away with kind farewells. Soon, it was just Harry and Jennifer beneath the gazebo, sipping the last of the lemonade.

Jennifer touched the lily brooch on her dress, considering how to broach a topic that had weighed on her mind. "Violet," she began softly, "I've been thinking about your parents again—Lily and James Potter."

Harry's posture stiffened slightly. She nodded, eyes downcast. "I've read everything y-you gave me. They were…they were brave. They l-loved me." The last word caught in her throat. Harry's memories of her parents were non-existent. She had no recollection beyond faint impressions. This knowledge came secondhand, from archives and Jennifer's patient explanations.

"They loved you very much," Jennifer agreed, voice quiet. "They gave their lives to protect you. That's not something trivial. It's the kind of love that transcends even what we know about life and death."

Harry sniffled. The tenderness in Jennifer's voice reassured her. "I w-wish I could show them who I am now. I wish they could s-see that I'm okay." She paused, tears gathering. "And that I'm Violet now, that I'm a girl. W-would they… would they still love me?"

Jennifer pulled her into a gentle embrace, stroking her hair. "Oh, Violet, I believe they would adore you. Lily and James fought against a world of hatred and fear. They stood for love, from all I've read and can infer. Why would they not love you for who you are?"

Harry trembled, tears slipping down her cheeks. She'd never voiced this fear before. She had worried that her parents, trapped in the Wizarding World's old prejudices, might reject her transformation. But Jennifer's reassurance rang true. Love that fought Voldemort, that sacrificed everything for a child's life, wouldn't falter over gender identity. Love that strong would embrace every facet of her being.

Jennifer considered the moving photographs in those Daily Prophets. They were proof that the wizarding world operated under very different laws of reality. Perhaps Harry's parents, had they lived, would have explained magic to their child. They might have guided Violet gently, never allowing her to suffer as she had. But they were gone, and Violet's reality now was the simulation. Still, memory and honor could survive here.

"I think," Jennifer said softly, "that part of understanding your…abilities—this 'magic'—might help you feel closer to them. If we can find a rational explanation or at least a structured theory, it might feel like you're uncovering their legacy."

Harry pulled back, looking up at her mother-figure with damp eyes. "Y-yes, I want that." Her voice steadied. "I want to understand. It's not 'magic'—just a form of energy we d-don't understand yet."

Jennifer smiled softly. "We can start by designing experiments, recording when and how you produce anomalies. We should do it gently, so you never feel scared or overwhelmed. The goal isn't to push you. The goal is to learn."

Harry nodded, a spark of determination in her eyes. She felt safe with Jennifer. They had a year's worth of trust and love behind them. If anyone could help her find a scientific foothold in this impossibility, it was Mum.

They walked back home hand in hand. Passing through the living room, Harry noticed the puzzle she had abandoned earlier that morning. She picked it up and followed Jennifer into the study, where stacks of notes and datapads testified to their ongoing investigations. Harry set the puzzle down, opened her new notebook, and wrote a heading in careful, looping letters:

Preliminary Observations on Anomalous Energy Manipulation (formerly "Magic")

Jennifer read over her shoulder, smiling. The handwriting was neat, each letter precisely formed. This was Harry's new intellectual playground, a safe mental garden where she could plant ideas and watch them bloom.

The next few weeks passed quietly. The calendar in their simulation didn't matter much, but Jennifer kept track of the days and months. Through August and September, they worked slowly, gently testing Violet's abilities. The child could sometimes influence small objects—a pencil rolling off a table would float briefly instead of falling, a dropped cup would appear back on a shelf without crossing the intervening space. Violet tried to remain calm when these events occurred, even though old fears lingered. Jennifer's calm presence helped. They jotted down every instance, looking for patterns.

Jennifer hypothesized that Violet's emotions played a role. Fear, desperation, or intense desire seemed to trigger these anomalies. To confirm this, she proposed a mild test: Violet would try to lift a feather lying on the table by focusing on wanting it to rise. No punishment, no fear—just calm intention.

Violet tried, heart fluttering, and failed the first few times. She grew frustrated. Jennifer reassured her, "It's all right. We have forever to learn." After several attempts spread over days, Violet managed to make the feather quiver. It wasn't floating, but the slight tremor was progress. They recorded everything meticulously, like scientists mapping out a new frontier.

As the months passed—September, October, and onwards—Jennifer's neighbors continued to live peaceful lives. Some visited often, bringing small gifts or asking Violet's help with arithmetic problems. They adored how she could explain concepts simply. When a newcomer among the residents expressed doubt about the old horrors inflicted by Braun, others gently corrected them, acknowledging their past suffering but emphasizing the change brought by Violet's presence. Violet sometimes felt uneasy hearing about the Vault's dark past, but she understood it better now. People could change, as Mum had, and that was a form of hope.

On quiet evenings, Violet would sit with Jennifer and read from the digital archives. The Daily Prophet articles still puzzled them both. Not only did they mention impossible feats, but they also were dated 1993—years after Violet's original 1988. How could news from 1993 mention her as "The Boy-Who-Lived"? Violet realized that, had she remained in her old world, she would have grown up in the 1990s, presumably attending something called Hogwarts. The newspapers told a story she had never lived: a future that never came to pass for her.

It unsettled Violet. She felt like a ghost haunting her own timeline. If she had not fled in that desperate moment, she might have become a wizard attending a magical school. Yet that future seemed riddled with manipulative figures like Dumbledore, who orchestrated suffering for some "Greater Good," and villains like Voldemort. Would she have survived that life? Would she have discovered her identity there, or would she have remained trapped?

Jennifer held Violet's hand as they contemplated these questions. "We don't know," she said honestly. "But we do know you're here now, and here you are loved."

Violet nodded. Being loved mattered more than any grand destiny. She had no idea how to reconcile these timelines, these impossible newspapers and memories of abuse. All she could do was move forward.

By late December, Violet's efforts to systematize her abilities yielded a small breakthrough. She managed, under calm conditions, to alter the trajectory of a small rubber ball rolling off a table. Not much, just a slight lift, but controlled and intentional. She recorded every detail in her notebook, refining the language. She still struggled to find a proper term for this "freaky stuff." Jennifer suggested calling it a form of "psionic field manipulation" or "quantum resonance anomaly." Violet giggled at the words—too big and complicated—but they decided to keep brainstorming.

Jennifer marveled at Violet's dedication. The child's analytical approach reminded her of top scientists from centuries past. And yet Violet always maintained a gentle soul. She never tried to exploit these powers, never demanded more from the simulation. She just wanted understanding and to honor the legacy of her parents who died protecting her.

The months rolled on—January, February, and into March of 2190—marking eighteen months since Violet's arrival. On the anniversary of the day they found the Daily Prophet articles, Violet and Jennifer revisited them together. They re-read mentions of Sirius Black, of Azkaban, of strange spells and shifting portraits. They marveled again at the moving pictures. Violet hypothesized that the wizarding world might utilize a form of directed energy fields to encode motion into static mediums. Jennifer nodded thoughtfully, impressed by Violet's attempt to rationalize even that.

They spoke again of Lily and James. Violet had drawn their likenesses from descriptions: a woman with kind eyes and dark red hair, a man with messy black hair and glasses, both smiling gently at their baby. The sketches adorned Violet's bedroom wall. She had drawn herself into the scene now, as a girl with long hair and a violet ribbon, standing between them. It was a bittersweet fantasy. Jennifer praised her artwork, voice thick with emotion.

As spring turned to summer in their timeless vault, Violet continued to grow in confidence and skill. She read extensively, learning physics, biology, and even old world history. With Jennifer's help, Violet devised a structured approach to her anomalous abilities. Perhaps it was related to manipulating probability fields or altering localized gravity wells. They might never pinpoint the exact mechanism. But they were no longer afraid.

The community still referred to Violet affectionately as "Little Violet," an endearment she accepted with blushes and smiles. She had become a cherished fixture, a symbol of hope in a timeless world. They were thankful she had stopped the cycle of death and rebirth, thankful she gave them something to believe in.

All this time, Violet never forgot the promise Jennifer had made: that they would honor Lily and James. With each new success, Violet felt closer to that goal. Understanding her abilities was like understanding a piece of them. She was certain they would be proud, not of her power, but of her determination to remain kind, to heal from trauma, and to learn.

On the eve of Violet's tenth birthday—31st of July, 2190—Jennifer would note how far they'd come. But for now, in the midpoint of the second year, Violet thrived.

It was late June 2190, almost a full year after her ninth birthday, as Violet looked back on the past year's notes. The difference was profound. When she'd turned nine, she barely knew who she was, still reeling from revelations about magic and her parents. Now, as she approached ten, she had stable routines, close bonds with the community, and a scientific framework—albeit incomplete—to study her abilities.

One summer evening, Violet and Jennifer sat outside on the porch swing, listening to the quiet hum of the simulation's orchestrated cicadas. Violet's head rested on Jennifer's shoulder, content, as Jennifer gently rocked the swing with her foot.

"Mum," Violet asked softly, "do you think we'll ever truly understand how I got here?"

Jennifer considered. "I'm not sure, my darling. The mechanisms might be lost to time and chaos. But we've learned so much already. Perhaps it's enough to know that you survived, that you escaped a terrible fate, and that now you're free to be who you are."

Violet nodded thoughtfully. She was free, and that mattered immensely. Free to study, free to present as a girl, free to love and be loved. Free to honor her parents by living a good life. Although sadness about their loss still lingered, it no longer consumed her. She had made peace with the idea that they died for love, and their sacrifice gave her strength.

Jennifer took Violet's hand. "I'm proud of you," she said. "You've come so far. Happy nearly-a-year since your last birthday—remember how nervous you were to meet everyone in the park?"

Violet giggled. "I w-was terrified," she admitted. "But now, it feels normal. I'm glad I have them, glad I have you." She paused. "Mum…thank you. For everything."

Jennifer's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Thank you, Violet, for changing me. For giving me a reason to be better."

Violet pressed closer. There was no need for more words. The gentle chirping of digital insects and the soft lamplight from the houses was comfort enough.

On the morning of 31st July, 2190—exactly two years since Violet's arrival—Jennifer stood at the kitchen counter, preparing another special breakfast. She remembered last year's birthday and how far they'd come since. Violet woke and joined her, smiling sleepily, hair in a loose braid with a violet ribbon woven in.

They ate pancakes again, a now traditional treat, and Jennifer gave Violet a new set of notebooks and a magnifying lens kit. "For your research," she said with a grin. Violet's eyes sparkled, already envisioning how to apply this to her experiments.

After breakfast, they headed outside into the bright summer day. Some neighbors waved cheerfully, but no big party was planned this year. Instead, Violet had requested a quiet day of reading, experimenting, and maybe a short walk through the simulation's "forest" at the edge of the neighborhood. Jennifer agreed.

Before leaving, Violet took one of her sketches off the bedroom wall—the one of her parents and herself. She tucked it carefully into her notebook. Today felt like a day to carry their memory with her. She had come to realize that the pain would never vanish completely, but it had softened into a gentle ache, a longing that did not paralyze her. Her parents' love was a guiding star.

They walked hand in hand to the forest's edge, where the simulation displayed tall, old trees and dappled sunlight. It was quiet and still, the perfect place to reflect. Violet opened her notebook, flipping through pages of theories and observations. Jennifer knelt beside her, resting a hand on the child's shoulder.

"You know," Jennifer said softly, "if your parents could see you now, I think they'd be astonished by your intellect, your kindness, your bravery. You've taken their legacy of love and built upon it, despite everything."

Violet's throat tightened. She nodded, voice soft. "I h-hope they'd be proud. I t-try to make them proud every day."

Jennifer squeezed her shoulder. "You do, Violet. You honor them by living fully and honestly."

They sat there for a long time, listening to the simulated birdsong. Eventually, Violet spoke again, "Mum, I've been thinking—maybe we should call the energy I manipulate 'Arcane Field Resonance' or 'AFR' for short." She scrunched her nose. "Or is that too fancy?"

Jennifer chuckled. "It sounds delightfully scientific. Let's try that term and see if it fits our data."

Violet giggled, pleased. As the day grew warmer, they returned home, Violet excitedly updating her notes with the new acronym. With Jennifer at her side, she wrote:

Arcane Field Resonance (AFR): A form of energy manipulation observed in subject (Violet) that allows subtle defiance of standard simulated physics. Possibly emotion-driven, related to probability alterations or localized gravitational anomalies. Further tests required.

Jennifer read over her shoulder and nodded, impressed. She admired Violet's calm, methodical approach. Two years ago, the word "freaky" had reduced Violet to shaking terror. Now, it was a puzzle to be solved.

As evening fell on Violet's second anniversary in Vault 112, the two shared a quiet dinner. They did not need grand parties or speeches. Just each other, soft voices, and warm smiles. The ghost of the wizarding world's expectations lingered at the edges of Violet's mind, but it no longer defined her. She would build her own identity, forge her own path.

After dinner, as stars (simulated but comforting) appeared in the sky, Violet snuggled next to Jennifer on the sofa. "Mum," she said, "I'm g-glad I'm here. Even with all the c-complications."

Jennifer kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad too, my sweet Violet. I never imagined I'd feel this kind of joy again. You've given me purpose."

They spoke in low tones about future projects—analyzing the emotional triggers of AFR, experimenting with a controlled environment to measure subtle energy fields. Violet wanted to try lifting a leaf next. Simple goals, small steps, all in a safe space free of cruelty and manipulation. The community around them, once victims of endless cycles, now looked forward to stable, meaningful lives. They, too, owed Violet gratitude, and they freely gave her friendship and acceptance.

Violet's eyelids drooped as the hour grew late. Jennifer carried her upstairs and tucked her into bed. Violet pulled out the sketch of her parents, looking at it in the lamplight. She smiled softly and whispered, "Goodnight, Mum. G-goodnight, Mummy Lily and Daddy James." Her voice cracked on the last words, but she felt no terror, only love.

Jennifer lingered in the doorway, heart full. She considered all that had happened: the surprise arrival of a child from another time, the discovery of a strange magical world, the forging of a mother-child bond that transcended logic and history. It was all impossible, yet here they were, creating something beautiful out of chaos.

"Goodnight, my Violet," Jennifer said softly. "Sweet dreams."

As Violet drifted into sleep, the simulation hummed quietly, stable and serene. Outside, neighbors slept peacefully, safe in the knowledge that their strange overseer had reformed. Within Violet's heart, fear no longer ruled. She held knowledge, tenderness, and hope, weaving them into a future all her own. Her parents' sacrifice had not been in vain, and though she would never set foot in Hogwarts' halls or know the wizarding world's embrace, she had found something infinitely more precious: a family that loved her unconditionally and a life free to be herself—Little Violet, the girl with a brilliant mind and a kind soul.

In that silent, gentle night, the child called Violet, once known as Harry Potter, smiled in her sleep. The future stretched out before her, as vast and bright as the stars Jennifer had created in this eternal suburban sky.

AN:

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Beyond the Boundaries of Time - Crossover between Fallout and Harry Potter

- Chapter 3 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support

- Chapter 4 will be available on 9.1.2025 at 15:00 (Central European Time) for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support on P-atreon

Reader(plus) will cost you 5$ and Reader(plus) support will cost you 10$

Bound by Shadows and Sorrow - Crossover between Friday the 13th and Harry Potter

- Chapter 3 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support

- Chapter 4 will be available on 9.1.2025 at 15:00 (Central European Time) for users with Reader(plus)

or Reader(plus) Support on P-atreon

Reader(plus) will cost you 5$ and Reader(plus) support will cost you 10$

Harry Potter and the Crimson Shadows - Crossover between Hellsing and Harry Potter

- Chapter 3 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support

- Chapter 4 will be available on 9.1.2025 at 15:00 (Central European Time) for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support on P-atreon

Reader(plus) will cost you 5$ and Reader(plus) support will cost you 10$

Harry and the Wolf - Fanfic you are familiar with

- Chapter 5 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support

- Chapter 6 will be available on 9.1.2025 at 15:00 (Central European Time) for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support on P-atreon

Reader(plus) will cost you 5$ and Reader(plus) support will cost you 10$

Naruto and Secret of Aperture Science - Fanfic you are familiar with

- Chapter 5 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) or Reader(plus) Support

- Chapter 6 will be available on 9.1.2025 at 15:00 (Central European Time) for users with Reader(plus)

or Reader(plus) Support on P-atreon

Reader(plus) will cost you 5$ and Reader(plus) support will cost you 10$

Reader(plus) support Only fanfictions are listed here

Kyubii Son Reborn

-Chapter 1 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) support

-Chapter 2 is available on P-atreon for users with Reader(plus) support