If you have nothing smart to say, don't say anything at all.

A common phrase in the Dursley household that mostly only effected Harriet. There was also the general rule that questions were not to be asked. Those rules didn't apply to Dudley, however. He was still loud and obnoxious as ever, becoming more like a whale every day. Vernon encouraged Dudley to be noisy, and Aunt Petunia always said, "that boys will be boys." Their rules didn't apply to Dudley, but for Harriet on the other hand, she learned that she needed to be quiet.

The silence was much preferred anyways. Harriet liked how quiet it was when she stayed up late at night. She enjoyed how the only sounds that she could hear were the ones that she made. It was a comfort that grew when she heard pages being turned. Over the years Harriet grew accustomed to her schedule, where she'd only get a few hours of sleep each night before she spent most of her time working around the house. In fact, Harriet only went to three different places in Surrey. School, the Dursleys, and occasionally to the market.

And so, it was with deep anxiety that Harriet set out the next day to London. The Dursleys left early in the morning, as the car ride was going to be long to France, and they had simply just tossed her out and told her to go to Miss Figg. After what happened yesterday, Harriet didn't want to see the older woman for quite some time. After hearing the woman was spying on her for her magical guardian, a man who Harriet had never met nor heard of, Harriet wasn't keen on visiting the older cat lady for a while. Along with the unsettling truth that her parents were alive, Harriet was a mixed bag of emotions, to say the least.

Still, Harriet knew that today would be one of her only chances of going to the magical world. And knowing that it existed for so long and being unable to touch it, Harriet was still going to take this opportunity. And so Harriet set off toward the nearest bus station, roughly two and a half kilometers away. The December air was freezing. It was a bitter type of cold, and thankfully it hadn't snowed the night before. Harriet had been able to pull on all of her sweatshirts in hopes of keeping herself warm. Instead, they made her look three years younger and homeless. But Harriet didn't care about that, she had never really taken a moment to consider how other people might judge her. All she wanted was to not freeze to death.

Although it certainly felt like it near the end, Harriet managed to wait for an extra ten minutes before the bus arrived after completing her walk. She felt like an ice cube. Her legs were numb as she stumbled into the warm bus. After giving over a few pounds, Harriet found a secluded seat and tried to warm her hands. It took a while before she could regain the feeling in them, and Harriet longed to bundle up in a couple of blankets.

The bus ride was fairly long. Longer than any car ride that her relatives had to bitterly put up with. Her school was barely a ten-minute walk from her house, and so it was a rare change of pace to be in a moving vehicle. A soft song drifted from the overhead speakers, and Harriet silently watched as the scenery began to change. From houses and picket fences to buildings and crowded roads. People were everywhere, Harriet noticed. Not that Surrey didn't have people, but she had never seen so many humans all together at the same time. Except maybe for the neighborhood barbecue. Although Harriet tended to avoid those. Simply because she didn't want to be around people who judged her. (And also she got a bad vibe from them as well.)

The bus arrived at the final stop in Heathrow, and Harriet disembarked. Immediately the sound and the atmosphere overwhelmed her. She clutched her bag to herself, trying to make herself smaller. There was so much noise and she hadn't ever seen so many cars before! Harriet quickly found a sign pointing towards the train station not too far from where she had left the bus and scurried over to it. There were so many sights and sounds that caught her attention, making Harriet long for the quiet smallness of her cupboard. Even the air seemed too big and opposing. The buildings that stretched up high around her felt claustrophobic. A pressure was weighing down on her, and it felt like she couldn't get enough air to breathe.

Harriet kept her head down, trying to keep her breathing calm and paid for her train ticket. Soon enough she was on a nearly empty train waiting to go to London. Harriet hadn't considered the possibility of so many people. Yes, she knew that London was a city and a lot of humans lived in cities. But she never even knew that there could be so many bodies in one place before. With every stop on the way more people joined her in the train, Harriet curled into herself and wished that she was in Surrey again. Going to London was a mistake. She did not like it. Not one bit.

She kept her head down and eyes to the floor until the train beeped that she had arrived at her stop. By now the train car was filled, and Harriet held her breath and broke through the crowd of people and nearly ran up the stairs until she hit fresh air. At least, what she had hoped to be fresh air. It was smoggy, and if Harriet had thought that Heathrow had been busy, London was worse. Everywhere Harriet looked there were people. Flashing lights that promoted businesses. The chatter and noise clanged and filled the air. Harriet was overwhelmed, this was not like Privet Drive in the slightest.

Harriet ducked into a nearby alleyway and tried to regain her breath. But the panic felt like it was just a second or two from bubbling over. And Harriet struggled with keeping her emotions in check. Panic and anxiety were the biggest emotions that seemed to swallow her up. Harriet didn't know how to combat these feelings. All she could do was hold herself tightly and wait it out. After what felt like three weeks, Harriet was finally able to control herself. She focused her gaze on the ground, her arms trembling not from the cold but from sudden exhaustion. She kept taking in long gasps of air, watching as her breath fogged up as she let it out. Until she felt somewhat normal, besides the fact that she was sitting on the ground in an alleyway in London.

"I learned something new today," Harriet told herself quietly. "I learned that I don't like people. Or crowds. Or London in particular." She paused. "But mostly people." Her voice warbled from her sudden fatigue. She knew that she should start moving. She needed to get going before somebody noticed her or before she got too cold. Still, it took a while before she could summon enough courage to brave the crowded streets once more.

Harriet clung to her emotional support and focused on the job at hand. She had to go to the wizarding world. She had spent most of her meager funds to get to London in the first place. She couldn't chicken out now. She opened up her notebook and consulted in the address that she had memorized. Charing crossroads. The Leaky Cauldron. Harriet wasn't too far from there at all. And so she kept her head down and kept counting the seconds before each breath in ensure that she didn't panic again. It felt like a good tactic that would work, but it barely helped. Her arms wrapped around herself as she nervously gulped down air, and only glanced up to check the signs to make sure she was heading in the right direction.

It took too long in Harriet's opinion. In fact, there were almost three separate times where Harriet was convinced that she was lost. The panic and anxiety bubbled up from under the surface, and Harriet tried her best to remain calm. It didn't work, but thankfully, her eyes landed on a shabby building that had a large sign with a pot on it. The relief in knowing that she wasn't hopelessly lost was overwhelming. The Leaky Cauldron. Sure enough, people didn't even glance at the building as Harriet walked over to it. In fact, she was the only one who could seemingly notice it. It was grimy, and not very well taken care of either. It hardly looked like any of the other structures around it as well, as it was short and like a pancake, while the rest of the buildings were tall and square. She made her way over, her steps as fast as she dared.

Harriet hesitated before the door and gathered her courage once more before walking inside. The brightness from outside made the room too dark for her to see until her eyes adjusted. And then a few things became clear to her at once. First, she was in a pub. And she was suddenly aware of how young she looked. Second, there wasn't a lot of people, all of them wearing strange clothes. The few who were in the pub a few days before Christmas were obvious drunkards, Harriet knew from the descriptions that Uncle Vernon always talked about. And thirdly, Harriet felt like she didn't belong in here. The one place that perhaps she thought that could belong to- and yet she felt like their eyes on her outcasted her and separated her from the others.

A man with a scar twisting down his face set down a mug with a deep sigh. "Mudblood." He spat, and Harriet jumped at the animosity in his voice.

She almost turned back and left when the barman called out, "Rupert. That isn't how we treat people in this joint. You can either shut up or I'll cut you off." Then he waved at Harriet, "young lass. I assume you're here for Diagon Alley."

Harriet willed herself past the scarred man and headed towards the barman. She nodded, her throat feeling tight and she didn't know if she could speak. The barman accepted her answer and he gave her a friendly smile. "Don't mind old Rupert. He's still bitter about a few things that happened long ago. My name is Tom, and I am the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. What is your name?"

Harriet licked her lips and tried to speak but all that came out was a hushed strangled whisper, "Harriet."

"Eh?" Tom clearly didn't hear her. "Oh, you must be one of those shy ones. Don't worry. I won't bite. Now come this way, Diagon Alley is back here." And he led her back behind the counter towards a brick wall. Tom continued to chat, "we don't see many muggle-born this early. Have you gotten your letter yet? Oh, maybe you still have a few years before you're old enough. Maybe you have an older sibling that goes to Hogwarts?"

Harriet didn't answer. And Tom seemed fine with that. As he pulled out a stick- no, a wand, and tapped on the wall with practiced ease. He didn't pause, and Harriet wasn't able to catch the motions that he used. There was a few seconds delay before, to Harriet's amazement, the wall began to break itself apart brick by brick and to roll itself behind the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. The click click clack of the bricks moving until they positioned themselves into a door frame caught Harriet's attention first. Tom said something, but Harriet stopped listening as she took her first few steps into Diagon Alley.

It was, in Harriet's humble opinion, what dreams were made from. The sights and sounds, although earlier had once overwhelmed her seemed to be welcoming now. The sight of people in strange robes (her mum had been right about that) and birds flying in the sky, holding pieces of paper and envelopes. It felt like actual magic. It even looked prettier too. More colorful. It was as if she had been living in a world with dull colors and this was the first time that she could see the various hues in their full vibrancy.

"-and if you stay straight on this path you'll find Gringotts. And a little past that is Ollivanders if you're here to get your wand. I do think that the professors usually meet Hogwarts students at Fortescue's, which is just a little bit down the road if that is where you're headed." Tom rambled on.

Harriet sent him a wide-eyed glance, and in a moment of bravery said, "thank you." And she took off. Her eyes darting from place to place, marveling at the people and the magic all around her. She had read the books. She's seen the pictures. She has even practiced in doing magic, although potions were completely different from pointing a wand. And yet, never in her wildest dreams had she ever really believed in it before. A man was stirring his tea with just his finger twirling in the air. A woman had a stack of newspapers following her floating above the ground. A bat screeched from the cage that it was in. Two kids were yelling and giggling as bubbles floated out of their mouths.

Harriet had never thought that she could have seen these things before. She walked briskly down the road. Her head swiveling around in hopes that she could see everything. There were a few things that caught her eye but didn't dissuade her from her path. Oh, look. A shop filled with books! And it said on the window that there was a deal. And there, a bunch of kids looking at brooms through a window. A tall man exited a shop carrying the biggest bird that Harriet had ever seen. A woman with powder blue hair holding a basket of golden flowers, calling out a price. But there was one shop that caught her eye. Oh, how it beckoned her. Harriet had thus far hadn't halted from her trek down Diagon Alley. But one look at the merchandise caused her to gently draw close like a moth to the flame.

Harriet stopped and moved as close as she dared to the window. Her mouth began to water, as she didn't dare blink in the fear that it would vanish. The vials and bottles glistened in the light, showing off their contents. Magic ingredients. Some were unfamiliar to her, but even never having seen all of them before Harriet could pick them out easily. There were pixie wings. And those are toad tongues. Porcupine needles. Unicorn hairs. Vampire fangs. Troll blood. Dragon scales. Fire lizard talons. Niffler hair.

Just looking at the forbidden ingredients that Harriet had long since memorized in her books made her hands itch and heart beat faster. Just imagine her truth potion (which was not potent as she had hoped it to be, probably because of the lack of magical ingredients. She should really change the name, as it didn't give her so much of the truth but more of a verbal vomit of words) with fire crab shells. Those had the magical property of long-lasting effects. Or what if her tooting potion had puffskein blood- those had the added effect of indigestion and heartburn. She could make her newest idea (one that had come to her in her groggy morning state) of a potion that gave the recipient an energy boost that tea often did. But you know, magically.

Even now, her eyes darted from one bottle to the next. Yes. She'd need Ilex vomitoria sap, ground alicorn hoof, wolfsbane, pixie hair, and… Harriet pursed her lips. Chocolate. Yes. Chocolate. It would be perfect... Maybe. Well, she'd have to make it first. And then test it out (and Harriet wondered what cats would do if they had a bunch of energy). But Harriet's mind didn't stop there. Vague ideas and plans that Harriet had put off, simply because she wanted to focus on her one potion, sprung to her mind as she gazed longingly at the bottles. Without her realizing it, Harriet had moved closer until her hands were pressed up against the glass, her breath fogging on the surface. The potion that could cause ice to appear. She needed yeti fur. And perhaps holly berries? Oh, and what about the potion that could make hair grow faster? Or the other idea of melting clothes?

Harriet wanted. She wanted it all.

Her eyes flickered towards the signs that each bottle held. 12 sickles. 5 galleons. 14 knuts. Well, first before she could even dream about what she could make with the wide variety of ingredients, she'd have to have money. Still, she lingered as long as she dared in front of the shop window. Her eyes wistfully pausing on each bottle, and mentally tallying up how much it would cost her to get it all. Oh, all the possibilities that she had at her fingertips when she had these ingredients. Finally, she slowly took a few absent steps away and finally tore her eyes from the enticing sight and turned away to hurry down to the bank.

For however long Harriet had been standing there and staring at the bottles and vials, she had never once looked up and looked into the store itself. If she had, she would have seen an older man looking back at her. Just as much as she had been inspecting the ingredients, the man had been examining her as well.

Just the sight of a somewhat familiar face sent wheels in his head spinning.

Goblins are intimidating, Harriet mentally noted. The large pillared white building that proclaimed itself to be Gringotts was awe inspiring. In fact, it was what she had almost pictured where Uncle Vernon worked. After all, Uncle Vernon talked about his rising the ranks and gaining prestige at Grunnings. And since Harriet had never been to his place of work before, she figured it was like a castle or a fancy building. And Gringotts was a very fancy building. There was a section of the wall that wrote some fancy warning in gold! Gold! How amazing. Harriet wondered how much money it took for them to make that, but took the warning to heart. Harriet wasn't about to steal from the goblins.

Walking inside, the hall seemed massive. Harriet hadn't known that buildings could be so big and open! She couldn't stop staring, from the vaulted ceilings down to the expansive marble and golden floor. And then her eyes got caught on a goblin. They looked like small old men with strange wispy white hair. But with black eyes. And gnarly hands. But other than that… they looked almost human.

Harriet stayed standing where she stopped. Contemplating. Goblins were considered to be magical creatures. In fact, the book that she had read, stated that they were lesser beings than Harriet, and are not considered to be intelligent at all. But if Goblins were running a bank, that means that they knew math. And knowing numbers is a smart thing. Harriet wondered in what why they were deemed stupid or lesser than wizards. They talked in English. They could do the math to run a bank. They ran a business, and Uncle Vernon always said that running a business was super hard. In fact, Harriet figured that maybe goblins were more wizard-like than what people believed. (Or perhaps that book was wrong? It was one of her mum's defense books, and those always contradicted each other.) And Harriet resolved that she was going to be polite anyway, because if they knew their numbers then they were already a step ahead in life than her. (She had problems with fractions.)

And so, with a bit of trepidation, Harriet walked up to a desk that didn't have a line. The goblin didn't look up, and Harriet wasn't going to demand his attention. It looked he was weighing some red stones that looked really shiny. They were probably worth a whole lot more money than talking to her. And so, Harriet waited, fidgeting. She watched as wizards and witches walked up to other tellers and were quite rude. She even saw a witch snap her fingers to get the goblin's attention. It reminded her of Aunt Marge and her dog. But equally, those people got helped a lot faster and were able to leave the bank quicker than Harriet. As tempting as it was, Harriet figured that a ten-year-old girl didn't matter much in the long scheme of things, and was content to wait.

"What do you want?"

Harriet jumped and her heart leaped in surprise. And gazing up at the goblin who still didn't look up from his writing. Her mind suddenly went blank and once again her throat grew tight. Once again afflicted by this sudden curse, Harriet stammered out, "I-I think I have an account-"

"Key." He held out a gnarled hand. His fingers almost twisted around in a circle. Looking at it caused Harriet's brain to suddenly short circuit.

"I-I don't ha-have one," Harriet mumbled, her face flushing. "My m-mum said she made a-a trust fund." She didn't know why she was stuttering. But it felt like her brain had gone blank and she was fumbling for words. And every time she forgot what she was saying, she just repeated the last syllable in hopes of stalling for time. She was so flustered and her overwhelmed nerves kept on hitting the reset button in her head.

The goblin sighed. The kind that Aunt Petunia would do if Harriet was wasting her time or had accidentally started cleaning the wrong area first. Harriet bit her lip, and for a long moment, she wanted to cry. But the feeling soon ebbed a little and the embarrassment still lingered. Harriet barely managed to keep herself from bursting into tears, and her fingers clutched at the hem of her largest sweater.

"Name."

"Uh. Harriet Potter." She replied weakly.

And for the first time, the goblin looked up at her. She caught his eye (or what she hoped to be his eye because it was all black. She had no idea where he was looking) and glanced down at the ground. Maybe this was a bad idea. She could still leave. Go back to that potions shop and drool over the shop window. Maybe explore the area first and go home back to Privet Drive. This day was already turning into a mess. And Harriet was already taking a step backward, muttering an apology when the goblin spoke again.

"Come with me. I will take you to your manager." The goblin pushed back from his desk and disappeared from Harriet's line of sight. He soon reappeared, smaller than her by a foot or so, and didn't look back as he began to walk away. She looked at him with shock and didn't move until he was a few meters away from her.

Harriet felt like she had no other choice and began to trail after him. He was surprisingly quick on his feet, and Harriet had to almost jog to keep up with him. He led her into a side hallway, down a few flights of steps, and down even more hallways. They were long and made from the white-golden granite with torches placed interspaced on columns. They always looked the same to Harriet. And she felt lost very quickly. How the goblin knew his way around, she didn't know. She was out of breath when the goblin finally stopped and turned to look at her.

"You will now proceed through our security. You will stay until you have properly passed, and then you will meet with your manager. Is that clear?"

"Erm." Harriet was taken aback by the force that the goblin spoke to her and nodded, "yes."

"Walk into that hallway. The animal will check you to see if you carry anything dangerous that will threaten the higher ups. You will wait until I give the all clear."

Harriet peered down into the hallway. She didn't see anything, and cautiously she stepped into it. It looked just like any other hallway that she had seen here. White marble flooring and torches burning on pillars. Animal? What kind of animal? A magic one? What could sense, uh, dangerous stuff? She hugged her bag to her torso and scanned the area for anything. She didn't think anything in her bag was threatening. Were muggle pens in that category? Or was it not an animal and the goblin was lying to her to throw her off her guard. Was it a magic spell that sensed her ancestry? A curse that would affect liars? An invisible snake that would bite anybody who it deemed unfit?

Harriet was a few dozen yards into the hallway when she saw it. It was an animal alright. She jumped and panicked immediately. A big black dog! It was so much bigger than Aunt Marge's dog. It had been curled up behind a pillar, a chain linked to a collar was embedded into the wall. The motion of the dog standing up and the chain clicking on the ground was what had caught her attention. She stayed still, petrified with fear. She could remember Ripper's sharp teeth tearing into her legs and arms when Aunt Marge set him on her. How he would grab her arm and wrench his head back and forth, tearing at her until Aunt Marge thought that Harriet had enough. The pain of the bite hurt worse than the sting from Uncle Vernon's belt. It bled and bled, and Aunt Petunia even had to give her bandages to stop the bleeding and to hide it from the neighbors. Ripper was a small dog. Imagine what this huge monster could do to her!

The dog sniffed the ground and padded up to her. It's lazy movements spoke of it's experience. Harriet flinched as it nosed her leg. Oh god. Harriet bit her lip in an effort to not cry out. She watched with bated breath for any reaction that it might attack her. Oh god. Oh god no. Her heart went into her throat as it paused, and looked up at her. Gray eyes peered up through shaggy unkempt hair, meeting Harriet's. They were full of intelligence, and the dog seemed to shiver before it's tail began to wag furiously. Harriet flinched and took several steps back, her arms coming up in an effort to protect herself. It stepped back and jumped a few times as it began to whine. It pranced in excitement before it came back to her and began to lick her hand.

Harriet was at a loss of words. She let the dog slobber over her hand and somehow, in the seconds that she was faced with a terrifying big animal, she somehow saw it become a bouncing puppy. "Uh, good dog?" Harriet reached out a hand and the dog pushed it's head into her hand. The fear dissipated. It lingered, in the faint hollows of her chest, but it didn't come back. It was still a scary animal, but Harriet couldn't see it attacking her at all. It was… rather cute to be honest. She'd never thought that she could ever see a dog as anything but cruel and vicious, but this dog did it. It sat heavily on the ground, staring up at her as it's tail beat back and forth, almost too fast for Harriet to see besides a blur of color.

Harriet recalled one of her neighbors petting a dog once. Curling her fingers through the thick and heavy fur coat, Harriet scratched behind the big dog's ear. It's weight leaned to the side as it pushed it's entire head into the palm of her hand, twisting itself awkwardly as it tried to get more scratches. "Oh, you like that, huh?" She brought her other hand to pet the top of the dog's head, and it practically melted. It's nails slid across the marble as it struggled to stay upright. "You're a good dog, aren't you?" It grumbled at her, and was rather adorable, actually. Harriet hadn't thought that she'd like dogs, but this one was so friendly it was hard not to like it.

"Miss Potter." She jumped and looked behind her. The goblin didn't look amused. Oh yes, that's right. "It looks like you passed the inspection. If you could please, we will be going." Harriet flushed once more.

"Uh yeah." Harriet pulled her hands back and wiped them on her too-big of jeans. The dog made a small sound, but the goblin was already walking away so fast that Harriet had only enough time to glance back at the dog before having to hurry away.

It looked so sad. Hunched and head down low. Lonely.

Harriet understood that feeling. She felt that a lot these days.

It was just down the hallway when the goblin knocked on the door. Harriet heard a long drawling voice say, "enter."

The goblin opened the door and spoke, "Miss Potter here to review her accounts." He then turned and left, leaving Harriet standing by the open door. A blast of heat hit her, making her feel uncomfortable. Even though she still felt half frozen, the hot air felt suffocating.

She crept in, feeling like an intruder almost. The room was well lit from a large fireplace, along with a large wooden table that took up most of the space. It was huge! A thick rug with curling designs and rich colors ran from one side of the room to the other. And sitting on a high backed chair was a goblin, with his hair tightly held back and documents and gold around him. Harriet shut the door and sat on a chair before the large desk, waiting patiently. It didn't take long.

"Miss Potter. You have been hard to get a hold of." The goblin spoke in his raspy voice. "I am Bogrod, the account manager for the Potter and Black fortune. But first, before we get into our business, I do require you to go through a blood test to verify your identity."

"What do I have to do?" Harriet asked nervously. Crap. She didn't have any of those fancy papers that Aunt Petunia had. Wait, did her Aunt Petunia have her birth certificate? Harriet couldn't imagine her aunt keeping important documents like that for her. She probably threw them in the bin when she realized what they were.

Bogrod pulled out a few sheets of paper and laid them on the table. Then a knife appeared, small but sharp looking. Harriet's train of thought suddenly halted by the unexpected actions that the goblin did. "I need three drops of your blood on the parchment." His tone was the kind that Aunt Petunia used that said that she shouldn't argue him. Oh. That's right! Magic. Magic verification of who she was. Harriet felt like slapping herself on the forehead for not thinking that there could have been a magic way of doing things. But still… she still didn't like the idea of it.

Harriet hesitantly reached over the large table picked up the knife. She had never hurt herself before. And she wasn't keen on the idea of making herself bleed. But she felt as if she had no choice and half-heartedly ran the knife over her thumb. She hissed. It was sharper than she had expected and had split her skin easily. The pain was indeed sharp, and blood began to flow at the top of the wound. Harriet held out her hand and watched as her blood began to drip over the document. At the third drop, the paper suddenly absorbed the red liquid that had splattered itself across it.

Harriet pulled her arm back, sticking her thumb into her mouth, watching with wide eyes as she stared at the thick papers. It was slow. A spot of black there. A letter appearing here. And Harriet soon realized that typed words were appearing on the paper, almost translucent until they became a rich black. At the top, Harriet could see her own name, in a fancy font. Harriet Lily Potter-Black.

Potter… Black?

What?

Bogrod swept up the parchments and held them up so Harriet couldn't see them. He shuffled through the papers, humming and making noises at what he saw, and even discarded a page on into the bin before tapping the sheets neatly and setting on the desk. Then with a wave of his hand, two identical stacks of papers appeared.

"You seem to be who you claim you are." Bogrod sniffed. "One copy is for you, one is for our records. If you will sign here, stating that you have seen these papers, then we will get into our business." A feather with a tip was placed on the parchment and was offered to Harriet.

Except… Harriet wanted to actually look at the papers before signing them. It was strange, but after hearing time and time again about how Uncle Vernon stressed to Dudley about reading the small print before signing anything. And advise, no matter where it came from, was something Harriet always valued.

"Could I," Harriet struggled to say but realized that she was speaking too quietly. She coughed awkwardly and tried again. "Could I see them before I sign please?" It was louder, yes, but she sounded half strangled.

Bogrod looked offended at the suggestion. Harriet gulped hard. "If you must, then we cannot go any further until you have signed the papers." He pointedly sniffed and pushed one of the documents towards her. Honestly, Aunt Petunia had no competition when it came to the dirty looks that Bogrod gave her. Even Aunt Marge couldn't hope to make her feel inferior as Bogrod did.

Still, Harriet stood her ground. Sweat began to trickle down her back. Or at least, figured that she dug herself into her own grave, and would at least give them a quick look before moving on. Setting aside the quill, yes, that's what it was called, Harriet gently picked up the parchment (which were much thicker than she had seen before) and looked at it. Her eyes drank in the words that appeared.

There was her name. Harriet Lily Potter-Black. She didn't know that her last name was different. She thought it was Potter. At least that's what the school told her, as Aunt Petunia never called her by her name. And below her full name was a drawing of a vine intertwining, until it pointed to three names. Lily Evans Potter. James Fleamont Potter. Sirius Orion Black. The vine was a different color when pointing to Black's name, a deep red that looked eerily like her blood.

Was that her godfather? Sirius was a name mum mentioned a lot. Although in the early days, it mostly was about how much of a prat he was. Yes, he had to be her godfather. He had blood adopted her. How else did she have his last name as well? Sirius Orion Black. Her other dad.

Below their names were other vines pointing in other directions. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. John and Mary Evans. Orion and Walburga Black. They were her grandparents? She hadn't known their names. Nor had she ever thought about having grandparents before. It was strange to think that her mum and dad must've had their own parents before her. There were more names, more people who were related to her.

She would have continued to go down the list, but Bogrod cleared his throat. Oh! That's right! She didn't have all the time in the world. Harriet tried to ignore the warmth on her face as she flipped to the next page. And goggled. There were names and titles, such as the 'Main Potter Account', but her eyes were stuck on the ridiculous numbers that were far too large. They were in the six digits! In fact, when she looked at some that were under her godfather's name, they were in the seven number range. Holy moly.

This… was hers? All of this was hers? Harriet swallowed dryly and then immediately began to imagine what she could do with all of this money. She- she could rent a flat. A magical flat. And have her own potions lab instead of Aunt Petunia's kitchen. Oh, it would be wonderful. And she'd keep a full apothecary. In fact, the best part was that she could get her own food. Her own food! And she could drink as much orange juice as much as she wanted! And bacon. Oh, the bacon. She could even get her own telly. And a bigger one than what Dudley has. Harriet would make it a point to rub it into her cousin's face.

Harriet jaw dropped unknowingly as she dreamed about a future that was so close that she could practically taste it. And then, of course, she read the fine print. Near the bottom of the page, it simply stated, heir accounts can be accessed at age 11 for school purposes. Until they become of age at 17 and bequeath their inheritance, the heir cannot make financial decisions without their parents or magical guardian's permission.

Oh. Okay. Harriet scanned the document, and there- her school fund. Two hundred galleons a year. Not too bad. But her next birthday seemed so far away. It'll be ages before she could get anything, and Harriet (as prat-ish as it sounded) wanted her money now. It was hers. Her parents had left it to her! Not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, but to her! It was practically all she had left. Besides a bunch of books and a trunk hidden at Privet Drive.

Still. It was a bitter pill to swallow. And suddenly, Harriet didn't want to look at the outrageous large numbers anymore. She didn't dare dream anymore because she still had to go back to Surrey and her relatives. To be able to have this much, and yet be unable to touch it until she was older (which was a lifetime away) was unappetizing.

She turned to the next page. It was… for the lack of a better term, adult stuff. Lands and properties. Random items that were apparently rare, like a cloak of invisibility, or a fancy cup of whatever, a few seats at a wiza-thingie. Other assets that she apparently owned. She was quick to turn to the next page. It was another long list of things that she didn't quite get. It was touch and go for a second or two, but Harriet quickly figured out that it was simply a list of who her allies were and who weren't. It was so disinteresting that Harriet didn't bat an eye before moving on. In fact, she was prepared to continue shuffling through the papers as they didn't look very promising to her. Treaties, pieces of furniture loaned out to people, her magical status and skills, blah blah blah… She was halfway through the motion of discarding the next parchment before her brain caught up with her and Harriet caught the one word that she had been able to catch.

'Betrothal?' Harriet thought sluggishly. And then her wits came to her and she pulled back the paper and- yes. It had said that. In fact, it was, to Harriet's dismay, rather more than just signing away her future spouse. As she skimmed the document, the horror of what she was reading hit her.

She was paying a… ridiculous sum of money to the parents of her future spouse on a monthly basis. They were coming out of the main vaults from her parents (which really ticked her off) and not only that, she was also paying a few other random people money simply because it was written in the document. In fact, the more she read the more that she was convinced that she was ripped off. Nothing in this document gave her any benefits! All that she'd get from this is getting hitched to some R-Ronald Weasley. Why was her magical guardian Albus Dumbledore getting a stipend for signing the contract?! This was so backward that Harriet wanted to bang her head against the wall.

Mentally tallying the numbers in her head, Harriet figured that she was giving away more than three thousand galleons away each month! And if a galleon was twenty-five pounds like her mum said that meant she was getting robbed of… a lot of money! That's what. Nearing the bottom of the contract, signed on the dotted line, was Albus Dumbledore. And a date, which spoke of the document being modified three months ago.

Unbeknownst to Harriet as she was wrapped up in her thoughts, her magic, although weak as it was, reacted. Items began to shiver on the desk, the ink nearly spilling if Bogrod hadn't caught it in time. The fire began to splutter. Even the rug was rippling underneath them slapping against the ground. And when Harriet finally put the document down to face the goblin, her face held an icy expression.

"What the fuck," Harriet asked, very, very quietly. "Is this?"

The ink pot shattered.

(It wasn't the only thing that Harriet discovered that day. The next few hours were of a trying time for the poor girl. The goblin wasn't exactly helpful, especially after getting ink all over his nice suit and carpet. But still, in the face of things, Harriet learned of several important facts. All in all, it was a rather stressful week for Harriet. She learned that her parents were not dead. Her neighbor was a spy. She was paying her aunt a monthly stipend to take care of her (she had never seen a since half-penny of that money, never). Her magic was being bound (she discovered in fine print on the page of her magical skills), along with her abilities of being a metamorphmagus, and that she was to be wed the day before she turned seventeen.

Honestly, if you were a ten-year-old girl learning about all of this, you'd feel a bit off your rocker as well.

As beings of a higher power, we tend to understand quite a bit of the natural and unnatural world. However, ten-year-old girls are not one of them. Who can say really how she felt. With all of these startling realizations that changed the course of her life. Certainly, Harriet felt a wide range of emotions. Anger. Sadness. The bitter feeling of betrayal. In the end, Bogrod was not helpful. Goblins were bitter creatures. They did business with the creatures that they despised, and their love of gold and hoarding (Marie Kondo needs to help them fix their shit) were the only reasons why they were a bank. Bogrod was the kind of goblin who didn't care and grew into his wealth from under the table dealings and from being a manager to an empty-headed twit. Bogrod's advice was that Harriet's magical guardian was in charge of her, and if he set any limitations on her then she should follow them. Otherwise, her inheritance could be taken away.

Which was absolute shit. But Harriet believed him anyways.

(This day only had a 19% chance of Harriet finding out the manipulations and lies that were set upon her. In fact, finding out her parents were alive (406 universes) was highly improbable (as those Harriet's chickened out almost poisoning Miss Figg while 63 universes accidentally killed the old bat from overdose) and finding Diagon Alley was fairly unlikely (a grand total of 920,036.5 planar systems had Harriet visiting the marketplace before Hogwarts out of the millions that were already created). The fact that Harriet had both found out her parents condition and visiting Gringotts to find out about the legal bindings on her was almost slim to none. The grand total of cosmos that had these conditions were simply 12.

Eight of these were because those Harriet's went back into time with her memories intact. Those universes inter-looped themselves (knotting them so badly, it take ages for us to actually sort out all the mess. And besides the fact that they are utterly fucked up (oh, marry a man who killed you and then raise yourself as a child to avoid the abuse? Like what the hell) many Entities try their hardest to enforce time traveling restrictions so it's rather hard to get past those rules. A particular favorite is being able to affect the time stream and letting humans solve their problems and then promptly writing them out of existence. With a loved one watching them fade. Very dramatic. We like to stream them on Hulu. Rules exist, and we do have the power to enforce them if required.

Unless you're the Master of Death, of course. They can do whatever they want, all willy nilly. Stupid arseholes don't understand that we have to clean up after them. Shit heads.)

Afterward, Harriet soon left the magical world and went back to the small and dark cupboard where she felt she belonged the most. Binding contracts and highway robbery combined, along with her own emotions, gave its toll on Harriet. Humans tend to be complicated, and Harriet was no different. Ten years old, she didn't have the proper coping skills nor the advice of a therapist to help guide her through the shocking revelations. She grew distant to the reality around her. She did her chores and she put up with the abuse of her relatives, but her mind was still processing the turmoil that kept her up at night.

All in all, it was simple to say that Harriet didn't know what to do anymore. She felt like she was trapped in a corner. Her magic was bound, her only escape was potions. And they failed her too because she felt restricted by what was around her. If only she had mugwort. Or toad eggs. Devil snare root. Countless list of items that Harriet hungered for. She wanted, she desired to have the limitless capabilities that her knowledge about potions could provide for her. Every time she had a breakthrough for an idea it felt as though she ran face first into a brick wall. An abrupt stop.

It took Harriet to figure out what path she should take. Honestly, it wasn't like she decided it within moments of having the idea. No, it was a cumulative effort of both her relatives and the abuse that pushed her into it. The words of Bogrod, as wrong as they were, set Harriet askew from her rage and anger. Yes, she was mad. Hell, she had half the mind to send her magical guardian a spiteful letter laced with the worst potion she could possibly dream of. But one of the last connections that she held with her parents were on the line. And Harriet didn't dare to rock the boat. Not yet.

In the end, Harriet decided that she was to avoid the man like her life depended on it. She'd keep her head down low, her eyes to the ground, but she distrusted and hated every piece of Albus Dumbledore. He had power over her. But Harriet wasn't going to let it slide. No, she wasn't going to let him take everything that her parents owned. Never. It was hers. She'd let him take out as much gold as he wanted from her vaults. The numbers wouldn't be affected in the slightest, really. But Harriet knew, deep down within, she'd take everything back and more. He'd pay. He was taking advantage of her parent's death and her youth- and one day she'd have enough to throw him off his high mountain. She was going to expose him for what he was- a thief. But until that moment arrived, Harriet had to be a background piece. A pawn in the game of chess. Used and easily discarded, until the moment that she could finally stab him back.

And so, Harriet adopted the phrase that the Dursley household pushed on her. If you have nothing smart to say, don't say anything at all. Within the time that it took for months to pass and for the weather to become warmer, Harriet decided not to speak. She wasn't smart. Her relatives told her quite often. So she didn't have anything good to stay. Instead, she took her time to watch. And to learn. There was a comfort in not speaking that she hadn't known before. And soon enough the spring rains soon lifted and summer begin to set into the small lane of Privet Drive.

(Sit back and buckle your seatbelts, dear readers. As this is truly a favourite moment of ours. We will put it into a haiku format because honestly, we felt like it was worth it.

In July mail came

To relatives dismay for

Under the staircase)