Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the Beginning…

In the end, it was her own negligence that got her. Some obscure poison that was put in her flask that she dropped during an assignment. And she didn’t check before taking a drink. 

Dahlia Potter was the deadliest Hit Witch in the British Isles by a significant margin. She had been recruited by the Auror Department immediately after the death of Voldemort and she jumped at the opportunity. She had never really done well in school and honestly, she hadn't thought she would survive that long anyways. So when they asked her to join the Aurors it seemed like a natural progression.

She put in a few years at the bottom of the ladder with Ron to prove that her Dark Wizard exterminating prowess wasn't a fluke. A few more years and she was loaned out as a Hit Witch because of her exceptional ability to find and kill Dark mages.

The Hit Witches and Wizards were a subsection of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Unlike Aurors, they didn't do any investigating or tracking. They were called in specifically for highly dangerous combat. A Hit Mage would be assigned to high-risk arrests or as backup for the Aurors if someone particularly nasty needed to be brought in.

Dahlia was a special case. She technically was an Auror, but due to her status as the Woman-Who-Lived she was allowed a bit more flexibility. There were a lot of cases where she did the whole thing herself: investigation, tracking, apprehension. There were also a lot of instances where a team of Aurors had a case and they needed someone to go kill that person.

Of course, that is not what anyone said but it's what they meant. Calling Dahlia Potter in for an arrest meant that the Ministry wanted that person dead. It was as good as an officially sanctioned death warrant.

It wasn't as if Dahlia did the job so she could go around killing everyone—not that it really bothered her anymore. She did the job because she was good at it. She was molded her whole life to risk it all to win against her opponent. She was deadly because she made the risky moves that others normally would be too afraid to do. But she did it for a purpose: to rid the world of some truly evil people. People who just wanted to hurt others for no reason other than they could.

It made her a murderer, but really, if they didn't want her to be so good at killing they shouldn't have forced her to kill a man at 11 by burning his body to ash with her bare hands. You reap what you sow, and all that.

By the time Dahlia was 25, other governments began requesting her by name to assist in some of their more dangerous cases. Not everyone was a genocidal maniac, but there were still some people that caused enough ruckus to get her attention. The British Ministry would lend her out for a frankly ridiculous amount of money and she would go fix other people's problems.

Dahlia never complained, though. She got to work with and against the most dangerous men and woman across the globe. She got to learn new magics and experience cultures that she never would have imagined within the confines of Great Britain.

Her perspective of the world and herself in it changed drastically compared to that of her younger self.

The first time she was contracted to Egypt, the team she worked with used magic in a way she had never experienced.

They were trying to catch a witch who was stealing priceless and very dangerous artifacts from tombs and was not particularly worried about any collateral damage. After going a year or so without any progress, Bill—the lead curse breaker on the team who was there to consult any protections the tombs may have—suggested Dahlia.

When she got there, the Egyptian Hit Team barely brought her up to speed before being immediately sent out in the field. The target was there when they arrived and Dahlia watched as her temporary brothers- and sisters-in arms dove into the darker spectrum of magic that she had only seen in battle as a child. And still, the witch escaped.

Bill pulled her aside after the failed mission and gave her a crash course in the differences in magical application between Britain and...literally everywhere else.

"There is nothing wrong with the magic that we use back home. But it's a bit like only drinking pumpkin juice your whole life. There are so many other things to drink and enjoy. You can still drink what you want, as long as you know that there are other options that other people may like better."

It changed everything for her. Of course some magics weren't inherently good or evil. Magic was a tool. You can only learn more about how others used it and how to mold it to your own needs. The team didn't assign morality to the spells they used. They used what they had to ensure an outcome that was in their benefit. In this case, stopping someone from stealing their things and desecrating their tombs.

It was a concept she had considered through her school years but was too afraid to speak about to other people. The fear of being ostracized more than she already had been was too great.

When they returned to the Egyptian Hit Team headquarters, Dahlia very plainly explained that she had never been taught anything like the magic they used. She had power in spades and well-honed battle instincts, but in combat she might as well be useless to them at the level they were playing.

Luckily for her, the Team jumped at the chance to teach Dahlia Potter, Britain's most well known witch, some of what they knew. (It didn't hurt that they saw it a bit as corrupting a leader of Light and bringing her down a few pegs. She couldn't blame them. The British were pretty insufferable.) The established pattern of the tomb raider usually consisted of a few weeks between each raid, so they used that time to plan their next attack.

They also give Dahlia a crash course in Egyptian Battle Magic.

Dahlia took to it like a duck to water. She absorbed everything they showed her. Spells ranged from ancient incantations to modern curses. Her frankly astonishing retention of higher level battle magics gave them an idea. Or rather, let them reconsider a previous idea that was put aside.

There was a ritual, one that could cover large areas and trap one inside it and feed off of their magic. They would draw these enormous rune circles around a few tombs and then would activate it if the target chose one to raid. Runes were drawn in the sand around the area and on the casters to protect them from getting their magic drained. They hadn't had someone with a large enough magical core to power the ritual, but her involvement changed that.

She only felt a slight moment of hesitation when it was explained to be blood magic. All the runes must be drawn in the main caster's blood. And the caster could undergo no healing by potion or spells. Only the caster's own power to heal and maintain itself was allowed, hence the large magical reserves needed. Dahlia would have to spill her blood to draw runes over multiple locations and still have enough energy and magic to activate the ritual when they found the witch.

It worked. The tomb raider did indeed pick one of the tombs they had trapped. They apparated to the location and Dahlia slashed her palms over the activation runes. They could hear the witch's agonizing and panicked screams as her magic was slowly eaten away until Dahlia broke the circle. She was easy to subdue after that.

When the contract was complete, her time in Egypt was finished but she was returning to England different than how she left.

Unfortunately, not everyone around her understood her personal evolution. Ron had climbed the ranks of the Auror Department just like she did and became a harder man for it. Every Auror gets their hands dirty at one point or another. But he still held firm to the ideals and attitude that he had as a child.

Hermione was much the same. She ended up working for the Ministry, but was blocked from any significant role at every opportunity. Prejudice still ran rampant in Wizarding Britain.

Just because Tom Riddle was killed, it did not mean that the part of the population that followed him magically disappeared. The leader was destroyed but his cause remained. And even after the war, there were many in the Ministry that were sympathetic to the cause.

Ron and Hermione both lived a rather normal life with a good family, though the the bitterness they felt towards the world they lived in never disappeared. Dahlia understood their pessimism, she truly did, but she had found something that she enjoyed and was good at. And that job allowed her to expand her world while they stayed stagnant in their own.

Dahlia always knew Ron and Hermione didn't approve of her lifestyle. It was too violent and dangerous. Too dark. They never understood that what they learned at Hogwarts was a drop of water in an ocean of possibilities. Dahlia always tried to share with them the knowledge she gained on her travels, but it was usually not well received. Even Hermione who was always ready to inhale any information eventually stopped asking about her missions abroad. It always ended in a fight about right and wrong, light and dark, good and evil, and how none of those things truly exist.

It was the height of narcissism that the British thought they knew everything about magic and how it should be used. They all went to school and learned a very rigid code of conduct on how to use magic. But morality is a spectrum. There is no such thing as pure good and pure evil. Intent and execution of an action is what matters. Not silly little labels that you learn about as an teenager.

So she moved in the grey areas of Magical Law Enforcement and she fucking flourished.

Dahlia had a few friends that she kept in touch with. Luna, Neville, Bill, Fleur, Viktor... They all popped up from time to time with an occasional letter or invite out for a drink. She never really bought into the family life that Ron and Hermione did, though. Sure, there were some random one night stands and a couple of short relationships, but eventually Dahlia realized they didn't have what she wanted.

Not like Dahlia knew what she wanted in the first place. She just knew that she didn't want what anyone was offering.

Her life was about the next mission. The next thrilling fight. The next obscure ritual to learn. She was unbeatable, a master of Battle Magic. She spent a decade traveling the world to conquer the Wizarding World's most dangerous mages and learning everything she could.

She had just turned 35 when she got the assignment to deal with some loyalists. The War never really ended. Everyone thought that the death of Lord Voldemort was the metaphorical chopping the head off the snake, but really all it did was force Death Eater into the shadows.

Joke's on them. The shadows are where she does her best work.

There had been an increasing wave of Death Eater—or Dark Loyalists as they were called after Voldemort's death—activity in the Isles over the past few years. Dahlia had personally killed over a dozen higher ranking loyalist and apprehended even more. As for the surge in activity, there did not appear to be any reason other than the fact that planning an uprising takes time, especially when you keep killing the leaders.

Dahlia had just returned from a contract in Japan and hadn't yet sat down before she picked up the case. Intelligence suggested that it was Alecto Carrow and Walden Macnair. Big names like that automatically put those files on Dahlia's desk. It was one of those missions where no one really wanted these two brought in alive, so they gave them to her.

She was tired. The wizard in Japan was more towards the magical level of Tom Riddle than than the two Death Eaters. She killed him during a dramatic and lengthy showdown of magic. Too bad he never expected a cursed dagger to the neck during close combat. She had gotten quite a few pureblooded marks simply by being a better hand-to-hand fighter.

The file said they were holed up in some home belonging to a distant family member of Carrow's. It made no mention of Amycus Carrow or any other persons of interest. Dahlia grabbed the files and headed to the Head Auror's office.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been made Head after the war and was eventually elected as Minister. He did an okay enough job. Nothing had changed but nothing was worse. The new Head was a man named Adney Travers. He had some relation to a Death Eater but since the British pureblood family tree was more of a wreath, most everyone magical had Dark Loyalists in their family.

Travers had given her the go ahead fairly quickly. It shouldn't take too long and she just wanted to go home to rest. Dahlia made her way to the apparition point.

The house was more of a small estate. It was a hulking dark thing on top of a hill surrounded by gardens. She snuck forward and hid behind some bushes so she could cast her magic out.

Dahlia created this technique based off an American witch she met in her early years. One pushes their magic outwards and can feel it make contact with any other magical being or objects. Dahlia pictured her magic as shadowy tendrils that unfurled outwards from her core. She could then get a taste of the magic of whatever it was she encountered. Some cursed objects tasted smokey and metallic. Lighter artifacts like charmed jewelry or books tasted herbal or flowery.

She wasn't looking for that here. Dahlia imagined her magic snaking towards the house. She pushed her shadows around the first floor, up the stairs, and into what felt like a bed room. She could sense a few charmed jewelry pieces and maybe some charmed clothes, so a bedroom felt like a safe guess.

There. In the bedroom, there was a magical signature. The magic of a mage was unique to that person but dark mages always had something heady to it. Heavy flavors like spices, leather, or chocolate.

This person tastes like pine trees and something sour. Like rotting meat. It was awful. However, knowing what she did about her targets, she assumed this was Macnair. Something about it reminded her of the attempted execution of Buckbeak in Hagrid's garden. An earthy scent mixed with death and rot.

She cast a spell to look through the thick foliage that was acting as her hiding place and saw a bit of movement in a second floor window.

Quickly, she continued pushing her magic over the second floor and couldn't sense a second signature. Getting one of them was better than nothing and she really was quite tired. Weighing the pros and cons, Dahlia decided to just go for it.

Bombarda. Carpe retractum. Dahlia wordlessly blasted the window and snagged onto the mage with a conjured rope. Yanking hard, she pulled him from the newly blown hole side of the house.

It was Macnair. He slashed his way from the ropes, and slowed his decent to the ground to land in a crouch. A few exchanged curses and he was sitting harmlessly unconscious tangled in some rose vines she had wrapped him in.

She felt before she saw the Avada heading her way coming from the front door. Dahlia dove over Macnair and used him as a shield. A few more spells were sent in her direction blowing up the ground around them and forcing Dahlia to roll away from the blasts. Alecto, who had been casting from the doorway, disappeared back inside the house.

Dahlia jumped over Macnair again and rushed after Carrow. There was a fairly basic duel inside the house. Alecto was more proficient than Macnair, but not enough to threaten her. She held her own against these people while she was still in school. They couldn't hold a candle to her these days.

Dahlia cast a blade of fire outward in front of her and pushed Carrow into silently conjured ice spikes. Nothing enough to kill but enough to slow her down. Alecto sent a few of the nastier, but predictable, spells in her direction. An entrail expelling curse, a bone breaker, and—oh, that's pleasantly surprising. She mixed an Ancient Egyptian curse in there that was made to scramble the brain during mummification. That one usually isn't in the Death Eater handbook.

It was enough of a surprise that she dodged the curse instead of blocking it. It gave Alecto a chance to run toward the back of the house, a trail of blood following her.

In pursuit, Dahlia saw an open door to a cellar in the corner of the kitchen. Probably where she had been hiding. She didn't send her magic downwards in her initial sweep of the building. A stupid mistake. Maybe she was a bit too tired for this. Well... too late now.

She caught up with Alecto outside and erected a wall of earth in front of her. Carrow turned to snarl at her, once more sending a chain of standard curses in her direction. Nothing as interesting as the brain scrambling curse from earlier, which was a shame.

Dahlia decided to wrap it up. This was the bitch who threw the Cruciatus curse at children while playing teacher at Hogwarts. Carrow did not deserve a good fight. This needed to be over.

Erupting from the wall of dirt behind her, chains of rock wrapped around Alecto's feet, hands, and neck. She was pulled back and slammed into the wall with a dull thump. Dahlia walked forward and plucked the wand from her fingers. With barely a thought, it was engulfed in flame.

A creak from behind her signaled someone approaching. Dahlia spun and shot a pulse of pure magic towards the unknown person. A man jumped from the back door of the house to the side to narrowly avoid getting blasted to pieces.

Amycus. I shouldn't be surprised. Where one of them goes, the other follows.

He frantically shot cutting curses towards her, some of them going way off target and crashing into the wall of earth behind her. Dahlia evaporated into a cloud of smoke and reassembled in front of him. Conjuring a silver dagger, she plunged it into his chest using a bit of magical enhancement to add strength to her arms. She twisted the blade and yanked down, pulling the blade from sternum to his navel. Amycus Carrow fell to the ground and twitched before becoming motionless.

A cry of absolute anguish came from behind her. Dahlia turned back to Alecto, who was free from her bindings. There were cutting marks etched into the earth where her hands and feet had been bound. Alecto herself was crumpled on the ground, shoulders heaving with sobs.

Dahlia watched her for a moment and pushed her hair off her face with a bloody hand. She felt it smear a bit on her forehead.

"You will pay for your transgressions," Alecto choked out. "We may not kill you today, but one day... someone will end you... and I can only pray to the Mother that it is painful." Alecto lifted a hand and Dahlia could feel a surge of malevolent magic gather. She stepped to the right and let the wandless spell sail harmlessly past her. At the same time, Dahlia sent an overpowered cutting curse at her neck.

She blankly looked on as Alecto Carrow's head rolled to the ground, the rest of her body falling beside it.

After a moment of consideration, Dahlia walked back towards the house. She pushed her magic down to the cellar to make sure there wasn't a fourth person in the area, just in case. That would just be embarrassing. All was clear and she continued through the house to the front garden, Macnair still tied up in roses.

Dahlia stepped towards him and picked up her flask from where it had fallen during the beginning of the encounter. She usually carried a few potions on her: blood replenisher, essence of dittany, pepper-up, etc. This flask held the latter. She still had to bring Macnair in, send a cleanup crew to get the bodies, and write up a statement before she could go home.

She took a deep drag of the pepper-up and breathed in a sign of relief. That should keep her going a few more hours.

Dahlia vanished the vines and slapped some magic suppressing handcuffs on Macnair's wrists.

When she stood up, she stumbled a step backwards. Her hand flew up to her head as her vision started to bleed white around the edges.

She scrambled for the pepper-up flask and clumsily twisted the lid off. A deep breath through the nose did not alert her to any poisons that she could smell. Dahlia reached up to grab her necklace as she finally lost her balance and fell to the ground.

Luna had gifted her this necklace a few years ago. It had a small pendant in the shape of a rose that was supposed to heat up in the presence of most known poisons. But even the best protection cannot stop everything.

As Dahlia lied there, on some random Carrow estate, she began to seize. She thought about how odd it was that Amycus did not come immediately to his sister's aid. How he must have come to the back and maybe seen her flask. How, as a last ditched effort, he must have put something in it that her pendant hadn't detected. How quickly Travers agreed to send her on this assignment. How Luna may have seen something like this coming.

She thought how absolutely disappointed Moody was going to be when she met him on the other side.

Dahlia's seizing slowed as her limbs became rigid and her lungs stuttered to a stop. Her vision turned fully white and she lost all feeling of her body... when she finally heard it. She hoped it was a hallucination but had a sneaking suspicion that she was not that lucky.

"Hello, Mistress," a gravelly voice crooned.

As Dahlia lied there, on some random Carrow estate, she began to seize. She thought about how odd it was that Amycus did not come immediately to his sister's aid. How he must have come to the back and seen her flask. How, as a last ditched effort, he must have put something in it that her pendant hadn't detected. How quickly Travers agreed to send her on this assignment. How Luna may have seen something like this coming.

She thought how absolutely disappointed Moody was going to be when she met him on the other side.

Dahlia's seizing slowed as her limbs became rigid and her lungs stuttered to a stop. Her vision turned fully white and she lost all feeling of her body... when she finally heard it. She hoped it was a hallucination but had a sneaking suspicion that she was not that lucky.

"Hello, Mistress," a gravelly voice crooned.

Dahlia Potter felt some awareness come back to her body. The pure whiteness that surrounded her darkened to shades of greys and blacks. A very familiar location came into focus before her eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she muttered. She was back at King's Cross. Not the sterile white version from before, but much darker. Oddly enough, it made it a little more comfortable but the same amount annoying.

"Oh, my dear. I would never 'kid' about something like this," a voice sounded behind her.

Dahlia spun around in a crouch and tried to shoot a pulse of magic towards the unknown person. Nothing happened. She looked down at her hands with more than a little irritation, as if they were the problem as opposed to her being dead. She raised her eyes back up to the person before her.

It was a man. Not Albus Dumbledore, thank Merlin and Morgana. She didn't know if she could have killed a dead man, but she always regretted not trying when she saw him here last time.

The man before her was pale...really pale. Almost glowing with how white his skin was. He had wavy black hair down to his shoulders that seemed to pull in the light around him. He wore a three piece suit with a dark green tie. When she met his eyes, it was like looking into the full expanse of the night sky. Completely black with a smattering of stars. There was no iris, pupil, or anything that indicated where he was looking, but she knew he was looking straight back at her.

When she managed to tear her eyes from his, she noted he looked a bit like Regulus Black if Regulus was almost 7 feet tall and sucked the light from the space around him. He was actually quite handsome with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Though maybe contemplating his facial features wasn't the most relevant issue at the moment.

"I have learned from experience that this will go smoother if I look a bit familiar. Glad you like it," the man said with an amused tilt to his lips.

Dahlia started a little. Her occlumency still wasn't good by any stretch but her walls were strong enough to sense an intrusion.

"You will find your magic does not quite work on me, I am afraid. But even if it did, you would never be able to shut me out of that beautiful, chaotic place that is your mind. If it makes you feel better, I cannot block you from mine either."

Dahlia stared at him a moment longer. It didn't make her feel better.

Nonetheless, she took the opportunity to really study him. Not just with her eyes, but it was like she could feel him. He had a presence that felt... familiar. A heaviness in the air surrounded this man. An aura of darkness. That wasn't quite right. It was not simply darkness but the absence of light. No, that wasn't right either. There was a vitality to his energy. Taking the light and actively turning it darker.

He felt like twilight.

She knew she had to ask the question, but was fairly certain she knew the answer. Still, she could not help but ask:

"Who are you?"

The man's smile grew when he replied, "You should trust your instincts. You know me."

She did know him. In the deepest corner of her mind, she had always known he was real.

"Death," she breathed.

"Yes. You know why I am here, do you not?"

"But...I don't have them anymore. The Hallows. I broke the wand and I dropped the stone in the forest. I kept the cloak, but I don't have all three," Dahlia rushed out with a touch of desperation.

Death stepped forward, his long legs closing the distance in a few strides. Dahlia did not move from where she was rooted. She didn't feel threatened by Death. If anything, she felt comforted as he came within reach.

"My dear," he spoke softly. "They have been with you always since that day. You know this. You have felt their influence throughout your life. A familiar presence blowing past you on the wind, your own magic knowing what you want before you do... just because you were not holding them does not mean they were not there."

Dahlia's eyes stung and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I know," she whispered.

Magical people were blessed with long life. The larger the magical core, the more youthful one looked throughout the years. Many people in their 70s and 80s look to be in their 40s. Dahlia used this as an excuse to explain why her body stopped aging about a decade ago. It hadn't been a problem so far, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. Well, before she died. That's one problem solved.

"There were signs. I think I stopped aging. And my magic," she met his eyes, "it feels like you."

He gently pushed a curl off her forehead that had come loose from the braid she had it in.

"Yes. You are my Mistress. I have been waiting for you quite a while."

Her head snapped up to glare at him. "Then why the fuck was Albus Dumbledore here last time?! Where were you?" There was a sense of accusation in her tone.

The soft look on his face hardened to something sharp and full of disgust.

"Albus Dumbledore," he spat, "controlled you far beyond his death. His magic was all mixed in yours, not to mention the fact that your actions that led to your second death were a direct result from his influence. He knew what was coming and so he was waiting for you. Not that I could not have ejected him, but you were not ready to receive me yet." He trailed off bitterly.

Dahlia stopped listening as Death rambled. There was only one matter of importance in what he just told her.

"What do you mean his magic was mixed in mine?"

Death looked down at her with something that looked suspiciously like sympathy. "He had placed a rather strong compulsion on you as a child. Just one, whatever comfort that brings, but it shaped your life until Tom Riddle killed you at 17."

She brought a hand up to pinch her nose and bowed her head.

"And what was the compulsion?" she asked tiredly.

There was a pause, and Dahlia looked up to Death.

"It was... an idea. When he left you with your aunt, he planted an idea in your mind that would grow with you. Overtime, it warped your very nature," here he paused again. He only started when she nodded for him to continue. "'I have no where else to go'."

She took a step back.

I have no where else to go.

How many times did she those exact words cross her mind in her childhood? When Vernon decided slapping her wasn't enough and began to use his fists. When Petunia repeatedly left her outside a whole day's length with no food or water. When Voldemort came back, year after year, trying to kill her. When she finally learned that she needed to die to save everyone in a war she didn't want anything to do with.

I have no where else to go.

"I could... have left? But— but everyone said it was my fight, it was my fate—" she shook her head sharply and tried to back further away from him. He didn't let her get far.

"Oh, my own, it will be alright. Your life is yours to do with as you wish. Never again will you be trapped on a path you do not control." Death kneeled before her and gathered her in his arms, her body trembling.

She let out a shaky breath and rested her head on Death's shoulder. They stayed there until her body relaxed. He was almost frighteningly comfortable to her. Dahlia was not necessarily a hugger, but she found herself feeling warm and safe within Death's embrace.

"Alright," she stood a bit straighter and rolled her shoulders. "Ignoring that for now, explain what you just said. My life is mine to do with as I wish? I'm dead. My life is over. And before that, you said my 'second death'. This was my second death."

He leaned back to look her up and down. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he nodded and smoothly moved to sit on a park bench that was not previously there.

"Ah, yes. That brings us to the explanation portion of our encounter. Please do sit and join me. This will most likely take some time. It usually does," he gestured to the spot next to him for her to sit.

"That. That right there," she jabbed a finger at his face. "You have made several cryptic statements alluding to previous encounters and I know damn well we have not met before."

He hummed, "Partially correct. You have not met me, but I have met you. This is our first time together, but is also the thousandth," he said casually, as if his words made any sense. "You, Dahlia Potter, are the Mistress of Death. You always have been and always will be."

Dahlia glared at him.

Death laughed, "Yes, I know how it sounds for the first time. How much do you follow muggle science?"

Dahlia glared harder.

"Anyways, they have begun to understand the size of the universe and their place in it. Within all the universe and all the galaxies... it seems improbable that you humans are the only life in existence. That hypothesis is correct. There are a vast number of worlds with the potential to sustain life. However, in all of time, the amount of planets that foster life that evolve to humans is proportionally limited. And on those planets, the amount that have magic is smaller still."

Her glared had morphed into disbelief. "What on earth are you talking about?" she blurted out incredulously.

"I am getting to that. The fact is, your world is not the only world. I am Death. I exist everywhere and always. The universe is in a non-ending cycle of expansion and reduction. There will always be life, and so I will always be. Magical humans exist here on this planet, have existed on others, and will continue to exist elsewhere. Just not as many times as one would think considering the statistical probability of human evolution in the multiverse."

A beat of silence.

Death sighed, "The point is, any time there is magical human life. You, my own, are always my Mistress. There is always a Dahlia Potter, each a little bit different than the last or the next. You and I have been through this and we will again. Do try not to think about your timeline too much, you will actually go insane."

There was a pause, then continued, "And not the fun and interesting type of insane but the mind-destroying, cease to function kind.”

Well, what the fuck is one supposed to say to that?

"Alright," her voice broke in the middle of the word. She cleared her throat, "I will... take your word for it. I am Mistress, only I have been and will be. Got it."

He nodded approvingly, "Good. Next, and I do hope you will receive this gracefully, your life is not over. Now that you have inherited the title from myself officially, you will never die."

Another pause. This interaction is turning out to be full of stunned pauses. Too many, in her opinion.

"That— no, that isn't true. I am dead literally right now," she gestured around her wildly.

"You are, but there will never be a train for you. This is as far as you go. You will be sent back to your body—after it regenerates to a degree that supports your life and soul—and you will live until life on this planet has ended."

She opened her mouth, probably to start screaming or something equally hysterical, when Death interrupted once again.

"You have done this before and you will again. You think that you cannot do it. You think that it would be a curse to live and watch everyone and everything around you die and disappear." She hadn't thought that far yet, but yes, those sounded like reasonable concerns. He continued, "That is simply not the case. This is not quite on the same scale, but allow me to give you a sense of what is to come. Remember when you left England on your first contract to Egypt?"

Dahlia nodded absently, still trying to decide whether to start sobbing or not.

"Well," he spoke in a soothing but firm voice that left no room for argument, "you came back to England and felt what? What did you gain from that?"

She thought about it for a few moments. "I felt... alive. My world opened up to something so much larger than I thought it could. There was so much out there I didn't know or understand and I realized—" her eyes shot back to his.

"I realized that I wanted to spend my life learning about magic. Learning about everything."

Death gave her a soft smile. "Yes, you decided to spend the rest of your life learning. And now you are dead. Does that not upset you?"

She understood immediately what he was getting at. She was dead. She died knowing, well, practically nothing. Dahlia will never go to Tenochtitlan, or see the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, or talk to the acolytes of Artemis at Ephesus, or even just... go on a trip that didn't include killing someone for her job.

And suddenly she was furious. She didn't get the chance to do anything. Amycus fucking Carrow killed her in some bizarre stroke of luck and now all of that was out of reach.

"Is it, though?" Death nonchalantly asked. "I just said you will go back." He wiped an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder.

That's right. He did say that. Fortifying herself, Dahlia decided to skip the existential crisis and accept it. Death was telling her the truth. She couldn't quite explain it, but she knew his words were sincere. She will be sent back and she will live. Forever.

"There is just a small decision to be made first. Some things to consider."

Of course there was.

She sighed, "Go on, then."

He patted her hand, "Glad to see you being so amenable. This is going marvelously." He gave her a grin that was a mix of proud and mischievous. She was immediately on guard.

"Usually, I can send you right back to your body on the living plane. We are currently in limbo, as you call it. The plane of souls. As long as your body is not completely uninhabitable, I can send your soul right back to where it was at the time of your death."

Dahlia sensed a "however" coming.

"However," Death shot her a playful glare, "that poison you gulped down was quite a nasty one. It essentially liquefied your organs. Your body is still lying there on the ground while your viscera leak out of your body."

Honestly, she was just surprised one of the Death Eaters got their hands on a poison like that. I don't know that one, I wonder where they got it.

"It is called liquescens acidum and I will tell you how to make it later. Anyways, your body will have to heal itself before I can send you back. And by the extensive amount of damage there is, someone will find you before the regeneration is complete."

"Ah, that could be potentially problematic," Dahlia said.

"Indeed. So I propose an alternative course of action. It is more of a one-time offer that I have prepared for you. Well, one-time offer for this you. I have made it before but only a handful of times," Death lifted his arm to rest on the back of the bench and behind her.

She shifted to lean under his arm and against his shoulder. He said they have known each other for all of time, so a bit of cuddling should be fine—she hoped.

He grabbed one of her hands with his free one and smiled at her, so she was guessing it was alright.

"And what is this one-time grand proposal you can offer me?" she asked.

"I propose, my dear Dahlia, to send you back further than this most recent death. I can send your soul as it is now—your mind and your magic—to earlier in your timeline. You could change things. I know how you regret your childhood. You eventually became content with your place in life, yes, but you could have so much more. You could have everything."

Dahlia sat on the bench in silence, cozied up to the manifestation of Death itself, and couldn't think a single rational thought in response to what he just said.

He gripped her hand a bit tighter and lowered his voice, "You have been wronged severely, my heart. You were not supposed to follow the path you were forced to take. If you go back, you can live it however you want. Disappear into the wilderness. Become the next Light Lord. Become the next Dark Lord. You could have a normal average life, if that is what you want. Or you could kill Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle and rid yourself of the trouble."

She snapped her head up at his last statement. "What?"

Death sighed and pulled her closer. "My own, you are the Mistress of Death. You can do whatever you want. I know you have wished those men harm since the moment you understood who they truly were. You do not have to hide your nature from me. Do you truly think I would flinch away from your predisposition to violence?"

Dahlia didn't know what to think. Her "predisposition to violence" as he called it was something she has always struggled with. For as long as she could remember she was always just so full of rage that she eventually learned to internalize it. She never really understood how other people walked around living out their days feeling like that... until she realized they didn't. Other people didn't feel the way she did.

She never understood why her feelings and reactions differed from everyone else but she knew she had to disguise it to survive her childhood. Honestly, she spent a lot of time suppressing a cold fury that would lash out at the most inopportune times.

But then again, those who earned her love were loved fiercely. Enough to kill for. Which she learned could make some people uncomfortable. So she masked her violence and she tried to act how she imagined someone else would. She hated it.

"There is one more thing we must cover before you can make this decision. There is an obligation to the title you must adhere to," Death said.

"What does that mean? Being Mistress is a job?"

"Not quite. It is something you have already been working towards rather passionately. As Mistress, it is your obligation to attempt to restore the Balance."

"The Balance? The balance of what?" Dahlia pulled away and sat sideways so she could lean on the arm of the bench to face Death.

"Like I said, you were already in the beginnings of it. As you began to learn more about the world and magic itself, you realized instinctively that it was not good or bad, it simply was. The concept of Light magic and Dark magic is nothing more than the classifications of what fuels a spell. Cores can lean towards one or the other but all magic is just... magic. Light magic is simply manifesting your will into reality. Dark magic require a sacrifice. Usually that sacrifice is an emotional one—like casting an Unforgivable—but it could be blood, life, or energy as well. You were hunting down mages using balanced magic whether your government realized it or not. Others saw you, and some even understood the implications."

This wasn't new information to her. Most other cultures understood the mechanics and classifications of magic. Unfortunately, there were a few like Magical Britain that were ignorant due to propaganda that was pushed by the Ministry and Hogwarts. For example, to summon a pillow, you picture the pillow coming to you and enforce your will through magical energy. To use the killing curse, you must feel hatred or rage and direct that energy to the intended target.

On the other hand, the argument could be made that enforcing your will with intent is just desire made real. Which would make all magic Dark. Dahlia personally believed that instead of Dark, Grey, and Light magic, it is all on the same spectrum.

That doesn't even begin to get into Dark Magiks. Magiks are the truly powerful spells, curses, and rituals. Horcruxes, the fidelius charm, necromancy, even the Patronus are all Magiks. The Patronus requires happiness to fuel the spell and is a physical manifestation of positive energy, which would be classified as Dark by technicality.

Overall, the magical classification system she learned growing up was complete shit and absolutely nonsensical.

Death interrupted her musings, "Your duty is to enforce this balance. Interpret that how you will. The Dark is slowly being suffocated, and it will end up weakening the magic that exists in your world over time until there is nothing left. Honestly, as long as you do something that is not following the current path, I do not particularly care what you do. Use Dark magic to kill everyone or kill no one and simply teach by example like you were before. The options are endless." He gave a shrug.

"I—okay. That is a lot to take in. So I could go back and... change everything?"

"Yes. I will be with you, of course. And the Hallows will be yours. Any that are not in your possession will return to you and leave a copy in it's place. You will gain a inconsequential amount of my magic, which will result in a completely Dark core so that magic will now come naturally to you... more so than before."

As long as she does different than before...

A manic smile grew on her face. She could do that.

Giving it a second of thought, it would be a pain to return to her body now. Someone will notice her coming back to life in a inexplicably healed body that was previously turning into soup. And by going back to before, she can do what she wants. Whatever she wants. Dahlia cannot deny how tempting that sounds after a life of following the will of others. According to Death, her new life could be nothing but following temptation if she wanted.

"I want to go back."

The expression on Death's face could technically be called a grin, but in reality it was a sharp and dangerous thing that Dahlia couldn't really identify. It took her a moment before she realized that same expression had formed on her own face.

"Marvelous," said Death. "Let us be off."

A pale finger reached towards her forehead, and with the lightest of touches, they were gone.

"I want to go back."

The expression on Death's face could technically be called a grin, but in reality it was a sharp and dangerous thing that Dahlia couldn't really identify. It took her a moment before she realized that same expression had formed on her own face.

"Marvelous," said Death. "Let us be off."

A pale finger reached towards her forehead, and with the lightest of touches, they were gone.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Musty and stale with a tinge of something metallic.

She would know that smell anywhere, even after 20 years.

Dahlia opened her eyes and gave them a moment to adjust to the almost complete darkness she now found herself in. The only source of light was a dim line on the floor to her left.

Even after her eyes adjusted, it didn't much help. Everything was blurry and appeared as vague shapes. She reached up and felt a wire frame sitting on a too small nose.

Her glasses. Dahlia had horrible eyesight as a child which was only worsened by wearing the incorrect prescription until adulthood. Aunt Petunia was forced to buy her glasses in elementary school after a teacher noticed she couldn't read the chalkboard. Petunia made sure to let her know how much she did not care about her niece's eyesight by buying her the cheapest pair at a discount store.

When she became an adult with an actual source of income, one of the first things she did was ask a healer to fix her eyes. One very expensive and very disgusting potion later and she had perfect eyesight after practically being blind for two decades.

Dahlia would have to fix that sooner rather than later.

She sat up with a wince and reached for a chain she knew was above her head. The light clicked but nothing happened. It wasn't unusual for there to be no bulb in her cupboard. Her relatives didn't want to see any light coming from under the door reminding them of her presence.

Her whole body ached, as if she had a bad cold. There was a burning sensation on her back that she reached back to touch. Her fingers came back wet.

Alright. So it seems she has been sent back to a time where she still lived under the stairs, she couldn't see for shit, and she has recently been beaten bloody. Vernon liked to use a belt on her when he was feeling vicious enough to see her bleed—as if seeing her starving and battered daily was not enough.

Fantastic.

"Dea—" Dahlia wheezed. She coughed to clear her throat and tried again.

"Death? Are you there?" she tried. Immediately she felt a presence with her. It was cool and soothing. It reminded her of sitting outside as the sun set after a long summer's day. The memory of heat was still there but a soft breeze and darkening sky made it pleasantly comfortable.

"I am here, my dear. You can simply direct your thoughts at me and I will know," Death's voice sounded directly in her mind.

"How convenient. Where, or I suppose when have you sent me?"

"It is just after midnight on your seventh birthday," he answered.

"Right. And why have you sent me back to this point? And why do I feel like hell frozen over?"

"You should know better than most that some numbers hold magical significance. Seven, as you are aware, is one of the most magical significant and stable numbers. I sent you back as far as I could without your core eviscerating your body," Death explained.

"Ah, so that's why I feel like shit."

She sensed a hint of humor from him. "Yes, that is why your body is in pain. It is acclimating to the stress of your significantly increased core. A magical core never stops growing, though the degree in which it grows is unique from person to person." Dahlia was beginning to see a pattern from Death. He turned to lecture mode fairly often.

Not that the was complaining. She liked hearing him talk. Think. Whatever.

He continued, "Yours is a slightly different case than other magical humans. You already had a sizable core compared to the average mage. Only Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle compared. Then you had the good fortune to gain possession of the Hallows, which increased the size. Not to mention gaining the title of Mistress and my own personal addition to your core. Congratulations, you now have the greatest magical potential in the world."

Dahlia had never really craved power itself. She didn't have an obsessive need to be the most powerful in the room. But she cannot deny that she happened to enjoy it when it was so.

She was more in search of control. Dahlia had so little in her life that making decisions, or making the decision to listen to others, was what she wanted. The option to choose for herself.

There was no doubt that she now had the power to do anything she pleased. The thought filled her with glee.

"Now, you did not come back exactly as you were before."

She sent him the vague impression of a question.

"The integration of my own magic has... altered your appearance a bit. Particularly your hair and your eyes. It will be noticeable. You have become quite a bit more conspicuous, my dear."

First thing's first: get a mirror.

Dahlia raised her hand and used magic in this body for the first time.

She barely finished picturing a hand mirror when one appeared in her hand. There was a vague flare of pain through her body. The wounds on her back twinged.

Suddenly, the burning on her back and stickiness coating her shirt disappeared.

"I cannot get rid the magical growing pains for you. They will fade soon, but I took the liberty of cleaning you up a bit. Feel free to rid yourself of your Uncle. I will not protest."

Dahlia snickered and sent a wave of thanks toward him.

She summoned a ball of white light in the cupboard to take a look at herself—as much as she could with her diminished eyesight.

She did not need perfect vision to see what Death was referring to. Her hair was messy as always, a mass of waves and curls that went down to her shoulders. The difference was the color.

Before, it was a dark brown. Almost black like her father's but not quite. Now it looked to imitate Death's to a lesser degree. It was so black that it seemed to absorb the light around it. She shifted her face to look at it a different angle and noticed another new feature. There was a dark red sheen all over that caught the light when she moved. It was nothing like her mother's fiery red. This more looked suspiciously like blood.

It wasn't blazingly obvious, but anyone really looking would notice that it might not be completely natural.

Her eyes, on the other hand, were striking. Gone were Lily Potter's emerald green eyes. Dahlia's eyes practically glowed now. They looked dangerous. They were a bright green color that filled her head with images of poison and a particularly fatal curse. They were very much not natural.

The last thing she noticed was her scar. As an adult, it had healed over time after the horcrux inside her was destroyed and faded to pale lines on her forehead. Now, it was back to the angry red lichtenberg-type pattern that cut through her right eyebrow from her hairline.

Death interrupted her gaping at herself in the mirror.

"As you can see, you are slightly changed from before. Your eyes will fade slightly as your magic settles, though they may return to this state now and again with any large magic usage. Your scar is our next thing to discuss."

The damn horcrux. The first time around she could not wait to get rid of it. Then when it was finally gone, she had felt emptier. Now that she's lived literally half of her life without it, she could feel a shadow of its presence. It... wasn't horrible. She didn't feel quite as alone.

"I feel as if I should destroy it. But I think I will keep it for now. It isn't hurting anything, right?"

"No, it is not causing you any negative side effects. It is contained in your scar. If at some point you wish to destroy it, relocate it, or assimilate it, just let me know."

"I can relocate it? I can assimilate it?" What did that even mean? Assimilate it into her own soul?

"Assimilate it is a misleading term. It would consist of moving it from your scar into the same area that your core resides. You would gain greater control of it and it would not cause you pain. The pain you experienced as a child—the first time—was the soul piece trying to return to Tom Riddle when he got in close proximity to you. A soul wants to be complete, after all."

Dahlia could see the strategic value in that.

"Very well," She thought. "I will leave it be for now. I need to figure out what the fuck I want to do before I go around destroying Riddle's soul pieces."

Dahlia felt another wave of vague amusement from Death.

"Whatever you wish. Have you any plan of what you want to do? You need not rush, but eventually your relatives will wake up and there will be a confrontation. Unless you go kill them while they sleep," he added that last bit hopefully.

Apparently, Death had a bit of a grudge against her family. It made her feel all warm inside.

Back to the point, there was no hiding her new appearance and truthfully, she didn't want to. This was her now. No more hiding. Masks were useful, but she refused to spend her whole life pretending to be someone she isn't.

"I suppose I will let it play out. See what they do. I need a little more time to figure out my plans in the long run."

She needed to see their reaction. They already hated her for her abnormalities. Even ignoring her magic, they hated everything about her. That she was a girl, her unmanageable curly hair, her tanned not-white skin, her freakishness.

Dahlia learned about her father's side of the family embarrassingly late in life. One night while having drinks with Neville at her flat, the topic came up. With him recently assuming Lord status over the House of Longbottom, he had intimate knowledge of the Potter Family. Turns out, their families had been allies for centuries.

In summary: the Potter family was founded back in the 12th century when a man named Linfred moved from India to England. He was an eccentric man known for his potion crafting. He gained the moniker "The Potterer" and there began the House of Potter.

He had multiple children, all of whom married into different families throughout the years. One of his son's, Hardwin, married Iolanthe Peverell and joined the two lines together. Over time, the Potters continued to marry into a mix of English and Indian families, the majority being English.

As far as she can tell, she is something like 1/8th or 1/16th Indian, though she knew no specifics. More than enough to make her different from the 100% English that were the Dursleys.

And the Dursleys were racist as fuck. They treated her like a slave and never turned down an opportunity to point out any way she was lesser than them. She swore that one of the reasons Petunia locked her outside so much was because she enjoyed degrading Dahlia when she turned a bit darker after hours in the sun.

But still, Dahlia never fought back against her. There was always some part of her that was even thankful for it. Not necessarily because she was proud of her heritage (she didn't even know what that meant until years later), but because she could use it as a form of protection.

Vernon was a disgusting pig of a man. Dahlia never forgot the nights he drank a bit too much whiskey and looked at her with something more than violence in his eye. Even as a child, she was more frightened of that look than any beating her threw her way. She would always break a dish or make a loud noise, anything to gain the attention of Petunia. It never failed to get a few slurs thrown her way to remind Vernon that he hated her, no matter that it came with a few slaps as well.

"My dear," Death interjected softly.

She flinched. She was spiraling. Dahlia sent a wave of gratitude towards him. Being where she spent the worst years of her life was bringing up thoughts best left buried.

"Go to sleep. We will deal with them in the morning."

"...Will you be there with me?" she asked.

"Until eternity ends."

Dahlia did somehow manage to go to sleep. She didn't want to admit it, but she was nervous. The thought of her relatives descending the stairs above her head kept repeating in her mind on a loop. It was enough that she thought she'd never fall asleep.

Her body must have been more exhausted than she thought. Chronic malnutrition and abuse does not a strong body make.

She was going to have to try to heal her body sooner this time. It wouldn't hurt to be a bit taller. It definitely wouldn't hurt to be stronger.

Dahlia did not move after she woke. It was an old habit from her early Hit Witch days, learning to sense her surroundings before getting up. It was good practice, in case someone was near that wasn't supposed to be.

Her body felt better. The aches were still there, but significantly lesser than before. She sat up and rubbed at her neck.

"They are awake," she thought towards Death.

"Yes, and the male is in none too good of a mood."

"Joy," Dahlia whispered aloud.

A door opened on the second floor. Light footsteps neared and descended down the stairs. They stopped in front of her. A slide of a metal chain and the door was yanked open.

Dahlia squinted her eyes and brought up a hand to block the light that now spilled in from the hallway.

"What are you waiting for, you stupid girl? Get to the kitchen. Vernon will be down soon to eat before work, and Dudders after him. It's Friday, so they'll want pancakes to go with the usual spread," Petunia had already turned away to walk towards the kitchen. She didn't take a single look at Dahlia.

The moment she heard her aunt's shrill voice, Dahlia knew. She just knew she had to leave or else she would kill these pathetic creatures that passed for human beings.

But for this moment, she would follow the script. She didn't have a plan yet and she needed to see how this played out.

Dahlia stood in a hunch and ducked out of the cupboard. She was wearing Dudley's old clothes. An oversized old pajama shirt and rolled up jeans with a shoelace as a belt to keep them from falling down. The trainers were ratty and falling apart, but she regularly kept them on at night to keep her feet warm.

Standing in the middle of the hallway, she looked down at her body in apathetic study. Her hands were tiny and bony, her elbows sharp. The jeans were dirty on the knees from garden work and being pushed to the ground by Dudley and his friends. When she ran her fingers through her hair, it was greasy and tangled.

Unacceptable.

She had never really seen herself as a victim as a child. When she started Hogwarts, she noticed the other children didn't tell stories of their families that were similar to her own. Perhaps abstractly she knew it wasn't right what the Dursleys did to her, but not consciously until her fifth year.

When Umbridge—and I cannot wait to kill that bitch—began to hurt the younger students, it tore at Dahlia. Watching them curl in their shoulders and pull their hands towards their chest, as if to protect themselves from further hurt... she knew that pain intimately. It was a random day when she realized. They did not deserve it, it wasn't fair, they needed to be protected. And she had never thought that about herself.

She had been going through that pain, too. She had been through that and much more at the hands of adults. Dahlia should have been protected, but she wasn't. All the "powerful" adults in her life never felt the cold rage on her behalf that she felt about the other children. They never stepped in to save her.

No one will need to this time anyway.

Dahlia squared her shoulders and walked calmly to the kitchen where she heard Petunia fiddling with the coffee pot. She crossed her arms, leaned against the doorway, and waited.

"Why haven't you started the bacon, you fr—" Petunia choked on the word when she finally turned to face her. Her face paled and she dropped the coffee pot.

Dahlia watched it shatter on the floor, the glass skittering across the linoleum. She raised a brow and met Petunia's eyes.

"I'm not cleaning that up."

Her aunt jerked back against the counter and seemed to finally found her words.

"What have you done?" she forced out, barely audible.

"What do you mean, Aunt Petunia?" she replied, an innocent lilt to her voice.

Petunia's hand shakily raised to vaguely point in her direction. "What have you done?"

Dahlia twirled a lock of hair around her fingers and looked at it in false surprise. "Oh, this? I woke up like this. Something strange happened last night. Midnight, I think."

Her aunt continued to gape at her, horror and disgust clear on her face.

Dahlia's spite rose up like a tidal wave from her chest. She stepped forward, her feet crunching on the broken coffee pot.

"You do remember what today is, right? Even muggles—" Petunia flinched. "—know that some numbers are more important than others. It's my birthday. Just think of it as lucky number seven."

"How did you know that word?" Petunia almost demanded. Any intimidation she tried to show was ruined by shaking in her hands.

"Don't worry about it," Dahlia replied flippantly with a shrug of one shoulder. "What you should worry about is what it means for you. I know about magic. And I know you haven't got any."

Petunia's pale face began turning a deep shade of red. She took an aborted step towards Dahlia and was stopped by a door slamming upstairs. Heavy footsteps descended and began to move closer to the kitchen.

"What is all this racket?! Girl, did you break—" Vernon Dursley began working himself into a fervor before his eyes froze on her hair.

"You worthless girl! What did you do to your hair?! You think you can bring that nonsense in my house?"

"Vernon," Petunia called to him, "her eyes..."

Her uncle looked Dahlia in the eyes and, much like Petunia, the blood in his flabby face drained rapidly. He strode up to her and forcefully turned her towards him by her shoulders.

He looked as if he was going to speak again when Dahlia decided to be a more active participant. She wrapped her own frail hands around Vernon's meaty wrists and pushed some magic into them to strengthen her grip.

Vernon yelped and tried to yank his arms away. When he couldn't, he started to struggle. His yelp turned into screaming when steam began to waft from where her hands touched his skin.

She let him go and he cradled his arms to his chest, staring down at them with disbelief. On both wrists there were two tiny purple hand prints. The skin around them frozen and raw with frostbite.

He looked at up with her with a strange expression on his face. Disbelief, anger, fear. Vernon opened his mouth to speak and grabbed at his throat when nothing came out.

It was silent for a moment. Her aunt and uncle staring at her with increasing tension.

Dahlia let out a sigh and began, "All you had to do was be reasonable. A child does not have control over their birth. You enjoy tormenting me. Me, Lily's child, your own blood," She shot a disapproving glare over to Petunia who seemed to shrink into herself.

"I came into...an inheritance last night. It changes things. If I give you back your voice, will you be able to talk like the adults you are?"

Petunia said nothing. Vernon on the other hand began practically frothing at the mouth as he lunged at her.

"Who do you think you are, you freakish, dirty, little bitch!" Dahlia stepped aside as he crashed into the table. He turned to face her again. "We should have left you out on the doorstep to freeze, then wouldn't have had to deal with your kind! You would be dead and buried like your whore of a m—"

Dahlia flung her arm at Vernon and he flew over the table and into Petunia. She held out both hands and raised her aunt and uncle high enough into the air until their heads nearly crashed into the ceiling. Clenching one fist, she watched as Vernon's limbs began to pull outward.

"Listen here, you miserable shit," Dahlia's controlled expression broke into a violent snarl. "My mother had more greatness in her fucking pinky finger than your whole family put together. And you best believe that I will not allow you to even mention her name with anything less than the highest respect or else I will pull you to pieces."

Vernon's eyes began to bulge from his head as both shoulders popped from the sockets. Dahlia cocked her head to the side as she watched them pull further from his body. An audible tear filled the air as the muscles detached and his arms grotesquely elongated, staying attached to his torso only by skin.

Dahlia saw the two bodies in front of her begin to tint green as her eyes flared bright enough to fill the room, her small body easily filling with magic.

"This is what is going to happen: I am going to leave. You will tell anyone who asks that I am away to visit Aunt Marge. If Marge asks, you sent me away to a boarding school. I don't care what you say as long as no one asks too many questions. If you try to say anything else to anyone about me, where I've gone, or what I can do, trust that I will know and you will not like what will happen."

Petunia began to shake her head and Dahlia released the hold on her body, allowing it to crash to the floor and onto the glass shards still littering the floor.

She stared at Dahlia and barely managed to croak out, "The letter said you are... protected here, and you give us protection from the...ones who killed Lily."

Dahlia sneered at her aunt, eyes fading to a dim glow. "You probably should have thought about that before you let your pig of a husband beat Lily's child. Now, I will leave a ward up. Nothing of protection, but something to make sure people think I am still here. It will fade in a few years."

She dropped Vernon and idly noted how his arms dragged against the floor. Dahlia turned back to her aunt.

"You were right all along about one thing," she casually remarked, her eyes once again flaring green to light up the room in a bright flash. "I'm abnormal. I can do things the rest can't. And I will make you a promise: this will not be the last you see of me. You best hope that I decide you aren't worth the effort later."

Dahlia waved a hand at Vernon and listened to him scream as his muscles knit back together and his bones reconnected. She couldn't have them run to a hospital and raise questions. She left the new stretch marks that ran across his skin, no one will understand what they mean anyway.

Turning to the doorway, she met the eyes of Dudley who was peaking around the door frame. She had felt him approach and let him watch.

Dudley grew to be cruel and racist like his parents. But... every once in a while in their childhood and again when she left Privet Drive, he showed signs of decency that she couldn't ignore. So this had been a warning.

She walked up to him and snatched the collar of his shirt as he tried to scramble away from her.

Dahlia opened her mouth to speak when she noticed her fingers. They were black at the tips. Smokey tendrils crawled up to her first knuckle. They were slowly fading back to her normal skin color, and after a moment it was like they were never there.

"Ah, forgive me," Death began cheerily. She had been sensing little twinges of satisfaction from him the whole encounter. He continued, "That is also a new...quirk of yours. The shade will appear with strong magic and will grow in proportion to the darkness of said magic. Not to worry."

She sent back a vague wave of acceptance before returning her attention to the boy in front of her.

"Dudley, you will be bound to the same secrecy as your parents. You will not be able to speak of this. It will hurt if you try. However..." she trailed off and looked towards her cupboard.

Dahlia cleared her throat and continued, "However, you don't need to have the same fate as your parents. You need to look around at the other kids and the other families and think about how normal people behave. Because this," she gestured vaguely towards his parents, "is not normal."

Dudley's eyes widened. The concept that they were the weird ones, not everyone else like he had been told? He probably couldn't even comprehend it.

"Don't be like your parents. Do better."

And with that, she strode down the hallway, snatched Petunia's purse off the side table, and opened the door.

She walked through it without hesitation and without a backward glance.

"Don't be like your parents. Do better."

And with that, she strode down the hallway, snatched Petunia's purse off the side table, and opened the door.

She walked through it without hesitation and without a backward glance.

Dahlia got as far as the park down the road before she started violently shaking.

She veered off the sidewalk and stumbled into the treeline. There was a pressure in her chest that felt like it was about to explode. Implode? She couldn't tell. Arms clutching around herself, she collapsed against a tree trying to keep herself from flying apart at the seams.

"Death... what's h-happening?" Dahlia gritted through her teeth.

A stabbing pain shot through her skull. Her mind felt like it was trying to tear itself into pieces. Was she dying? Again?

Cold hands pried her arms from around her head and lifted her into a sitting position. She didn't even notice she had fallen to the ground. Dahlia looked up to see Death crouched above her. The expression on his face was softer and more concerned than she thought an entity like him could produce.

"It appears to be some sort of shock. A mix of mental and magical backlash manifesting physically. You are still in a human vessel. Your body needs time to acclimate," Death's voice was deep and warm. Comforting. It soothed a bit of the supernova igniting inside her.

He placed his cold hands firmly on each side of her head and looked into her eyes. Something vaguely apologetic lingered in his gaze, but all Dahlia felt was relief. His cool skin against her blaze was a balm. Not a complete relief but enough that she sagged forward against him seeking more contact.

Death easily welcomed her into his arms. One hand cradled her head against his chest, the other around her waist to pull her into his lap.

Dahlia and Death sat on the forest floor until she stopped trembling. It had been morning when she left 4 Privet Drive. The shadows told her it was already past noon.

Dahlia eased some of the tension in her body. The muscles in her core ached something fierce, but she didn't feel like she was about to disintegrate any longer.

The hand that was previously clutching at Death's shirt loosened until her palm rested flat against his sternum. It probably should disturb her that she felt no heartbeat. It didn't.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Of course, Mistress."

She huffed a laughed and weakly hit his chest in protest. "Don't call me that."

"Of course, dear heart."

There was comfortable silence for a few more minutes.

"What am I going to do? I don't—I do not know how to start," Dahlia tipped her head to look up to Death's face.

He remained silent a moment longer before he answered. "Well, what is your goal? What do we need to work towards?"

Pondering that, she slowly began to answer. "I just want what you said. Balance. I don't want to save the world. I just maybe want to fix some things. I just want to live a life worth living and if it makes it better for others, too, then..." She shrugged.

"What do you want to fix?"

"I... want magic to be free. Not constrained by people who don't understand it. Magic, creatures, knowledge, the nature around us... none of it should be torn down or erased due to the fear or greed of humans. I want wixen to be able to practice all magics and the Old Ways. I want to protect the magical natural environments from greedy people. I want magical children to be safe."

She was becoming frenzied now. The words kept tumbling out of her lips without conscious thought.

"I want werewolves to have homes and families without being fucking hunted for sport. I want to be able to celebrate Samhain without being thrown in jail. I want to live without the constant fear of muggles discovering our world. I want to be able to practice the kind of magic that I like and I am good at without fearing execution."

Her head dropped to Death's chest again with a sigh. There was no response from him.

"I just want to be able to do what I want. Some of that is good, I think. But I also..." she trailed off.

"Say it," Death breathed. A command. No, not a command. A plea.

Her eyes jumped back to his with a poisonous glow. "I want to hurt the people who ruined me. Who tried to break me. Not simply dead or gone, but eviscerated. The people who used me and abused me with no consequences. Balance... not just mending and the creating. I want to burn the rotten parts to ash. Rebuild from the embers. I will change and create a world that I can stand to live in. But destruction awaits any and all who get in my way."

Her chest was heaving by the time she was finished. She had gripped Death so hard that if he were human, she probably would have left bruises.

The only thing she saw in his face was satisfaction.

He smiled sharply. "Well, then. Let us begin, hm?"

All she could do was smile back.

Dahlia and Death sat in that patch of trees until the sun had long disappeared. They spoke occasionally but mostly sat in comfortable silence while Dahlia thought about the move forward.

Finally, she stood up with a clap.

"So," she started. "I need a place to live. I cannot simply disappear in case someone comes to check on me."

"Doubtful," Death interjected.

"Right. Agreed. But we must be cautious. I need somewhere where I can have a believable background when they do eventually come for me. However, it must allow me to be able to come and go as needed. I have things to learn and plans to plan."

Death snorted. He remained on the ground, leaning back on his arms. Even sitting he was the same height as Dahlia's 7 year old body.

She gave him a glare. "And I need a way to return to my adult body. I refuse to be stuck in this age and with the limitations it comes with."

Death looked at his nails, the picture of calm. "Not a problem. I can guide you to an artifact. We will talk about it later."

She nodded. "Good. Now, where to go? A place where I will not be hidden but will still be unnoticeable."

A black eyebrow twitched on Death's face. She shot him a suspicious look and raised her own eyebrow in question.

"I shall not make a habit of this, but I do have a suggestion inspired by a similar life you lived. I only reveal this information because it worked so well in the past and caused... entertaining reactions that I am sure you will enjoy."

Her lips pursed in contemplation. "Tell me."

"Wool's Orphanage is gone. Burnt down in 1969. However, down the street there is another orphanage that opened soon after. It is fully operational in the most basic of terms, but spending your remaining years until Hogwarts there would be—"

"Perfect," Dahlia gasped. "It would be perfect. They cannot keep track of me at all hours. There would be a record of my childhood. I can use the woe-is-me orphan act later. And when they do come for me?"

A slow grin appeared on her face, entirely inappropriate on the face of a child. "When they come for me and Dumbledore learns of it, he will undoubtedly draw similarities between Riddle and I. Which will not help me keep a low profile, but may be worth his reaction. And it sure will be fun to watch him jump through hoops to justify himself."

Death waved a hand carelessly. "You will never keep a low profile. He will always be watching you. I recommend making decisions assuming he will always be suspicious and meddlesome."

She hummed. "Delightful. Recommendation appreciated. Our next problem: my lack of information. I learned quickly in my first life about our world and our customs. After Hogwarts, that is. But I need to know more. Politics, history, magical theory, the whole package."

She sat back down in front of him with a huff. Her body was getting rather tired. It had been a stressful day.

Dahlia looked over to him. "Can you teach me?"

But Death was already shaking his head. "I cannot. I can be here with you, but not always. I can guide you and provide you company when I can, but I cannot remain here in that capacity."

Before the disappointment set in, he resumed speaking. "However, you must consider your new abilities. They may lead you to a solution."

Abilities? What new abilities?

The thought has barely crossed her mind when her left hip started to tingle. Hesitantly, she reached towards the hem of her shirt without breaking eye contact with Death. She lifted the fabric and tentatively looked down.

The symbol of the Hallows was etched into her skin. White lines stood out, even as pale as she currently was. It was maybe two inches in height. Nothing particularly noticeable, but very much out of place on a child.

Her eyes lifted to look at Death and she dropped her shirt with a gasp.

There, in front of her, were the Hallows. The wand, the cloak, and the ring were suspended in the air.

"Did I not tell you? You accepting the title of Mistress allowed you to absorb the Hallows. You can call them at will." Death said this like it was obvious.

Learning to roll with the punches, she decided to take a breath and move along with the frankly ridiculous revelations Death insisted on throwing at her.

"And how will they help me learn?"

As soon as she said it, her eyes shot to the middle object that was lazily spinning before her. The ring.

"Ah, yes. So you have realized. You can call who you must if knowledge is what you seek."

She tentatively reached out towards it when Death's hand suddenly encircled her wrist.

"Be careful with the stone. It could be considered the most dangerous of the three. You may call who you know. Names have power. Know a name and you can summon a shade if there is a personal connection. Family members, friends of family, the connection need not be great. There is a limit, but you can summon them here to at least guide you if nothing else. However, do not hold those who have passed here in this plane for too long. Their souls do not belong here."

The words were serious and she took them to heart. Dahlia could understand the temptation. Her parents, Sirius, Remus... so many in her past that she would have called. She would have gladly wasted away trying to keep them with her.

"What about people I do not know? I'm quite sure I can gain a lot with my parents, and perhaps some distant family, but there are teachers in the beyond that have knowledge I need and connections I do not have," she pulled her arm back and let it drop to her side.

Death smiled at her proudly. "An astute observation, my own! As Mistress, you have additional opportunities that someone simply in possession would not have. Once you have a name of someone, you can replace the personal connection with a physical focus. I recommend the skull."

"The skull." Her tone was dry.

"Indeed."

"I can summon the shade of a stranger if I have their skull."

Death nodded happily. "Other bones would work but there is strength in metaphor."

A sigh escaped her. Of course. Intent and symbolism matter in magic. The skull houses the brain, is the blueprint for the face. It is the strongest connection to the person it used to be.

She didn't expect grave robbing, but who knows what this life will bring.

Dahlia took a moment to think through the recent developments. She will go to the orphanage. She will learn. She will prepare herself for the new world that she will mold to her liking.

She couldn't wait.

"Let us be off. I suddenly find myself excited to be a proper orphan," she grinned.

Death stood from the ground and grabbed her hand as she reached for him.

"Hold your breath, my own. We are going to add to your list of new abilities."

She cocked her head up at him. "What else ca—"

Death pushed her forward into a wall of darkness. He smiled at her startled yelp and walked into the shadows after her.

Life quickly settled into somewhat of a routine in the next few days.

After Dahlia raged at Death for pushing her into a shadow ("It is called shadow stepping, my dear. You may use it to travel. No more apparating!") she very easily established herself as the new occupant of the Wayward Home Orphanage.

All she had to do was find the Matron while she slept and insert a memory of finding an unconscious and battered Dahlia Potter on the doorstep in the middle of the night. The next few days was simply a matter of confounding any officer or social worker into believing they could not find any family members that they could return her to.

Within a week, she had a room on the top floor with the name "Dahlia P" taped on the door. There were about 30 other children housed in the building in pairs, but it was no matter to ensure her own room. She did not have the patience to try to sneak around with a child watching her at all hours.

Getting settled happened quicker than she thought. She found herself sitting on her bed and leaning against the wall to stare out the window beside her. Her room held a small bed, a side table, a closet, a small bookshelf, and a chair. All old furniture, but fairly sturdy. Her mattress had springs poking up every which way and a blanket that was barely any good.

Obviously, magic came in handy here. Every night she was able to make her bed exactly to her liking and then return it to its original state come morning. Not that anyone came in, but one never knows.

There had been too many nights sleeping in uncomfortable places throughout Dahlia's life. A nice bed was something she would never take for granted.

A few uniforms were given to her that were stored in the closet. The bookshelf held a few children's books that the Matron provided for what she assumes to be entertainment. A lamp sat on the side table.

That was all that Dahlia possessed in this world at the moment.

Of course, she has magic and could conjure and transfigure—not to mention the vault full of gold at Gringotts—but she needed to decide a real plan before going anywhere.

Therein lies the current issue.

Death sighed in exasperation on the bed next to her. "Just summon them. You are going to do it eventually and it is distracting you. Talk to them and be done with it. You have four years until things start to get exciting. Four years is not actually that much time to prepare."

Her head fell forward with a groan. "Yes, I am aware. Your point has been made. I am going to call them. I just... don't know how this is going to go."

He reached out to put a broad palm on her knee. "I can promise you that nothing you say is going to scare them away. For one, they cannot leave unless you release them—" Dahlia snorted. "—and secondly, they love you wholeheartedly. I daresay you could tell them you decided to become a vampire and eat muggle children for fun and they would still love you. Their devotion is rather perplexing, actually."

It was Dahlia's turn to sigh now. That did make her feel a bit better.

"Fine. I'll do it. It's got to happen some time, might as well be now. Go ahead and go do...whatever it is you do when you are not with me."

"I manage death and the souls that inhabit this plane of existence."

She waved him away as he stood to leave. "Yes, yes. Absolute control over death and life and whatnot. Go on."

After a kiss to her hand, he stepped back into a shadow and faded from view.

She looked again to the window and assessed her reflection. Her new appearance was striking, but still tragic in terms of her malnourishment and age. She nervously ran a hand through her curls in an attempt to smooth them down, but froze when she realized what she was doing.

They were her parents. Her dead parents. They won't care if her hair was frizzy.

One last shaky breath and she thought of the ring. Death explained that the Hallows existed within her now, waiting to be called forth. In their former places were replicas that would degrade over time. Dumbledore's wand would be less powerful and the cloak would turn into a common invisibility cloak. The ring was something that no one would see for years to come, so it simply left the box in the Gaunt shack empty. The curse had been removed at her request.

The Gaunt ring appeared on her palm. Such a little thing to hold so much power. It tingled, warm and pleasant, on her skin. She slipped it on and spun it around her finger.

"Dahlia," the soft alto voice of a woman came from the other side of her room.

It took effort to physically look away from the ring and over to where the voice sounded. There stood two people, so young they were practically children themselves. The woman had long straight hair and bright eyes, a fierce but kind expression on her face. She was gripping the hands of the man next to her with wild dark curls and glasses. He was leaning towards Dahlia with a desperate look on his face but the woman was holding him back.

"Hello, mum."

Her parents both appeared to be washed out in color. Lily's hair was practically grey, just a hint of the fiery red that it had been in life. Her eyes held a glint of emerald if you knew to look for it. A very helpful reminder that while they were dead and simply shades of their past lives, they had existed once in this world. They weren't just concepts or memories of a day in the forest so long ago.

"My darling... my baby," Lily sobbed. If she had been alive, it looked like she would be breaking James's bones with how hard she was gripping him.

Dahlia didn't know how to proceed. There was so much space between them, how could she ever attempt to cross it?

She released a slow breath from her nose. "You can come closer. I don't think you can interact with anything here but you don't have to worry about overwhelming me. It's okay."

If she didn't know any better, she would say James somehow learned to magically enhance his body in the beyond. He stepped so fast to cross the room that she had barely finished speaking before he was kneeling before her.

"Dolly," he reached out to her and abruptly stopped. His arms fell down to his sides.

"Hey, Dad." She appreciated that he wanted to touch her, but also that he wasn't trying to pretend that he could either.

His eyes searched over her face and body. "Baby girl... where are we? Are you safe?"

Dahlia's eyes slammed shut. His first concern was her safety. Her father is seeing her for the first time after dying to protect her, and he is worried about her safety.

I've never had anyone ask... maybe in life or death situations, but never as their first priority.

She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with concern. "I'm okay. I promise. I live at an orphanage now. No one knows I'm here. I am safe."

"An orphanage?" Lily broke out of whatever thoughts she had been lost in and strode over to the bed. "An orphanage?! Why are you here? Why aren't you with Sirius? Or Remus? Or—or Severus?"

Dahlia looked between the two. It looks like they aren't aware of what happens on this plane. They looked furious.

"Sirius is in Azkaban. Remus is either in hiding or has been ordered away. Severus thinks I'm at Petunia's house," she finally said.

Her parents were silent for a few seconds. Then a few more. And then—

"Sirius is where?!"

"Petunia's house?"

They both stopped when Dahlia rose a hand. "Sirius went after Peter when he discovered the betrayal. Peter killed some muggles and pinned it on him. Dumbledore sent me to Petunia's and Severus thinks I am living out life in true Potter luxury."

James gaped at her and Lily's face went alarmingly blank.

"I couldn't stay with them anymore," she rushed to explain. "I needed to get out. I couldn't live this life again with Vernon smacking me around and no food and— This way is better, I swear. I have a plan." She blinked away the gathering wetness in her eyes as she began to feel panic creeping in.

James again reached towards her but stopped a few inches away. "Dahlia, honey. Slow down and breathe. We do not know what is happening. You came here... yourself?"

She began to speak when Lily beat her to it.

"No food... smacking you around...? Live this life again?" Her eyes never strayed from Dahlia's. James had turned to face Lily as she spoke, but Dahlia could see him violently turn back to her as Lily's words registered.

It seems her mother really had been rather sharp. It did not appear to lessen in death.

Time to rip off the band-aid. She took a fortifying breath.

"I have lived this life before. I died when I was 35. Well, I died when I was 17 first but that didn't take. Then I worked as an Auror and a Hit Witch until some bloody washed out Death Eater got lucky and poisoned me. I woke up to a man telling me he was Death, the three artifacts known as the Deathly Hallows were real, and my successful collection of them in an effort to kill Voldemort officially nominated me to be titled the Mistress of Death. Which I accepted."

Dahlia took a brief moment to reflect on how ridiculous her life was when all summed up like that before continuing.

"One of the requirements for the job is to actively work towards a goal of balancing the magic in this world. Other than that, I can pretty much do... anything. Including going back in time to join with my younger body and also maybe destroying those who killed or hurt me in my past life. However, an argument can be made that those people are upsetting the balance and so it is kind of my job to eliminate them anyway."

More silence. She would wait for them to process. It was, after all, a frankly ludicrous tale.

Lily was the first to regain her voice, though it came out as a hoarse whisper. "The Hallows. You mastered the Hallows?"

Dahlia nodded. Perhaps she should be surprised that her mother appeared to know what the Hallows were, but by all accounts Lily devoured everything about magic she came upon. It wasn't really a stretch that she had read the Tale of the Three Brothers.

"And this is your second life?" Lily clarified.

A twinge of heat flared in the mark on her hip. She ignored it and nodded again.

"Who killed you? The first time. You obviously defeated Voldemort, so it was not him. Who killed my daughter?" James was looking at his transparent hands. His voice was even, barely hiding the restrained fury.

"Technically, Voldemort did kill me. A Killing Curse straight to the chest. But he killed his horcrux that was attached to my soul." Dahlia did not pause, even as Lily stepped back in shock and her father flinched at the mention of horcruxes. "However, the real mastermind of my miserable childhood and untimely first death was Albus Dumbledore."

Maybe you really could shock ghosts to death, because it looks like Lily and James were about to die all over again.

Maybe dying multiple times can be a family tradition.

James cleared his throat—unnecessarily, but it was interesting to see living habits transferred to the afterlife—and stood. He grabbed Lily's hand and led her over to the bed where Dahlia was sitting. They lowered themselves to appear to sit on the bed with her.

"Alright," James began gently. "Dahlia, could you please start from the beginning?"

It was not a pretty story. It painted a lot of their friends in a bad light. From the beginning? Can she even make her life cohesive enough to tell?

"This will be difficult, you understand? For me and for you. Not just because it isn't a happy story, because it isn't, but because so many people's stories are a part of it. There is so much to tell. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Both of her parents looked at each other. Something passed between them, something that Dahlia couldn't quite identify. An expression that wasn't a happy smile, but more like understanding or perhaps reassurance? It was some meaningful connection that Dahlia herself had never experienced.

Hand in hand, they looked back at her with determination.

"Tell us everything."

"This will be difficult, you understand? For me and for you. Not just because it isn't a happy story, because it isn't, but because so many people's stories are a part of it. There is so much to tell. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Both of her parents looked at each other. Something passed between them, something that Dahlia couldn't quite identify. An expression that wasn't a happy smile, but more like understanding or perhaps reassurance? It was some meaningful connection that Dahlia herself had never experienced.

Hand in hand, they looked back at her with determination.

"Tell us everything."

It took hours to get through everything. The tale was complex. She had to go back and forth to explain certain things or add bits she forgot about.

Her parents sat mostly silently through it all. Occasionally, one would ask a clarification about who someone was or a strangled noise would escape them when something particularly dangerous happened (basilisk, dementors, infiri, etc). Still, overall their focus was locked on her as she told her story.

There was much cursing and threatening from James towards various people in her past life. It was... nice to have someone so offended on her behalf. And also hilarious when he vowed to stuff Dumbledore's beard down his own throat and watch him suffocate to death.

At least she came by her temper honestly.

Being shades, they couldn't cry but she was half-convinced Lily would somehow manage it when she finally got to her surrender to Voldemort and the encounter in the woods with them and Sirius.

Eventually she reached her adult life, which went a bit faster. She talked about her job, her ideological changes, some of the magics she learned, her friends and relationships (or lack thereof) she had, her successes and losses. Dahlia spoke of when she began to notice something was different about her: her own magic evolving, when she stopped aging, her return and subsequent discovery of her new abilities... everything.

"And then he convinced me it was finally time to call you two. It's not that I did not want to, but I guess I was just nervous," Dahlia finished lamely, looking down at her tangled fingers.

She waited for their condemnation. Dahlia was not particularly a good person. She did not feel shameful or apologetic about who she was, but it was a little different when she was laying it all out to her parents. She loved them, or at least the idea of them, but she did not need their approval. Did she desire it? Maybe. It was confusing.

If she was being honest with herself, she was only being this forthcoming because she knew they would not be here forever. The need to make decisions she thought they would approve of disappeared years ago. Still, she felt nervous about their reactions.

"Dahlia," her mother began firmly. "Look at me."

She didn't want to. Her eyes remained cast downwards.

"Dahlia Jae."

Oh. The middle name. Dahlia didn't think anyone had called her that before. Always "Dahlia Potter" or perhaps "Dahlia Jae Potter" on official documents, but never spoken to her.

She tentatively looked up. Her mother held her gaze for a moment before melting into something softer.

"We love you."

What? That was...unexpected.

The disbelief must have shown on her face because Lily said it again, "We love you."

Dahlia looked at her in incredulity. "I just told you I was a professional killer and a practitioner of the Dark Arts. I am barely human anymore. Literally, not just figuratively. I plan to dismantle the institutions you died to uphold. I am going to annihilate Albus Dumbledore and kill him, along with probably a good many other people—some of whom you were friends with!"

James spoke up. "Yes, you did indeed say those things. And we believe you. And we still love you." He gave her a warm smile.

"Also, we did not die to uphold anything. We died to save you."

Dahlia gaped. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she visibly deflated.

"Oh."

James chuckled. It was a deep rumbling thing. "The way I see it, you already did what you thought you were supposed to do. You already went through all of that in your past life. I personally am not a fan of the result. This time, I say go for it." He shrugged. "What are they going to do about it? Kill you? You are so beyond them that the threat barely registers."

There wasn't a chance to respond to that before Lily began again. "Don't worry about the Dark Arts thing either," she threw out with a dismissive wave. "I am a firm believer of free magic. You didn't think your father and I went to battle throwing disarming charms and stinging hexes, did you? James's great grandmother was a Black. He knew his way around a curse or two."

He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, but it did not hide the glint in his eyes. "If they're dead, they can't get back up to bite you in the arse later."

"Besides, if any of the people who used to know us fight against you, then they are no friend of ours. Act as you see fit. Being dead changes your perspective on things," Lily finished.

Merlin and Morgana.

"You are...serious," Dahlia confirmed.

"No," James quipped. "That is your godfather."

Lily heaved a deep sigh, one that spoke of reluctant acceptance.

Dahlia took in a breath, held it for a few moments, and slowly exhaled.

"Alright. Give me a few seconds" she said. "I need to reevaluate.... everything."

Dahlia tried to reassess what she knew of her parents. Because it turns out she knew jack shit. However, when she tried to think she found that she couldn't. Her mind was blank. A circuit has shorted out somewhere in there that was blanking her thoughts.

The first coherent thought that formed in her brain came out of her mouth without her consent.

"This explains how you could be friends with fucking Snape."

Lily barked a laugh as James wiped a hand down his face. He turned his head upwards as if asking the heavens for patience.

"Yes, Severus and I shared a great many outlooks on life. He was always a bit of a grouch, but he grew on you."

The phrases "wannabe git" and "jealous tosser" from James barely reached Dahlia's ears. A yelp from him and Lily's innocent face indicated she pinched him rather forcefully on his side.

Dahlia was just happy that if she couldn't touch them, they had each other...even if it involved pinching.

"So," Dahlia hedged. "You really don't mind my intended course of action?"

They both shook their heads and James said, "Baby girl, you have our full support to do whatever you want. We know we cannot stay here with you, but you can call on us."

"Yes," Lily continued. "If you ever need us, we will be there. Advice, information, or if you just want to talk. Anything. Though, you are technically older than us, so you may not need such things anymore." A bittersweet smile grew on her face. "The point is, we are with you."

Listening to her parents give her their unwavering support was an experience she thought she would never have. Now that she had it, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. Was this what other children with families felt like? She felt a sense of something resembling relief. It was unclear if this was normal or if it was different because of her unique circumstances. Either way, she would greedily soak it up while she could.

A sudden presence entered her mind. Dahlia straightened on the bed.

"My own," Death's voice echoed in her head. "It is time to let them go."

Lily cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow. "Ah. That's him, then?"

"You may call them again, but they must return to where they belong for the time being."

Dahlia nodded her head somewhat hesitantly. "Yes, he says it is time for you to go. I can summon you again later, but I think your time in this plane is limited per visit, and honestly I think I have held you here longer than I am supposed to."

James gave an understanding smile and spoke warmly. "That is quite alright," he looked to Lily and grabbed her hand. "We do not belong here anymore, but we will happily return when you call."

"Even if this is the only time, we are so glad we got to see a glimpse of the woman you will become. You are so strong, my love. So strong," Lily's words were interrupted by a small sob, but she was still smiling fiercely at Dahlia.

"Call us when you can, Dolly. Stay safe. Give them hell. We love you."

With James's parting words, Dahlia cut the connection between them.

Dahlia was never much of a crier. She could count on her hands the amount of times she shed a tear. She wasn't crying now either, but it was a close thing. A lump grew in her throat as she stared at the space on the bed where her parents previously sat.

A second longer, and she smiled.

I guess I have no more reasons to second guess myself. Let's get to work.

Eager was how she would best describe herself these days. Dahlia was eager to begin this new path that she had chosen. The plan was nothing more than a few ideas and an overall concept as of now, but it would come together in time. She hoped.

The plans she had come up with in the past didn't tend to work out for her. She was more of an "act first, figure out the consequences later" type of person.

She currently had two main objectives that were both necessary to move forward: use the stone and foci to begin summoning teachers, and visit Gringotts. Both had to happen either way, but Dahlia spent a few days mulling over which she should do first.

Gringotts, she decided, was the wisest choice. She needed an inheritance test to see who she could call without digging up skeletons. Then there was also an inventory of her vaults that she required. A meeting was simply unavoidable.

She questioned if a trip to the bank would gather any attention. Death assured her that the goblins could be trusted to be discreet. When she asked what made him so confident, he gave her some cryptic remark about important clients and special treatment.

But first, she actually had to get there without detection.

Life at the orphanage was simple. The were all woken up for breakfast, went to classes and lunch, completed the assigned chores, had free time, dinner, bed, repeat. It was so dreadfully boring that Dahlia could not imagine what she would do if she were actually trapped there for years with nothing else to do like the other kids.

Dahlia had briefly considered trying to magic her way out of the tediousness that was Wayward Home Orphanage. However, she regretfully decided that going through the motions would be easier in the long run with less chances of everything blowing up in her face.

For her schooling, Dahlia purposely created a persona of a remarkably bright child. Not a genius by far, but enough to get placed with the younger teenagers rather than the other small children.

If she was going to spend the next four years in muggle education, she was at least going to try to actually learn something and not repeat elementary school.

As for chores, magic was always helpful. As opposed to the hours of work the other children had every day, Dahlia finished her assignments in mere minutes. She then set up small muggle repelling wards over the area so anyone who got curious about her progress found themselves redirected. This freed up the afternoon until dinnertime where she made an appearance and then retired to her room.

Overall it was dreadfully boring. And she had only done it for a few days.

Dahlia was more than ready to head to Gringotts if only to break up the monotony. She waited until the weekend so she could set up the misdirection ward and have as much free time as she needed.

She apparated to an alley near the bank under the protection of the cloak. Shadow stepping, though apparently incredibly useful, was still a bit unpredictable.

A few days ago she had tried shadow stepping from her room to the bathroom down the hall and ended up in the linen closet. She had knocked several shelves off the wall in a flustered panic and found herself being smothered by a small mountain of towels. The ringing of Death's cackling had echoed in her brain for hours.

As she wove through the people out doing their shopping, she slowly approached Gringotts and stared up at its imposing facade. Two goblins guarded just inside the front entryway next to the familiar warning etched into the marble.

If a small child suddenly appearing from thin air and striding up the stairs surprised them, it did not show on their faces. Dahlia dipped her chin in greeting and continued on into the lobby.

The tellers were all currently occupied, so Dahlia picked a line and cast a subtle notice-me-not charm to dissuade any nosy people from noticing an unaccompanied child. Eventually, the two wizards in front of her finished their business and headed towards the exit. She stepped forward.

The tips of the goblin's ears were the only thing Dahlia could see from her height—if she had remained far enough away to see the teller's face, she would be practically yelling across the lobby. Gnarled fingers crept over the ledge of the teller's desk along with a sneering face.

"And why," a guttural voice began, "would a young human witch be hiding under a charm in the lobby of my bank?"

"I've been assured by a trusted source that Gringotts is second to none when it comes to discretion. I was just keeping a mob from flooding into your establishment. Though if you wish it, I can remove the charm." Dahlia kept her voice respectful, but firm.

"And why," he began again, "would a creature such as yourself inspire such a reaction?"

"My name is Dahlia Potter and I wish for a meeting with my account manager."

The goblin's eyebrows barely raised, but she could see surprise and curiosity simmering within his black eyes. For a goblin, he was practically gaping at her.

"And do you have your key? Proof of your identity?"

"No, Master Teller. I will also need an inheritance test."

It was the title that did it. The goblin stood straighter and looked Dahlia over more thoroughly, as if assessing her worth. A sharp nod and he was stepping down from his desk.

Dahlia waited there a few minutes and tried not to fidget. Logically she knew none of the witches and wizards there would notice her, but it didn't make the fact that she was standing in the open any less uncomfortable. Call it a habit from her past life.

It wasn't long before a different goblin came to lead her away. He did not speak and she did not try to engage in conversation as they walked down a stone corridor. They stopped in front of a door. The goblins must have some secret way of identifying offices because this door had no nameplate or other identifying marks.

Her guide traced a rune of some sort into the door with his nail, then stepped aside to face the other wall. Dahlia watched in idle curiosity as the rune glowed yellow, then blue. The door unlatched and swung inwards.

"Enter," called a voice from inside.

"Thank you, Sir Goblin," Dahlia muttered as she crossed the threshold into the office.

The room was reminiscent of the lobby. White and black marble lined the floors while the walls seemed to be chiseled rock. There was a small crystal chandelier and several wall sconces that were being illuminated by some sort of enchanted flame.

A goblin of undetermined age sat at a large dark wood desk framed by shelves full of books and miscellaneous objects—including silver scales, gemstones, and a few ancient and well-used blades. A large piece of parchment and a bronze dagger sat atop the desk.

"I have been told that you entered our lobby under camouflaging magic cast by yourself and claimed to be Dahlia Potter. Is this correct, young witch?" The goblin was writing on the parchment and had yet to look up to her.

"That is correct, Account Manager," she replied.

He hummed and gestured to a chair in front of the desk. "Sit. Do you have your key or proof of your identity?" He looked up to her expectantly.

Dahlia perched on the edge of the chair that was obviously meant for an adult human. Her feet still dangled in the air.

"I have never possessed nor seen a Potter vault key. My guess is that it is being held by someone unknown to me. As for my identity..." she trailed off as she pushed her hair to the side and bared her scar.

Dahlia continued, "I am here first and foremost for an inheritance test. Take the price from the Potter family vault. If I am who I say I am, you will hopefully have more gold put back into circulation as I activate my accounts. If I am not, you can kill me or whatever it is you do to liars."

The goblin's lips twitched. "We fine them."

"Pity. I was hoping for something more exciting," Dahlia said airily.

"We used to behead liars. Unfortunately, humans tend to be a untruthful species. If we wanted to continue our business, we had to stop killing them all before there were none left," he finished with a toothy grin.

Dahlia snorted and tilted her head in concession.

"An inheritance test will show you your name, date of birth, parents, heirships, lordships, Titles, Family Magiks, and closest relatives up to seven generations. They will appear in that order. The color of the ink for relatives will show living status: blue for living and black for dead. Non-magical relatives will not be shown back further than two generations. As this test uses blood of the wixen who is being tested, it is always accurate and cannot in any way be tampered with. You will use this dagger and add three drops of blood to the parchment in front of you. Do you understand?"

Dahlia nodded her head. "I understand, Account Manager...?"

"Nagnok."

"Account Manager Nagnok. Thank you for explaining that to me," she said with sincerity. She had never undergone this test before. In her past life, she tried to avoid Gringotts if she could. They never explicitly came after her for freeing their dragon and demolishing their ceiling, but she never wanted to press her luck either by coming around more often that she needed to.

Nagnok made to stand. "If you require assistance—"

Dahlia grabbed the dagger and pressed it to the pad of her left thumb. Blood welled from the small cut and she reached over to let three drops fall to the parchment. With a gesture over the knife, the trace amount of blood on the blade vanished. She passed it back to Nagnok, offering it handle-first towards him.

He stared intently at her as he accepted the dagger and sat back down. Dahlia barely registered the assessing gaze that he was sending her way, focusing more on the test results that were blossoming before her.

Dahlia Jae Potter

Born: 31 July 1980

True-born Daughter of Lily Jane Potter née Evans and James Henry Potter

Goddaughter of Sirius Orion Black

Heir to the Noble House of Potter - by Blood

Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - by Bond and Blood

Lord to the Most Ancient House of Peverell - by Magik and Blood

Mistress of Death

Family Magiks:

Parseltongue - by Blood (Potter); activated via Soul Bond to Tom Marvolo Riddle

Magic Resistance - by Blood and Bond (Potter, Black)

Elemental Magic - by Blood (Potter, Peverell)

Necromancy - by Blood and Magik (Peverell)

Dahlia stared. And stared. And stared some more.

What... the fuck?

The results went on to list her magical relatives six more generations back from her parents. No cousins were shown, only those above her on the family tree. All of them dead. That part was unsurprising. She was told anyone with a direct relation to her was dead when she began Hogwarts, but she only needed the names anyways.

No, the surprising part was the Black heirship, the Peverell lordship, and the Magiks. Because she wasn't aware she had those. Other than her title as Mistress, all others were through blood. Which means she had them in her past life and never knew. And necromancy? Elemental magic?

Nagnok gently pulled the parchment back towards him and flipped it over to read. His eyes shot up to her, still frozen in her chair, and then snapped back to the parchment to read the results again twice more.

"Well, Lady Peverell, Heiress Potter-Black, it seems we have quite a bit to discuss," Nagnok offered carefully.

A laugh forced its way from her throat and she slapped a hand over her mouth. How could she not have known?

"Dahlia," she corrected weakly. "Please call me Dahlia. Apparently I have quite a few titles and we need not use them unless necessary."

"Of course, Dahlia. Am I correct in assuming you were unaware of some of the information revealed by the inheritance test?"

She nodded. "I knew about being Heir to House Potter and my parents. I knew Sirius was my godfather. I knew of the parseltongue. Everything else..."

"And being the Mistress of Death?" Nagnok asked with a slight hitch in his voice.

Dahlia sighed. "Thanks for the warning." She sent sarcastically to Death. Only a vague sense of amusement was sent back to her.

Pulling from her core, Dahlia filled the room with her magic. A green hue covered Nagnok and the increasingly alarmed expression on his face. She held up a hand and summoned the dagger back to her, watching the tips of her fingers turn black.

Her eyes narrowed when the darkness stopped before her first knuckle. She could do better than that. The magical core inside of her had never been easier to access. Dahlia dipped further in and breathed out more energy.

The room around her crackled and sparked with energy and she looked in satisfaction as the darkness crept to cover most of her fingers. She flipped the dagger a few times and was pleased to note her dexterity handling a blade had not completely disappeared in her younger body.

"My own," Death interjected mildly. "I said I would give you an inconsequential amount of my power. Inconsequential to me. To other magic wielders and creatures, it is quite devastating. Unless you wish to kill your Account Manager, I would release your hold."

Dahlia raised her eyes to Nagnok. He was holding onto the edge of his desk and was shaking with the exertion to hold himself sitting up in his chair. If the heaving of his chest was any indication, he was struggling to breath.

The pressure in the room broke and the glow dissipated.

"Oh, whoops. I didn't realize that would happen. Sorry about that," Dahlia apologized, ignoring the small tinge of euphoria that sang somewhere within her. Allowing her magic the chance of a release was... exhilarating.

Dahlia pushed that thought away and focused on the recovering goblin in front of her. Nagnok nodded and waved a hand to dismiss her apology. She continued fiddling with the dagger and decided to ignore the fact that she almost just crushed her Account Manager simply by flexing her magic.

"Could you tell me how it is I am Heiress to the Black and Peverell Houses? And also more about the Family Magiks?"

"Yes," Nagnok cleared his throat. "The Black heirship is probably simplest. You are related by blood through your father. The relation is fairly distant, however the bond of Sirius Black being your godfather amplifies your claim."

"Why would that matter? Isn't Godfather just a honorary title?"

"Not always. This bond appeared on your results which means that it was accepted by Magic. Sirius Black is as close to a parent, legally and magically, as he could be without formally adopting you. A ritual is done within the child's first year of life to create such a bond," Nagnok explained.

More and more questions. More things kept from me.

Dahlia tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Seems a little hard to believe that he would have given up my family's location to Voldemort, does it not?"

He inclined his head towards her. "Just so. It does bring up some rather interesting questions. Seeing as the former Lord of House Black is currently still alive but completely unfit due to age and declining health, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black has no official head."

"'Official'?"

Nagnok looked pleased with her. "There is no one wearing the Lordship ring. The ring accepts the a potential Lord or Lady of a House. If that House has seats on the Wizengamot, a missive is automatically sent to the court to update the registry."

"Sirius is Lord Black, isn't he?" she asked wearily. "He just does not have the ring."

He just smiled at her and remained silent.

"And House Peverell?"

"The Most Ancient House of Peverell is commonly believed to be extinct. Though there are quite a few distant descendants that can claim blood relation, your inheritance test results imply that Magic must also accept the blood relation in order to gain lordship."

She nodded pensively. "Do I have Peverell Family Magik because I am Lady, or am I Lady because I possess the Family Magik?"

"Both. You are Lady because your acceptance of being my Mistress awakened any latent abilities your blood held. You have the Magiks because you are my Mistress. You are Mistress because it must be you. This is one of those things that you must simply accept and carry on, my love," Death cut in.

Dahlia waved Nagnok off as he began to answer her. "Never mind, I think I understand. Lastly, these abilities that I have, they are abnormal?"

"Most certainly. Parseltongue is a rare hereditary ability here in this part of the world, especially Britain. It is more common in India and some other South Asian countries but still quite rare. However, seeing that House Potter originates from India, it seems the ability has been laying dormant within the bloodline and was awoken via a Soul Bond to a Mister Tom Riddle." Here he paused and eyed the dagger she was still twirling in her hands. "Do you happen to know why such a bond would exist between you and the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Fuck.

Dahlia waved Nagnok off as he began to answer her. "Never mind, I think I understand. Lastly, these abilities that I have, they are abnormal?"

"Most certainly. Parseltongue is a rare hereditary ability here in this part of the world, especially Britain. It is more common in India and some other South Asian countries but still quite rare. However, seeing that House Potter originates from India, it seems the ability has been laying dormant within the bloodline and was awoken via a Soul Bond to a Mister Tom Riddle." Here he paused and eyed the dagger she was still twirling in her hands. "Do you happen to know why such a bond would exist between you and the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Fuck.

Dahlia gave the goblin a long and measured look.

"To what level of confidentiality do Gringotts Account Managers maintain?" Dahlia said with a forced casualness.

Nagnok almost looked insulted. "Lady Peverell, Gringotts is world renown for its discretion. Account Managers are honor bound to protect their clients. The penalty for betraying client secrets ranges from amputation and imprisonment to beheading."

It was a funny thing, trust. Such a simple concept that could make or break you. Dahlia had put her trust in a goblin before and ended up being betrayed. Not that humans have had a better track record.

"And if I told you that to betray the trust I am about to show you will result in not just your own death, but the death of anyone you tell?" Dahlia mused. She flipped the dagger once more and levitated it back over to the desk. It hovered in the air a moment before dropping to embed itself in the wood.

A wry grin appeared on Nagnok's face. "I can only assume the Mistress of Death does not bluff in such matters."

She hummed. "Tom Marvolo Riddle created several horcruxes—objects that hold a soul fragment—to the point of... instability. The night of my parents' murders and my attempted murder, Riddle's soul was so unstable a piece of it broke off and merged with the closest living creature."

"You... are a vessel for the Dark Lord's soul." Nagnok repeated flatly.

"Just a small piece of it. He doesn't even know."

Nagnok sat back into his chair and pinched his nose. There may have been what sounded like Gobbledegook swearing muttered under his breath. Dahlia sympathized.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "That would indeed explain the awakening of your parseltongue. As for the other abilities, they are self explanatory. Magical resistance is the natural resistance to offensive magic by another magical creature. That includes mind magic along with physical attacks. For example, it would take more power behind a simple stunning spell to actually affect you in any way." He paused to take a breath.

"Elemental magic is a predisposition to spells manipulating natural elements: water, fire, air, earth. Such magic used to be much more common as wixen lived according to the Old Ways due to the ritualistic foundation in nature."

She nodded absently. Fire and ice always did come fairly naturally to her in a fight.

It was the last ability on the list had Dahlia hesitant. Necromancy wasn't necessarily new to her. Hell, she went to school with ghosts and was pretty sure Trelawney had rune stones carved from the bones of some sort of mammal.

However, those are not often considered to be real necromancy. Many wixen thought necromancy to be death, pain, and terror. It was all bullshit in Dahlia's opinion. Yes, the branch included inferi, but it also dealt with summoning or exorcising spirits, soul magic, and divination via corpses. Just like magic as a whole, necromancy exists on a spectrum. There is no good and bad, there is only intent. Unfortunately, the Ministry did not see things her way and was likely to throw you into Azkaban at the first sign of anything they considered Dark Magik.

Nagnok's gruff voice cut through her mental rant. "As for your necromantic inclinations, I am afraid I do not have much experience with it. Only that it concerns death and souls... and that your Ministry deems it unforgivable. Us goblins are not so narrow minded."

"Yes, they do seem to be rather intolerant," Dahlia agreed. "Could you give me a summary of my financial accounts? I would like a full written report as well, but I would like to get an overview now if I can."

Nagnok nodded and pulled a notebook from a drawer. "I will request account overviews for the Potter, Peverell, and Black Houses. A detailed report will be written and sent to you in a few days."

He wrote down a few words in the notebook and closed it. Like the door, he scratched a rune into the cover and waited for the rune to glow blue before nodding and placing the book back into his desk.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before a bell chimed. Nagnok snarled a word in the goblin language and the door swung open. A goblin walked in, put a folder on Nagnok's desk, and walked out without a word.

"Here are the summaries," Nagnok began as he handed the file to Dahlia. She opened it to start skimming as he spoke.

"As Heiress to the House Potter and Black, you have complete access to the accompanying trust vaults. Because you are the last of the Potters, there is precedent that will allow you to retrieve objects or artifacts from the main vault but no gold. As you are Lady Peverell, you have complete access to the family vault, all stocks, all properties, and anything else they may hold."

He continued speaking while Dahlia was mentally screaming expletives in her mind. She knew what the Potter Vaults held. Technically in her last life, she didn't need to work. She had worked because she wanted to and because she had always planned on leaving her money to her friends when she died.

Now, there was no doubt that she could spend a fortune every day for the next 100 years and still have plenty left over. There were so many commas in the vault totals, the numbers didn't even look real. Obviously, she didn't have access to all of it yet being a seven year old. But she would.

The rest of the meeting went fairly quickly. Dahlia gave Nagnok free reign to continue maintaining the Potter account, along with requesting he manage her other vaults that she was able to access as well.

If she was anyone else, she was sure she would have been very unsettled by the greedy expression on his face. To her, it was just amusing. He gave her a coin bag that was connected to the Black trust vault and briefly went through instructions on how to use her new heir rings for any of her larger purchases.

Honestly, Dahlia thought that the goblin was just done with her shit and wanted her out of his office.

On her way out, she did thank him for his help.

"It is my job, Lady Peverell. I get paid to be helpful," he stated flatly. Nagnok gave her an assessing look and continued, "You are Dahlia Potter, there is no doubt about that, but there is something unusual about you. I do not know how you came to be the Mistress of Death nor what that means for the world. I do not want to know. You do not act like a little witchling should. I will keep your secrets, if only to keep my head." He finished with a grin.

"Thank you, Account Manager Nagnok. I expect our relationship to be beneficial for both of us." Dahlia gave a little bow and headed towards the door. She stopped and turned back to face him. "And it wouldn't just be your head I took. Didn't you see? I'm a necromancer. I would take your soul."

She grabbed the handle and paused once more, throwing her own sharp smile over her shoulder. "And then I would take your head."

Nagnok looked startled for a moment, before he threw his head back and cackled.

She could still hear him as she closed the door behind her.

The meeting with Nagnok only took a few hours, so Dahlia took the opportunity to browse around Diagon Alley a bit. With her notice-me-not back up, she wandered down the main street and a few side alleyways just looking around and soaking up the ambient magic.

For all the places that interested her, she grabbed some owl order forms. Eventually she planned to set up a base somewhere other than the orphanage so she thought buying via owl would be less conspicuous than trying to buy in person.

There were quite a few order forms tucked in her pockets: clothes, furniture, books, grocery, apothecary, beauty supplies, stationary... anything she could need. Apparently she had enough money to buy whatever she wanted for a very long time.

Dahlia was never a greedy person by nature. As an adult with a family fortune and a well-paying job, she had never wanted for anything. Still, growing up in poverty left its mark on her. Big purchases or buying something unnecessary for herself always gave her a feeling of both excitement and guilt. She was determined to get over that.

The first step, she decided, was getting rid of her glasses sooner rather that later. By sooner, she meant right the fuck now. Not only were they were a weakness in combat, but they were also a symbol of her first childhood. Dahlia Potter, Girl-Who-Lived, with her lightning bolt scar, unruly hair, and round glasses.

Yea... absolutely not.

Dahlia walked to one of the potion shops that she knew had some of the more expensive concoctions. One glamour charm, a cute story about her "first real errand by herself", and a show of clumsily counting the galleons out to the girl at the front desk resulted in a week's regime of an eye-correcting potion.

Finally it was time to return back to Wayward. A short apparation jump later, she took the first vial of the potion and flung herself onto the bed.

"Was your meeting productive?" Death materialized onto the chair across from her bed.

"Hmm... you know it was. Were you going to tell me about being the Lady of House Peverell at any point?"

He waved a hand dismissively and leaned back into the chair. "Of course not. You were going to have the test either way, and this way I got to witness your reaction." He gave her a charming smiled and added, "It was marvelous, if you were wondering."

Dahlia grumbled under her breath. "Yes, yes, laugh it up. I am sure I looked very shocked and foolish. How does that even work? I'm seven!"

"The Peverells were a rather odd bunch, most having some obsession or fixation on specific or unique magics. All you need to know is one of the Lords decided to tie the lordship not just to blood, but to the soul as well. The family ring which you so conveniently possess will read the soul of whoever puts it on to..." he trailed off and raised a shoulder in a shrug.

"'Puts it on to...'?" Dahlia repeated.

"Hm, judge the wearer? It looks at age, their magical core size, what color their core is, et cetera. Basically put, it makes sure the next Lord or Lady is strong enough to lead the House."

"Obviously I am strong enough, but I am still seven."

He lifted a finger. "Ah, but your soul is not. You have a soul of a 35 year old witch with a frankly ridiculously sized core that is practically black in color. You put on the ring and there you have it: the new Lady Peverell."

"And I take it the necromancy comes with the territory?"

Death sat up straight in his chair excitedly. "Yes! Much like Tom Riddle's soul activated the latent parseltongue ability, being Mistress brought out the necromancy that already ran through your bloodline. You can get up to all sorts of trouble with that one."

"I have already agreed to grave robbing. You are a bad influence," she wagged a finger towards him.

"Who, me?" He was the picture of innocence. "I would never encourage less than savory behaviour."

Dahlia grunted as she jumped into the hole and began brushing dirt off the coffin with her hands. A focused pulse of magic vanished a section of the wood and allowed her to peer inside. The grey grin of skull peered back at her. Dahlia sighed.

"So I just take the head? And then call their name with the stone?" She called up to Death.

"Indeed!" He smiled down at her. "As long as you are touching the skull when you call them, they will come."

Dahlia shrugged and reached in to grab the skull. It was no longer attached to the spine and came out with no resistance. She climbed back out of the grave and sat on the grass in the cemetery and held the skull up level to her face.

"Richard Throckmorten."

"Well, is this not odd?" a voice inquired.

Dahlia set the skull down in the grass beside her and looked curiously at the shade that had materialized. He looked exactly as she imagined a middle aged man from 17th century England would look, complete with a white flat collar that was edged with lace and vaguely Shakespearean facial hair.

"Hello, Mr. Throckmorten. I apologize for disturbing your rest," Dahlia gave a brief bow of her head.

The shade waved a hand at her. "It is no matter, my child. It is not as if I was in the throes of some important matter. May I inquire as to the reason for my summons?"

"Yes," she began. "I have it on good authority that you may know the location of an artifact that can allow the wearer to change appearance. I would be most appreciative if you would tell me where it is."

Richard stepped forward and looked at her with more interest. "Truly? This is not your natural form?"

She blinked. "No, it is not. How did you know?"

He walked slowly in a circle around her, leaning in to assess her in detail. "The chain I created has the sole purpose of revealing the true appearance of whoever dons it based on the intent of the wearer. One simply has to dip the chain in the blood of whomever is to wear it and it will be linked to that person."

"What inspired you to create such a thing?"

He looked a bit sheepish as he responded. "I had a unfortunate incident with a poorly constructed ritual as a young man. I will only say that it disfigured my... body to a certain degree. I created the chain as a way to restore my appearance to what it was meant to be. Of course, I died in a duel not ten years later so it was a short-lasted triumph. It should still remain wrapped around my wrist, as it cannot be removed by anyone other than the one who placed it there originally."

"Well," she started, wide-eyed. "That certainly is a convenient solution to my problem."

The shade had returned to his original spot in front of her and gave her a crafty grin.

"My dear Lady, you will find that there is always a solution to be found, if only you have the ability and time to find it. The Greeks may have coined the phrase 'deus ex machina', but the idea is not so far fetched in reality... most especially when one has magic."

Dahlia gave him an amused smile in return. "An interesting perspective, Sir. I hope you do not mind if I use your chain?"

"Of course not, dear Lady." He gave her a sweeping bow. "It would be an honor to have mine own creation adorned upon your lovely person. My permission should be adequate to allow you to remove it from my bones now that I am no longer among the living."

She stood and gave a dramatic curtsy. "You have my thanks, Mr. Throckmorten. You may return to your rest."

With a final nod, the shade disappeared and Dahlia was left alone in the cemetery. Death had disappeared for the interaction but once again manifested next to her as she jumped back into the grave. She brushed more dirt off the top of the coffin lid and vanished another section of the wood to expose the top half of Richard's skeleton.

"My little Mistress is all grown up and robbing her first grave," Death cooed while wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Yes, well, he said I was allowed so it is not really robbing," Dahlia muttered while digging through the loose bones.

Finally, she found an ulna and radius wrapped with what looked like old twine. Upon further inspection, it was just a metal chain that was covered in centuries of dirt and grime. She slipped it off and climbed back out of the grave, filling the hole in behind her with a wave of her hand.

Death stepped closer to get a better look. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and blew on the chain that laid coiled in her palm. The dirt and dust blew away to reveal a glittering gold and silver chain. The metals looked to be woven together in a sort of box chain. She allowed one end to fall from her fingers. It was a few feet in length, long enough to wrap around a neck twice or around a wrist a few times.

"It's beautiful. And strong. The enchantments were folded into the metal." She brought it closer to her face and squinted. "It also looks like the links may have runes carved on the inside. No wonder the magic lasted all these years. Merlin and Morgana, this is a neat little thing."

"As Mr. Throckmorten stated, you simply must submerge the chain in your blood to bind it to you. Once placed upon your person, the ends will fuse and will not be able to be removed by anyone other than yourself. It will restore your appearance to your adult form. You can remove it when you need to revert to this body," Death said.

"Right, let's test this thing out," Dahlia grinned. She looked down at the light blue button-up dress the orphanage required all the girls to wear as a uniform. To allow for the transformation, she gestured over it make it larger.

If there was one thing she did not anticipate bothering her so much, it was her young body. She was never a tall woman, but she grew to be strong. The security that a strong and fully matured body provided was something she missed.

She transfigured a small rock into a bowl and gave it to Death to hold. A mild cutting curse split the skin at her wrist and she filled the bowl with a few inches of her blood. Dahlia dropped the chain into the bowl as Death traced his finger along her cut and healed it for her.

"Thanks," she smiled at him, getting a warm smile in return.

Death hooked a finger into the bowl and pulled the bloody chain out. Another blow from his lips and any remaining blood disappeared from the metal.

Anticipation thrummed within her as she began to wrap it around her neck. She held her breath as she slowly brought the two ends up and watched them fuse together.

It was a curious sensation, having your body mature almost 2 decades in a few seconds. The ground beneath her got further away and a few of the top buttons on her dress popped open as she regained the height and dimensions of her adult body.

"Huh," she grabbed her chest. "I guess you don't realize how big these are until you don't have them anymore." She continued to give herself a bit of a pat down to reacclimate.

Death watched with amused eyes as she practically felt herself up. "Is everything there?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and faced him with her hands on her—now curvier—hips. "Yep! All seems to be in order."

"And now? What is our next order of business?"

That was a good question. What to do next? There was so much to be done.

Her eyes wandered over the cemetery as she thought, and caught on Richard Throckmorten's skull.

I don't think he'd mind much. I'll ask him later. And I'll ask from now on, too...

"I think..." she lifted an arm and the skull flew through the air into her open hand. "I think we need to find a base of operations. After all, I don't think it is appropriate to house human skulls on my bookshelf at Wayward."

"Starting a collection, are we?" Death arched an eyebrow at her.

Dahlia hugged the skull to her chest. "If I am to go through all the trouble to find these people, it stands to reason that I should get more than one conversation out of it. Who knows what they can tell me?"

And she really did mean "trouble". Death had told her Richard's name, but made her go through the leg work of figuring out where he was buried. She had to order over a dozen wizarding genealogy books to get the right family, then find the cemetery by physically checking all the possible areas near where the family lived.

When asked why he wouldn't tell her where Richard was buried, Death just shrugged and said it was more fun to not be handed all the answers. The bastard.

"Let's go see what state the Peverell family home is in. Seems a fitting place to start a bone collection," Dahlia decided.

Gringotts had sent her the detailed account reports within the week of her first meeting with Nagnok. As Lady, she could fully access the Peverell vaults and properties unlike the Potter and Black estates. For those she still had limited access.

More importantly, the majority of the Potter and Black properties were known by other people. The Potters had the house in Godric's Hollow, an older manor in the English countryside, and a handful of smaller houses in the British Isles. Those are all compromised seeing as Dumbledore has access to that information as well.

The Blacks owned quite a few more properties. There was Grimmauld Place, of course, but there was also Black Manor, a few houses in England, a chateau in southern France, and a good amount of houses across Europe. Dahlia was even surprised to see flats in India, Japan, Egypt, and even the Caribbean. They owned a vineyard in California, for Merlin's sake.

Those properties would probably be safe, but there were still a few members of the Black family who had access. Dahlia needed somewhere where she was sure no one could connect to her. She was positive that Dumbledore was unaware of her connection to the House of Peverell and any remaining estate, so it was the safest bet.

Death stepped up to her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

"I can step us there the first time. The ring will allow you into the wards, but you will have to key them with your blood to fully link the property to your lovely self," he said as he pulled her forward.

The stepped into the dark and emerged under the shade of a large tree. It took a moment for Dahlia's eyes to reacclimate from the brief moment of darkness to the now sunny sky. They stood there in silence for a moment, her staring ahead and him staring at her.

"That is a castle."

"It is. It was built in the early eleventh century by the great-great-grandfather of the three Peverell brothers. It was lived in by the family until Hardwin and Iolanthe had children, then they moved into a manor that started the Potter estate," Death explained.

Dahlia lifted a finger and pointed forwards. "That is a castle."

"Correct."

What stood before her was a stunning red stone fortified manor. The majority of it stood at three and four stories. There were multiple turrets that surrounded a dark stone tower that loomed over the rest of the building, looking to be about six stories high. Battlements bordered the top of the castle, all made from the same dark stone as the tower that was a little too black to be completely natural.

The building was a surprisingly cohesive example of medieval and gothic architecture. Carved stone archways were set into the facade over the main entryway and many of the windows. Upon further inspection, many of the carvings looked to have smatterings of runic arrays set into them. She could practically hear the wards thrum.

The castle was massive. Well over twice the size of Malfoy Manor, which was one of the grandest magical homes she had ever seen. And it was hers.

Death tugged her hand and walked forward. "Shall we go inside?"

Dahlia broke out of her reverie and grinned up at him.

"Yes, we shall."

The castle was massive. Well over twice the size of Malfoy Manor, which was one of the grandest magical homes she had ever seen. And it was hers.

Death tugged her hand and walked forward. "Shall we go inside?"

Dahlia broke out of her reverie and grinned up at him.

"Yes, we shall."

"Ignotus Peverell."

Dahlia sat cross-legged in the Bone Room—an unimaginative name for where she started her skull collection and began practicing her necromancy. She had yet to think of anything better and honestly, she thought it was kind of hilarious.

A spectre appeared sitting across from her on the floor. He was an older man with a well-groomed beard and mustache, and he wore a simple linen shirt and tunic along with breeches. A line of ink peaked above his collar.

They sat studying each other for a second. Dahlia watched his eyes flit down to the ring on her finger and back up to her face.

He inclined his head respectfully. "Mistress."

"How did you guess?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, bringing her focus from the tattoo up to his face.

A hum rumbled in his chest before he responded in a soft voice. "I had the good fortune to speak with Death before I passed on. He spoke of a young lady that was crafted by Magic herself who would one day unite the Hallows. This young lady would hold power over his domain that no mortal could even begin to imagine."

"And you are so sure this young lady is me?"

"My Lady," he began with a glint in his eye, "even if you wished to disguise the power so obviously woven into the fabric of your being, you would never be able to hide from those who know what to look for. I may be dead, but I am not blind to what I see before me. But such matters are not an excuse for rudeness."

He raised a transparent hand to his chest and bowed his head. "I am Ignotus Peverell, as you well know. May ask your name?"

"Of course, Lord Peverell. My name is Dahlia Potter. Please, call me Dahlia," she spoke respectfully.

He waved a hand at her. "None of this Lord business for me, Dahlia. If I am not mistaken, not only are you a Peverell by blood, but it is you who are Lady of our family, yes?"

She gratefully broke out of the stiff formal persona at his own informality. "Oh, yes. I am Lady Peverell, as well as Heiress to the Houses of Potter and Black."

He sat a bit straighter and looked at her in surprise. "Black, you say? A most powerful House, indeed, to have in addition to our own. I am afraid I do not recognize the Potter family."

"Funny story actually," Dahlia grinned at him. "You'll be interested to know that your granddaughter married into the second generation of Potters. The Peverell name is actually commonly thought to have died out since all descendants belong to different Houses. Obviously, with my own Ladyship, that will not be the case for long."

"Iolanthe? How curious. And what year are we in currently?"

"1987."

"Great Merlin!" Ignotus's voice raised for the first time. "It is no wonder why the name has been lost to time!" He paused in stunned silence. "My dear Dahlia, what need could you have of me? Not that I am ungrateful for the opportunity to meet family, but I simply cannot fathom why you have sought me out after all these years."

"I actually would like your help. You see, I have recently discovered I have the ability to practice necromancy, and I don't really know where to start."

Dahlia had very quickly gotten over any hesitation she may have had about necromancy. Magic is magic and she wants to learn it. Unfortunately, there hasn't been a known necromancer in centuries. There are tomes in the Peverell vault, but they numbered in the hundreds and she easily became overwhelmed. She needed a guide.

Ignotus nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. An experienced instructor is most important when pursuing death magic. Though that still does not answer the question: why have you called upon me specifically?"

"Necromancy is no longer a practiced form of magic," she explained. "It has been outlawed in most magical societies. The last known necromancer was probably hundreds of years ago. I called upon you because you and your brothers are the only ones I know for certain that has knowledge of death magic. And I chose you specifically, because you lived the longest and are well known for your wisdom."

"Outlawed!" he cried out with genuine distress. "An outrage! An offense against magic!"

Dahlia watched in interest as he began to gesture wildly.

"Ignorant fools! Ignorant! That is why our magic has been discriminated against, mark my words," he pointed at her in emphasis. "Wixen who did not possess the gift and were too scared or envious to learn the theory behind it, I would bet my wand on it. Feeble minded masses who know nothing of the discipline and knowledge needed! Unlearned and superstitious, shunning that which they cannot fathom!"

Ignotus took a calming breath and visibly centered himself. Dahlia wondered if that actually helped since he didn't have lungs.

"I will teach you. I will teach you everything I know and lead you down the twilight path," he stated with heated conviction.

"'Twilight path'?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he said with a firm nod. "Necromancy is steeped in darkness and death, but what are souls but the pure essence of light and life? The common term of death magic is a bit of a misnomer. You mustn't think of life and death as a dichotomy, but as two factions of the same thing."

"Now," he clapped and leaned towards Dahlia with a bit of a manic gleam. "As I am no longer of this plane, I cannot stay and guide you as a traditional instructor would. We shall discuss a curriculum of reading and independent exercises, and then begin the basic magic of reanimation."

Dahlia listened intently to Ignotus, completely enraptured by the constant flow of knowledge. At some point, she summoned a parchment and quill to her to take notes and outline what books from the family vault she needed to read and goals to work towards.

He spent an hour or so going over basic mechanics and rules of necromancy.

"Like with all magic, necromancy requires sacrifice. For example, animating a human corpse will cost you more energy than reanimating a mouse. One can link a reanimated being to themselves by infusing more magic into the host body as opposed to simply pulling them about like a puppet on strings.

"You can control the movement of a corpse with careful concentration. This is most beneficial for such scenarios as item retrieval—"

He meant stealing.

"—or the elimination of certain barriers."

He meant murder.

"It was quite common for a necromancer to raise a group of inferi to fight in battles. You can infuse the body with your own magic while envisioning intent. It can be an instruction as simple as 'destroy my enemies'." He looked to the side for a moment and continued.

"Though I do not recommend such a vague statement. My brother, Antioch, once attempted to send a deceased dog after a rival in his youth and it ended up mauling me in my sleep because he was still upset at me for eating the last apple pasty earlier in the day."

Soon after, he thought she had enough of a theoretical foundation to try her first reanimation. The closest window was opened with a wave of her hand and she sent her magic out to find a nearby living mammal. One summoned mouse and a killing curse later, she had a perfectly intact specimen to practice on.

It did not go as well as she hoped.

"I thought that necromancy was supposed to come easily to me!" Dahlia growled out in frustration after another failed attempt. "I can feel it absorb into the body but the magic won't latch on. Dumb fucking mouse."

She was well into the double digits of tries with no results.

"Vivifica voluntatem," she spat out again.

"Peace, Dahlia," Ignotus soothed, making a poor attempt to hide a smile behind his hand. "This magic will come to you. Being able to sense the spell saturating the mouse is already astounding progress. Normal wixen would take months of consistent practice to get even this far. Just because you did not succeed on your first cast does not mean you have failed."

"I did not succeed on my first, second, third, or fifteenth cast! Vivifica voluntatem!"

The stubborn corpse refused to move.

"God damn it!"

He looked at her curiously and with no small amount of amusement. "Which god do you wish to damn this poor dead creature?"

"Any of them," she said, rubbing a hand over her face. "All of them. All of them at once."

Ignotus nodded in faux-seriousness. "Yes, I see. Perhaps we need to adjust your visualization. How do you see the magic take hold?"

Dahlia paused and tentatively replied. "I just imagine the magic seeping in."

He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

How was one to visualize a theoretical concept? Filling the body with magic was easy. She saw a dark mist covering the body and being absorbed into it. How does she envision the magic gripping hold?

After a few minutes of contemplation, an idea took hold. She raised her ward towards the mouse and whispered once more.

"Vivifica voluntatem."

The mist left the tip of the wand and swirled around the the body of the dead creature. She watched it seep into it, like a dry sponge absorbs water. When her magic had completely saturated the mouse, she squeezed. The mist rushed to the center of the body and compressed into something small and round. It was dense and gleaming and it began to shine the darkest of greens. It reminded her of coal being pressurized into a diamond.

The mouse's vacant eyes flashed a faint green, not unlike her own, and a leg began to twitch. Of course, her own excitement broke her concentration and the life gem inside the creature shattered back into mist.

But she had done it.

Dahlia raised her eyes to a smirking Ignotus and let a self-satisfied smirk pull at her lips.

A blade whistled through the air and firmly lodged into the chest of a training dummy with a thud.

"Damn," James breathed out. "That is some very good aiming."

Lily waved his comment away. "But not our goal. Dahlia, you have to go through the dummy, not into it."

Dahlia let out a small groan and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had taken up to training with her parents, if only in spirit, every few months. It turned out that Lily was a fantastic instructor and James was just unhinged enough to help Dahlia when her mother's theory-heavy approached proved difficult. Plus he helped come up with potential application.

For example, currently Lily and James were helping her figure out how to guide a knife to a target while being able to make the knife incorporeal. It vaguely reminded her of muggle heat-seeking missiles with the added ability to go through any obstacle it encountered. Lily was describing the technique while James ran around behind the dummies to give Dahlia a target.

Apparently, the technique was something that Lily came up with in school except she used it send love notes to her father in the boy's dormitory. Dahlia decided that it would be fun with knives, much to James's excitement and wholehearted approval.

"Alright, let's try it without phasing the knife. Just throw it and weave it through the dummies. The trick is not to try to change its path while it is still airborne, but control it the entire way," Lily said.

James made eye contact with Dahlia before taking off running. She grabbed a knife off the table next to her and flung it in his general direction, making sure to maintain conscious control over it as it sailed through the air.

The blade made it around one dummy only to fall unceremoniously to the ground when she lost sight of it.

"Again," James yelled from across the yard. "And don't drop it just because you can't see it anymore."

"Obviously," Dahlia grumbled. Dahlia launched another knife. This time, she managed to maneuver it around two obstacles before she lost her hold.

Lily clapped. "Yes! As long as you can change trajectories while in the air, all you need is practice. You'll have knives flying all around in no time."

Dahlia snorted and rolled her eyes. "That's only half the trick. I need it to go through something. Plenty of people deserve to be stabbed, don't get me wrong, but others I would like to avoid."

Her father wandered back over and nodded in agreement. "Some people are just naturally stabbable."

Lily ignored the snickering between her husband and daughter. "I can give you the advice I gave James or I can tell you the way I do it. Or did it."

"Both, please," Dahlia said.

"The way I theorized it was the matter of the object phasing through other matter. The atoms creating the object, the knife in this case, would move through the space between the atoms making up the other object, the dummy." Lily said.

"Are you—are you saying you used some vague muggle science to rationalize this?" Dahlia asked in bewilderment.

"Quantum mechanics, yes. Of course, that is not quite how it works but the idea worked for me all the same."

Dahlia looked over to her dad with a questioning look.

"Yea... I have no idea what that means," he looked to Lily with an absurdly sappy look on his face. Dahlia rolled her eyes. "She just told me to picture a ghost going through a wall and think of it like that."

"Hecate, help me. You are both insane." Dahlia pushed her hair out of her face with both hands.

"Either you can use our techniques or you can come up with one yourself. Once you get a feel for it the first time, it comes much more naturally," Lily said. "James, go run. Dahlia, try to hit your father through the dummies."

Not for the first time, Dahlia questioned her life choices. With a huff, she grabbed another blade and sent it flying.

Due to her current living arrangements, Dahlia could be gone from the orphanage a few hours at most. Perhaps a bit longer on the weekends, but definitely not long enough for any long distance traveling.

The furthest she had gone in the past few years since her return was a partial day trip to Greece to visit the Temple of Artemis and drop by their magical shopping district. With shadow stepping she could travel any distance with no real effort, which was quite useful, but ultimately she already had enough to do without gallivanting across the world.

It wasn't like she was in any hurry. Dahlia was content knowing that a few years being contained to western Europe was just a drop in the ocean compared to the eternity she now had to live.

Today, however, was a basic trip to Knockturn. Most shops in Diagon Alley had owl order forms, but anything in Knockturn most definitely did not. It was a necessity that she accepted in order to get any rarer items like books or ingredients.

Dahlia was in her adult form as she was most often when she had to deal with other people. A few alterations were applied to change her appearance. She wore a glamour that made her hair a common brown, her eyes hazel, and her jaw softer. Just a nobody trying to quickly complete her business and get home.

She had just exited Dystyl Phaelanges with her purchase and began heading to the back exit of the alley when she heard a high pitched sound. Dahlia paused and cocked her head to the side to listen. When she heard nothing, she began forward again.

Another chirp sounded down a narrow side street. There was no hurry to get home, so she went to investigate—you can take the girl out of Gryffindor, but you can't take all the Gryffindor out of the girl. She rounded some bends in the alley and slowed to a stop.

A small black cat, no more than a few months old, sat primly on top of some stacked crates. Slate blue eyes peered expectantly at her as she neared.

"Why, hello there," Dahlia said softly. "You here all alone? What are you doing in a dreary place like this?" She let the cat sniff her hand and huffed a laugh when it pushed its head into her palm.

Dahlia craned her head to look up and down the alley for anyone near that it could belong to.

"I'm not surprised to find a stray here, but I am surprised that you don't belong to someone. You are positively lovely," she said. The cat was purring, very much enjoying the attention Dahlia was showering upon it, and flopped onto its side with a chirp.

"I suppose you could come live with me. I've plenty of room and it can be rather lonely sometimes."

The cat's eyes flicked to look at something over her shoulder. Dahlia held in a sigh and continued to pet it, giving some scratches under the chin.

"Lonely, you say? But what would a tasty little girl like yourself be doin' all alone," a deep voice interrupted.

How many trips had she made to Diagon Alley? Twenty? Probably more. She had lasted so long without any confrontation. She supposed her luck could only stretch so far.

Dahlia turned to face the stranger and masked her surprise. It wasn't a stranger.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, her voice wavering ever so slightly with worry.

"As a matter of fact, you can," Fenrir Greyback answered. "Here I was, havin' a nice drink at my favorite pub, when a sweet young thing walked by. Of course, I had to follow her to express my... admiration. So here I am."

"Here you are," Dahlia repeated, backing up against the crates as he prowled closer to her. The cat behind her rubbed against her back and continued to purr, completely unbothered by the semi-feral predator right in front of them.

Greyback was not someone she had much experience with. She had seen him in the Astronomy tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, again with the Snatchers, and then once more tearing into Lavender Brown's throat. He had been sent to Azkaban and died there.

She was vaguely interested to note he wasn't yet as deformed as he was when she first saw him. There was a slight point to his ears and his nails were sharpened and claw-like, but that seemed to be the only thing physically indicating he wasn't completely human.

As he got closer, Dahlia was forced to look up as he towered over her. The clothes he was wearing were covered in dirt and were practically falling apart at the seams. The smell of him reached her before he did.

"How about you and me spend a little time together, hm?" A filthy hand reached up to push a lock of her hair out of her face. "I'd say I don't bite, but that would be a lie."

The moment his fingers grazed her cheek, Dahlia dropped any pretense of fear and let a wave of magic explode outwards. The werewolf's body flew back and crashed into the stone wall behind him.

"I think you should reconsider your course of action, wolf. You may bite, but so do I," she said.

A harsh growl ripped from his throat as he launched himself back towards her. Dahlia raised her hand and he froze midstride.

Greyback fought her but ultimately fell to one knee against the pressure she pushed down on him. His whole body trembled from the effort to break free, though he was largely unsuccessful.

He huffed a laugh and spoke through gritted teeth. "Nice trick, girl. I was just gonna play with you a bit and let you go, but now I'm thinkin' of taking you home with me. Passin' you around to my friends. You'd make a good pack bitch."

Dahlia stepped closer and watched as the werewolf continued to struggle under the weight. The stone beneath him cracked as he tried to gain leverage.

"I probably would, to be honest. I'm good at most things I do," she said flippantly. "However, I have to decline your offer, Mr. Greyback."

"Let me go, you worthless cunt," he snarled. His movements were becoming more frenzied the more he realized he couldn't break free.

Dahlia rolled her eyes and looked back to the cat in a "what can you do" sort of manner. "So you stalk me with the intention to, what? Gang rape me? And now you're mad when I don't let you? Have you bitten off a bit more than you can chew, Fido?"

Tendrils of shadow snaked forwards and wrapped around Greyback. He couldn't see them of course, but by the increasingly panicked look in his eyes, he could certainly feel them.

She pulled him to her and bent over slightly to look him in the eye. "Take this as a lesson, wolf. Just because you are used to being at the top of the food chain, that doesn't mean that there isn't something else ready to take your place."

The tendrils that were wrapped around his limbs began to hiss where they touched him. His skin burned red and then black. The smell of burning flesh wafted in the air. To his credit, a small grunt was the only noise he made.

She reached out and pressed a palm flat against his chest and closed her eyes.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

"I'm just getting a taste of you so I can find you later. Hush," she said. A few moment later she could feel it, the soul pulsing within his body. As she made contact, his essence gathered where her hand lay and she pulled it to her.

With a grunt, Greyback fell to the ground. He rubbed his chest and looked up to her, much more weary than he was before. He slowly pushed himself off the cobblestone and started backing away from her.

"I may have some jobs for you later, so expect to see me again. Don't worry. I'll be able to find you," she said, wiggling her fingers at him.

His upper lip pulled back in a soundless snarl. Not threatening, but an acknowledgement that he heard her and was not too happy about it.

Just as he turned to leave the alley, Dahlia spoke up again. "And Mr. Greyback?"

He froze, but did not turn back to face her.

"If I ever find out that you forcibly brought another person back to your pack to 'play'... know that I will find out eventually, and I will not be pleased. Have a good day, Fenrir."

A crack of apparition signaled his departure and she turned back to the kitten who was still laying on its side, purring away. She huffed a laughed and picked it up to eye level.

"You weren't worried at all, were you? Not one bit. I think you should come home with me, what do you think?"

Chirp.

"Yea, I think so, too."

Dahlia looked around the tea room she currently sat in with a critical eye. This room was filled pastels and floral prints. The aesthetic was not her cup of tea... pun unintended. All the furniture was antique and uncomfortable, which was appropriate given the purpose of the room was for stuffy tea parties that Dahlia had managed to largely avoid in her first life.

"Dahlia, are you even listening to me?"

Her eyes shot back to the spirit in front of her, and then down to the floor in contriteness. "Sorry, Grandmother."

Dorea Potter, formerly Black, made an unimpressed hum. "Do not just say 'sorry', my dear. You should say 'I apologize' or 'forgive me'. You must begin to speak as a women of your station should."

This was not the first time Dorea has told her this. It will not be the last.

"My apologies, Grandmother."

"Very good," she said with a nod. "As I was saying, the House of Black has a long and illustrious history. Being the future Lady Black, you must begin to learn what it means to be a woman of this family."

Dahlia perked up. "Do you mean you will teach me some new curses? Sirius told me some of the darker stuff was passed down through the family by spoken word instead of written down."

"Well, of course I mean to teach you the family spells. You are not a true Black until you know how to maim, poison, and/or kill a man at any given time. That much is obvious," Dorea said with a wave of her hand. "However, there is more to learn than just flinging curses. Our history dates back to the middle ages. It is more than just family tradition, it is practically a culture in and of itself."

"How so?" Dahlia asked.

"What I wanted to begin with today is something unique only to the women in our family: the language of tea."

Dahlia looked blankly at the summoned form of her great-great-grandmother. "The language of tea."

"Indeed," Dorea confirmed with a wry smile. "We created a way to communicate. Not with words, but with very specific movements, phrases, and gestures. Imagine how invaluable it would be to have an entire discussion with someone and everyone else in the room none the wiser."

That was much more interesting than simple tea etiquette.

Her interest must have shown on her face, because Dorea laughed. "Believe it or not, I personally hated social tea as a young girl. It was all about who subbed who, the latest sex scandal, or whatever frivolous gossip happened to be going on at the time."

"That sounds about right. I did attend a few tea parties after Hogwarts and they were always a nightmare," Dahlia grumbled.

"Ah ah ah," Dorea teased. "I said that was how I felt as a young girl. As I entered my teenage years, those same tea parties were key to gaining some very useful information on the other families that could be used in the future."

Dahlia shot her a doubtful look. "Really? You used tea parties as a way to gain intelligence?"

"Clearly you never had any engagements with Slytherins. It is all about politics and blackmail. Either way, if you catch a tasty tidbit of blackmail material or if you are simply bored, our mothers devised a way to communicate with other Black ladies in the room."

It was an ingenious idea. Being able to coordinate with other family members during a social outing could be invaluable. She noted that there were only a few women of House Black that were still alive. It was hard to imagine sitting with a cup of Earl Grey talking in code to Bellatrix Lestrange. It seemed more like something Narcissa Malfoy would do, and Dahlia guessed she would not be sitting for tea with her anytime soon.

Still, it was nice to know more about her family. She always had been desperate to learn anything about her magical roots, devouring every morsel of knowledge like a starving woman. Even if that "anything" was a secret language used at tea parties.

Dahlia just was not sure how her grandmother was going to teach her without being able to lift a teacup. The whole being dead thing was really quite inconvenient. She said as much out loud.

"Yes, it is an obstacle, but one I am sure we can work around," Dorea said. "Would you please pick up your teacup and spoon, dear? Our opening gesture will let the other woman know you are family and mean to begin communication. Copy my movements with your spoon."

Dorea mimed holding a cup in one hand and a spoon in the other. She stirred her invisible tea back and forth five times, once in a clockwise motion, and dragged the spoon out. Dahlia repeated the movements.

"No, no, dear. We do not loudly scrape our spoons. It should be near silent. Try again."

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Dahlia repeated the movements a few more times until Dorea was satisfied.

"Very good. Now, each gesture has a meaning. It could be a whole phrase or a single word. We will expand upon your vocabulary during our visits." Dorea gave her a small smile. "And then, of course, I will teach you a few spells that you cannot find in the library."

"Yes! There was one Sirius mentioned to me that I always wanted to learn. He said it made a man feel like his cock was burning off every time he insulted the caster."

"Do not say 'cock', darling. It is vulgar," Dorea responded primly, not at all hesitating saying the word herself. "And yes, I know the spell well. Who do you think created it in the first place?"

The family resemblance was never more apparent than when they both had the same manic glint in their eyes.

"Yes! There was one Sirius mentioned to me that I always wanted to learn. He said it made a man feel like his cock was burning off every time he insulted the caster."

"Do not say 'cock', darling. It is vulgar," Dorea responded primly, not at all hesitating saying the word herself. "And yes, I know the spell well. Who do you think created it in the first place?"

The family resemblance was never more apparent than when they both had the same manic glint in their eyes.

Severus Snape appeared in the narrow alleyway in the middle of Muggle London with a pop. Pulling the cuffs of his sleeves down, he tried to mask his nerves with impatience and annoyance.

He began to walk forward to the mouth of the alley and gazed across the street to the neglected building that was his destination.

Minerva had approached him the day before with a particularly strained expression on her face. It was an expression he had come to recognize over the years that meant nothing good for him. She had told him the acceptance letters had gone out as usual. However, it had been a few days and there was still one name missing from the roster of students.

Dahlia Potter was not on the list.

The parchments themselves held a charm that could divine if the child read, acknowledged, and accepted the letter. When her name did not appear on the attendance roster, Minerva referenced the address book to see whether her location was the issue.

She had expected to see 4 Privet Drive as the address, she told him. He barely had a chance to react in horror before she told him the address had changed. It now listed the Wayward Home Orphanage in London as her place of residence.

Not only had they put her in a muggle area initially—the only reason they would put her there is if they sent her to Lily's sister. Petunia had no business raising a magical child—but they then lost her without even realizing. No one realized that the fucking Saviour of the Wizarding World had ended up in a fucking muggle orphanage.

So Minerva asked him to deliver the letter. She was far too busy delivering letters to the muggleborn children to make another visit, much to her disappointment. She asked him specifically. Him, the absolute worst person to send to this child.

Hence the nervousness, impatience, and annoyance.

Severus crossed the street and placed a hand against the gate to push it open. He froze momentarily once the tingle of magic warmed against his palm.

Ignoring the issue for now, Severus pushed past the gate and strode towards the front door. He had just reached the stairs when he felt it again, that same magic lingering in the air. It gave him pause. Following his senses, he changed route and walked a few steps from the path to turn the corner of the building. The side yard held a depressing attempt at a playground. There was a rickety seesaw, a small jungle gym, and a rusted set of swings. On those swings was a small child. A very small child.

It would be obvious to anyone even half as sensitive to magic as Severus that the child was magical. It wafted about her in the air, buzzing around like static electricity.

He inhaled. There was a taste of blackberries and... something sharp sitting on his tongue, but he could not identify it.

Unfortunately, he knew immediately who it was even though he wished desperately that it was not.

"Hello," she spoke before turning to face him. "Can I help you?"

Severus could only be grateful for all the practice he has had masking his reactions as he looked upon the girl. She was, to say the least, quite striking. The Potter hair went past her shoulders in thick waves and curls. Though instead of the ridiculous bird's nest it was on her father, her hair was somewhat tamed by the length. The color was darker than Potter's as well. It was more like the infamous dark hair that the Blacks often possessed. He knew there were a few Blacks in the Potter family tree, so he supposed it was not out of the bounds of possibility.

No. What was most surprising is that, along with the obvious Potter looks and even a fair amount of Black traits, there was so much of Lily in her. It was there, in the crimson shine of her hair in the sunlight. He could see it in the shape and green of her eyes—though Lily's were never quite as vivid. The slope of her nose and the way her shoulders were set. That was all Lily.

Severus realized he had been staring and cleared his throat. "Hello, my name is Severus Snape. Dahlia Potter, I presume?"

The child eyed him warily before nodding.

He stepped around the swing set to stand in front of her. "I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was sent to deliver your acceptance letter seeing as the first letter went ignored."

The only reaction from her was a slight widening of her eyes. "Um, yes. I got that under my door a few days ago. I thought it was a joke or a scam or something. Are you trying to tell me... it's real? Witchcraft is real?"

"Yes," Severus nodded, mind reeling. "You are a witch. Magic is indeed real and you can wield it."

"Prove it."

There was that Potter audacity. He squashed down the small voice in his head that whispered that Lily had that, too.

He pulled out his wand and pointed them at her shoes. They were filthy and beginning to fall apart.

"Reparo. Scourgify."

The child looked at her trainers in wonder as they returned to a clean white and mended themselves. She looked back up to him with a hopeful, yet still cautious, expression.

"You know, I got these shoes when I was 9. They are pinching my toes a little."

Severus raised a unimpressed brow and flicked a light enlargement charm at her feet. She beamed at him.

He was still recovering from the devastating force that was her full smile that he almost did not hear what she said next.

"Thank you, sir... Um, now what?"

He startled a bit. Severus could only thank whatever higher being there was that there was no one else here to witness his ridiculous overemotional display. He reached into his robe pocket and held out another letter to the girl.

"Now, you accept your place at Hogwarts and acquire any required items you need for your first year."

"Professor..." she started, eyes roaming down the list. "I don't have money for any of this, and I definitely don't have enough for some fancy school that I didn't even sign up for."

He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. All magical children in the British Isles attend Hogwarts. Your name has been down since your birth."

"What?"

He almost scoffed again, but the look on her face stopped him. The child did an admirable job masking it, but she looked... confused and... desperate.

"Why is it," he began softly, "that when I was given this letter to deliver, I was told it had been expected to go to a Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey?"

Any openness in her expression slammed shut. The magic that had been freely drifting around her had all but disappeared leaving only a tense buzzing behind. The wind had lost the berry and sharpness that had wafted about her, leaving only the polluted London air.

"I was there until they left me in the middle of the city. They had done it before, but I always managed to find my way back eventually. Until one time, I couldn't. I took it as a sign to stay away. I think we are all happier for it, sir."

"And so you decided, in all your wisdom, to run away from your family?" he sneered. He was unsurprised at the recklessness she seemed to have inherited.

"With all due respect, sir, you don't know what you're talking about, so I would appreciate you minding your own. I am here now and I am never going back." Any semblance of the earlier friendliness she had shown was gone. In its place was cold disdain hidden behind a mask of indifference. His eyes narrowed, noting the change.

"Will you tell me how I came to be accepted to this school or not?"

Severus held back any biting comments and answered plainly. "Your parents were both magical. Most of the time, magical parents will produce magical offspring. The first time you displayed any magical potential, your name was recorded on Hogwarts registry. Hence, your acceptance letter."

"My parents," the girl trailed off and stared down at her white shoes. "Did you know them, sir?"

"...Yes."

"Could you—could you tell me their names? I mean, I think my mum was Lily but I don't..."

Merlin, Morgana, and Mother of Magic. He was not the right person for this. He told Minerva he wasn't the right person for this. He gritted his teeth.

"Lily and James Potter."

A shaky breath escaped her as she nodded her head. "And my mother, she was a witch?"

"Yes."

"But Petunia—" she paused again, her hand coming up to smooth her hair over her forehead. "Petunia and her son are not magical."

He tracked the movement carefully. Fucking Petunia. "No, they are not. Occasionally, a magical child will be born from a muggle, or non-magic, family. They are called muggleborn."

"I see. So my parents sent me to a muggle family with no mention about any of this." Her careful expression grew hard. It was more bitter than an eleven year old child had any right to be.

"Your aunt told you nothing?" Severus asked sharply.

"Oh, yes," she drawled sarcastically. "Right in between telling me to cook dinner and to mop the floors. She definitely didn't throw a fit and sic her whale of a husband after me any time anything freaky happened."

"Watch your tone," he spat. Internally the gears in his mind were spinning with the implications. The Girl-Who-Lived treated less than perfectly by muggles? Could this situation get any worse?

The girl sighed and read over her letter. "How am I supposed to get all of this?"

"There is a shopping district called Diagon Alley here in London where all school material is available."

"And how much will it all cost? I don't have anything."

He stared intently at her. "Your parents had money. I am quite sure they did not leave you penniless."

The magic that had been beginning to relax again began to tighten and coil around her. No reaction showed on her face.

"Right. Of course my magic parents had magic money for me to go to magic school. How silly of me to think otherwise."

He ignored the sarcasm. "The Potters were a wealthy family when they passed. They would have made arrangements for you."

The child looked back up to him with her head tilted in confusion. "Why would they have made arrangements? I thought they died suddenly."

A crack popped in his jaw from clenching. "There was a war. Your parents were both prominent fighters in it and they were," he paused, wondering how much to reveal to the young girl in front of him. His instincts told him that she would react negatively to any coddling. He continued, "They were killed by the leader of the other faction. It is probable that they had contingencies in place for such an outcome to ensure you were suitably taken care of."

The girl scoffed. "'Taken care of'. Yeah, alright. I guess it's good to know they didn't kill themselves by drunk driving." Severus's eye twitched. "Is the war over? What was it about?"

"I am not your history professor. If you wish to learn those answers, do feel free to purchase a modern history book along with your required texts." Severus refused to tell her that he did not truly know the answers to either of her questions. And he was most definitely not going to be the person to discuss it with her.

"What a good idea, sir. I'll make sure to take a look." The words seemed earnest, but there was something lurking beneath that made him doubt their sincerity.

Severus had opened his mouth to speak again when she interrupted him. "Sir, I appreciate you coming out here to tell me about all of this. I'm sure you have better things to do. If you could point me in the direction of this Diagon Alley and wherever it is I can get this money, I'll be able to take it from here."

He did have better things to do. Much better things than holding a child's hand and buying their first year school supplies. That little voice whispering that he should be helping Lily's child was violently locked in a box and thrown into a hole hidden behind the strongest of his Occlumency shields.

So he gave her directions to Diagon Alley and instructed her how to get to Gringotts. She looked at him suspiciously when he handed her the key to her vault. Not that he could blame her given the current circumstances.

As he looked over her once more, he couldn't help leaving a parting comment.

"You had best prepare yourself. The Wizarding World is not kind to outsiders and ignorance is no excuse. I will not suffer fools in my class, and neither will your classmates care about your upbringing."

The girl gave him a empty smile and looked back to her letter in dismissal. A wave of irritation swept through him and he turned to head back to his apparition spot in the alley.

His stride barely faltered as he heard her call out to him.

"Thanks for the shoes, Professor," she sang.

Severus hurried across the street and spun on the spot. He did not slow his pace as he entered Hogwarts and turned down the first corridor. Portraits looked at him in curiosity as he hurried forward, his robes billowing behind him.

He reached the office door and knocked. A stern response from inside granted him entry.

"Severus," Minerva said as looked up from her paperwork. "Back so soon? I trust everything went well?"

"You shouldn't."

She looked at him in alarm. "Whatever do you mean?"

"That girl..." He trailed off, unsure as how to continue. "That girl is a bomb waiting to explode."

"Explain."

He stepped forward and dropped unceremoniously into a chair. "I could feel her from well over 20 meters away. The orphanage is soaked in her magic out to the gate. I would go as far to say that there was almost enough magical build-up to begin family wards. Which, of course, is ridiculous given that it usually takes a few generations of a magical family to gather enough magical residue to craft family wards, or at least a particularly strong family over a decade or two. The build-up wasn't quite to that point, but it was still quite noticeable."

He paused in his outpouring of words and took a breath.

"The girl also had remarkable emotional control. Not to mention the aura around her, which I am fairly sure she had some measure of control over as well. I'm not actually quite sure if what I was seeing was the truth or what she wanted me to see.

"She knew absolutely nothing about the Wizarding World and her place in it. She was unaware of any standing her family had, which was obvious in the rags she was wearing and how small she was, even for a child. The girl is clever. Much more articulate than her father was at that age. I suppose we should feel lucky that she seems to have her mother's intellect."

He paused in his report, well aware that this would most likely get back to Albus. "The girl has been... damaged somehow. When asked about her muggle family, she exhibited signs of past trauma—though she tried admirably to disguise it. She said she had been abandoned in London multiple times and eventually just never returned to her aunt. 'We are all happier for it', she said. Knowing Petunia, I do not doubt it."

Minerva's shoulders tensed further with every word he spoke, bristling with righteous indignation.

"I told him," she hissed. "I told him what type of people they were that night when we left her there! I advised against it, told him that they would never understand Dahlia. Who knows what went on in that house? Albus insisted she was safest there."

"Safe is a relative term."

She sighed and nodded in tired agreement. "How do you recommend we proceed?"

They sat in silence for a few moments as he thought about it.

"I believe the best course of action is to keep an eye on her for now, but not interfere. She seemed quite independent and I am not certain she would take any coddling well. Not that I would do such a thing in the first place. The girl will end up in your house and you can deal with her."

"I suppose that a good a plan as any." Minerva muttered. "A situation as volatile as hers much be treated with care... Though I do think it necessary to warn you she may not end up a lion."

He scoffed and waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't be ridiculous, of course she will. Both her parents were and any child of Potter's will end up in red and gold."

"Dahlia does not know her parents, Severus." She said gently. "From your rather detailed report, I would guess her sorting will not be so clear cut."

He hummed and stood to leave. They shared brief farewells before he headed for the door.

"Severus," she called. Only when he turned to look did she continue, not taking her eyes off the papers in front of her. "You will eventually have to call her by her name."

He turned back and strode silently out of the office, closing it wandlessly behind him.

There were potions left on stasis in the lab and protective enchantments to renew in the classroom. More important things that needed doing other than wasting time worrying over some troublesome child.

"Did you see his face when I asked about the war? I thought his teeth were going to crack with how hard he was clenching," Dahlia laughed to Death.

"Dear Severus was very much out of sorts today," Death agreed.

"Ugh, I don't know what to do with him. On one hand, he is an arsehole. Like, genuinely awful. Making deals with not just one, but two devils in some weird devoted creepy gesture to my mother. Fuck dad and me, I guess." She took a breath. "On the other hand, he did risk his life for years to spy on Voldemort.

"But on the first hand, I'm fairly certain he wasn't on anyone's side in the end. Only his own. He certainly did not make my life any easier. He could have just as well ignored me and still kept his cover, not bully a bunch of school children. And back to the other hand, Snape did save my life multiple times. Even if he was a cunt about it."

Death's lips twitched at her ranting. They were sitting in the solar, lounging on a particular comfortable sofa. She had thrown her feet in his lap sometime during her tirade and he gently patted them.

"There, there, my love. Sorting out one's own feelings can be a difficult endeavor," he crooned.

She poked him with her toe in mock outrage. "How can you be so callous? I am working through internalized issues. Show some sympathy."

"Yes," he deadpanned. "I can see how broken up you are about the whole thing."

Dahlia humphed at him. They sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes watching Kera, her little alley cat, roll around on the rug in front of them.

"I'm thinking I will let it play out. I do not want to limit my choices later by writing him off now or deciding to get rid of him. He could be useful," she paused briefly. "Or I could kill him. Might be cathartic."

Death looked at her with a wry smile. "That seems to be your primary plan of action: let it play out and see what happens."

Kera pranced over and climbed up Dahlia's outstretched arm to flop down on her chest. The cat immediately began to purr as Dahlia mindlessly ran her fingers through her fur. They had been together for only a few years, yet the bond between them was nearly as strong as the one between her and Hedwig had been. Hedwig, her faithful companion, the one who kept her from losing her mind over the lonely summers spent at Privet Drive. Sometimes the owl had been the only thing that proved to Dahlia that magic was real and she hadn't made it all up just to survive her years with the Dursleys. Her death was one of the ones she was determined to prevent.

She didn't know what it said about her that saving her pet owl was on her list of top priorities alongside of saving magic and reinventing the wizarding world. No one has ever accused her of being completely rational.

"Yes, well, I used to try to make plans and they always went to shit. I have found it much more helpful to assess all my options beforehand and only plan the broad strokes."

"Severus delivered your letter the same time as Hagrid did in your last life. You have one month til you leave for school. Are you ready?"

Dahlia laughed in a way that sounded a little too unhinged, even to her own ears. "Absolutely fucking not. I have no idea what I am going to do when I see Hermione or Ron or Cedric or even little baby Draco. What the hell am I going to say to baby Draco?"

Death let his head fall onto the back of the couch. "I do not know. Perhaps a simple 'hello'?"

She humphed at him and pulled Kera closer to her chest. Truly, her main goal is to not have a complete mental breakdown. She didn't have many people she cared for in her other timeline, but they were lost to her now. Even upon her return and knowing theoretically that the were all alive, well, and untainted by war, Dahlia knew it would be different seeing them in person. Just seeing Snape was an ordeal and she had been prepared for any of the teachers to come deliver her letter.

"How am I supposed to just pretend I don't know these people? Ron and Hermione are pretty much a lost cause this time around. Ron especially will never accept me. Am I just supposed to pretend that Neville wasn't one of the most important people in my life? That Luna wasn't practically a sister? Am I just going to ignore the history I once had with future possible versions of these people?"

"Yes," he said. "They are not the people you knew. They are all completely blank slates to you."

She sat up violently—much to Kera's displeasure— and glared at her companion. "I almost fucked Draco once and you expect me to just look at his pointy child face and be able to function like a normal person?!"

His head rolled to face her. "One random dalliance in a bathroom stall does not a love connection make, dear. Your Draco is gone." He paused briefly. "Also, you believe that there is any circumstance in which you can function like a normal person?"

That was not entirely an inaccurate accusation.

She huffed and fell back onto the couch. "You wouldn't say such cruel things to me, would you? You are my only true friend here in this timeline," she crooned to her cat who was deeply unimpressed with all of Dahlia's movement.

Ignoring her dramatics, Death continued. "You know what you want to do: keep things similar enough so that you can predict the future until the time comes to make the changes you want."

"But what if I say or do the wrong thing and it all blows up in my face?"

"It does not work that way, darling. You would have to make a very big deviation to truly make any difference. Destiny is not so much set in stone, but the concept exists for a reason. It will continue on similarly to your past life until you make active decisions to change it."

It was a comforting thought. Of course, eventually she planned to blow her old timeline to hell—that was the whole point on coming back in the first place—but first she needed to set up the pieces.

"Sooo... I can light Augusta Longbottom on fire when I see her?" she asked hopefully.

"That might be a bit much, unfortunately. I would put that off for a few years yet."

Dahlia let out a dramatic disappointed sigh and gazed blankly at the flames dancing in the hearth. She would hold off on any violent retribution for her and her friends. For now, at least. Now she really just needs to focus on getting to school without cracking like a godsdamned lunatic.

She could do this. Probably.

Narcissa meandered past the storefront windows of Diagon Alley idly looking at the displays. Even if she rarely came to this part of the alley anymore, it always filled her with nostalgia of days long past when she was still in school. She remembered her first time school shopping with her sisters, being eleven and so excited and so small. Her father could barely restrain them from pressing their noses against the glass of the store windows. They had been there before, of course, but everything had seemed new and shiny after getting her letter.

She gave herself a mental shake and brought herself back to the present. She was not here for herself, but for Draco. Her baby who was no longer quite a baby anymore. The mere thought of him leaving for school caused an uncomfortable tightness in her chest.

Her eyes floated across the street to Madam Malkin's. Narcissa could just make out the pale head of hair visible inside. Draco had demanded he do all of his school shopping himself, of course. He stated that he was eleven now, old enough to do such things on his own. It had only taken her sorrowfully bemoaning the chance to see her only child finding his wand for him to change his mind. The child had been trying so hard to prove himself, but Narcissa knew he secretly wanted her and Lucius with him.

Recently, Lucius had begun to put more pressure on Draco to act more mature, more like a proper Heir. Narcissa had argued that their son had a few more years before that would be required. He was still a child and did not deserve to have his childhood cut short. Not like her and her sisters. Not like Sirius and Regulus.

It was during mournful thoughts of her cousins that Narcissa felt it, something on the very outskirts of her awareness. Something familiar and strange all at once.

It was not exactly rare, her magic sense, but Narcissa had always had a talent in being able to read the auras of those around her in detail.

At that moment, Narcissa tried to discern what she could taste on the air. Dark chocolate... copper... something sweet and tart... blackberries?

But that could not be. Only the Black family magic had that particular combination. Bitter chocolate and metal, however it was usually with a hint of smoked wood.

"Decadence and blood" her mother used to say.

She never expected to encounter it again. It should not be possible. Other than Draco, the only living family she had left in England is either in Azkaban or disowned.

She sharply turned her head to scan down the alley looking for the source. Whoever it was, they were getting closer. Narcissa inhaled deeply trying to learn more. The blackberry was balanced with something almost spicy and autumnal. It reminded her of the aroma released when walking over fallen leaves.

There was only one small figure moving towards her in the crowd. She could not quite make out the person's face, but she was sure the aura came from them despite them being quite a distance away. It was unusual for someone to give off magic from such a distance, but she filed that thought away for later as the person slowed in front of a door across the alley.

The girl—and Narcissa was startled to realize it was a young girl wearing muggle clothing that hung off of her tiny frame—cautiously walked up to the door to Madam Malkin's and reached for the handle. Before her hand made contact, her whole body tensed.

She watched in muted shock as the girl slowly peaked through her hair to tentatively meet Narcissa's gaze. Their connection held for a moment, just long enough for Narcissa to identify one more thing. Her lungs filled with a breath of frozen air. Just as she thought her breath would begin to fog in the air from the cold, the girl looked down to the ground and stepped inside the shop.

It was not even a conscious decision to cross the alley, narrowly avoiding the mass of people, and enter the building. The bell rang overhead and Narcissa heard the drawling voice of her son across the store. She stepped forward, nodding her head at Madam Malkin working silently at Draco's feet.

"—mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

"No," the girl answered softly.

"I do. Father says it's a crime if—oh, hello, Mother. I thought you were at the wand shop."

She allowed a small smile to grace her features. "It doesn't do much good for me to look at them when you must be present for the wand to choose you." Her eyes flicked to the young girl next to her son. An assistant had began measuring the child, grabbing pins to mark the various lengths and widths. The child had hidden her face behind a cascade of dark wild curls and idly watched the seamstress work.

"Draco, dear, won't you introduce me to your new acquaintance?"

Draco's cheeks flushed red. He bashfully looked over to the girl and he cleared his throat.

"Ah, forgive me. It seems I skipped proper introductions. I am Draco Malfoy. This is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you. And you are?"

The girl finally looked up to meet Narcissa's gaze. "Dahlia. My name's Dahlia Potter."

For the second time that afternoon, Narcissa was stunned into a moment of silence. Not as much because of who was standing before her since everyone knew this was the year Dahlia Potter was to begin at Hogwarts. No, what was truly astonishing were her features.

Dahlia Potter had Black blood coursing through her veins. Strongly coursing. Narcissa saw it in the shape of her nose and the line of her jaw. She frantically went through her family tree in her mind to figure out the relation.

"You're Dahlia Potter?!" Draco exclaimed. Dahlia flinched back at the sound and looked at Draco with trepidation.

"Yea?"

"Miss Potter," Narcissa began. "How lovely to meet you. Have you been back in wizarding society long?"

"Um," Dahlia hesitated. "No, not very long at all. I, uh, just found out about all this recently."

"What?!" Draco shouted. Narcissa could relate to the sentiment. "What do you mean?"

Narcissa put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I believe what my son means to convey is his surprise at your circumstances. Many of us were led to believe that you were being hidden away somewhere."

"No, not hidden away. Lost, I think. Some professor tracked me down and told me about magic and Hogwarts and stuff. I didn't realize it was going to be such a big deal—"

A sudden gasp from the assistant interrupted. "Oh, Merlin! I am so sorry, Miss Potter!"

Narcissa looked down to where the young lady was hastily waving a wand over a small amount of blood dripping down Dahlia's leg. Her eyes went back up to Dahlia's face, noting only a vague expression of interest as she watched her blood vanish.

"It's fine," the girl quickly assured the seamstress. "I didn't even notice it. It's okay."

"It most certainly is not!" Madam Malkin finally spoke up. "Our deepest apologies, Miss Potter. Please expect a discount on today's services."

"No, really, you don't have to. It was just a mistake. I'm fine—"

"Miss Potter," Narcissa began.

"Just Dahlia, please," the young girl interjected rather desperately. It was obvious she was becoming rather overwhelmed.

"Dahlia then," she nodded. "Have you anyone at all outside the muggle world?"

Dahlia looked down where the assistant continued working again on the hem of her robes and shook her head slightly. Narcissa pressed a hand slightly down on Draco's shoulder when it looked as if he were going to speak.

"As it so happens, you and I are distant cousins. I believe your father's great grandmother was Dorea Black. Before I married Draco's father, I was Narcissa Black."

"My cousin?" Draco blurted out loudly.

"Very distantly, but yes," she answered and turned back to Dahlia. "I encourage you to send me a letter if you have any questions or if you wish to talk with someone. I would very much like to learn more about you."

The girl hesitated, "We're... family?"

Lucius would be either livid or ecstatic for her to be offering some sort of familial connection to The Girl Who Lived. Dahlia Potter, with her Black blood and magic flowing so strongly within her, was apparently alone in this world and something was telling her that extending a hand would not be a mistake. She also didn't miss the state of her clothing and the wistful glance to her hand on Draco's shoulder.

At her encouraging nod, Dahlia seemed to think about it. "I might send you a letter, if that's alright. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

She pressed down on Draco's shoulder once more when she knew he was going to say something about the lack of her title. He shut his mouth with an audible click.

The expression of masked interest returned on Dahlia's face at the action, but not before Narcissa caught a brief flicker of amusement.

The assistant stood and sent all her work materials flying to the back. "That should be enough, Miss Potter. We can have your full order done in a few days, or you're welcome to take the school robes now and pick up the rest later."

Madam Malkin stood then as well and began the finishing touches on Draco's robes.

"We will let you continue your school shopping. Please do send me an owl, or you could also send a message through Draco seeing as you will be in the same year. It was very nice to meet you, Dahlia." Narcissa nudged Draco and watched him hastily give his own polite farewell.

"It was nice to meet you, too. I'll see you later, Draco," Dahlia said with a wave and a smile.

Pushing her son in front of her, Narcissa quickly paid for his robes and exited the shop to find Lucius.

"Dahlia Potter! Merlin. Can you believe it, Mother? And she didn't know anything? She's been living with muggles!"

She hushed him as they made their way down the alley, her mind racing. No, she couldn't believe it. It was certainly not how she expected her day to go. The Girl Who Lived was family. Undeniably. It just didn't make any sense. Narcissa had known James Potter in school and James had never given off the amount of Black magic that his daughter appeared to have. Magic has deemed Dahlia Potter possess the power and blood of House Black, and Narcissa was nothing if not observant enough to see the importance of such a thing.

"Mother," Draco spoke lowly, eyebrows scrunched together. "Did you notice she didn't even flinch when that woman stabbed her with the pin? It was like she didn't even care that she was bleeding."

She found Lucius waiting for them in the distance and slowed their approach. Her son's perceptiveness did not surprise her. He was taught to be observant as it was a good quality for the Heir of a family to have. She just wished that skill wouldn't introduce him to the harsher realities of the world sooner than rather than later.

"I did notice. Perhaps it is best we keep that information to ourselves for right the time being, hm?" she said.

One thing is certain: Dahlia Potter was about to make waves in Wizarding Society. Narcissa had a sneaking suspicion the girl would not play the part that everyone expected her to play.

Blood, she thought, the blood will out.

"I did notice. Perhaps it is best we keep that information to ourselves for right the time being, hm?" she said.

One thing is certain: Dahlia Potter was about to make waves in Wizarding Society. Narcissa had a sneaking suspicion the girl would not play the part that everyone expected her to play.

Blood, she thought, the blood will out.

Dahlia watched out the window with her head on the glass and watched the increasing number of families running around the platform.

She had decided against the Lost Orphan act. She didn't want her relationship with the Weasley family to begin with her being indebted to them. Or at least them thinking she should be.

Her relationship with the Weasleys was... complicated to say the least.

Ron had been her best friend, her first real friend. They went through school together, defeated the worst Dark Lord of the modern age together, joined the Auror Corps together.

She had been so blinded by the fact that someone would actually want to be around her that she never realized he was kind of a shitty friend sometimes. He always hated the darker side of her, her "Slytherin tendencies". He left her to navigate the Tournament alone. He abandoned them during the hunt for Riddle's horcruxes.

It took her years to realize that he didn't love her, not really. He loved the idea of her. Any little thing she did that was outside of his realm of expectations were met with rage and petty behavior.

But still, Dahlia stayed friends with him and Hermione despite their growing differences. You don't just give up history like that, especially with the rest of his family to consider.

Molly was overbearing and staunchly a light witch extremist, but she fed Dahlia those summers when Dahlia had been starving and needed a meal that she herself didn't have to cook. Molly tried to step into that mother-like role for her, and even though she was never successful, she did try.

Arthur was pleasant to be around and ferocious when protecting his loved ones, but he was a follower. He followed Albus, Molly, the Ministry. He never had an original thought in his head that didn't involve muggle trinkets or technology.

Looking out the window, Dahlia idly watched as a lanky teenager appeared running full speed onto the platform. Then there was another, then another, then another. Finally a woman clutching a small girl briskly walked forward with her head swiveling back and forth scanning the area. The gaggle of redheads bounced around the lone stern boy with a shiny gold prefect badge on his chest.

Ginny... Ginny was complicated. That school girl crush on Dahlia never really went away. Over the years their relationship always stayed a bit strained. Dahlia had thought maybe she could have loved Ginny once, but she knew from the beginning that it never would have worked out. A friend, a sister even, was all that Dahlia could offer... but Ginny had always been a spiteful little thing like Ron.

Bill, however, was one of her dearest friends. They truly were cut from the same cloth. A penchant for chasing danger and a secret love of fruity cocktails. After her crash course in Egyptian Battle Magic, they had spent more and more time together discussing foreign magic, history, and the unknown. Like Ron, Bill was a strategic genius, but he was also a master at puzzles. There wasn't a mystery Bill could leave alone and Dahlia related deeply to that.

A blur zoomed past the window. There was a loud series of bangs and muffled cursing. Dahlia scooted closer to the window and watched some kid flail about trying to emerge from the mountain of trunks and baggage he seemed to have tripped over.

Percy was just kind of... there. Dahlia understood him a bit more as an adult, but as a child she just couldn't fathom how he could give up his entire family like he did. Now, she understood what he had wanted: to be recognized for his own accomplishments and decisions. They were bad decisions, but they were his own nonetheless.

George was never the same after the war. It was like half of him died with Fred. Despite what most people thought, the twins were not the same. They each were their own person. They had just complemented each other so completely that they knew they were better together than apart. With Fred's loss, interacting with George was like talking to someone with a piece of their soul missing—which Dahlia could truly understand. It didn't matter that Dahlia and her friends always included him or that he started his own family with Angelina. He went through the motions but they all knew he wasn't really all there.

She would save Fred. Fred deserved to live out his life. And George would have the life he deserved. The world needed their fire and brilliance, and yes, even the chaos that the Weasley Twins left in their wake.

Lastly, Charlie. She didn't know Charlie well. Eventually there was a time he left Britain and just never came back. The few times he did come home, they got along rather well. Maybe this time she cold get to know him better. How could she not like a guy who raised dragons and had a slightly excessive fondness for fire?

Or maybe it was a bad idea. She had no idea how the family was going to react when she wasn't an enthusiastic follower of Dumbledore and "the Light". Maybe she will never meet him again. Maybe they will be enemies and meet on a battlefield one day.

A train whistle pulled her out of her thoughts. Dahlia relaxed her shoulders that had tensed up towards her ears and forced the Weasley family out of her head. It was not the time for them, it was the time for someone more important.

Neville had told her once, sitting on the floor and passing a bottle of wine back and forth, that his first train ride to Hogwarts had been miserable. He had started at the front of the train and went through every single compartment trying to find a place to sit. Every one was either full or he was turned away. A few cars down, Trevor got loose and that was when he ran into Hermione. In the end, he found a compartment with a few older year students that took pity on him and allowed him to sit in a corner and read for the rest of the trip.

Absolutely not.

Dahlia arrived to the platform early and claimed a compartment close to the front. The front was always last to fill up so hopefully he would find her before anyone else did.

The increase in screaming children told her it was getting close to eleven o'clock. It was taking considerable willpower to maintain a sense of composure and not let the pandemonium fan her already frayed temper.

She was here to change the world. She was here to save magic. How could she have forgotten how fucking awful children could be?

Patience. Patience is imperative and must be employed for her time at Hogwarts.

She was not known for her patience.

A light knock sounded at the door. It opens to reveal a slightly chubby boy with sandy blond hair and the widest eyes she's ever seen apart from Luna.

"Um, H-Hi. Would you m-m-mind terrible if I joined y-you?"

Merlin and Morgana, Dahlia forgot about the stutter.

"Hi," she gave him a little smile. "I wouldn't mind at all. Come on in."

Neville smiled a bit nervously and started hauling his trunk inside. Seeing him struggle, she grabbed the other end and helped him haul it up to onto the rack and then pushed his shoulder bag under the seat.

"Th-thanks. I probably would h-h-have dropped it on us."

She scoffed and waved a hand at him over-dramatically. "Nah, I wasn't worried. You wouldn't have let it fall on me. You're probably stronger than you look."

The expression on his face suggested he didn't know if Dahlia was somehow making fun of him or not. She was mostly joking, but also she had the exclusive knowledge that he will grow up to be outlandishly strong.

Neville Longbottom was all sweater vests and house slippers until you saw him covered in dirt and throwing a 100-kilogram bag of topsoil over his shoulder like it was nothing. Or swinging a poisoned sword at an evil magical snake.

Gods above and below, she missed her Neville.

"So," she started as she fell back onto the bench, "are you a first year, too?"

Neville gingerly sat across from her and began to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve. "Um, y-yes."

"Oh, good. I've only met one other student and he was also a first year, but I saw the number of kids on the platform and it can't hurt to make another friend," she said, hoping to make him a bit more comfortable.

"O-oh, a f-f-friend?" Neville looked absolutely gobsmacked.

"Of course! However, I notice something trying to escape your pocket if you would like to introduce us."

His hands flew down to his side where Trevor was desperately trying to break free. He scooped him up, brought the toad up to his face, and gave him the hardest glare he was capable of. It was very cute.

"This is Trevor, my G-Great Uncle Algie got him f-f-for me. I think he hates m-me."

Dahlia raised a brow. "The toad or the uncle?"

Neville pondered that a moment and answered with a tentative smile. "B-b-both, I think."

Dahlia snorted and reached out to pat Trevor on his head. "It is very nice to meet you, Trevor."

The lightest red flush spread across Neville's cheeks and nose. Dahlia raised an eyebrow at him expectantly and the red deepened.

"Oh! M-My name is Neville Longbottom. It is v-very nice to meet you. What's your n-n-name?"

"Hello, Neville Longbottom. I'm Dahlia Potter. It's nice to meet you, too."

He stared at her slack jawed for a moment before visibly shaking himself. His eyes darted to the door as if considering moving compartments. To his credit, he turned back to her, though he looked at a loss on how to continue.

"It's okay," she said softly. "Apparently I'm some famous person, so I get it if it kind of weirds you out or something."

"N-no!" Neville leaned forward. "It doesn't w-weird me out at all! I just wasn't exp-p-pecting it, is all. I'm s-sorry. How, um, how has your d-day been, uh, so far?"

Dahlia beamed at him. She almost forgot how awkward he was at this age, but he was trying.

"It's been okay. I almost went home when they told me to run through the wall to get on the platform. They told me how it worked but it's another thing to trust their word and run at a brick wall," she snorted. "Did you grow up in the magical world?"

"Oh, y-yea. I mean—you didn't?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't know th-that. I don't think anyone knows that... But, yes, I grew up here."

"Good! You can help me figure everything out," she grinned at him. She was pleased when he shyly smiled back.

They went on talking pleasantries for a while before she pulled out the big guns.

"So, what class are you looking forward to most?"

Dahlia felt a twinge of guilt for the blatant manipulation. She knew what questions to ask and how to make him comfortable because she had known him so well. She tried to convince herself that really it was just a shortcut. They already went through all this before, so really it was more like expediting their relationship.

And her Neville would never fault her for it... would encourage it, to be honest. He was miserable the first few years of school.

Predictably, he lit up. "I'm quite fond of herbology! I have been working in my family's g-greenhouse for years already."

"I like plants, too! Well, flowers, at least. I garden where I live and have always been good with the pretty things. What's your favorite plant?"

And unpredictably, Neville got up to rifle through his bag and pulled out a textbook. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore was held up in the air triumphantly as he switched sides of the car to sit next to Dahlia.

He started flipping through the pages. "I don't know if I could pick just one. There's this one plant called a Venomous Tentacula that has deadly spikes and a highly venomous bite, but also it has a semi-poisonous juice that if you swallow it, it will turn you purple!"

"What good is a semi-poisonous juice that will turn someone purple?"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed happily. "Isn't it great?"

They sat on the train bench for a good long while looking at the different plants. Dahlia mostly just listened as Neville gave miniature lessons on whatever she pointed at.

Dahlia was so engaged in their activity that she almost missed the familiar signature coming closer to their compartment door. Neville noticed her shoulders stiffen and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

There was a brief knock before the door slide open to show a tiny blonde child framed by two significantly larger children.

"Dahlia! I've been up and down this entire train looking for you!" Draco exclaimed.

A smile threatened to break through at his dramatic nature. "Hey, Draco. I don't know how you missed us, we've been here the whole time."

At the mention of a second person, Draco's eyes finally glided over to Neville. Neville shrunk back into the seat in reaction.

"Longbottom," Draco nodded, somehow keeping his nose in the air as he did. "Didn't expect to see you in here."

Neville nodded back, but kept his eyes lowered to the floor. "Hello, Malfoy. It's n-n-nice to s-see you."

Dahlia looked to Neville and back to Draco with a bit of a glare. Neville hadn't stuttered a single time since they started looking at the book.

"Neville was nice enough to sit with me and tell me about some of the neat plants we'll be learning about at school. He'll be the best in herbology in our year, I'm sure of it."

Neville looked up at her with wide eyes and red cheeks. "Really? You think so?"

"I do," she beamed at him, before looking at Draco. He was watching the interaction with a slightly disbelieving expression. "Would you all like to sit with us?"

He snorted. "Crabbe, Goyle, go find Pansy and the others. I will see you when we get there."

The two boys lumbered off without a comment while her and Neville glanced sideways at each other.

"You didn't want your friends to stay?" Dahlia asked.

"They aren't my friends," Draco responded as he moved to sit. "I mean, they sort of are. Our fathers are colleagues so they mostly just follow me around. Trust me, even if they had stayed they wouldn't have added anything worthwhile to the conversation."

Well, damn, she thought. I mean, he's right but... damn. Harsh.

"S-so, Malfoy, what class are you looking forward t-to the most?"

"Potions, of course," Draco brushed some imagined lint off of his robes. "It's my favorite subject. Professor Snape is quite close with my father and one of the youngest wizards in history to become a Potions Master. He is also the Head of Slytherin, so I expect to see him quite a bit."

"You and Neville would make quite a good team with Neville being a herbology genius and your love for potion-making. The two subjects are rather closely related," Dahlia mused.

Again, Dahlia struggled to maintain a straight face when Draco was trying and very obviously failing to mask his own expression of skepticism. Even Neville looked at her with incredulity.

"They are," Draco begrudgingly agreed before quickly moving on. "What class are you looking forward to, Dahlia?"

"I don't know if I can chose just one. I like Herbology and Potions well enough, but I guess I'm excited for the more active ones like Defense and Charms. Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures sound pretty interesting, too. So does Dueling. Really, I'm excited for all of it."

Neville looked at her with round eyes. "Merlin, Dahlia! Some of those aren't even available for a few years!"

"Don't tell me you are going to be a Ravenclaw!" Draco bemoaned.

Dahlia sat up indignantly. "What's wrong with Ravenclaw?"

"They're all boring bookworms! And Gryffindor is for reckless idiots, and Hufflepuff for all the other people who can't make it into the other Houses. Honestly, Slytherin is the greatest of the Hogwarts Houses, that's where you should go."

"That doesn't even make sense, Draco. There can't be just one good House. It isn't a bad thing to value bravery, intelligence, or loyalty. I would say everyone is a little bit of all of them. Are you trying to say all Slytherins are lazy, dumb, cowards?"

"What? No!"

"Well, then don't you think each of the different Houses can have some good qualities and everyone can maybe relate to more than one?"

Draco crossed his arms and sat mulishly back in his seat. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess. I still think Slytherin is the best. My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations, so I'm sure to go there."

Dahlia looked to Neville. "Does that matter? Where your family was sorted?"

"S-sometimes. Sometimes whole families are in the same House and sometimes it's p-pretty random. My grandmother expects me to be in G-Gryffindor like her and my f-f-father, but I'll probably just get Hufflepuff." He looked so miserable about it, Dahlia was reconsidering lighting Augusta Longbottom on fire.

A sort came from the other side of the carriage, which Dahlia blatantly ignored. "I think any House would be lucky to have you, Neville. You don't have to do what she says if you don't want to."

"People expect you in Gryffindor, too, you know," Draco interjected. "Both your parents were, and a decent amount of your father's family for generations."

"Well, I don't know my family, do I? How am I supposed to know that?"

"Ugh, you're right," Draco huffed. "I forgot that you were missing and don't know anything."

Neville sat up in outrage. "Hey! J-Just because she didn't grow up here doesn't mean she doesn't know anything!" He looked about two seconds from throwing his textbook at Draco's head. Draco looked away in embarrassment, probably from being called out by Neville Longbottom.

"Yeah, Draco," Dahlia smirked. "I've had a little time to prepare. I've learned some things."

"Oh, have you? Like what?" Draco sneered, his temper getting the better of him.

She waited for him to meet her eyes and flared her core just the smallest amount. She saw two faint green dots glow in the reflection of his eyes as he widened them in shock.

"Did you know that nargles can be attracted by an addled mind?" She asked innocently.

Neville, who was struggling to keep hold of Trevor, missed the exchange.

"W-what's a nargle? I've never heard of that before."

She shrugged. "Just a creature I heard about. I'm sure we'll learn about them later."

It was important that Draco understand from the beginning: she wouldn't play the game he was going to want to play. She refused to waste her time pretending to play the little girl she was the first time around. It was better to set the record straight now than having to deal with it later.

She knew exactly what House she was going to, and Draco Malfoy was not going to appreciate how she did things.

Trevor flopped around trying to escape Neville's hands next to her.

"Don't you have a terrarium or something for him?" Dahlia asked.

"I've got a little carrier but the lid is br-broken so he keeps getting out," Neville responded.

Dahlia hummed and pulled out her wand. "Accio carrier."

Out of Neville's bag came a tiny box holding some leaves and dirt. Dahlia caught it in her lap and examined the top latch, which was snapped in half.

"Reparo." The latch bound itself back together.

Dahlia fiddled with it for a moment to make sure it was secure enough for the wily toad and then offered it to Neville, who was looking at her blankly. He looked down at the carrier, over to Draco, and then back to her.

"S-See, Malfoy? She knows th-th-things." He said as he tucked Trevor back into his mobile home and set him on the bench.

Dahlia grinned at him and knocked her shoulder with his. She looked over to Draco who had the most peculiar expression on his face. Something between incredulity and awe. It was delightful.

"What in Merlin's name was that?! We won't learn those spells for years!"

She shrugged. "I told you, I've learned some things. Don't want to fall behind all the others who grew up here."

Neville snorted. "W-well, I think we can safely assume y-y-you won't be falling behind. If anything, you'll be leaving us all in the d-dust."

Dahlia sat up affronted. "How dare you! I am not doing this alone. I will drag you with me if I must."

Of course, the two boys reacted much differently to her pledge. Neville looked embarrassed, but pleased. She's probably given him more positive attention in the past couple of hours than he has had in the past few years.

Draco, on the other hand, looked smug—but also wary. If Dahlia was an unknown variable before, now she was definitely unpredictable. He was probably beginning to guess that the next year was going to look different than what he imagined.

The three spent the last few hours of the trip together without interruption from other students. Neville taught her how to play Exploding Snap, and in between explosions Dahlia asked Draco about anyone she needed to know about before the train arrived. He loved it.

She made sure to ask more questions about the people she would probably be around more, if only to have the excuse for when she inevitably knew things she shouldn't.

Finally, they all crowded the window as the train began to ease into the Hogsmeade station. The trio exited the train along with the rest of the student body and made their way to the booming voice summoning all First Years to the boats.

She was going to ignore Hagrid until she couldn't anymore. He was always so accepting of her, but he was a loyal follower of Dumbledore. She was going to have to use him eventually—she will have to investigate his "clues" about the stone and the Tournament—but also she owed him a debt.

Hagrid gave her her first birthday cake. He bought her Hedwig. He put together the photo album of her parents, calling on strangers to collect photos that he knew Dahlia would never have seen otherwise. Hell, the two of them were both orphans. Hagrid was forced to carry her dead (seemingly) body and he was so gentle and respectful.

Honestly, he was her first friend, not Ron. As much as an adult can be friends with a child, anyways.

Fuck. She avoided looking in his direction as she helped Neville into the boat. It will be fine. I'll deal with it later.

Maybe she should get that as a tattoo. She could write it in Russian or something and say it's poetry.

Dahlia, Neville, Draco, and a random girl who Dahlia could not name even if she was at wandpoint, all sat in the boat as it lurched from the shore and began its short journey to the castle.

In classic dramatic Hogwarts fashion, the boat turned a corner to reveal the castle in all her glory. She shivered as the boat crossed the ward line and took a deep breath in.

"Wow", the other girl breathed. They all silently nodded in agreement.

The castle had never been the same after the final battle. She was reconstructed and repaired, of course, but she had felt... lesser. And maybe the magic would have fully returned after time, after generations and generations of wizarding children walked the corridors. But Dahlia will never know.

And she will never have to. Not anytime soon. Dahlia will rip the soul from Tom Riddle's deformed snake body the second he considers damaging her school.

The gaggle of children clambered out of the boats and up to the castle door where they were greeted by Minerva. Professor McGonagall. Professor Minnie McGonagall. Who Dahlia used to drink firewhisky with in the Hog's Head.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

The stern woman continued her monologue as Dahlia's attention switched to the wall where the ghosts made their entrance. She knew in theory her status as Mistress should be blocked from any prying eyes, alive or dead, but Death warned her that there was nothing in this world that could hide it completely.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," finished Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She stood stiffly while all the children around her tried to straighten themselves up. Sure enough, the ghosts began floating in giving their customary greetings. All was as she remembered. Perhaps one or two held their eyes on her a little longer than normal, but she released the breath she had been holding.

And so, McGonagall returned and led them through to the Great Hall. Hermione whispered loudly about the bewitched ceiling. The Hat sang its song. Ron leaned over to Dean and promised to kill his brothers for lying about the troll.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

The memory of her first first year played in her mind with great clarity. Everything was going smoothly.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the Hat.

Almost too smoothly.

“Bones, Susan!”

It was going exactly the same as before. Down to the commentary whispered around her by the other first years.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat shouted again. Susan ran off to Hannah and gripped her friend's arm in excitement.

Ron and Hermione hadn't met her this time, and still they said the same things. Spoken to whoever was closest to them.

“Boot, Terry!”

Did it even matter? Will time fight to remain as it always has been, regardless of her efforts? Perhaps coming back was pointless. Her eyes flitted from child to child at the tables she could see, faces becoming less of a hypothetical and more of a reality.

“RAVENCLAW!”

What right did Dahlia have to come back and try to force history to bend to her will? It wasn't as if she had some carefully crafted plan to heroically save the world. She just wanted to save her family, in whatever form that may be. It was selfish.

“Granger, Hermione!”

She was selfish.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

Hermione turned to beam up to the Headmaster, who politely clapped with an approving glint in his twinkling eyes. The sight stoked a fire inside Dahlia's chest.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Neville briefly brushed his arm against hers and took a fortifying breath before stepping forward. He sat down on the rickety stool and sent a panicked look towards Dahlia, which she responded with a small smile and a shrug.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The expression of pure relief from her friend did not cool down the fire raging in her. If anything, she burned hotter at the thought of all the people she has lost. Some of which are alive and well in the very hall she stood in now.

Sirius, Remus, Dobby, Fred, Cedric...

"Malfoy, Draco!"

A nudge in her mind sent her waves of peace. She took a breath.

She was going to be selfish. Dahlia was going to hoard her loved ones like a fucking dragon. Then they would try to fix this godsforsaken world, or at least make it better. Everyone else can rot in the ground.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Dahlia watched with something close to acceptance as the names were listed. Nott, Parkinson, Patil, Patil, Perks.

“Potter, Dahlia!"

One thing Dahlia will always be grateful for: Minnie McGonagall never gave her public special treatment. No stuttering her name or blind worship.

"Potter, did she say?" one voice carried over the excited whispers.

"The Dahlia Potter?"

Dahlia stepped forward amongst the hissing of the crowd and climbed the stairs with far more confidence than her peers. Purposely skipping over Dumbledore, her eyes scanned the table of professors.

Her eyes caught on Quirrell. Curiously, her scar did not burn. It was uncomfortable, but more of an aching sensation than anything else. Something to think about later. He immediately looked away and began fiddling with his turban.

Finally, she landed her focus on the main objective at the moment: Severus Snape. He met her gaze with a steady look of masked disdain. She very minutely dipped her chin in greeting and briefly looked to the Hat and back. His face remained impassive until she raised an eyebrow and let the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. Then the muscle in his jaw clenched.

Consider it a heads-up for the years to come. You're welcome.

Dahlia sat primly on the stool and crossed her ankles. Her back remained straight as steel as her vision was slowly blocked by the brim of a very old and very powerful hat.

"Hmm... difficult. Very difficult," a husky voice broke through her mental barriers. "Good heavens, this is a special occasion, is it not?"

"I don't know if I would call it that. Perhaps an unprecedented phenomenon?" Dahlia answered.

"Yes, I would have to agree. It is an honor to sit atop your head, Mistress." She got the vague impression it would bow if it could.

"As of right now, I am simply a humble student. Ready to learn and change the world."

Out loud, the Hat barked out a laugh, startling the onlooking crowd. Dahlia could feel the bodies in the room shift restlessly in their seats.

"Now that's a load of rubbish. Well... hmm, perhaps it isn't so far from the truth as I take a better look. Plenty of courage, yes. You are no stranger to hard work, no, and you soak up magical knowledge like a sponge. It seems I could put you anywhere."

"We both know where I am going, so why question it?"

The Hat barreled on. "You were quite right in that bit of wisdom imparted to our young Mister Malfoy, yes. We all have a bit of every House in us. But you are who you are, Miss Potter. Even if your, hm, moral compass has somewhat become more," the Hat paused. "...lax."

"I don't need to be in the Snake Den for my plans to work, but it certainly would be helpful."

"And it is that sentiment exactly that persuades me to agree with you, Miss Potter. Oh, yes, we both know you will do quite well there. They may be the only ones to survive you... and you will find surprising allies in your quest, no matter if you think they can help you or not." He paused. "Take care to remember we are in a school, Mistress, and please practice your patience with the children."

She hummed and nodded her head mock annoyance.

"Better be..." the Hat trailed off aloud.

"Do feel free to come chat again later on, I would so love to hear how the school will react with another true snake in their midst."

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted with glee.

You could hear a pin drop. Absolute silence. Then, over at the Gryffindor table, Neville lightly began clapping. Then some professors, then a smattering of polite applause from the Slytherins.

She was halfway to the far table before people decided to just go ahead and clap, even if it was half-arsed. From her peripheral, she could see children looking side to side trying to figure out what their reactions were supposed to be.

If it weren't so irritating, it would almost be funny.

She headed for the section of first years that were tracking her movement with shocked expressions. Well, shocked for Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were openly gaping, along with Pansy Parkinson. The other few were trying admirably to reign in any surprise.

Dahlia sat next to Draco and looked at the young faces surrounding her. Greengrass, Bulstrode, Nott, and Davis. With Zabini soon to join them, of course.

"Honestly, I should have guessed," Draco sighed, pretending to be resigned like he wasn't practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

"Probably, yeah," Dahlia answered with a small shrug.

A scoff sounded across from her. "'Should have guessed?' Please, Draco. It looks like the Sorting Hat went temporarily mad."

Dahlia looked over to Pansy Parkinson. "Why's that?"

The other girl gestured wildly to the table in between them. "You obviously don't belong here, Potter. It made a mistake. You should be with the Lions on the other side of the hall!"

A light tap on the shoulder alerted her to another student asking permission to sit next to her. Dahlia turned to look at a straight-faced Blaise Zabini and shifted to make room.

Later in her career as as a Hit Witch, Dahlia crossed paths with Blaise a few times. He had moved back to Italy after the War and was something of an ambassador. He was very smooth and cool, but a bit of a flirt with a strange sense of humor. They got along when they needed to work together. In the past—her past, his future —he had made some pureblood nonsensical remarks, but she never heard anything of the like from him as an adult. He would remain a neutral party for now.

"Who made a mistake?" Zabini inquired softly.

"The Hat, obviously! Look at her!" Parkinson said, gesturing to Dahlia.

All the first year Slytherins looked to Dahlia. She was leaning on one hand and casually scanning the hall, only half listening to the children.

"Did it make a mistake, Potter?" Daphne Greengrass cocked her head.

"It said I could go anywhere. It kind of implied that it sent me to the House that was most prepared to deal with me," Dahlia responded offhandedly.

"What does that even mean?" Pansy complained.

"It means," Theodore Nott spoke up. He grabbed the goblet in front of him and took a sip. "That she is going to be trouble."

Dahlia switched her focus to the boy sitting furthest away from her. Sandy blonde hair curled around pale ears. He was looking indifferently into the goblet he was holding. He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned to face her.

Something...something happened. When their eyes met, there was a gentle tug in her stomach. She looked at him more closely, though there was no outward sign he felt anything similar.

"Me? I've never caused any trouble in my entire life," she spoke seriously.

Both Nott and Zabini snorted. To her surprise, Greengrass's lips twitched as well.

"Is anyone going to do something about this?!" Parkinson's voice was borderline shrieking at this point.

A grunt sounded. "Sure, Pansy. We'll go speak to the Hat after supper." Millicent Bulstrode reached for the mashed potatoes that had just appeared on the table and scooped some onto Parkinson's plate. "Now eat."

Soon enough, dinner and dessert had been served, Dumbledore's cryptic remarks delivered, and prefects herded the first years down to the dungeon where they stopped before a plain stone wall.

"This is the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. It requires a password or phrase to access, the password changing every two weeks. It'll be posted on the notice board inside," the female prefect instructed. She spoke clearly, "Illustrious."

She began speaking again as she walked forward through the newly formed opening. "My name is Gemma Farley. I am one of two fifth year prefects, my counterpart being Barnaby Lee. Welcome to Slytherin House, the greatest of the Hogwarts Four. As you may have noticed, our Common Room resides in the dungeons. Behind me you will see windows looking into the depths of the Black Lake. Do not be surprised if you see creatures lurking within.

"To the sides of the room, you will find the entrance to the dormitories. The boys will be on your left and the girls on the right. First years will be the first door in the hall. After third year, students will switch to rooms with a roommate for the remainder of your time here at school."

Draco scoffed beside her, "We have to share rooms with everyone for three years? Ridiculous."

Farley continued, "Before you all begin what I expect to be illustrious educational careers, we need to discuss a few things. Number one, Slytherin is rumored to be the House where Dark witches and wizards go. You will be attacked for this, verbally or physically, whether or not this is true. Every House has had its Dark mages, and even some... bad people, but Slytherin is the one people target. It is highly recommended the younger students travel in groups while outside the Common Room.

A few of the children shared glances at the news. Dahlia folded her arms across her chest, trying to contain her outrage that people were attacking eleven year old children in the first place.

"Second," Farley moved on. "Outside of the Common Room, all Slytherins will present a united force. It's the same idea. We are safer in numbers, and we need to take advantage of that. Our House stands for cunning, ambition, and resourcefulness. I fully expect you all to embody those traits, especially to keep you and your fellow snakes out of trouble."

She paused and smirked, "And I do mean any type of trouble. If you or your friends get caught doing anything against the rules and can't get yourself out of it, it's your own fault for getting caught in the first place. Slytherin regularly gets first or second place in the House Cup. We intend to continue that trend. If you lose us points, there may be secondary punishments dealt to you in-house.

"Now, our Head of House would like to say a few words before we send you off to bed. Professor?"

From behind them, Snape began making his way to stand by the prefects, making some of the less observant children jump in surprise. He scanned over the children, eyes catching briefly on Dahlia.

"I am Professor Snape, your Head of House and resident Potions Master of Hogwarts. I encourage you to take Miss Farley's words seriously. Stay together and stay out of trouble. I expect my students to hold themselves to a higher standard than the rest of the school.

"If you find yourself with questions or needing assistance, you will contact a prefect immediately. If they deem it necessary, you may come to me. I have weekly office hours that will be posted on the notice board. Do not take advantage of this opportunity.

"I will be handing out your class schedules tomorrow at breakfast. Do not be late."

And with that uplifting sentiment, Snape gave one more judgmental glare before striding to the exit.

Farley called the girls while Barnaby Lee gathered the boys to lead them to their respective dorms. Dahlia trailed behind the group, observing the room and the other students.

Her step faltered briefly as she felt a sudden pain on her side. Right where her Hallows mark was, her skin felt as if it were being frozen. Which was not ideal. Dahlia picked up her pace and hurried through the door to the first year rooms.

"Alright, girls," Farley said. "These are your rooms for the next few years. There are two bathrooms at the end there. Everyone's trunk is at the end of their assigned bed."

Dahlia began shifting her weight restlessly while Farley talked and the other girls began looking for their beds.

"Breakfast is from 7:30 to 8:30, so be out by the Common Room entrance at 7:10 tomorrow morning so we can lead you to the Great Hall. Welcome to Slytherin, ladies. Sleep well."

A chorus of responses sounded. A few girls headed to the bathroom as others inspected their beds and pulled out pajamas.

Forcing herself to move casually despite the increasing burning, Dahlia found her pajamas and changed clothes.

"Well, I'm knackered. Uh, good night. See you all in the morning," Dahlia said to the room at large. She climbed into bed and set up a quick ward to keep her bed from being tampered with and then faded into the darkness.

A moment later had her stepping out into what appeared to be a forest. A piercing yellow spell flew in front her nose and gouged a large mark into a tree behind her.

"What the fuck?" She asked incredulously.

Someone's hand gripped her arm and pulled her behind another tree. She briefly assessed the scene around her.

She was in a wooded area with no defining features. A man was leaning on the tree holding a hand tightly to his other forearm, which was dripping blood onto the forest floor. The tree next to them had a rough sketch of the Deathly Hallows symbol painted in red on the bark.

Dahlia glared at the man. "Avery! What the fuck?"

Edwin Avery Junior grinned weakly at her. "Hello, Miss Potter. Nice evening?"

Another spell slammed into the ground beside them, flinging dirt everywhere. Dahlia flicked her wand into her palm and moved it in a tight circle. Her chain appeared and wrapped around her wrist.

Lucky for her that she was wearing baggy pajamas. Her body transformed into her adult self, the silk sleep shirt and shorts becoming a lot more revealing than they were intended.

"You know damn well where I was. Severus bloody Snape was giving me the first year spiel when I felt the mark. Explain."

Avery's head fell back on the trunk. "Sincerest apologies. You remember that line I had on that rumored grimoire? The ancient tome 'signed by Death'?"

She grabbed her head and groaned. "The one I told you not to go after? Or if you did, to not get into trouble?"

"That would indeed be the one I refer to, yes." Avery's face was getting worryingly pale.

"Where are we?" Dahlia asked.

"South Germany."

"You have 15 seconds to explain the situation," Dahlia peeked around the tree and pulled back just in time for another spell to shoot past. "Go. And give me your arm."

The arm had a huge slash across it, deep enough so Avery had enough blood to draw with. She began to weave the wound back together as he spoke.

"The book was being held by a cult of would-be acolytes of death magic. I found a journal of a man who left right before they planned to use the book. It appears that the book began poisoning the minds and bodies of this group," he grunted as the skin began to stitch itself together, then continued quickly.

"When I came upon the area, I snuck into the tent that held the book. Barely got a look at it before I was discovered. These men, they've been cursed with something I've never seen before. They are basically walking inferi. I am not sure how they still live, but they immediately attacked with more force than I anticipated. There are eight creatures that I saw."

"Great. More people messing with things they shouldn't," Dahlia muttered. "And I am including you in that statement."

Avery nodded. "I am inclined to agree."

"Alright, here is the plan. I will go deal with them and then you will take me to the book. And for goodness sake, do not touch it."

They both straightened up and prepared to move.

"Would you like back-up?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "I need to deal with this quickly. You would just be in the way. Stay here, keep an eye out for any other threats."

Dahlia didn't wait for acknowledgement. She darted from behind the tree and sprinted towards the figures in the distance.

Avery was right. These things had a human shape, but they looked emaciated and half rotten. As she got closer, dodging to avoid incoming spells, she could barely fathom how they had any energy to cast anything let alone attack as aggressively as they were.

Skin was falling off their bodies in sheets. The muscles were clearly atrophied. One creature had a limb blasted off, the splintered bone hanging uselessly from the side, but it did not seem to notice.

Now that she was in sight, the creatures became frantic and all rushed towards her at once.

"Do not let them scratch you!" Avery shouted.

No shit.

Dahlia raised her arm above her head and waved her wand in a big circle. Iron chains appeared in the air, burning red hot. She sent them towards the legs of the creatures as they got within range, and four tumbled to the ground as their weak legs were cut through like butter.

Slicing hexes overpowered enough to sever limbs were cast forward as sickly colored spells were returned back towards her. The spells being sent her way were lessening in frequency, which made sense since all around her the bodies were currently being shredded to pieces.

She rolled to the side and twisted to face a creature trying to rush her from behind. She sent a reducto towards the thing, blasting away most of its shoulder and part of its neck. Blood exploded outwards and she felt her side get sprayed with warmth.

More of them came. Dahlia summoned branches and rocks from around her to skewer and bludgeon the bodies, yet still they kept coming towards her with frenzied desperation. At this point, most of them were dragging themselves forward with only their arms since their legs had been blown off.

Dahlia stood in the center of a circle of mangled creatures, all of them still somehow moving. The one whose side she blew off had its head dangling grotesquely to the side.

"Accio."

The head came flying and landed in the dirt before her. Thankfully, the inferi-like man creature stopped dead—as most things tend to do when its head is removed. She summoned a ring of ice spikes and sent them into the skulls of all the creatures.

"POTTER!"

Dahlia looked behind her to see one last creature sprinting unevenly in her direction, ignoring the gash in its side and a missing foot. As it closed the distance, she sent another ice spike flying. One second the thing was running full speed, the next it was collapsing to the ground with a clean hole through its eye.

"Well," she flicked her hands, bits of blood soaked dirt flinging off of her. "That was gross. Where's the book?"

Edwin made his way out from the trees and looked at her probably gore-covered body, his nose wrinkled in disgust. He sent a scourgify at her.

"This way. They have a few crude dwellings, one of which houses the grimoire," he strode forward, practically beginning to skip as his excitement grew. "This find is very promising. Most of these books were destroyed long ago in Europe. It was hinted that this one contains secret magics of the soul, which was been practically unheard of for the past few centuries."

That was just what she needed, more soul magic.

They came upon a few huts and lean-tos. All of them riddled with holes and decay. Piles of bones and rotting meat were towering in the corners.

Avery picked a large bone off the ground to examine it. "Ah! See here? Teeth marks! Cannibalism! Very interesting. Though it is possible these poor creatures did not recognize other humans, only seeing meat for sustenance." He flippantly tossed the bone to the ground and waved her forward into a large tent of animal skins.

In the center of the tent was a stone pedestal holding a leather bound tome. A wall of sour magic slammed into Dahlia. Her eyes watered and she covered her nose.

"Avery, stop," she grabbed the sleeve of his robe and pulled him behind her. "This is definitely necromantic in nature, but something is wrong. The magic feels sour and twisted. Did you touch it?"

He opened his mouth soundlessly in outrage. "Miss Potter, I am an academic! I would never make such a elementary mistake. No, I was going to call you even if I had not gotten attacked. I may not have your prowess, but I could feel the malicious magic clinging to the surrounding area."

Thankfully, Dahlia knew exactly what this was. Some necromantic texts have curses placed on it so non-necromancers could not read it. Most curses were reversible. Warning shots, really. This one obviously was a bit more harmful.

Motioning for Avery to stay put, Dahlia went to examine the book. She placed a palm on the cover and felt the expected "bite" that tasted her magic. The magic within tensed and then quickly relaxed. She opened the book to the inscription page and began to read.

"You were not far off calling them inferi. Anyone without death magic who touches this gets cursed with a.... parasite of sorts. It soaks up energy and uses it to control the hosts. They can infect others, though it is not clear how. The person becomes a defensive measure to protect the book, but it destroys the body and mind as payment."

He hummed in contemplation. "That is clever, indeed. What secrets does this tome hold, I wonder, to require such drastic measures?"

Dahlia flipped through the pages to scan the contents. Her movement stopped as one particular entry caught her eye.

"Fuck. Okay. Obviously we are taking this but we need to keep it at my manor. This... we cannot risk this being discovered by anyone else."

"Of course, Miss."

Dahlia turned to face Avery at the tone and rolled her eyes. "When we have time, I promise to flip through and show you what is in the book."

A manic smile lit up his face. "Fantastic! That would be wonderful. Let's clear the area and get you back to school. You need your rest before your first day!" He bounced on his toes.

Dahlia grabbed the book and tucked it under her arm. Passing by Avery to exit the tent, she smacked him on the back of the head. He snorted and bounded ahead of her back towards the direction of the bodies.

A grimace broke through on her face as she took in the scene again. It was gruesome, even for her. Yet, Edwin was happily moving from corpse to corpse throwing diagnostic spells at them.

"I think I will bring one or two of them back with me for further study. They are quite unique and I am curious on how they functioned," he said.

"Sure," she shrugged in return. She looked around. "Do you want me to, uh, try to put one back together?"

"Oh, yes. That would be helpful if you can find one relatively undamaged."

Looking around, Dahlia found the last one she killed. The missing foot was summoned easily and the tear in its side was quickly mended together.

"Can't do anything about the hole in its head. Also be careful, the mended skin is attached but I didn't reconnect any bone or muscle," Dahlia called out. "I'm going to drop this off and head back. No more trouble, please. I'm busy."

Avery gave a shallow bow towards her. "Yes, Miss. Have a good school year."

No one in her new life made her roll her eyes as much. She was starting to get a headache.

She fell back into the nearest shadow and popped out in the Bone Room.

"Ignotus," she called out, walking to the nearest table.

"Dahlia," the familiar voice called out. "How can I be of service?"

Dahlia flipped through the pages trying to find what she had seen before. "Long story short, a colleague and I found a death cult that was cursed into being living inferi by a necromancy grimoire. I disposed of them, a mercy really, and took the book."

The glow of Ignotus's spectre entered her peripheral. Ignotus peered over her shoulder to look at the book.

"That is not what is important," she waved dismissively. "This is."

His eyes followed her pointed finger and he reared back. "Oh, dear."

"Yea," she responded. "That's what I thought, too. That one is yours, right?"

He bent further over the page to read the contents of a particularly disturbing ritual to physically rip out a soul. After a few moments, he stood shaking his head.

"It most definitely is based on some of my work, yes. I crafted a similar ritual that extracts one's magic to supplement another's. It was to be used during battle, specifically so those who did not have the skill to fight could still assist our warriors. I used it myself."

"What for?"

He brought a hand up to his chin in thoughtful concern. "We had a few mages who could not fight. I used some of their magical energy to raise thrice the inferi I would have been able to alone. It won us the battle easily. This—" he pointed at the book,"—is not that."

Dahlia nodded. "It looks like your work was used as a foundation. It does not use offered magic, it looks like it is intended to forcibly pull out a soul to use as a battery."

He looked at her questioningly and she clarified. "A battery is a place to store energy for future use."

"Ah," he nodded in understanding. "Yes, that is what this person most likely intended. It does not look complete, however. Perhaps there are more answers further in the tome. I wish for it not to be so. This...is an abhorrent violation of nature."

They both stared at the page in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "Dahlia, I wrote down my own work only in my own grimoire, left behind in the family vault."

She met his eyes. He looked heartbroken.

"This was written by a Peverell," she said.

"Yes," he whispered.

She summoned a warded and unbreakable glass case from one of the shelves nearby and gingerly placed the tome inside. It was probably overkill. This manor has had three living humans in it since her return, one being herself and the other two only having access when she physically brought them here. But she still did not feel comfortable leaving it out in the open.

"We will study it further together when I can devote enough time and attention to it. For now, I must return to the school."

"Of course, Dahlia. As always, you may call upon me as you wish."

They shared a small smiled before he evaporated. The room fell silent. She took a deep breath. Mystery upon mystery. The more she learned over time, the more questions demanded to be answered.

Nothing could be answered right this moment, though.

Dahlia walked to the nearest shadow and stepped through back to her bed in the Slytherin dorms. She removed her chain and sighed as she snuggled, child-size again, into the covers.

Her last thought was hoping that the night was not a premonition of her time at Hogwarts. But then again, anything else would probably be boring.

Nothing could be answered right this moment, though.

Dahlia walked to the nearest shadow and stepped through back to her bed in the Slytherin dorms. She removed her chain and sighed as she snuggled, child-size again, into the covers.

Her last thought was hoping that the night was not a premonition of her time at Hogwarts. But then again, anything else would probably be boring.

All too soon, the alarm set on her wand started buzzing. Dahlia groaned and rolled over to turn it off.

At this age in her first life, she was used to waking up at the crack of dawn. It had taken time but eventually she had grown to love sleeping in. Maybe even enjoyed the occasional nap or two just because she could.

The curtains around her mocked her. They said "it's time to get out of bed and pretend to be eleven".

"Darling, it is time to get out of bed and pretend to be eleven."

She rolled over and came face to face with Death, who she promptly scooted towards and nuzzled into his chest.

"Dahlia," he chided. She shook her head and kept her eyes closed.

"It is time to wake up and you know it. Let us get you up and meeting your new schoolmates. Again." When she refused to move, he continued nonchalantly. "Perhaps have a chat with that Theodore Nott? He seemed sharp."

"I knew it!" Dahlia hissed and lifted her head. "Something's going on with him. What was that all about?"

"Familiarity. Your magic, that is."

She glared at him. "What."

"He may or may not possibly have just the smallest amount of necromancy in his blood."

"What."

"You know how it works," he began. "These purebloods have skills locked away in their DNA. Every once in a while, a latent ability will manifest."

Dahlia rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above them. "What happened to him last time? I don't ever remember hearing about him after the last battle."

Death hummed and twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. "The same thing that happens to anyone who realizes they are different: they go looking for answers. Poor Theodore tried to walk the Twilight Path himself. It did not end up well for him."

Dahlia winced. Practicing necromancy without a guide could end up very poorly. You could get melted, your soul severed, attacked by dead things, or worse.

"I don't have the time nor the patience to become a teacher to a random baby snake," Dahlia whined.

"Well, technically," he said, "You do not have to do anything. You can allow him to walk alone. Maybe it will have a different ending."

Dahlia sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. "You know damn well I am not going to let that happen. Not when I have to look at him everyday for the next few years."

He sat up beside her. "Fabulous. You will like him, I think. He is fun." Death patted her leg and disappeared.

That was...a worrying thing for Death to say. If anything, now she would have to keep an eye on him just for that.

Dahlia pulled open her curtains and stepped out to ready herself for the day. The other girls were still asleep so she quietly dressed and headed to the common room.

It was nearly empty since it was around 7 AM, so Dahlia found a chair in the corner and pulled out a book. She spend the next hour scanning her first year texts to make sure she placed herself at the right level when she got to class.

Slowly, more students began to fill the room. Most everyone stared at her, though no one approached or tried to speak with her. A group of boys emerged from the first year dorm and were quickly accosted by Barnaby Lee. It looks like Lee was take up the first group of kids and Farley was to wait for the rest.

Dahlia decided to wait for Greengrass. As a young girl, it was normal for her to try to find another girl to spend time with. Daphne Greengrass didn't show animosity towards her and so for now that means Dahlia will need to play up a little insecurity and wait for a new possible friend like a normal child.

Sure enough, Greengrass emerged with the other girls and headed in her direction. Farley was waiting near her, so they checked to make sure they had everything and set off for breakfast.

Everyone was fairly quiet on the way to the Great Hall aside from Farley commenting on the castle. Davis and Greengrass paid apt attention, but Parkinson just look annoyed and Bulstrode was practically asleep.

The moment they walked through the doors, Dahlia made a beeline over to where the boys were. Theodore Nott was sitting on the end across from Zabini, blankly poking his eggs with a fork.

Dahlia strode up to Nott. "Hi."

He looked up at her. "Hi."

"Obviously, we met last night. I think we should be friends."

Draco, next to Zabini, made a noise and looked at her in disbelief. "Dahlia, sit down already!"

She ignored him and smiled at Nott, who continued looking at her without expression. "Why?"

"Not quite sure yet. It just feels like the right move." Dahlia reached a hand out to shake.

Of course, in pureblood society it was a whole thing to offer a hand in greeting or friendship. Something about who reaches first, grip strength, blah, blah, blah. At this point she still has the excuse of assumed ignorance to fall back on.

Dahlia is going to milk that excuse for as long as she can.

Theodore Nott didn't look at her hand, but raised his own anyway to grab hers. Their hands clasped and her magic gently sighed.

She hadn't thought about it since Death told her, but maybe there was a bit of relief in her mind. One person who shared a similar nature in a world of people who couldn't.

Nott cocked his head to the side, staring at their clasped hands intently. "Call me Theo."

"Call me Dahlia." She sat down next to him with a great sigh. "Yeah, we're going to be good friends. I can tell already."

Zabini sat casually with his elbow on the table and had his hand hiding an amused smile. "What about me? Can we be friends?"

Dahlia was fixing her own plate, but smiled at him. "Of course! I can be friends with most anyone as long as you aren't mean. Are you mean?"

"Maybe sometimes."

"Interesting," she mused. "That sounds like the good kind of mean. We should get along splendidly."

The rest of the girls finally caught up to her and began to take their seats. Pansy pushed Goyle to the side and sat next to Draco as Greengrass sat primly next to Dahlia.

"There's a good kind of mean?" she inquired.

"Oh, yes," Dahlia nodded to Greengrass. "It's kind of like the opposite of fake nice. Like, I have a feeling Blaise would tell me if my shoes were ugly or if I was doing something stupid—"

"I would," he interjected.

"—and that is much better than people who pretend to care but don't, you know?"

The girl nodded thoughtfully. "That does sound like a valuable friend to have. You can call me Daphne."

"Millicent." the girl was sitting with her eyes mostly shut and reached for the orange juice.

Everyone muttered first names until Parkinson growled in shrill irritation. "Fine, you can all call me Pansy, whatever."

"Awesome," Dahlia concluded. "Now... who wants to tell me why we have to write with quills? Like, can I take notes in pencil or pen and then write the stuff that's graded with a quill?"

For the most innocent of questions, the reactions around Dahlia were hilarious. Tracey Davis was the only one who agreed with her—the other half-blood in the group. Blaise thought the whole thing was funny enough that he put his head down on the table, his shoulders shaking. Pretty much everyone else was either scolding her or complaining about muggles in general.

That was the scene Snape came across as he went down the table passing out class schedules. He slowed to a stop in front of them.

"Only the first day, and it seems we are already causing a ruckus," he drawled.

"Can we take notes in pencil or a pen? As long as we used a quill for work we turn in?" Tracey asked bravely.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the question and sent an accusing glare at Dahlia.

Dahlia sat up straighter in indignation. "Well, can we?"

"There is no rule against it," Snape said.

"Cool," Dahlia nodded. "I bought some gel pens for notes. Tracey, you can share them with me if you want." Draco opened his mouth and Dahlia continued. "Because you, Tracey, are the only one who supported me—"

"Here are your schedules," Snape interrupted. "I will reiterate the importance of good behavior and hard work to achieve and maintain good class standing."

Snape waved his wand to send schedules to the correct children and walked away.

Dahlia pointed to Draco. "Hufflepuff! Can't follow our Head of Slytherin House's instructions unless you want to be a Hufflepuff."

"Dahlia, I already agreed with you. I get your point." Draco looked tired. It was only the first day of class and she had began to break him down. The other kids listened with varying degrees of interest as Draco explained their discussion of the four Houses from the train.

Breakfast ended and the group of first years stood to begin their day. On their way up the Grand Staircase, Dahlia naturally fell to walk with Theo at the back of the group.

"Did you scratch yourself?"

"Hm?" Dahlia looked at Theo in question.

He pointed behind his own ear. "You have blood behind your ear."

Dahlia's hand shot up to her ear and scratched. When she looked at her hand, there were red flakes under her nails.

"That's weird," she said nonchalantly. In her head, she was cursing Avery for not casting a thorough scourgify and cursing herself for not checking.

Note for later: after violent activities, triple check to make sure there isn't anything left over for all to see. Because honestly, this probably won't be the only time she has violent activities to partake in.

Dahlia kept her head down the first few days. She had successfully avoided the Headmaster and Hagrid, which was good. What wasn't good were the younger faces of her personal ghosts that kept popping up.

She had seen Lavender Brown laying on the grass in the courtyard and physically stumbled. The girl had been looking up towards the sky when she tilted her head just the right way and suddenly Dahlia saw her, a few years older, broken and lifeless on the ground. Blood was seeping from her neck as a mutated Greyback tore chunks of flesh from her.

But then Dahlia blinked and a young, healthy Lavender lay laughing beside her new friends.

Memories kept hitting her throughout her beginning days. It actually helped that she was in a different House this time around since she didn't have that many memories of these children during their beginning school years.

They had barely been two weeks in when the first real unavoidable conflict came up.

"Neville!" Dahlia called and ran up to catch him by the door to the Great Hall, her fellow snakes following behind. "Haven't seen you since Potions! How are you?"

"Hey, D-Dahlia. I'm f-f-fine," he forced out, eyes focusing on something behind her. "Uh-oh, th-this won't be g-good."

She turned, only to see Ron Weasley marching towards them with his face red and looking like he might explode at any moment.

"Hanging with Slytherins again, are you Longbottom?" Ron spat.

"What is it, Weasel?" Draco drawled. "Can't make friends outside your own House?"

"Any other House is okay, but who would want to be around a bunch of slimy snakes like you?" Ron retorted hotly.

"R-Ron, I told you Dahlia is m-my fr-fr-friend," Neville weakly tried to protest.

"Wait, wait," Dahlia held up a hand. "What is happening right now?"

Neville's stutter was worse. He could barely get a word out. Dahlia scrunched her eyebrows in concern.

"N-nothing, Dahlia. It's fine—"

Ron stepped closer. "It isn't fine. Longbottom here seems to think he's too good to hang out with his own House. I thought we decided before that he wouldn't consort with the likes of you," he looked to Draco and Dahlia, "—a Death Eater and a traitor!"

"Traitor...?" Theo tilted his head.

Neville looked on the verge of tears. "I n-never said that, Ron!"

"Ron, is it?" Dahlia grabbed Neville's hand and pulled him closer to her. "I don't know what your problem is, but Neville is my friend. It doesn't matter what colors are on his robes. Why does it matter to you?"

Draco stepped forward, looking far too amused with Ron's tantrum. "Just because Longbottom is friends with Dahlia Potter doesn't mean her standards are low enough to be friends with you as well, Weasley."

"I don't want to be friends with her—"

"Liar," Blaise whispered behind her.

"—and I definitely don't want to hear anything you've got to say, Malfoy. 'Specially when you've got all your little Death Eater friends backing you up."

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel."

Dahlia looked from Neville to the other Slytherins, just watching the events unfold. Theo shot her a look, probably questioning what was going on. Dahlia could only shrug. She didn't understand either.

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy. I accept with Neville as my second."

"What?!" Neville yelled in despair.

Draco nodded. "And Dahlia will be mine. Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room since that’s always unlocked.”

Ron glared at them before nodding and storming off.

Dahlia turned to Neville with a raised brow.

"S-S-So, I don't think people are v-very happy that I've been friendly with you g-guys. Ron and his friends c-cornered me and told me to stop..." he trailed off. "Um, I don't have to go duel Malfoy, right?"

Blaise snorted. "No, you don't. I highly doubt Draco was going to even show up."

Neville sent a disbelieving look at Draco. "You just, what? Did it so he would w-wait up there forever?"

"I may even decide to let it leak to Filch that there are rumors of students dueling past curfew," Draco drawled and picked at his nails like the little ponce that he is.

The rest of the Slytherins snickered. Before Neville could get too riled up from their antics, Dahlia reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Neville," Dahlia started. "If being friends with me is causing you trouble—"

"No!" He said fiercely. "Th-they don't get to decide."

Dahlia grinned and threw her arms around him. After some wild blushing and stammering, Neville muttered something about forgetting something in his dorm before hurrying up the stairs.

Daphne fell in step beside her as they headed to their table for breakfast. Only when Dahlia met her eyes did she speak.

"Was that the famous Gryffindor bravery?" she asked.

Dahlia snorted. "What, Ron Weasley randomly throwing out dueling challenges?"

"No," Daphne spoke softly. "Neville Longbottom alienating his own House to be friends with you."

Dahlia let a fond smile grow on her face. "Yeah, I'm guessing that's probably more like what a Gryffindor is supposed to be."

Daphne hummed and took a seat.

Dahlia liked Daphne. It was obvious she had almost no experience with normal social situations. She was formal and a little awkward, but she was getting a little better as she spent time with other children.

She knew that there was something wrong with her younger sister, so her family had sheltered them throughout their childhood. Last she heard in her original timeline Daphne had been married off to some pureblood family on the continent. Seemed a shame. Dahlia was seeing glimpses of a very clever witch. Something to keep an eye on, at least.

Sitting down, Dahlia began loading her plate when the morning post began to arrive. A beautiful snowy owl landed gracefully on the table in front of her.

Dahlia gave Hedwig a pet and a piece of bacon and in return, Hedwig released the letter clutched in her talon. Her owl gave her a gentle nip and took off with bacon in hand.

Upon further inspection, Dahlia saw the letter was from Avery. That idiot.

Dahlia had met Avery a few years ago. Well...not really met, more like ambushed and kidnapped. Over the past few years, it seemed like a good decision to make some friends in different places. She was going to be stuck at Hogwarts for most of the time, so she needed to establish some sort of network on the outside.

Avery had been Augustus Rookwood's partner. Rookwood had been Riddle's spy as an Unspeakable, but he and Avery were the researchers of the group. It might be more accurate to say that Rookwood was the researcher and Avery was the mad scientist that accompanied him.

He was occasionally annoying as shit, but he also was a well-known eccentric academic which meant people were used to him asking weird questions.

Dahlias eyes skimmed the contents of the letter before she tucked it away in her bag.

Breakfast was a rather standard affair. They talked about school work and the latest gossip.

"I also heard that the Weasley twins were going around saying that there was a monster on the third floor. Some terrible thing that eats children," Blaise said, eyes glinting with amusement.

Dahlia scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "They wouldn't keep something like that in a school."

It was probably the most ridiculous thing she has said to them so far. They 100% would do that. Multiple times.

After they had all finished, Dahlia slipped away from the group to find an abandoned classroom away. They had a free period that morning and they spent those in the common room usually. She was pretty sure Theo noticed, but she was learning that Theo saw a lot of things and tended to keep them to himself.

She took a seat and spoke aloud. "Dorea Potter."

Her grandmother appeared before her and took a moment to look around. She eyed Dahlia's school robes and smirked.

"Dear me, a Potter in green and silver? However will the Wizarding World survive the injustice?"

Dahlia huffed a laugh. "They can deal with it. Honestly, this is probably the least of their worries."

"Too right, my dear. Now, tell me how can I help."

"I have come across a grimoire. The creator is unknown, but we think it was written by a Peverell. The problem is that I cannot look into it because I do not have the time, I do not want to give it to Gringotts due to the nature of the book, and I cannot give it to my colleague—" Dahlia paused to think. "—honestly even if he could touch it, which he cannot, I would not trust him not to blow himself up or some such nonsense."

Dorea nodded and began to stroll around the room. "What makes this grimoire so dangerous?"

"It belonged to a particularly creative and malicious necromancer. If someone without death magic touches it, a magical parasite turns them into a living inferi."

Her grandmother paused briefly before continuing to peruse the room. "Fascinating. And who is this colleague of yours?"

Dahlia signed and slid further down her seat a bit. "Edwin Avery."

Once again, her grandmother paused in her walking and turned to look down at her. "Edwin Avery?"

"Junior," Dahlia clarified.

Dorea took a moment before exploding. "Edwin Avery?! Have you lost your mind? Edwin Avery is a misogynistic, racist, brute of a man. How could you associate with someone like that?"

"Look," Dahlia sat up straight and clasped her hands in her lap. "Avery Junior is not like his father. He's fucking irritating and crazy as shit, but he isn't completely awful. He was raised by his father and like all dutiful pureblood sons, he spouted off the same bullshit ideas. I have been working with him for about two years now, any of that sexist and elitist nonsense was shut down immediately. He didn't even really fight me on it."

"Two years?!"

Dahlia stood up and pushed her curls from her face. "Did you think I was only going to do etiquette lessons before Hogwarts? I had four years to prepare, and that includes outsourcing people who have different skills than I. Was I just supposed to sit around and do everything myself? No, I needed someone close to Voldemort's inner circle that I could flip and wasn't a complete moron!"

She took a breath. "The point is to do it differently this time. That means I had to make some new... friends that I didn't have before. Some of them you may not know or like. Besides, it isn't as if I am putting my trust in him, but I trust myself enough to control him. We both know I have ways to make someone behave."

Dahlia and Dorea stood there looking at each other for a few moments before Dorea nodded slightly.

"You are going to use him as a spy."

"Yes, eventually. And also he has a particular talent in investigation and experimentation. I asked him to keep an eye out for anything to do with fringe branches of magic. He tracked down the grimoire for me. I just received a request to visit him today to discuss his findings on the creatures guarding the book."

Her grandmother's shoulders relaxed slightly. "How many 'colleagues' do you have working for you?"

"I have a muggle stock broker named Tony," Dahlia offered.

"Dahlia," Dorea chided, but her lips had twitched in amusement.

"Not many, but enough that I have ears in a few places outside of my current location."

"Fine," the ghostly figure of her grandmother threw her hands up in exasperation. "I will allow you your drones. What was the initial reason you summoned me for?"

She bowed her head in thanks. "I wanted to know if you knew of anyone that could quietly investigate the origins of the grimoire. They cannot physically touch it and it must remain completely confidential."

Dorea dragged her nails across her lips in a thoughtful gesture that Dahlia had come to recognize.

"I knew a woman a few years younger than me in school that worked for an auction house that did similar work. They all were required to sign magically binding nondisclosure contracts. If she is still alive, you may find luck with her. They dealt with all sorts of magical artifacts."

Dahlia wrote down the contact information and said her goodbyes to her grandmother.

"Goodbye, my love. Be smart and stay vigilant. Remember you are a Black, even if the world does not know it."

"Yet. The world does not know it yet," Dahlia corrected. They shared a smile and Dorea faded into nothing.

Dahlia inhaled deeply and fell back into the shadows.

When she stepped forward, she was in Avery's lab. He was hunched over a table looking at dead mouse. The bodies they had taken from Germany were laying on slabs off to the side.

"What are you doing?" she asked wearily.

He jumped and spun to look at her. "Miss Potter! Thank you for coming in such a timely manner! Look, look!" He spun back around to lean closer to the mouse.

She walked over and eyed the poor creature. "Why am I looking at a dead mouse?"

"Not dead!" he exclaimed, bounding off to another table holding a few more cages. "I reverse-studied the creatures we found in Germany, trying to replicate a curse similar to that of the book. I was not quite successful in emulating the curse, but I did create something similar."

He pointed to one cage, a relatively healthy looking mouse was on its hind legs and staring unmovingly at Avery. He stepped towards the other cage. This one held a much more sickly looking mouse, its fur beginning to thin. The moment Avery got within close range, the mouse threw itself at the wall of the cage and desperately reached through the holes.

"My original hypothesis was correct, it seems. The condition was spread through scratch, possibly bite, like an infection."

"Great," Dahlia said—though she really did find it interesting. "Why does this matter to us?"

He shrugged. "It may be something useful later on. As of right now, the mice have been expiring quickly. I cannot figure out how the creatures in the forest were active for so long and able to cast magic. But having live creatures fight for us unquestioningly without concern for its own wellbeing sounded promising."

Dahlia knew how they lasted so long. The curse used the host's soul, fueling the host exponentially longer than just normal energy and magic reserves. She wasn't going to tell him that, though.

"No humans," Dahlia said seriously.

"But—"

"No humans, Avery. At least with an imperio someone can fight against it. This is different."

"Yes, Miss. I differ to you in these matters," he sounded very much put out. "Did you decide on how to proceed with the book itself?"

Dahlia put the tip of her wand to her temple and summoned an empty vial from a cabinet across the room. She pulled out a glowing wisp and gently dropped it into the glass container.

"This is a memory of the book. No spells or rituals are included, only some entries showing the handwriting. You are going to find this person and hire their services. I want the origin or author at the very least. You will correspond with them, but any findings are to be sent to my post box at my manor exclusively," she handed the vial and the contact information over to him.

He tucked them into his robes. "There is one more thing that may interest you."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.

"This one here," he waved his wand and one of the slabs rolled over to them. "I have discovered something of his origins."

It was the one that Dahlia shot through the eye. It was a white male, maybe somewhere between 40 and 60 years old—though she couldn't be sure due to the degree of degredation, and had some clothes still hanging off his frame in tatters.

"This man was one of Grindelwald's acolytes. He carries the mark on shoulder."

Son of a bitch. "Show me."

Avery flipped the body and lifted the remains of his shirt up to exposed the symbol of the Deathly Hallows branded into the left shoulder. Her symbol. The symbol that Gellert Grindelwald appropriated for himself in his ridiculous and futile quest to become Master of Death.

"Miss," Avery forced out between clenched teeth.

Dahlia looked to Avery and saw him barely holding himself up against the table. His whole body was shaking with effort, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The air around them was shimmering like a mirage.

She pulled back the magic that had been seeping from her and Avery slumped forward.

"It seems that Grindelwald's search for anything related to death magic led one of his people to the grimoire. Most likely the scout either defected to the cult or was cursed trying to take the book," Avery spoke while wiping the sweat off his face.

She hummed. It was admittedly intriguing, but not useful at the time.

"I've got to get back. Remember, things are about to become a bit more exciting at the end of this year. Do not forget your main objective."

"Yes, Miss Potter," he nodded seriously. "I will be listening closely for word of the Dark Lord and any movements of his followers. I will act as if I were still loyal with no knowledge of you."

"Keep me appraised of your research and anything you may hear," she turned to leave, but stopped and pointed at him. "Do not call me again. Unless you are dying... or being arrested or something."

"Of course, Miss. Dying or arrested," he confirmed.

She rolled her eyes and faded back into the darkness. She stepped out around the corner from the common room entrance and made her way through the entrance. The information on the acolyte of Grindelwald was dismissed from her mind until she got more information about the book.

Approaching her fellow first years, she noted the group was split, almost imperceptibly, down the middle. Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle on one side and Theo, Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey on the other. Dahlia sighed and went to sit in the middle.

"And where were you?" Draco demanded when she got within interrogation range.

"None of your business," she responded childishly.

"We aren't supposed to be walking around by ourselves!"

"Draco," Dahlia looked at the ground and added a note of discomfort in her tone. "I'm not used to being around so many people all the time. I'm usually by myself. I am going to need to get away from people sometimes."

"But you could be—"

She flicked her wrist from her holder into her palm and whispered, "Accio."

Draco's wand that hand been laying on the table shot into her open hand. She stared at him and gave him a look daring him to argue with her.

Theo glanced over at them briefly and then continued to write on a separate piece of paper. "That was a fourth year charm," he said nonchalantly.

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve and can take care of myself."

Theo slid a scrap piece of parchment towards her. "I believe you. I have a few names of people to beat up, if you are interested."

Dahlia gestured to Theo and looked at Draco expectantly. He huffed and crossed his arms.

"Fine! Go wandering around by yourself. I'll just tell mother you like spending time alone when you get sent to the Hospital Wing."

"Why would Lady Narcissa care?" Pansy asked bitterly.

"She's like my second cousin something-removed," she answered Pansy and turned back to Draco. "I will tell her myself. I have a letter to send her anyways, I was just about to ask you the proper address."

"Yes, whatever. Address it to Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of House Malfoy, Malfoy Manor."

"That seems obvious in hindsight," Dahlia muttered. "I'll send it later today."

The children spent the rest of the day and the weeks that followed in a similar fashion. Dahlia expertly avoided the Headmaster and any other adult that tried to accost her in the hallways or after class.

She was just a normal student, what more could they ask of her?

Dahlia woke up early on October 31st full of trepidation and more than a little bit of anger. Her foul mood stubbornly clung to her all day. Her magic felt like it was buzzing under her skin trying to break free.

She was first to dinner that night in the hopes of having a few minutes to herself before the shit show that was Halloween at Hogwarts began. Luckily, she made a habit of disappearing by herself every once in a while so the other students didn't question her too much about it when they came in as a group to the feast and saw her sitting alone.

"What has you all in a tiff?" Blaise asked as he and Theo sat at the table.

She glared at all the pumpkins floating around them. Bats fluttered around the ceiling, disturbing the flames of the candles.

"Yeah," Theo said quietly from beside her. "It's not a good day for a lot of people."

There were rumors about Theo's father. An unpleasant man who wed a young girl. Years went by with no child and the woman slowly disappeared from the public eye. Completely unrelated, Death Eater activity under Lord Voldemort began to increase around the same time. Eventually a son was born to the Nott family, but soon after the family suffered a great tragedy and Theodore's mother died under mysterious circumstances.

Poor Theo probably had to deal with his Death Eater father throwing a tantrum every year on the anniversary of His Lord's demise.

"A yearly celebration of the death of your parents that you never knew is not how I would have chose to spend my day," Dahlia said lowly. "I know that Halloween is kind of a whole deal in the Wizarding World, what with it being Samhain and the... good and bad things that people associate with that, but also I need people to stop trying to talk to me. I almost put Weasley through a wall earlier 'cause he kept asking about it."

Morgana, it was exhausting to talk like a child all the time.

"You know of the Wheel?" Daphne asked intently.

"The solstices, equinoxes, and the midpoints between them," Dahlia nodded in confirmation. "I read a bit about them before starting Hogwarts."

"How very interesting," Blaise leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist.

She hummed and began to fill her golden plate as the feast appeared before them. Dahlia scanned the Hall tapping her foot anxiously. Hermione wasn't at her seat. It looked like the differences made so far wasn't enough to keep Ron from acting like a prick.

Theo leaned in close. "Who are you looking for?"

"Blaise," Dahlia started. "Have you heard anything about that Granger girl? She isn't at her table, and she is usually one of the first kids to be seated."

This set him off on a dramatic retelling of the scene after Charms. He was just getting to the part where he heard from a Gryffindor that she had locked herself in the bathroom when...

"TROLL!" Quirrell barreled in screeched to a stop in the middle of the hall. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" He stumbled a few steps. "Thought you ought to know."

The moment he hit the ground, the screaming began.

"Fuck," Dahlia sighed. Just because she wasn't friends with Hermione this time around didn't mean she wanted her crushed and eaten by a troll.

The prefects began to collect students to lead them to their dormitories. Dahlia rushed through the crowd to Neville.

"Neville!"

"Oh, Merlin! Dahlia, a troll!" He grabbed her sleeve in panic.

"Neville, stop. Where is Hermione Granger?"

"Granger?" Neville's head swiveled back and forth. "I-I don't know!"

She ran over to McGonagall who was coming down from the high table. "Professor—"

"Miss Potter, I do not have time— Mister Weasley, follow your prefect immediately!"

Dahlia grabbed McGonagall's arm, "Granger isn't—"

"You must return to your dormitories immediately." The professor stated firmly.

"You are missing a st—"

"Miss Potter! Go join the other Slytherin students at once!" And with that, McGonagall ran off to join the other teachers, shooing wayward Gryffindor's along the way.

It went without saying that Dahlia held Minerva in high regard, but right now she was struggling to keep herself from hexing the old witch within an inch of her life.

"Dahlia!" Theo ran up beside her and Neville, breath heaving. "What in the world are you doing? We need to go."

Dahlia growled in frustration. "You guys go with the prefects, I'll be right behind you." She took off without waiting for an answer, the boys calling after her as she hit the stairs.

Fucking Quirrell and his fucking troll. Fucking Tom Riddle and his stupid plan to get the stupid stone. I can't wait to eviscerate him.

Dahlia rounded a corner just in time to see the club of the mountain troll disappear into the girls bathroom.

"Dahlia!" Two boyish voices called behind her. She spun and looked incredulously as Theo and Neville caught up to her, both heaving as they struggled to speak.

"What are you two doing here? I told you to go to your dorms," she gritted out angrily.

"And who said—," heavy breath, "—you could tell—" heavy breath, "—me what to do?" Theo grinned at her.

"This isn't funny! The troll left the dungeons and just went into the bathroom where Granger is!"

Both boys went pale. Neville opened his mouth to talk when Dahlia interrupted him. "Please go get a teacher. Do not follow me."

One last fortifying breath had Dahlia flying across the corridor and into the restroom. A scream sounded just as she stopped inside the door.

Dahlia cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Hey, you ugly bastard!"

And he was. Grey and blotchy skin covered his body. His head was grotesquely small and his arms were dragging on the floor. The smell of rotten meat reached her nose and made her eyes water.

"Potter?" Hermione forced out, frozen in the corner.

"Found ourselves in a bit of a spot, eh, Granger? I wouldn't even use this one for potion ingredients, he's so nasty."

The troll must not have liked that—either that or he could sense the greater threat between the two of them—and turned to fully face her. She darted to the other side of the room to make a path for Hermione to the exit.

Dahlia bounced on her toes and rolled her shoulders. She had just snapped her wand into her palm when two preteen morons came through the door. They took stock of the situation and both stepped back from the smell.

"Hermione! Run!" Neville shouted loud enough to pull the troll's attention.

Foolish mistake. Dahlia grabbed a big chunk of porcelain sink and threw it as hard as she could at the troll's head. She added some magical strength to her arm and threw another. It turned back to her with a roar.

Theo and Neville rushed over to Hermione, still unmoving and unresponsive in the corner.

The troll began to swing its club in big arcs, sending wood and porcelain debris flying through the air.

"Dahlia, she won't freaking move!" Theo shouted over as he and Neville tried to lift her off the ground and drag her to the exit. All three of them were soaked from the spray of broken pipes and their robes were weighing them down.

The movement of the kids caught the attention of the troll. The boys half-running-half-dragging Hermione was activating its prey drive and Dahlia could see the gears turning in its ridiculously small brain. It was like pulling a toy mouse on a string in front of a cat.

The thought just made her angrier at McGonagall.

The troll lifted the club across his body and swung it as hard as he could towards the children. Dahlia's wand shot forward and froze the club mere inches away from Neville's head. Hermione's eyes were squeezed shut, but both Theo and Neville looked at her in wide-eyed shock.

Realizing its primary weapon was no longer moving, the troll pulled and pulled on it to try to free it from the invisible force holding it in place.

"Get out," Dahlia grunted to the boys. The troll was becoming more frenzied the longer it struggled.

Unfortunately, a large piece of wood from a stall was blocking the doorway. Neville and Theo finally roused Hermione enough to help them try to lift it out of the way. Also unfortunately, the troll also seemed to pick up on the fact that they were stuck in there.

It stopped pulling on the club. It took a step towards them and lifted its fists above his head.

"No!"

Theo turned around with a terrified expression and pressed back against Neville and Hermione who were still facing the door.

Rupteria.

A muffled pop sounded. Dahlia sent the club flying to the trolls head where it collided with a crack. Dahlia and Theo watched the troll freeze and then drop to the ground lifeless. The room was suddenly very still.

There is a brief window of time where a soul lingers in this place after a body dies. It called to her. Dahlia could catch it if she wanted. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened.

A dark chuckle passed through her mind. She opened her eyes and swore she could see the light dim in the room.

Death had come to collect.

She could just barely imagine a featherlight touch down her cheek. With a gentle sigh, the soul was taken and the room brightened once more.

"Get away from the door," Dahlia said offhandedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theo drag Neville and Hermione back a few steps.

She walked up to the troll to examine it further. There was a huge dent in its skull. Blood and something viscous were leaking from the troll's face. Brain matter.

It had been a snap decision to cause a rupture in it's head. It was instant death. Really, all it did was cause a little aneurysm. But Dahlia had spent all day trying to contain her magic and maybe pushed a bit too much power into it. There would be no dark residue that could be traced seeing as the spell itself was grey, but it was very obviously not natural.

Dahlia took inspiration from her first time around and smashed it over the head. Hopefully it would explain the oozing brain coming out of its nose and ears.

"Evanesco!"

The obstruction blocking the door disappear and a herd of teachers stampeded into the flooded bathroom. They all skidded to a stop and looked around at the carnage. Half a moment later, Quirrell followed the other teachers and eyed the scene.

"Kinda weird for you to vanish something without knowing if a student was touching it or not. I read that a poorly cast vanishing spell could really hurt," Dahlia spoke. Her words sounded obscenely loud in the silence of the room.

Quirrell whimpered and rushed back out of the room, presumably due to the violence of the scene.

If she wasn't mistaken, Dahlia had recognized a flash of glee pass over his features before he fled.

On the other hand, Snape's face actually turned red. If looks could kill, Dahlia would most definitely be leaking her brains on the floor next to the troll.

"Wh-What—How?" Professor McGonagall pushed forward, stammering. "Explain yourselves!"