Harriet Potter

Standing in front of my parents' house—or the ruins of what used to be my parents' house—was a different experience.Hedges that had been left untended for 16 years before my eyes were a mess, with rubble buried in waist-deep grass.Most of the house was still intact, covered in sooty ivy and reflecting wetly from the street lamps, except for the right side of the top room which had been blown up, and that must have been where the spell bounced.I freeze as I place my hand on the door, watching the wooden sign grow out of the tangled weeds and nettles, the gold lettering on it barely legible under the cascading graffiti:

1981. 10, 31

Lily and James Potter died here

Their daughter Harriet is the only one

The wizard who survived the killing curse

This house, invisible to Muggles, was left as it is

Commemorate the Potters with this ruin

and warned of the violence that destroyed their family

The identity of the sign holder is probably unprovable, and my attention is more on the inscriptions left by those who came to pay tribute to the place where the "Girl Who Lived" escaped. Ink wrote their names, some carved their initials on wood, and some wrote messages.The most recent ones are shiny on the surface and have roughly the same content:

Good luck, Harry, wherever you are!

Hope you read it, Harriet, we are all behind you!

Long live Harry Potter!

I thought I'd be outraged by it, the way I feel when someone takes "Saviour" as a compliment.I always put those praiseworthy words on the opposite side of my world, and I am used to understanding them as people rejoicing over the death of my parents. Thought they might just have kept silent out of politeness and concern.I never really thought about it until I actually touched that joy: the wizarding nightmare ended that night.

Behind every graffiti is a real person. Their family and friends may have been threatened by Voldemort. They may have been trapped in nightmares of husbands, wives, children, parents, and friends dying every night. No one knows when they part in the morning Can the other party come back tonight?I think of the way Mr. Weasley looked when he talked about the Dark Mark, and even a decade later I can still smell in the air his fear of coming home to find the Green Mark hanging high above the house.How long had Ginny been born when this happened?two months?Ron was less than two years old, George and Fred were four, Percy was six... Mrs. Weasley often shed tears over my orphan status, she treated me as her own, but she may have also because of my orphanage. Another reason to shed tears—her baby was finally able to grow up in a safe world.

It doesn't give any meaning to my parents' deaths, it doesn't make me forget that they were two innocent people who were killed desperately to protect a loved one.But it still means something, something that makes me smile.I even seriously considered leaving a message on the sign, just to tell anyone who came after that Harry Potter had been there, and she could have seen it.

Before I could do so, the creepy feeling surrounded me, and I turned sharply to find that there was a woman in the middle of the slippery street at some point.She was only a few steps away from me. She was stooped, bloated, and looked very old. Her cloudy eyes stared unmistakably at the ruins behind me.My eyesight is still much better than my own. When I rub my fingers in my pocket, I can feel the calluses left by holding the racket for many years. The effect of the medicine has not disappeared, but somehow I just feel that she has recognized it. my identity.Just as I was reaching this unsettling conclusion, the woman raised a gloved hand in a beckoning gesture.

Maybe she was the owner of the gaze I felt before, and then she followed here to confirm my identity.The speculation about her identity in my mind is getting stronger and stronger. Perhaps Dumbledore has given the clues of the Horcrux to the old acquaintance, asking her to wait for my arrival here.Of course there's still a good chance it's a trap, but I've been at my wit's end, and I can't think of a way to avoid stepping into it by now, enough time since I've walked out of the cemetery for her to call in a dozen Death Eaters up.

The woman beckoned even more vigorously, and I made up my mind.

"Are you Bathilda?" I asked, startling myself as my voice echoed through the silent, empty street.

The tightly wrapped figure nodded and waved again.I went up to her, and she turned immediately, and staggered back the way she had come, past a few houses, and turned to a doorway.I followed her into the path, through a deserted garden.She fumbled for a moment with the key at the front door, opened it, and stepped back to let me in.

The room was filled with a strong smell of mold, dust, dirty clothes and spoiled food. I saw Bathilda undo the moldy black turban, revealing a head with thinning white hair, and the hair was clearly visible. I suddenly felt that the locket Something inside woke up, and instead of just counting indifferently, it began to sniff my skin through the metal case of the locket.

"Come here!" Bathilda called to me.

I stopped by the living room door and lit my wand.The more pungent musty smell inside was mixed with the stench of rotting flesh, and the thick dust made a sound with her staggering steps. Even by the standards of a woman living alone who was "old and confused", Bathilda The house is too uninhabited.Noticing that I hadn't followed, Bathilda stood still in the middle of the dark living room and turned around slowly.I don't know if it was echoing my heartbeat or something else, the horcrux in my chest beat faster and more intensely, and the ominous meaning in it almost made me run away.

"Mrs. Bagshot—ma'am?" I swallowed. "Have you something for me?"

She had no expression on her face, and her thick cataracted eyes glanced at the light on the tip of my stick.

"Do you have anything for me?" I asked again.

"You're Potter?" Bathilda whispered.

"Yes I am."

She closed her eyes, and several things happened at the same time: my scar felt like a pinprick; the Horcrux trembled, and even the sweater on my chest moved; Spreading, the high-pitched, cold voice said: Watch him!

Immediately afterwards I was back in front of Bathilda, who stood there looking at me.

"Damn!" I yelled, the fluorescent light on the tip of the staff went out, and I saw Bathilda stiffen where the red light flashed, but I didn't hear the sound of falling to the ground.

Instead, the airflow hit me in the face, and it seemed that something huge was rushing towards me. I dodged it, and the thing hit me behind, and then came back with great force and hit me into the living room.I fell face down on the ground, choked on the dust, touched the smooth, cold scales, and then the snake's tail hit me hard in the stomach, and I rolled over on top of a limp pile.As I struggled to my feet, I realized it was Bathilda's body—my hand was propped into a large hole under her head, and the smell of rotting flesh gushed out of it.But before I could gag, a heavy, smooth mass knocked me down again, the big snake wrapped itself around, the locket was pressed into my chest cavity, the pulsation inside was close to my beating heart, my mind Suddenly, a burst of white cold light exploded, and for a moment I was flying, with the joy of victory, no need for broomsticks and Thestrals——

I broke away from it, the sour smell flooding my senses again, the body of the snake was still tightly wrapped between my chest and belly.I found myself screaming, which nearly took out the remaining air in my lungs.I didn't lose my wand during the melee just now, and before I suffocated, I waved it wildly and shouted: "Flame!"

The bright flames made me close my eyes, the big snake let go, and I fell on the carpet, coughing and panting, with a white light around the edge of my vision, trying my best to prevent the pain of the scar from occupying all my mind.Bathilda was just a few feet in front of me, her cloudy eyes still half-open, her head almost completely separated from her body, and the scene felt like a slap in the face.The big snake attacked again, and I managed to dodge a few rolls and stopped beside Bathilda's scattered books.The papers were all on fire, I plunged into the fire, and the big snake's attack was delayed instinctively.I could barely feel the flames licking my skin, my mind went blank.I started spinning in place——

That's when my scars exploded and I was Voldemort, sprinting through the living room already filled with fire and smoke.I saw the girl whirl away, almost as if she were consumed by flames... I shouted furiously, over the collapse of rotten logs, through the dark garden...

My cry is Harry's cry, my pain is Harry's pain...to be here, where it happened once...here, to see the house, where I tasted The taste of death...

No, no, no, I am Harry... I am Harriet Potter!I am--

Wet and windy night, two kids dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, shop windows covered in paper spiders, tacky Muggle trinkets adorning a world they didn't believe... I am He's not him, I'm Harry and I can see and feel everything he sees and thinks... He floats with that sense of purpose, power that always comes to him in situations like this Feelings and rightness...not anger...that's for souls weaker than him...but victory, yes...he's been waiting for this moment, longing for this moment...

He walked through the alley I just walked, entered the house, the people in the house were unconscious, still immersed in the joy of being with his family... the joy that was not mine and the horror that was mine were strangely intense Crash, but I can't change what happened next...he smiled and killed my father while I screamed behind his eyes, then he nonchalantly stepped over James Potter's body to chase and hold me My mother hid upstairs... my mother held the cradle with her arms out, it was ridiculous, as if that would do anything... she fell down like her husband, and his wand was pointed at the baby, and the baby started crying and I Suddenly extremely calm, I knew what was going to happen next...

Yes, that's it, pain beyond all... I'm broken, nothing but pain and fear... Must hide, can't hide in the ruins of this house with the child still crying inside, must hide far away...far away...

"No." I said.

I sincerely wish it was stronger, strong enough to completely destroy...

"Do not……"

The author has something to say: the next chapter will enter one of the parts I most want to write since I wrote this one, finally.