Hallie Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

by funfairy

Summary:

A take on the classic Harry Potter series where the only changes happen because Harry is a girl.

Notes:

Hallie Potter is Pronounced (Hal)(E) Not (Hay)(Lee).
She looks like James but with Lilly's eyes.

I hope you enjoy my story.

Chapter 1: Up and Away

Notes:

This chapter contains descriptions of child abuse (physical and emotional), bullying, neglect, trauma responses, and survival under domestic violence. Reader discretion advised.
See the end of the chapter notes for a summary of the chapter.

                                                                              

Hallie Potter resided at number 4 Privet Drive. It was no home to her. Her world was confined to the Dursleys, school, and the cabbage-scented inevitability that was Mrs. Figg’s house. That was all she’d known since she was a year old.

 

What little sense of home she had was born from the storybooks she borrowed from the school library. She had found a secret refuge in the voices of each tale. That avenue of escape had been closed to her a year before. Dudley had once again found her reading. He’d ripped the book from her grasp and proceeded, to her horror, to destroy it quite thoroughly. Her track record with the librarian had already been fraying. Two previous books had limped back to the library damaged and yet readable. This last book was beyond saving. She had meekly presented it to the librarian and was now banned from setting foot in the library.

 

Still, she’d read enough to understand that “home” wasn’t just a place. It was something else, something gentle and warm. Something worn around you like a thick quilt on cold nights. She had no memory of such a thing, not truly, but she felt it. Somewhere deep down, like the echo of a melody she used to know. As if someone had once loved her deeply, fiercely and this perceived memory hung around her like a shield.

 

Teachers noticed something was off. Trouble seemed to follow Hallie, and so they quietly decided she was the trouble. Dudley’s gang had made her a target and the other students didn’t like to disagree with Dudley‘s gang. Any kindness shown to Hallie earned swift retribution. Safer, then, to keep away. After all, she was the trouble and brought it all upon herself. 

 

If Hallie was provoking Dudley into attacking her, she didn’t know how. If she was, she had no idea how to stop.

 

The truth didn’t matter.

 

It rarely did. 

 

Within the walls of number four, fear was the language of the house. It hummed beneath the floorboards, curled in the corners like dust no one ever swept away, a constant presence that shaped every thought and every step she dared to take.

 

Hallie spoke it fluently.

 

She’d learned it long before she had words, back when Dudley was still waddling in diapers. He had always been stronger than her. He was a child who hit first and learned nothing later. If Hallie cried, she was scolded. If she fought back, she was punished. If she was silent, the bruises spoke for her.

 

Dudley liked having someone below him. Someone smaller. Someone who ran. Hallie couldn’t run fast enough or scream loud enough to matter.

 

He liked to chase her like a dog who scented a rabbit. He liked to corner her. To own her fear.

 

Uncle Vernon was a thunderstorm. Loud. Sudden. Inescapable. His rage never simmered. It’s struck like a slammed door. Hallie never knew what would set him off. A muttered word. Catching or avoiding his eye. A dish not scrubbed right. He didn’t hit often - but when he did, it was fast, and full of words that echoed in her mind long after the bruises faded.

 

“Ungrateful girl.”

 

“Undeserving wretch.”

 

“Worthless little freak.”

 

The worst part? He seemed to derive pleasure from pretending she’d done something to deserve it.

 

Aunt Petunia didn’t yell or hit. She didn’t need to. Her weapon was her gaze, sharp, cold and clinical. Petunia watched Hallie like a hawk watches a mouse, waiting for it to twitch the wrong way. She could find disobedience in the blink of an eye. In the way Hallie‘s mouth moved when she swallowed. In the way she lingered too long near a window.

 

“You think you’re better than?” Petunia's voice would snap the silence. “Wipe that look off your face, girl.”

 

Hallie hadn’t made a face. She was certain. And that was the trap of it. With Aunt Petunia, it was never what Hallie did. It was what she must have meant .

 

And Hallie?

 

She learned to disappear.

She mapped every corner of the house, of her school, and of her neighborhood in her mind, turning ordinary hallways into potential escape routes. She memorized each creaking stair and loose floorboard until she could tell which Dursley was approaching just by the rhythm of their footsteps. She became an expert at invisibility, learning to slip through rooms like a shadow, to breathe without sound, to fold herself into corners so thoroughly that even her own presence began to feel like an intrusion.

 

She had mastered how to be small. Fast. Quiet. No opinions. No expressions.

 

She learned the art of stillness—not to be good, but to go unnoticed.

 

Each day, she rehearsed the choreography of survival: how to duck a glance, how to step lightly, how to leave no trace of herself behind—not because she was taught, but because her very safety depended on it. Even in sleep, she remained half-alert, her mind trained to wake at the faintest creak of a door or the harsh snap of Petunia’s slippers against tile, as though her body had long since accepted that rest was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

 

To survive meant anticipating needs she was never told, bracing for punishments she didn’t understand, and swallowing down every question, every protest, until silence became as natural to her as breathing.

 

She didn’t need to be told she wasn’t wanted; she felt it in the chill of her cupboard, in the measured silences at dinner, in the way even her name seemed to catch like a thorn in their throats.

 

That was survival.

 

It was never enough.

They hunted like wild dogs on a rabbit’s trail.

 

Hallie ran.

 

The pounding of Dudley’s feet thundered behind her, heavier than the rest, closer too. His gang was a mess of laughing snarls, and barked insults, the sound of trainers slamming pavement like snapping jaws. Hallie didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She could feel them. Smell the sweat and heat of them closing in.

 

Her lungs burned along with the rhythm of her heart. Her legs screamed in protest as she urged them to go faster. Panic came in waves, but she let them wash over her, she didn’t have time for anything else. No space for thinking. Only run .

 

She was the rabbit. She had always been the rabbit.

 

Dudley had started his tyranny of the day at lunch. Knocking her tray into her lap leaving ketchup staining her shirt like blood. He’d laughed, called her a piggy in slop. The teachers pretended not to hear. They always did. Now they were out in the open, and he had declared the hunt.

 

“Go on, Hallie,” he’d grinned. “Let’s see if you can still squeal .”

 

She’d cut across the schoolyard, through a narrow break in the fence she could just squeeze through. That should buy her precious seconds while the bigger boys scrambled around and climbed over the fence. She needed every second, she was fast but they had longer legs.

 

They’d split to follow, like wolves spreading to flank their prey.

 

She veered down an alley and around some dumpsters half buried in bags of trash, her feet slipping on some rank garbage she didn’t stop to identify. She kept momentum barely holding her balance as she darted around the corner behind some corporate building.

 

Something sharp hit her shoulder - probably a rock. She stumbles and swallows the pain. She didn’t scream. Screaming only fed the dogs.

 

 Her palms scraped against bricks as she hurtled around another corner and skidded to a halt.

 

No .

 

It was a dead end.

 

A crumbling wall blocked the alley. Too high to scale. Too wide to squeeze past.

 

She turned just as Dudley came barreling into view, red-faced, wild-eyed, triumphant.

 

“No running now,” He panted, an indecent tremble in his voice as his eyes alighted on her.

 

Hallie back up until her spine hit the stone. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her hands shook like a leaf caught in a high wind.

 

Somewhere in her, below thought, below fear, something cracked.

 

No.

 

She didn’t want this.

 

She didn’t deserve this.

 

She wanted out !

 

Dudley lunged.

 

And then-

 

Wind.

 

Light.

 

A strange sucking sound like the world had hiccuped.

 

Cold, open air kissed her skin.

 

Hallie opened her eyes.

 

She was on the roof.

 

She blinked. Once. Twice. Her chest heaved. The air up here was thinner, colder, impossibly real. Her feet were steady but her world wasn’t.

 

High above the alley. Wind pulling at her shirt. Pebbles crunching beneath her shoes. Her heart thundered like a drumbeat in her ears. She spun in place, hands out for balance, disbelief crashing over her like a wave.

 

Below, Dudley skidded to a halt, staring up at her with his jaw hanging like a loose hinge.

 

“What the -?!”

 

Hallie didn’t wait. She dropped to her knees on the rooftop and crawled to the nearest fire escape. Clambering down the ladder as fast as her shaking arms would allow.

 

She didn’t care where she was going.

 

Only that it was away.

 

Away from Dudley.

 

Away from the alley.

 

Away from the beast-heat of being hunted.

Hallie walked until her legs stopped shaking. She didn’t know where she was. Some patch of half-wild field near the edge of town, long grass brushing her ankles as the sky overhead stretched wide and pale. A few birds wheeled lazily above indifferent. There was nothing around but wind and the sound of her breath.

 

She sank into the grass and let herself disappear into it. Her heart had finally quieted. Her hands still trembled.

 

The roof. She’d been on the roof . She closed her eyes, replaying it - not the chase, not Dudley’s shouting, but the moment just before . That split second when everything inside her had turned sharp and still and clear. Like the world had taken a breath with her. Held it. Let go.

 

She didn’t jump. She didn’t climb. She wasn’t lifted. She had just - been there. It made no sense. None at all. And yet… it had felt real. More real than the ground she was now sitting on. She pressed her palm into the dirt, just to be sure.

 

Her thoughts skittered like leaves in the wind.

 

Maybe she’d gone mad. Maybe it had been a dream, or a trick of adrenaline, or her mind snapping under the weight of fear. No, she couldn’t lie to herself, not about this. Hallie had spent too long in the business of surviving to mistake fear for fantasy.

 

Whatever it was… it hadn’t come from outside her. It had come from in . And it had answered her when she had most needed it.

 

Hallie didn’t smile - not quite - but there was something in her face that hadn’t been there before. A quiet, wondering thing.

 

She leaned back on her elbows, staring up at the sky.

 

For the first time she could remember, she wasn’t thinking about what the Durseleys would say. Not yet. She wasn’t worrying about Aunt Petunia’s sharp eyes or Uncle Vernon’s roaring voice. She didn’t have the space for fear right now.

 

All she could think was: I got away. I got away and don’t know how, but I did.

 

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of honeysuckle. Hallie closed her eyes again. She imagined herself running—not from, but toward something.

 

She didn’t know what.

 

But maybe it was out there.

 

And maybe it had been waiting.

Notes:

Chapter Summary
Hallie Potter survives, but she doesn’t live. Her world is one of silence, control, and fear—pressed into the walls of Number 4, Privet Drive, where love is absent and cruelty is routine. We learn how deeply embedded her trauma is: how the Dursleys’ abuse has taught her to move without sound, to shrink herself small enough to go unseen. Teachers ignore her. Classmates avoid her. Books once gave her an escape, but even that has been taken away.
At school, Dudley and his gang become hunters, and Hallie the prey. One chase ends with her cornered in a dead-end alley—until something impossible happens. In a moment of terror and desperation, she finds herself on a rooftop. She didn’t climb. She didn’t jump. She was just… there. Like something had answered her fear.
Alone in a field afterward, Hallie doesn’t understand what happened—but for the first time, she lets herself feel the quiet, stunning reality: she got away. Not just by running—but by something inside her. Something that may have been waiting for her all along.

Chapter 2: The Spark They Feared

Notes:

This chapter contains emotional abuse, verbal degradation, and psychological intimidation of a child. Mentions of past physical punishment and controlling behavior by guardians. Please read with care.

There is a chapter summary on what happened at the end of the chapter if anyone wants to skip the chapter.

By the time Hallie reached Number 4, the sky had turned the color of old bruises.

 

Her legs ached. Her shirt clung to her back with dried sweat and fear. But inside her—deeper than tiredness—something glowed faintly, like the last ember of a fire she hadn’t meant to light.

 

The front door was already open.

 

Not a good sign.

 

She stepped through it quietly, as if that might change what waited on the other side.

Vernon’s voice hit her like a slap. “—told me she was on the bloody roof, Petunia! The ROOF!”

She braced herself.

 

Petunia appeared in the hallway like a ghost. Her arms were folded. Her lips a thin white line.

 

“There you are,” she said, as though Hallie had merely forgotten a chore.

 

Vernon leaned around the corner, purple with rage. “What kind of freakish stunt was that, girl?! Are you trying to get yourself killed—or make Dudley look like a liar?!”

 

Hallie blinked.

 

Dudley. Dudley had told them.

 

Her stomach twisted. What had he told them?

 

That she flew?

 

That she’d looked down on him like she wasn’t afraid?

 

“I didn’t climb,” she said softly, truth trying to take up space in her voice.

 

“That’s right you didn’t climb!” Vernon bellowed. She picked up on the fear behind the purple-faced anger. “You appeared up there! Like a—like a firework! Dudley said you went pop! and—there! What the devil do you call that?!”

 

Hallie flinched, but only just. Her head was spinning. Pop. There.

 

So she hadn’t imagined it.

 

Before she could say a word, Petunia stepped forward. Her gaze narrowed.

 

She looked Hallie up and down, as if the girl’s skin had turned a suspicious color. As if some stain was showing through.

 

“You’re different.”

 

Hallie swallowed. “I’m not.”

 

“Oh yes, you are,” Petunia whispered, too calm now. “You’ve got that look. Like you know something. Like you think you’re clever.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“You do. Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

 

Hallie didn’t know how she was looking. She didn’t feel clever. She felt alive in a way she wasn’t sure how to contain.

 

She stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

 

Petunia’s hand gripped her arm—not painfully, but with that tightness that said she wanted it to hurt.

 

“No you’re not,” she hissed. “You’re changing.”

 

And there it was.

 

Not a question. A verdict.

 

Hallie had no words. But inside, something rose to meet the accusation—not denial. Not fear. Just the quiet truth of it.

 

She was changing.

 

And Petunia could see it.

 

And hated it.

 

That night, Hallie sat in her cupboard.

 

Petunia had shoved her in hours ago, of course, but only for appearance’s sake. Later, after dinner, once Vernon was settled in front of the telly and Dudley was off sulking, Petunia returned.

 

Quiet, like a secret.

 

The cupboard door creaked open. Hallie sat cross-legged on the thin mattress, staring at nothing. She didn’t look up.

 

Petunia crouched down. Her perfume, sharp and floral, drifted in before her voice did.

 

“I know what you are,” she whispered.

 

Hallie’s heart skipped. But she kept her face still, like she’d practiced.

 

Petunia reached in and brushed a bit of dust off the shelf, fingers too precise, like she could erase something by just tidying it away. “You think I don’t see it. But I do. You’ve got that look.”

 

“What look?” Hallie asked, voice flat.

 

Petunia’s hand snapped out, grabbed her chin, forced her to look up.

 

“That Lily look,” she hissed.

 

Hallie blinked. She’d only heard her mother’s name once, years ago, spoken like a curse.

 

Petunia’s grip tightened. “She had it, too. That look. Like the world was meant for her and not for the rest of us.”

 

She stopped, breathing hard.

 

Hallie stared back. She didn’t understand half of it. But she understood one thing: Petunia wasn’t afraid of her. Petunia was afraid of what she might become.

 

Petunia saw it now. That her efforts, her punishments, her silence, her orders to be nothing, hadn’t worked. Something had still grown in Hallie. And it terrified her.

 

“You listen to me,” Petunia said, a tremor in her voice. “Whatever you think is happening to you - it isn’t. It’s just freakish nonsense. And it ends here.”

 

She let go of Hallie’s face and stood, smoothing her skirt like she hadn’t just knelt in front of a child and tried to crush her spirit.

 

“We’ll fix it. You’ll learn.” Her voice sharpened and quieted into desperate mutters. “We swore when we took you in we weren’t going to allow this nonsense.”

 

Then she slammed the cupboard shut.

 

Hallie didn’t cry.

 

She lay back, staring at the ceiling, the shape of Petunia’s words settling around her like smoke.

 

She didn’t know what all that was about. But now, she had a name. Lily. Her mother’s name.

 

They’d try to erase it.

 

Whatever she’d found today.

 

Which meant it was real.

 

She smiled, just barely. Just enough that she felt it in her chest, like a spark warming cold coals. A glint of something they couldn’t quite snuff out.

 

And for the first time, Petunia’s fear didn’t wound. It vindicated.

Notes:

Chapter Summary
After her rooftop escape, Hallie returns home to find the Dursleys waiting—and afraid. Vernon’s fury reveals his fear, and Petunia’s cool cruelty sharpens into something personal. Hallie is interrogated, accused of being "different," and physically grabbed by Petunia, who recognizes a look—the Lily look—that Hallie never knew she had. For the first time, Hallie hears her mother’s name. Petunia’s reaction makes it clear: what happened wasn’t just strange—it was dangerous, at least to them. But Hallie, despite the pain, finds a flicker of warmth in that realization. Their fear isn’t just of her—it’s of something alive in her they couldn’t crush. Something real. Something hers.

Chapter 3: The Glass Between

Notes:

This chapter contains verbal bullying, emotional neglect, and psychological control of a child, as well as ableist and dehumanizing language directed toward both animals and the protagonist. There is a brief but intense confrontation and an implied magical outburst in response to mistreatment.
This warning is more about psychological atmosphere and bullying than overt trauma, but my sensitive readers may appreciate the heads-up.

See end notes for the chapter summary.

My Beta-Reader is very busy and hasn't read this far yet. So this Chapter may be edited in the future for quality. I hope you enjoy.

The day before the zoo, something strange happened.
The Dursleys invited Hallie to come.

 

Not with kindness. Not with warmth. But with that strained, deliberate tone adults used when trying to prove something.

 

“We’re going as a family,” Petunia announced tightly over dinner, not looking at Hallie.

 

Hallie blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly.

 

Dudley, who had been listing off the things he wanted to feed the monkeys, let his fork clatter.
“She’s not coming, is she? She’ll ruin it—she’ll freak it up!”

 

“Enough, Dudley!” Vernon snapped. His face was already turning a dangerous shade. “She’s coming. End of discussion.”

 

That alone was enough to set off every alarm in Hallie’s body.

 

The Dursleys didn’t do outings with her. She was a stain they scrubbed out of every photo.

An apology they never voiced but always felt was necessary.

 

Now she was included?

 

No.

This wasn’t kindness.

This was containment.

The next morning, Hallie woke before anyone else.

It wasn’t nerves. It was strategy.

 

She needed time to think. To figure out what the trick was.

 

The cupboard was still dark. Same cracked ceiling. Same rustling of mice behind the wall. But something inside her had shifted.

 

Petunia’s words still echoed: That Lily look. She had it too. That look. Like the world was meant for her and not for the rest of us.

 

She could remember how Aunt Petunia watched her—like a ticking time bomb.

 

Hallie dressed quietly. She had nothing new to wear. Just her usual too-big clothes, one sleeve clutched by a safety pin. She didn’t care.

 

What she felt now wasn’t pride. It was defiance, quiet and burning.

 

If she was something strange… then maybe that strangeness was hers.

Vernon was all forced cheer that morning.
“All of us, eh? Off to the zoo! Big day for Big D—and… the girl.”

 

Petunia slid Hallie a dry piece of toast without a word.

 

The living room was cluttered with wrapping paper and boxes—Dudley’s birthday haul. Thirty-six gifts, not counting the trip itself. Hallie knew the number because Dudley had counted them out loud, twice, just to be sure.

 

She stood just inside the doorway, hands at her sides.
Dudley glared at her like she’d stolen something.
Not one of the gifts-something else. Something worse.

 

He hadn’t spoken a word to her, but his silence wasn’t mercy. It was calculation. Like he was still trying to make sense of the rooftop—of the moment she’d been above him, out of reach.

 

His eyes were smaller when he was scared.

 

Hallie didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her head down.
But inside, she carried the memory like a hidden spark.
Flight. Escape. Possibility.

 

They thought this trip was about control.
About restoring order.
About proving they weren’t afraid.

 

But they were.

 

Every fake laugh Vernon forced out, every sideways glance Petunia cast her way—it all told her the same thing.

 

They were trying to smother something.

 

And Hallie?
She was learning how to breathe around it.

The doorbell rang.

 

Vernon jumped up like he’d been waiting for a reason to move.
“That’ll be Piers!” he said, too loud. “Dudders, go greet your mate.”

 

Dudley lumbered out with the air of a king going to meet his court.

 

The front door opened, and in came Piers Polkiss, thin, rat-faced, always sniffing like he’d caught the scent of someone smaller to bully.

 

“Happy birthday, mate,” Piers said, tossing Dudley a crooked grin.

 

His eyes flicked past him and landed on Hallie. He didn’t say anything, but something in his mouth twitched.

 

Recognition.

 

From the schoolyard, of course. He’d chased her along with the rest of Dudley’s gang.
She’d never spoken a word to Piers, but she knew the look.
He knew she was fair game.

 

He hadn’t seen the roof.

 

“Right then!” Vernon called. “Everyone in the car!”

 

Petunia ushered them out like she was afraid someone might see.
She held her purse like a shield and kept her voice bright as glass.
“Lovely day for the zoo!”

 

Hallie climbed into the back seat beside Dudley and Piers, pressed into the door like she could disappear into the frame.
She didn’t complain. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

 

The boys elbowed each other, trading jokes she didn’t try to catch.
They laughed too loudly.
Dudley made a point of showing Piers each of his gifts in turn, naming the price out loud like a challenge.
Piers nodded with theatrical awe.

 

No one spoke to Hallie.

 

She didn’t mind.

 

She watched them all—their too-big gestures, the practiced laughter, the stiffness in Vernon’s shoulders.

 

They were trying to pretend she wasn’t there.
Or worse: that she was normal.

 

But the glass was already cracking.
And they all knew it.

The zoo was too bright.
The kind of day where the sun made everything feel exposed. Where no shadow was deep enough to hide in.

 

Hallie walked a few steps behind the Dursleys, clutching the bag Vernon had barked at her to carry. Petunia was all crisp smiles and fake cheer, fussing over Dudley’s hat and sunscreen, ignoring Hallie entirely.

 

Dudley and Piers roamed ahead like a two-headed menace, shoving past families, shouting at the animals, daring each other to climb fences or spit in enclosures.

 

“That one’s not doing anything!” Dudley hollered at a lounging lion. “Must be dead!”

 

“Bet I could throw something at it,” Piers grinned.

 

“Bet I could make it roar.”

 

They burst into loud, ugly laughter, jostling each other like wrestlers trying to prove who could be the worse human.

 

Hallie kept her distance. She didn’t want attention. But her eyes lingered at each enclosure, watching the animals. Not with the boys’ scorn—but with something closer to recognition.

 

She saw it in the tiger’s slow, patient pacing. In the twitch of a raven’s wing. In the way a chimpanzee sat with its back to the crowd, unmoved and unreadable.

 

Caged isn’t the same as tame.

 

Eventually, they reached the reptile house.

 

The moment they stepped inside, the air changed—cooler, quieter, dim. Hallie exhaled, almost in relief. It was easier to think in here.

 

Dudley and Piers made a beeline for the largest tank: a massive boa constrictor coiled like old rope on a fake rock, utterly still.

 

“Ugh,” Dudley groaned. “It’s not even moving.”

 

“Try hitting the glass,” Piers suggested, already leaning in.

 

Dudley thumped it hard with his palm. “Oi! Do something, you lazy worm!”

 

The snake did not respond.

 

“It's broken,” Dudley muttered.

 

Hallie stepped closer, quietly. “You’re just loud,” she said.

 

Dudley turned to snap at her, but Vernon’s voice echoed from another tank. “Diddy! Come get a photo with this lizard thing!”

 

“Move, freak,” Dudley growled, shoving past her. “I’ll be back.”

 

Piers trailed after him, still laughing.

 

Hallie stayed.

 

She stepped up to the glass. The snake’s eyes, dark, were fixed on her now. Not lazily. Not blankly. Focused.

 

She pressed a hand gently to the barrier.
“Hi,” she whispered. “Sorry about them.”

 

The snake blinked. Slowly. Deliberately.

 

Then, impossibly… it nodded.

 

Hallie’s breath caught.
“You… understand me?”

 

Another blink. The snake uncoiled just slightly, gliding its heavy body closer to her. It pressed its nose to the glass.

 

She leaned forward, her voice a hush.
“I don’t know how I’m doing this. But… you hear me. You really do.”

 

And then—

 

A crash behind her.
Dudley and Piers barreled back, elbowing her aside.

 

“My turn!” Dudley snapped. “Move it!”

 

Piers shoved in beside him. “Bet I can get it to flinch.”

 

They slammed their fists against the glass, laughing when the snake recoiled.

 

The spark inside Hallie flared.

 

It wasn’t just about the snake.
It was about everything.
The cupboard. The rooftop. The way these two crashed through life, unpunished and unbothered. The way they never stopped taking up space.

 

Something pulled tight in her chest.
A heat. A thread. A shift.

 

She didn’t speak.
She didn’t move.
She just felt it.

 

And then—

 

The glass vanished.

 

Not shattered. Not broken. Just… gone.

 

Dudley and Piers yelped as the boa surged forward, lightning-quick, slithering past them and out the open doorway. Screams echoed down the corridor. Someone dropped a snack scattering popcorn across the cold floor of the reptile room. Petunia shrieked. Vernon shouted.

 

Dudley landed on his backside with a loud thump . Piers scrambled over him, shrieking like he was being chased.

 

The snake paused in the exit. Looked back. A slow blink. A tilt of the head. It didn’t speak.
But Hallie could have sworn—

 

It winked .

 

Then it was gone. 

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary
Hallie is unexpectedly invited to Dudley’s birthday trip to the zoo—but it’s not inclusion, it’s surveillance. The Dursleys are trying to reassert control after her rooftop escape. Hallie, quiet and observant, senses their fear behind the forced smiles and tight words. At the zoo, Dudley and Piers bully animals with the same cruelty they show to Hallie. But inside the reptile house, something impossible happens: Hallie speaks to a snake—and it understands. When the boys attack the glass, something in Hallie surges and the glass vanishes. The snake escapes. The boys panic. And Hallie is left with confirmation: her strangeness is real, growing—and no longer contained.

 

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! The plan is for chapter 4 to be uploaded Saturday.

Chapter 4: Keep It Out, Keep Her In

Notes:

Contains themes of emotional neglect, confinement, and psychological abuse. Nothing graphic, but Hallie experiences isolation and fear from her guardians.
If you want to skip this chapter there will be a summary at the end.

The ride home from the zoo was silent.

 

Not quiet. Silent.

 

Dudley still clutched his tailbone like it might fall off. Piers had gone pale and wouldn’t look at anyone. Vernon’s hands stayed locked at ten and two on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Petunia dabbed at Dudley’s forehead like she was trying to scrub out the memory.

 

No one spoke to Hallie.

 

Not because they’d forgotten her.

 

Because they hadn’t.

 

That night, Vernon locked the cupboard himself. Three bolts. Hallie heard each one—loud and slow, like nails being driven in.

 

“Nothing happened,” Petunia muttered as they walked away. “Nothing happened. Just a trick. Just a freak trick.”

 

Hallie sat in the dark.

 

She didn’t feel like a freak.
She felt seen.
Not by the Dursleys—but by something else.

 

She slept, deep and dreamless, and when she woke, light was filtering through the cupboard slats.

 

Morning.

 

No one came.

 

No banging on the door. No shrieked orders to make breakfast. Just… silence.

 

At first, she waited, confused. Maybe they’d overslept.

 

But as the light stretched and shifted and still no one came, realization crept in like cold water down the spine.

 

They weren’t punishing her.

 

They were afraid of her.

 

They weren’t just locking her in.

They were trying to keep something out.

 

She sat back, knees to chest. The cupboard wasn’t wide enough to pace, but her thoughts moved anyway.

 

Replaying it all.

 

The glass.
The snake.
The wink.

 

The way the fear hadn’t been hers—but theirs.

 

The way Vernon had gripped the wheel.

 

The way Petunia had looked at her, like she was already halfway gone.

 

“She’s Lily’s child. I told you this would happen.”

 

They weren’t trying to teach her a lesson.
They were trying to erase the evidence.

 

By midday, thirst gnawed behind her teeth. She tried not to think about it. She’d gone without before.

 

But never like this.

 

No footsteps. No shouting. The house had gone hollow.

 

She imagined them whispering in the kitchen.

 

What if she does it again? What if someone saw? What if someone comes?

 

She imagined them making plans.

 

She imagined them waiting her out.

 

What if they never open the door again?

 

The thought landed hard and stayed.
She hadn’t meant to think it. But there it was.
Curled in the corner of her mind like a question she couldn’t un-ask.

 

They were afraid of her—and she was beginning to feel like a threat.

 

The memory of the rooftop surfaced again. Not just what happened, but what she’d felt just before she moved—before she was out of Dudley’s reach.

 

The air had bent around her. A pressure had built, swelling just behind her eyes. Even before she moved, before the world shifted, there had been that single thought: No. And with it, a force—hot and tight and furious in her chest. The kind of heat you feel before you cry, or when anger sharpens your vision into red.

 

The glass at the zoo had felt like that, too.

 

And then—her eyes widened.

 

She’d read about this. Not magic, not exactly. But something close. A book she’d gone back to again and again, like a friend who understood. Matilda .

 

A girl who didn’t belong. A girl who had powers in her eyes.

 

Matilda’s parents had looked at her like she was a nuisance. A mistake. A scab they wanted to flick away.

 

And yet, she had moved things. She had made the world bend .

 

Hallie hadn’t felt lightning behind her eyes—or invisible hands pushing out—but she knew that heat. That pressure. That line between helplessness and fury.

 

It felt like someone reaching back across the page and holding her hand.

 

You, too, could be extraordinary.

 

At the same time, a breath held itself in the back of her mind.
She didn’t dare believe it.
She didn’t dare hope.

 

Still she tried to hold tight to the memory of the roof.
Of the moment she hadn’t fallen.
Of standing above Dudley, unafraid.

 

That part wasn’t an accident.

 

It was the part they feared most.

 

She traced her fingers along the splintering wood beside her mattress.

 

She thought of Petunia’s hand on her chin.
That Lily look.

 

Would Lily have known what to do?

 

Would Lily have waited?

 

Would Lily have been afraid?

 

That night—if it was night—Hallie lay flat, eyes open, staring at the ceiling just inches above.

 

The air felt thinner. Like something was pressing down on the house. A pause. A pressure.

 

And in the stillness, she whispered:

 

“Are you still there?”

 

She didn’t know who she was asking.

 

The snake.
The spark.
The part of her that hadn’t flinched.

 

The dark didn’t answer.

 

But it didn’t laugh, either.

 

And somehow, that was enough.

The sound of the bolts sliding back woke her.

 

Awareness sharpened with each metal scrape, until the last lock rasped open. The door swung wide.

 

Before she could recoil from the light, a hand seized her arm and yanked her, none-too-gently, from the cupboard.

 

Uncle Vernon let go the second she was out, and she tumbled to the floor.

 

He looked awful—bloodshot eyes, shirt half-untucked, stubble on his face like he’d forgotten how to shave. Or didn’t care to.

 

He stared down at her like she might explode. Then, croaked:

 

“Get cleaned up. Your aunt’s graciously placed clothes in the bathroom.”

 

Hallie didn’t argue.

 

Didn’t dare.

 

She bolted to the bathroom, used the toilet, showered, and emerged dressed in Dudley’s old clothes—three sizes too big, smelling faintly of mildew.

 

She caught her reflection in the mirror—just a flicker, between steam and movement.

Not a freak.

Not a mistake.

Just a girl with damp hair and her once hollow eyes glinted with something new, something sharp.

 

Petunia stood outside the door.

 

She was two shades paler than last time Hallie saw her, and her lips thinned further as she took in the girl standing there, damp hair and all.

 

“Eat quickly,” she said. “And don’t talk.”

 

Hallie nodded. Not that she’d planned to.

 

The kitchen smelled like scorched toast and vinegar. Dudley was nowhere in sight. The house, usually full of stomping and shouting, had gone careful and quiet.

 

She sat alone at the table with a single piece of dry toast and a glass of water.
No butter. No jam.

 

The Dursleys moved around her like furniture—present, but hollow.

 

Vernon pretended to read the paper.
Petunia wiped down already clean counters.
No one mentioned the zoo.
No one mentioned the cupboard.

 

But something had cracked.

She could feel it in the air. Like static before a storm.

 

When the mail slot clattered open, Vernon flinched.

 

He didn’t move right away. Just stared toward the hallway like the sound had teeth.

 

Then—stiffly, like his limbs didn’t want to go—he rose and fetched the post.

 

Hallie didn’t move. Just kept chewing her dry toast. Pretended not to notice.

 

She didn’t expect anything.

 

She didn’t dare.

 

But when Vernon returned, something small and cream-colored was clenched in his fist.

 

His mouth was a flat, grim line.

 

Petunia saw it. Her breath caught.

 

“Burn it,” she whispered.

 

Vernon didn’t answer.

 

He dropped the rest of the mail on the table and left the room like it had suddenly turned too warm.

 

Hallie’s eyes flicked to the pile.

 

Nothing with her name on it.

 

But the message was clear:

 

Something had arrived.

 

And they were scared.

That night, Hallie stayed awake, listening.

 

The creaks of the house.
Vernon pacing.
Dudley whining about nightmares.
Petunia muttering to herself.

 

She caught one phrase, muffled through the floorboards:

 

“She hasn’t said anything. Maybe she doesn’t know.”

 

The next morning, the mail didn’t come through the slot.

 

Vernon was already waiting for it outside.

 

And the day after that, he brought it in already half-shredded—tossed it on the table like it had tried to bite him.

 

Hallie said nothing.

 

But the shape of things had changed.

 

Someone was trying to reach her.
And the Dursleys were trying to stop it.

 

She just didn’t know which was more terrifying.

 

At first, it was simple.

 

Vernon started checking the mailbox before the sun was up.
Then again before breakfast.
Then once every hour, as if the letters might sneak through between bites of toast.

 

He stopped trusting the mail slot.

 

On the third day, he taped it shut.

 

“Security,” he muttered, when Petunia raised an eyebrow.
Hallie said nothing. But her eyes lingered on the thick roll of duct tape.
What were they so afraid of her reading?

 

The next day, letters arrived anyway.
Dozens of them.
Through the cracks in the doorframe.
Slipped in under the back door.

 

Dudley had screamed, Petunia had nearly fainted, and Vernon had gone an alarming shade of maroon.

 

“New plan,” he announced that afternoon.

 

He burned the letters in the fireplace. All of them. Even the ones still sealed.

 

Hallie watched from the stairs, silent.
The flames danced orange and blue.

 

She hadn’t seen her name—but she felt it.

Like someone out there knew her. Not just the cupboard. Not just the strange things she’d done. Her.

And was reaching, pulling, not letting go.

 

The next morning, the fireplace was bricked up.
Literally.

 

Vernon had taken the day off work and hired a man to come mortar the entire thing shut.

 

“What if it comes down the chimney?” he hissed to Petunia, wild-eyed.

 

Hallie could hear them through the walls now.
She didn’t need to lean close anymore.
They weren’t even trying to be quiet.

 

“She hasn’t gotten one yet,” Petunia whispered. “Maybe it’ll stop.”

 

“Not if they think she’s being ignored,” Vernon growled. “They’re escalating.”

 

He was right.

 

The next batch came in through the windows.
Through the vents.
One letter slipped out of the faucet like it had turned to ink and back again.

 

Petunia screamed.

 

Vernon tore the kitchen sink out of the counter that night.
He boarded up the windows.
He nailed shut the previously taped mail slot.

 

Hallie stopped keeping track of where the letters came from.
They were everywhere.

One even folded like origami in the corner of Dudley’s cereal box.

 

Vernon began sleeping in the hall, curled around the mail slot with a baseball bat and a bug-eyed glare.

 

By the end of the week, there wasn’t a quiet surface in the house.

 

And still— no letter made it into Hallie’s hands.

 

She wasn’t angry.

 

Not exactly.

 

But something was shifting.

 

Because if someone was trying this hard to reach her…
Then whatever they were saying—

 

It mattered.

 

And whoever they were—

 

They knew her name.

 

It didn’t stop.

 

The letters multiplied, came faster, cleverer.

 

On Monday, Vernon padlocked the front door.

 

On Tuesday, letters slid in through the chimney flue— before he had a chance to brick it up.

 

By Wednesday, they were being delivered inside eggs in the grocery bag Petunia carried back from the corner shop. One envelope had replaced the yolk entirely. She screamed. Vernon accused the grocer of conspiracy.

 

On Thursday, the air vents started coughing up scrolls. One unfurled itself in Dudley’s lap. He burst into tears. Vernon unplugged every appliance in the house and stuffed towels under the doors like they were under chemical attack.

 

Friday morning, Hallie woke to find Vernon hammering nails into the underside of the front door, sweat glistening on his forehead.

 

He had started muttering.

 

“Won’t trick me,” he muttered. “I know your games. I know what you are.”

 

By Friday night, they were sleeping in shifts, the television blaring like it could keep the letters at bay. Vernon had turned all the furniture toward the windows like barricades. Petunia clutched a flyswatter in both hands like a weapon. Dudley hid under a blanket.

 

Hallie didn’t sleep.

 

She lay still, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling.

 

It wasn’t fear that hummed in her chest. It was something older. Something awake.

 

The house felt like it was holding its breath.

The next morning, no one spoke.

 

Vernon downed three cups of tea without looking up once. His mustache had gone gray at the edges. Hallie wondered if that had happened overnight.

 

Then, without warning, he stood.

 

“Everyone in the car.”

 

Petunia blinked. “What?”

 

“In. The. Car.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“ Away .”

 

No one argued.

 

They left dishes in the sink and the living room looking like a bunker. Vernon didn’t even check the mailbox.

 

Hallie didn’t ask where they were going.

 

She already knew.

 

Away wasn’t far enough.

 

Someone was trying this hard to reach her.

That meant it mattered.

And maybe—just maybe— she did, too.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:
Hallie returns from the zoo to silence—not forgetfulness, but fear. The Dursleys lock her away, not as punishment, but as protection—from her, or from what’s trying to reach her. As letters begin slipping into the house through increasingly impossible means, the walls close in, and Vernon unravels. But Hallie is no longer afraid. Someone out there knows her name—and won’t stop trying to reach her.

Chapter 5: The Stranger Who Knew

Notes:

This chapter contains themes of emotional abuse, psychological terror, and a moment of perceived life-threatening danger from a guardian figure. Please read with care.

Even when there isn't a trigger warning I will be placing a summary at the end note of each chapter. It keeps it consistent and neat. It just so happens that every chapter so far has needed a trigger warning.

This series will continue a theme of abuse and abuse recovery throughout. It's just part of Hallie's life and character. If this isn't your cup of tea this may not be the fic for you. That said I am trying to write tough topics with grace. Hope you enjoy!

Hallie sat wedged between Dudley and a mountain of hastily packed luggage in the backseat. She didn’t ask where they were going. She wasn’t sure Vernon knew.

 

That first day, they ended up in a hotel on the edge of town. The wallpaper peeled like sunburnt skin, and the whole place smelled like damp laundry.
The letter still found them—slipped through the keyhole.

 

The next hotel—two towns over—had double locks and a front desk clerk who watched Hallie too closely. Vernon paid in cash.
The letter came folded into the pillowcase. Another under the lid of the toilet tank.

 

They tried sleeping in the car.
The windows fogged with Dudley’s breath. Vernon nearly crashed when a letter fluttered from beneath the dashboard.

 

They spent one night in a field. Under a tarp. No tent.
That morning, a letter arrived wrapped around a squirrel’s tail.
Hallie caught it as it dropped near her lap, but Vernon snatched it before she could read more than the first curve of her name.

 

Then, on the seventh night, in bitter wind and thickening rain, they drove until the roads turned to gravel and the sky split open to sea.

 

And there it was.
A hunchbacked hut perched on a black rock, out in the waves.

 

“Perfect,” Vernon breathed.
It was the first time he’d sounded pleased in days.

 

He had dragged them here like fugitives. An abandoned shack, miles from shore, reachable only by boat and locked from the inside.

 

The wind howled like it had teeth. Rain slammed the windows in sheets. Hallie curled in the farthest corner, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of mildew, her back against the wall and her eyes on Vernon.

 

She’d thought—briefly—that this was still about the letters. That dragging them to the edge of the world was just Vernon’s last, desperate way of saying no.

 

But then she saw the package.

 

Long. Wrapped in oil-dark cloth. Heavy. Too heavy for wood. Too precise in shape to be anything random. Vernon had carried it in with both hands, cradled not like something precious—but like something dangerous.

 

A gun .

 

The thought sliced through her before she could stop it. But it made sense. The shape. The weight. The way he handled it—like something he wasn’t sure he’d be brave enough to use.
She didn’t want to believe it. But it stuck—lodged in her chest like a shard of glass.

 

He laid it carefully on the table, like it mattered how it landed. Then, without a word, he started dragging furniture against the door.

 

And in that moment, Hallie felt it—cold and crawling down her spine.
He brought us here to kill me.

 

The thought struck like lightning: absurd, and yet terrifyingly plausible. No one would find her out here. No one would know. He was angry enough. Afraid enough. The kind of man who might believe the only way to stop the letters was to stop her.

 

She stared at the bundle—the length, the weight, the careful way Vernon had held it.

 

He saw her looking.
“It’s just a precaution,” he muttered, as if she’d spoken aloud. “For the door. Just in case.”

 

But he didn’t unwrap it. He didn’t even touch it again.
And he didn’t look at her again.

 

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Just pressed herself smaller against the wall. Her heart pounded in her ribs. Every breath was shallow. Every sound was too loud.

 

Not killed. Not tonight.

 

But she had believed it—and belief was stickier than fear.
It didn’t pass. It planted. Settled in her bones like cracks in the pavement.

The storm deepened.

 

Wind screamed through the cracks in the hut like something alive. Waves slammed against the rock again and again. The chimney howled. Rain dripped steadily into a rusty pan from a crack in the ceiling.

 

Dudley had retreated beneath a moth-eaten blanket, wide-eyed and shivering. Even he wasn’t whining anymore.

 

Petunia sat stiffly in the corner, lips moving in tight, silent prayers.
Vernon paced.

 

He kept glancing toward the cloth-wrapped bundle on the table. He hadn’t said it was a gun. He hadn’t said it wasn’t.

 

Every now and then, he stopped to peer through the warped glass. Just blackness and rain and spray.
Then back to pacing.

 

Hallie sat on the cold floor, her blanket became armor—thin and useless, but all she had. Her jaw clenched to keep her teeth from chattering. Every time Vernon stopped moving, her chest tightened. Every time his eyes flicked toward the bundle, her fear twisted tighter.

 

He won’t shoot me, she told herself. That would be mad.
But so was dragging your family to the edge of the world to escape the post.

 

The fear didn’t leave. It just curled deeper. Low and cold in her belly.

 

A gust slammed into the hut hard enough to rattle the walls. One of the windows buckled. The door groaned. Thunder cracked overhead.
And then—silence.

 

A full second of stillness.
No wind. No rain. No sound.

 

And then—

 

BOOM.

 

A thundering crash against the door.

 

The whole hut shook. Dudley screamed. Petunia flinched violently. Vernon spun to the table and grabbed the bundle—the gun—with shaking hands.

 

Another crash.
Not thunder. Not wind.

 

A knock.
Massive. Measured.
Deliberate.

 

The kind of knock that didn’t ask permission.

 

Hallie’s breath caught.
The door shook again.

 

Vernon fumbled at the twine around the bundle. He hadn’t even unwrapped the corner before—

 

CRACK.

 

The door exploded inward.

 

Shattered wood. Salt wind. Rain like thrown knives. A sudden roar as the storm tore inside.

 

Dudley scrambled behind Petunia, who clutched him like a shield. Vernon dropped the bundle with a dull thud.

 

No one spoke.

 

Hallie stayed frozen on the floor.

 

A shape stood in the doorway.
Huge. Hulking.
Carved out of storm.

 

For one stretched-out breath, everything stopped.

 

Hallie’s heart thundered. Her thoughts turned wild, panicked.
He sent someone. He brought someone to finish it.

 

And then—
The figure stepped forward.
And ducked—
Because he had to.

 

The broken door swung on its one remaining hinge.

 

For a moment, all Hallie could do was stare.

 

The stranger filled the doorway.
Not just tall—massive. Shoulders like a cliff. A wild mess of tangled hair and beard nearly hid his face, but his eyes—dark and bright—watched her.

 

He stepped inside, slow and careful.
The floor groaned beneath him.

 

Hallie couldn’t breathe.

 

The bundle Vernon had dropped—long, heavy, wrapped in brown paper—still lay at the man’s feet.

 

She couldn’t look at it.
Her eyes stayed locked on him.
If he was even a man.

 

He shut the door behind him with one hand—just lifted it back into place like it weighed nothing. The wind hissed through the cracks, but the storm stayed outside.
Now there was only him.

 

The room felt smaller.

 

Vernon backed into a corner, pale and sweating. Petunia clutched Dudley so tightly he squeaked.

 

The stranger looked once around the room.
Then his eyes landed on Hallie.

 

Everything in her went still.

 

The fear didn’t leave—but it changed. Shifted. Became something sharp. Electric.

 

He looked at her like… he knew her.
Like he’d found what he came for.
Like she was real.

 

His beard twitched—maybe a smile.

 

And then, in a voice like boulders rolling under water, deep and kind and impossibly calm, he said:

 

“Hallie Potter.”

 

Her name.
Not “freak”. Not “girl.” Not “you.”
Hallie. Potter.

Her name—spoken like it mattered.

Like she did.

 

She couldn’t speak. She only nodded, once. Barely.

 

The man let out a breath that seemed to shake the room.

 

“Right,” he said, pulling a squashed umbrella from inside his coat. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, we do. But first—better make us a fire. You’re soaked to the bone.”

 

And just like that, the storm stayed at the door.

Something else had entered.

The fire bloomed without matches.
Just a muttered word and a tap of his umbrella against the hearthstone—and flames roared to life.

 

Hallie stared.

 

Her clothes were still soaked, but the cold began to retreat.

 

“Much better,” the man muttered, rubbing his hands. He hung his dripping coat on a hook—it hit the floor like a wet animal—and the room finally had space to breathe.

 

Then he looked at her properly.

 

Up close, he was even more impossible. His beard could’ve hidden a cat. His hair looked like it had been in a wrestling match with the sea. But his eyes—dark and steady—were kind.

 

Like he saw her. Really saw her.

 

She tried to speak. Couldn’t.

 

“You look just like him,” he said softly. Then added, “Yer dad. But you’ve got your mum’s eyes.”

 

Something broke open in her chest. Something she wasn’t ready for.
Her throat closed. Her fingers gripped the blanket tighter.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone mentioned her mother without spitting her name.
Couldn’t remember anyone speaking of her father at all.

 

Vernon coughed.

 

The man’s head snapped around.
“You,” he growled, his voice suddenly sharp. “I knew I’d find her in a state, but I didn’t expect this.”

 

Petunia had gone ghost-pale. Vernon looked ready to faint.

 

The man turned back to Hallie and reached into a deep pocket.

 

“I got summat for yeh,” he said, gentler now.

 

He pulled out a small, squashed parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He handed it to her like it was fragile. Precious.

 

She opened it slowly.

 

Inside—beneath the crumpled paper—was a cake.

 

Lopsided. Iced with something that might once have been green.
The words HAPPEE BIRTHDAE HALLIE scrawled across the top in wobbly letters.

 

She didn’t speak.

It was lopsided.

Ugly.

Perfect.

Because it was hers.
Her first birthday gift.

 

Her throat burned.

 

“I made it meself,” he said. “Not much of a baker, but… figured yeh ought to have somethin’. Eleven’s a big one.”

 

She finally managed a whisper. “Thank you.”

 

He beamed like she’d given him a gift.

 

Then he reached into another pocket—and pulled out an envelope.
Thick. Cream-colored. Sealed with deep red wax.

 

He handed it to her.

 

Her fingers trembled as she took it.

 

It had her name.

 

Miss H. Potter
The Floor
Hut-on-the-Rock
THE SEA

 

She stared like it might vanish.

 

The man scratched his beard.
“Reckon you’ll want to read that before I go explainin’ everything.”

 

Let them see. Let them panic. This was hers.

 

Hallie broke the seal.

 

Inside: parchment. Ink. A crest with a lion, snake, badger, and eagle. A list of books. A list of robes. A train ticket.

 

And one line that wrapped itself around her whole world:

 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

Silence wrapped the room.

 

She read it again.

 

Behind her, Vernon made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a protest.

 

The man stood tall, proud.
“Knew you’d be on the list,” he said. “Knew it the day yeh were born. Just a matter of time.”

 

Hallie looked up at him, her voice trembling.
“Witchcraft…?” she whispered.

 

His eyes twinkled.

 

“Magic,” he said. “And it’s in your blood, Hallie. Like it was in your mum’s. Like it should’ve been told to yeh a long time ago.”

 

Her voice was a wispy thing, almost imagined.
“I’m not crazy—or broken?”

 

“Not even close.”

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:
The Dursleys go on the run, desperate to escape the letters that keep finding Hallie no matter where they hide — hotels, fields, even the middle of the sea. Driven by fear and paranoia, Vernon brings them to a remote shack during a raging storm, dragging with him something wrapped in cloth and heavy with implication.
As the wind howls and the walls rattle, Hallie begins to believe the unthinkable: that her uncle might do something far worse than locking her in a cupboard.
But before fear can take root too deep, the door explodes open — not with danger, but with answers.
A stranger arrives, massive and kind, who knows her name, her parents, and the truth of what she is.
And for the first time, Hallie hears the word: witch.

Chapter 6: What They Never Told Her

Summary:

Content warning for implied emotional abuse and verbal cruelty from a guardian figure. Please take care while reading.
Chapter Summary in the end notes.

I won't make a habit of it. I'm going to publish both chapters 5 and 6 today because to me it's one big scene that benefitted from a two chapter split.

Next week we are headed to Diagon Alley so hope you tune in.

“Name’s Hagrid.” The giant smiled as Hallie settled close to the fireplace.

 

The fire cracked and spit in the hearth, smoke curling into the rafters like it was glad to stretch again. Warmth seeped into the bones of the hut, chased out the wet, and wrapped Hallie in something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

Comfort.

 

She sat cross-legged near the flames, a half-eaten piece of cake resting on a chipped plate in her lap. The icing was a little crusty. The sponge a bit dense. But she chewed slowly, savoring every bite like it was treasure.

 

It was.

 

Not because it was good—though it wasn’t bad—but because it was hers.

 

Hagrid watched her from a few feet away, his great hands folded across his knees. He didn’t press. Just let her have the moment.

 

Behind them, the Dursleys were silent. Vernon slumped in the corner like someone had unplugged him. Petunia sat stiff-backed on a crooked chair, staring at the wall. Dudley peeked out from beneath a ratty blanket, eyes round as saucers, like he still hadn’t decided whether Hagrid was a bear, a ghost, or both.

 

The cake disappeared before Hallie realized she’d finished it.

 

She licked a crumb from her thumb and blinked down at the empty plate. Gone. Just like that.

 

She wiped her hands on the hem of her too-big shirt and looked at the letter again—her name inked in a looping script, the wax seal already broken.

 

Miss H. Potter
The Floor
Hut-on-the-Rock
THE SEA

 

It still didn’t feel real. She traced the curve of the letter’s wax seal with her thumb.

 

Her dad, who she looked like.

 

Her mum, whose eyes she had.

 

They had been real. Once. Not just names whispered like warnings.

 

A deep longing stirred somewhere within. More real than anything had felt in years.

 

“Right,” said Hagrid, shifting his weight with a creak of floorboards. “So. Hogwarts.”

 

The word itself seemed to fill the room.

 

Hallie leaned forward.

 

“It’s a school,” he said. “Best one there is, far as I’m concerned. For witches and wizards. Young ones. Like you.”

 

She blinked. “And you work there?”

 

“Keeper of Keys and Grounds,” he said proudly. “Make sure the castle stays protected. Fetch the first-years who don’t know yet, like now. Feed the creatures. Mind the forest.”

 

“Forest?”

 

He grinned. “The Forbidden Forest, technically. But you’ll learn all about that come September.”

 

She wasn’t sure if that was meant to comfort her.

 

He leaned in slightly, voice low and warm.

 

“You’ll learn spells, o’ course—proper ones. Not the accidental kind. Potions. Charms. Flying lessons. Bit of dueling if you're keen. There’s a library big enough to get lost in, and towers that reach the clouds. Food that appears like magic—’cause it is.”

 

Hallie stared at him. “And I’m supposed to go there?”

 

“’Course you are. Been on the list since you were born.”

 

She shook her head slowly. “But I’ve never done… real magic.”

 

“You have,” he said gently. “You just didn’t know what to call it.”

 

She thought of the snake. The glass. The wind on the roof and how she hadn’t fallen.

 

Of the way the letters found her anyway—through walls and windows and locks and lies.

 

“I thought I was broken,” she said softly.

 

The words hung in the air between them, thin as breath. Fragile as glass.

 

Hagrid didn’t speak at first. Just looked at her soft and steady. Something about him settled—like a puzzle piece finally clicked into place.

 

“Yer not broken,” he said. “You’re a witch.”

 

A breath left her like it had been waiting too long.

 

Behind her, Petunia scoffed. A sharp, brittle sound.

 

Hallie turned.

 

Petunia’s mouth had twisted into something sour. “A witch,” she echoed. “Just like her. ”

 

Hallie stared at her. “My mum.”

 

Petunia didn’t blink. “Lily was always strange. Always had her head in the clouds. Making things happen she couldn’t explain. She thought she was better than the rest of us.”

 

“That’s not true,” said Hagrid, voice tight.

 

Petunia’s eyes flashed. “She left. Got that letter and never looked back. She joined them. ”

 

Hallie didn’t have to ask who them was. The venom in her voice made it clear. Cold. Unmistakable.

 

Lily had been something to Petunia. Something significant and poisonous. Hallie wondered what had possibly happened between them.

 

Petunia stood, slow and stiff.

 

“She was a freak,” she said. “And now it’s you. All over again.”

 

Silence fell like a weight.

 

Hallie didn’t flinch.

 

She didn’t cry.

 

She looked at her aunt—the way her lips curled when she said Lily’s name. The way her eyes gleamed, not with grief, but with something else. Something that had curdled a long time ago.

 

And Hallie saw it. All of it.

 

“You hated me,” she said quietly. “Before I even had a chance.”

 

Petunia didn’t answer.

 

She didn’t have to.

 

Hagrid cleared his throat. Loudly.

 

“Enough o’ that,” he muttered. “Hallie deserves the truth, not whatever that is.”

 

He reached into his coat again and pulled something else out—another envelope. This one thicker, folded around a small stack of papers and a bronze ticket.

 

He handed it to her with both hands.

 

“List o’ school supplies. Robes, books, a wand—you’ll need all that. And this—” he tapped the golden edge of the ticket “—gets you on the train. September first. Leaves from King’s Cross Station.”

 

Hallie held the papers like they might slip through her fingers.

 

The fire warmed her legs. The rain pounded the roof. The sea still roared beyond the windows—but inside, it was quiet.

 

Inside, she wasn’t waiting anymore.

 

She wasn’t wishing.

 

She was going .

 

“Magic,” she said aloud, testing the word. “It’s real.”

 

Hagrid smiled. “And it’s yours.”

 

She looked up at him.

 

And smiled back. It was small but it felt genuine.

 

She looked at the list again. Spells. Potions. Wands.

 

She didn’t know what any of it meant.

 

But for once—she was ready and able to find out.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:
In the flickering warmth of a storm-lashed hut, Hallie finally hears the truth. As Hagrid introduces her to the world of magic—and to Hogwarts—she begins to realize the strange things in her life weren’t brokenness, but power. For the first time, she sees the possibility of belonging. But Petunia’s bitterness lingers, revealing painful truths about the past and just how deeply Hallie was never given a chance. Between cake crumbs, rain-soaked silence, and the weight of a long-awaited letter, Hallie discovers that magic isn’t just real—it’s hers.

Chapter 7: The Power of a Name

Notes:

This chapter includes mentions of parental death, past war violence, and identity-based emotional distress. Nothing graphic, but Hallie is beginning to confront her past and her unexpected fame.
Chapter Summary in the end notes.

Hey Readers! I have a question for you! How do you feel about multiple pov's in a Harry Potter fanfic? I'm considering it but wanted your feedback!

Chapter 7: The Power Of A Name

Mist still clung to the rocks, and the waves hissed against the shore, but the sky was a softer gray.

 

Hallie stood at the edge of the hut’s tiny dock, clutching her Hogwarts letter and papers tight to her chest. She carried no bag and had no other possessions.

 

Hagrid stood beside her, fiddling with a pocket watch.

 

“London first,” he said. “Then Diagon Alley.”

 

Hallie frowned. “What’s that?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

He smiled, and something in her chest unknotted.

 

She had arrived afraid she’d never be seen.

 

She was leaving with a name that echoed through a world she never knew existed.

 

They took the boat back to the mainland—Hagrid rowing, the wind calmer than before. Hallie sat in silence, letting the sea spray hit her face. For once, it didn’t sting.

 

From the harbor, they caught a train—then another. Hagrid bought the tickets with coins he clearly didn’t understand, muttering about Muggle machines and how nothing ever took Sickles.

 

London unfolded like a story she hadn’t been told. Pages of streets turned, each stranger than the last. People in long coats and hurried conversations. A man playing the violin under an overpass. Rain began to mist the windows as they passed rows of gray buildings and blooming trees.

 

Hallie kept her eyes on the city. It felt like the world was growing larger with every stop.

 

They changed trains once more, then took to the streets on foot. She didn’t know where they were going, but she followed close beside Hagrid, weaving through crowds, her Hogwarts letter still clutched in her coat pocket like a secret she wasn’t ready to let go of.

 

Eventually, they stopped in front of a small, grimy pub squeezed between a bookshop and a frozen yogurt café.

 

The sign above the door was nearly unreadable— The Leaky Cauldron —but Hagrid nodded to it like it was the most natural place in the world.

 

“This is it,” he said.

 

Hallie blinked. “That’s a wizard place?”

 

“Best way to Diagon Alley,” he said. “Come on, then.”

 

Inside, the noise dropped to a hush.

 

A woman in green robes looked up from her tea. A wizard in the corner lowered his newspaper and gave a small nod. The smell of pipe smoke, wood polish, and something sweet in the air made the place feel older than it looked.

 

No one stared—but everyone saw her.

 

“The usual, Hagrid?”

 

“Can’t, Tom. I’m on official Hogwarts business.”

 

The toothless bartender’s eyes flicked to Hallie, and now her skin prickled with the sense that she was being studied.

 

“Bless my soul,” Tom breathed, like the name meant something more than a person. “It’s Hallie Potter.”

 

Hallie blinked. She hadn’t expected him to know her name. She shrank a little closer to Hagrid, who seemed to sense her unease.

 

The pub had gone silent, which only made the attention sharper.

 

Then a rather tearful wizard was wringing her hand.

 

“Welcome back, Miss Potter. Welcome back.”

 

It was a blur after that—fluttering cloaks, warm and unfamiliar hands of all shapes and sizes.

 

“I’m just so proud. When I tell them that I’ve met you—”

 

“I’ve always wanted to shake your hand.”

 

“Thank you.” An older gentleman patted her hand and shuffled away with a great sniff, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

 

“Hallie P-Potter,” stammered a nervous man in a purple turban. “C-can’t tell you h-how p-pleased I a-am to meet y-you.”

 

“This,” Hagrid said, stepping in, “is Professor Quirrell. He’ll be teachin’ you at Hogwarts.”

 

Hallie bobbed her head, still taking in too much to respond properly.

 

“Come on now,” Hagrid said gently. Then to the crowd: “She’s got lots to buy for school. We were just passin’ through.”

 

She felt a distinct disconnect from everyone even as they all seemed to know her name.

 

With a large, warm hand at her back, he guided her through a narrow passage and into a small stone courtyard.

 

Just a wall. Just old bricks.

 

Until—

 

Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and tapped the bricks.

 

Three up. Two across.

 

The wall rippled.

 

Then it shifted—bricks folding inward, clicking and turning like clockwork gears. A doorway formed, wide and tall.

 

And there—hidden behind stone and centuries—was a street unlike anything she’d ever imagined.

 

Diagon Alley.

 

Diagon Alley was wondrous—but one building stood out starkly against the rest.

 

It loomed at the far end of the cobbled street, white marble glowing even in the filtered sunlight. Columns lined the front like something out of a history book, and tall doors of burnished bronze reflected the crowd in shifting gold.

 

It looked like it could’ve been an old, important library. Or a church. Or—maybe most fitting—a bank.

 

To Hallie’s surprise Hagrid made a beeline towards the magnificent building.

 

Hagrid nodded toward it as they walked. “Gringotts,” he said. “Run by goblins. Smart lot, though not ones to cross.”

 

Hallie stared up at the great marble steps. “It doesn’t look… magical.”

 

Hagrid chuckled. “That’s the trick. Sometimes the most magical places look like they’re trying not to be noticed.”

 

The goblin at the door gave Hallie a curt nod as she followed Hagrid through the entrance. Inside, it was cooler. Quieter. Polished stone floors and high arching ceilings gave the air a hush that reminded Hallie of a museum she’d visited on a school trip, —and of secrets. The marble gleamed like bone, cold and pale beneath her shoes. The ceiling arched high above them, ribbed with gold. Chandeliers of wrought iron and crystal swayed, though the air was still.

 

And everywhere—goblins.

 

Dozens of them, perched behind tall desks with ledgers thicker than bricks and quills that moved like knives. Some counted coins by hand, long fingers flicking through stacks of silver and gold. Others peered through monocles at contracts or scribbled numbers in spidery script. Their ears were pointed, their eyes sharp, and their expressions unreadable—like they’d seen centuries of secrets and trusted none of them.

 

It was all very serious.

 

And it made her suddenly aware that this was real. Not just a story or a letter or a man with a pink umbrella. Not just a wish whispered inside a cupboard.

 

She was here.

 

And something waited.

 

Hallie clutched the letter in her pocket a little tighter. She didn’t know if she belonged in a place that felt carved out of dreams.

 

Hallie stepped carefully alongside Hagrid, suddenly unsure how to carry herself in this place where everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Her trainers squeaked faintly on the marble, and she tucked her hands deeper into her pockets.

 

They reached a tall, curved counter. A goblin looked up without smiling.

 

“Name?” he asked briskly.

 

“Potter,” said Hagrid. “She’s here to access her family vault.”

 

The goblin blinked once—slowly. “Identification?”

 

Hagrid produced a heavy key from his coat and set it down on the counter. “Got the key right here.”

 

That earned them a longer look. The goblin picked up the key delicately, examined it under a small glass, and gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”

 

“I have this as well.” Hagrid was holding out a letter. “Professor Dumbledore gave me this.”

 

The goblin took the letter and studied it closely, with more scrutiny than the key. Finally he nodded slowly, twice, the sharpness of the previous nod absent.

 

They were led down a wide, echoing corridor lit with pale blue flames, and then into what looked like the mouth of a cave. Tracks twisted downward into darkness, lined with minecarts.

 

The goblin gestured toward one. “Step in, please.”

 

Hallie climbed in with Hagrid’s help, clutching the edge as the cart jerked into motion.

 

The tunnel swallowed them.

 

Wind tore past her face, and she gave a startled laugh. It was like riding a roller coaster underground—faster and deeper with every turn. Water rushed beside them. A burst of fire lit one wall, then vanished. She caught glimpses of other vault doors—some plain, others sealed with runes and locked behind bars thick as tree trunks.

 

She turned to Hagrid. “Is all of this... people’s money?”

 

“And other things,” he said over the roar. “Family heirlooms. Artifacts. Magic most folk wouldn’t trust anywhere else.”

 

Hallie looked ahead again. The tunnel opened into a vast cavern, and the cart finally began to slow.

 

They stopped in front of a thick, iron door with a high-polished crest: a stag sleeping atop a bundle of folded cloth.

 

The goblin stepped forward, inserted the key, and turned it.

 

The lock gave a deep, echoing click.

 

The door groaned open.

 

Inside was gold.

 

Stacks of it. Stacks too of silver and bronze. Coins piled high.

 

“What’s a sickle?” She found herself asking, recalling what Hagrid had said earlier that day.

 

“The silver coins. The gold are Galleons, an the bronze are knuts.”

 

Hagrid began explaining the money while Hallie stared around the vault.  Galleons gleamed in tidy stacks, silver Sickles scattered between like drops of moonlight, bronze Knutes pooled at the base.

 

It wasn’t just money—it was wealth. A quiet, generational kind. The kind that whispered: You belonged to something once. And it mattered.

 

Hallie didn’t move at first.

 

Her eyes flicked from the gold to the key still in the goblin’s hand. There was weight to the silence of the vault.

 

Her voice caught before the question could fully form.

 

“This was… my parents’?” she asked quietly.

 

The stillness of the vault pressed in on her. It felt like standing in a place time hadn’t touched.

 

Hagrid nodded. “Left in your name. Every last coin.”

 

It didn’t feel like treasure. Not really.

 

It felt like evidence her life hadn’t always been a cupboard and silence and scraps. That there had once been people who wanted her to have something. More than something.

 

She stepped forward slowly. The cold air of the vault brushed her skin. She reached out, picked up a single gold coin, and held it to the light.

 

Her whole arm shook slightly in awe. It was heavy in a way that could only be tangible.

 

Hagrid gently placed a small pouch in her hand.

 

“Take what yeh need,” he said, soft as his voice could go. “Best we get to it—we’ve got shoppin’ to do.”

 

Hallie did as he said. Not knowing how much she’d need, she filled the little pouch with careful handfuls—gold, silver, bronze—her fingers still unsteady as she struggled to take in the strangeness of it all.

 

When she stepped out of the vault, blinking in the cool air of the tunnel, she could still feel the weight of the coins in her hand. But more than that, she felt the weight of something else. Something she couldn’t name yet.

 

They climbed back into the cart.

 

“Just one more stop,” Hagrid told the goblin. “Vault seven-one-three.”

 

Hallie glanced up at him. “Is that another family’s vault?”

 

“Not exactly,” said Hagrid. “Hogwarts business. Professor Dumbledore sent me.”

 

That was all he said.

 

The cart plunged deeper this time, the tracks steep and twisting. Hallie held tight as they rattled through colder tunnels, past vaults that didn’t even have doors—just bare stone and old magic in the walls.

 

Vault 713 stood at the very end of a narrowing passage.

 

No key this time. The goblin stepped forward, ran a long finger down the stone in a way that made Hallie’s hair rise, and the door simply vanished.

 

Inside: nothing but a small, wrapped object sitting on a pedestal.

 

Hagrid stepped in alone.

 

He picked it up—carefully, reverently—and tucked it inside his coat. The goblin replaced the door with a snap of his fingers, and the vault was gone again.

 

Hallie said nothing. But something about the way Hagrid touched the object stuck with her.

 

When they emerged into sunlight, the world felt louder than before.

 

The chatter of shoppers. The clink of cauldrons. The thrill of a caged owl. Everything bustling, strange and alive.

 

But Hallie didn’t move right away.

 

She stood just outside Gringotts, the pouch of coins in one hand, the other curled around her Hogwarts letter like an anchor.

 

Hagrid noticed. “You all right?”

 

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

 

He gestured to a short stone wall just off the main road. “Want a minute?”

 

She sat down on the low stone wall across from the bank, the weight of the coin pouch in her lap. Her fingers still smelled faintly of old gold.

 

Hagrid joined her in the shadow of the bank. The marble columns loomed behind them like something out of another world—which, Hallie supposed, they were.

 

She ran her thumb over the drawstring of her pouch.

 

“They knew my name,” she said finally.

 

Hagrid looked over. “Eh?”

 

“In the pub. They all looked at me like I was someone important. But I’ve never even met them.”

 

Something in her voice made him pause. Not fear exactly. Something quieter. Sadder.

 

Hagrid let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand through his beard.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Figured that might come up.”

 

She waited.

 

“You’re famous, Hallie,” he said gently. “In our world. There ain’t a witch or wizard alive who doesn’t know your name.”

 

She stared at him. Her famous? Didn’t famous people have people who cared about them? Hallie had a cupboard. Famous didn’t equate to her existence.

 

“Why?”

 

Hagrid hesitated. “Reckon you deserve to hear it from someone who cares how it’s told.”

 

So he did.

 

“All right. But first, I want yeh to understand something. Magic folk—we remember things. Especially the bad times. An' there was a time, not that long ago, when things were bad indeed.”

 

Hallie waited.

 

“There was a wizard,” he said. “Real powerful. Real dangerous. Darkest wizard there ever was. People were afraid to say his name—still are, most of ‘em.”

 

Hallie bit her lip, heels tapping the stone behind them.

 

“He started a war. Took over almost everything. Good people vanished. Died. Some joined him. The world got colder.”

 

Hagrid’s eyes were far away now.

 

“And then—when everyone thought he couldn’t be stopped—he went after your parents.”

 

The words landed like stones.

 

“They were good people, Hallie. Brave. Didn’t follow him, even when facing death. And he… he killed ‘em.”

 

She already knew. She’d always known. But hearing it like this—

 

“He tried to kill you, too. But he couldn’t.”

 

Hallie’s hand curled tightly into her sleeve as turned to look at him.

 

“No one knows how,” Hagrid said softly. “But the spell backfired. He vanished. Gone. Crumbled like dust. And there you were—just a baby. Not a scratch on yeh except that scar.”

 

Hallie raised a hand to her forehead where a pressure seemed to be building.

 

“People say it’s the only time he was ever beaten. And they say it was you who did it.”

 

She stared at him. “But I was a baby.”

 

“That’s the part no one understands,” said Hagrid. “Some say it was a fluke. Some say it was power. But the fact remains—he vanished, and you lived. And when the news got out… well, every witch and wizard in Britain celebrated that night. Because, Hallie Potter, the girl who survived gave ‘em hope.”

 

He looked at her with something close to wonder.

 

She shifted as the wonderings of the wizarding world prickled at her skin.

 

“That’s why they know yer name, Hallie. That’s why it matters.”

 

“But I didn’t do anything,” she said, voice small. “I don’t even remember it.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” said Hagrid. “You did somethin’ no one else ever did. He tried to kill you, and it didn’t work. People saw that and—well. Some thought it meant hope.”

 

Hallie stared down at her hands. Her eyes pricked and her vision wobbled.

 

Her name. The one they all said like it was a miracle.

 

She hadn’t even known who she was until last night.

 

And if everyone else had known—

 

If it mattered to them—

 

How had she grown up in a cupboard?

 

How had she been left with people who despised her.

 

She let the silence stretch between them. The crowd bustled behind her. Somewhere, a child laughed.

 

“They don’t know me,” she whispered.

 

Hagrid looked confused. “Sure they do. Everyone knows Hallie Potter.”

 

She shook her head. Desperation clawed its way into her voice. “They know my name. Not me.”

 

She blinked and a hot tear splashed startling her.

 

He went quiet then. Thoughtful.

 

“Well,” His rumbling voice fell around her like a lifeline. “Give it time. Reckon they will.”

 

Hallie looked down at the coin in her hand—shiny, gold, real—and closed her fingers around it.

 

“Maybe I will too,” she whispered as the weight of her fame settled unwantedly.

 

She’d been a baby with a lightning-shaped scar—and a story too big for her name.

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:
Hallie leaves the hut with Hagrid and travels to London, where she’s introduced to the hidden wizarding world for the first time. In Diagon Alley, she experiences awe, curiosity—and the unsettling weight of being recognized by name alone. At Gringotts, she accesses her family vault and discovers the quiet legacy her parents left behind. But the real revelation comes afterward: the truth of her fame, the dark wizard who tried to kill her, and the parents who died protecting her. As Hallie struggles to reconcile who she is with who everyone says she is, Hagrid offers gentle comfort—and the reminder that she still has time to find out who she’ll become.

Chapter 8: Threads and Thorns

Notes:

Please let me know what you all think of Malfoy so far! I've had a blast writing him into the story. Stay tuned next week when Hallie meets another fellow first year in the Apothecary.

Chapter Summary at the end as always.

“Sorry—I reckon it’s best I don’t go into the shops.” Hagrid stood with one large hand braced against the wall outside Madam Malkin’s, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to shrink himself. Looking down at Hallie with something between regret and concern. “Low ceilings, and I’ve got a knack for knockin’ things over. Don’t wanna cause a scene.”

 

Hallie nodded before he could say more. She already understood. The shop door stood six feet tall; Hagrid would’ve had to duck through sideways just to step inside. It simply wasn’t made for him.

 

“I’ll be alright,” she said, offering him a soft, quick smile.

 

And she meant it—mostly. Still, the warmth in his gaze made her stomach unknot a little. She hadn’t known people could look at you like that. Like you were worth worrying about.

 

She turned to the shop’s sign:
Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
The windows shimmered with displays of neatly-pressed black school robes, hovering just above cushioned stands. A brass bell chimed as she stepped inside.

 

Hallie's eyes swept the room automatically—scanning shelves, noting exits, cataloging corners, and counting bodies. She didn’t mean to. It was just a habit by now. A quiet, twitching reflex. The kind you grow when your world can turn sharp in an instant.

 

The shop smelled of pressed linen and something floral. Lavender polish. Clean. Safe, maybe. She let her fingers curl into the hem of her sleeve, grounding herself. 

 

There was a humming sense of order to it: robes hung in careful rows along the walls, bolts of fabric floated midair as if waiting to be summoned, and a squat woman in mauve robes appeared from behind a counter almost immediately.

 

“First year, Hogwarts?” came a voice, soft but brisk.

 

The woman—Madam Malkin—was short, round, and dressed all in mauve. Her eyes crinkled warmly as she ushered Hallie to a low stool. A measuring tape floated up with a flick of her wand and began zipping around her ankles and wrists, the air buzzing faintly with magic.

 

Hallie stood as still as she could. Hands at her sides, face smooth and unreadable.

 

Her nerves always showed in her brow, so she let her expression fall into the careful blankness she used when adults asked questions they didn’t want answers to.

 

She didn’t flinch when the measuring tape grazed her collarbone. Not visibly.

 

She focused on breathing evenly.

 

She was halfway through being measured, the tape measuring the length of her back, when the bell over the door jingled again.

 

Another customer.

 

Polished shoes clicked across the floorboards. Hallie turned her head—just enough.

 

A boy had entered the shop. Pale skin, pale hair, and the self-assured stillness of someone who had never learned to be small. His gaze swept the room with the precision of someone cataloguing it—not cautions, but calculating.

 

He moved like he already belonged and Madam Malkin didn’t miss a beat.

 

“Another Hogwarts student!” she said brightly. She nodded to a stool standing a foot away from the one Hallie stood on. “There’s a stool just there, dear.” 

 

The boy stepped up beside her, sparing Hallie only the briefest glance. Up close, she noticed how deliberate he looked. Not neat— curated . His robes were too fine for a first—year. His shoes unscuffed. He looked like someone who had never been shouted at in a grocery store aisle—or made to feel small for simply existing.

 

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said, with confidence that had nothing to do with bravery.

 

Hallie blinked, but said nothing.

 

The name meant nothing to her, but the tone did.

 

It was the way Dudley bragged about his second television. The way Aunt Petunia talked about her drapes—meant to impress, not to share.

 

When she didn’t answer, Draco didn’t seem to mind. He turned to Madam Malkin. “I want robes with the silver clasps. My father says the brass ones tarnish.”

 

Madam Malkin made a humming sound and nodded deferentially. 

 

Draco stepped onto the stool beside hers like it was built for him. The measuring tape resumed its fitting, brushing across both their shoulders.

 

Hallie inched away reflexively. His presence pressed in. Kids her age had never meant anything good.

 

Draco noticed.

 

“You starting this year too?” he asked, voice light.

 

She nodded once, feeling a tightness in her jaw.

 

“You don’t talk much,” he noted. Not curious. Not kind. Just observational. Like he was inventorying her. Trying to place her value.

 

Hallie looked straight ahead, not seeing the mirror reflecting the two of them. She was trying hard not to stiffen. She wasn’t sure how successful she’d been as the boy continued filling the silence.

 

“My father’s getting top of the line equipment,” His eyes on the mirror. “The derisory rule on first years not getting their own broom won’t stop me either. I’m getting a racing broom. Father says the staff should make an exception”

 

Hallie said nothing. Her hand twisted the edge of her sleeve.

 

“And we’ve got a house-elf,” Draco added, still watching her. “Do you? All the oldest families have one.”

 

The words were bright and clean but her stomach tightened as anxiety mounted.

 

It wasn’t the words he spoke, it was how he said them. He was measuring her. To define her without ever needing to ask directly.

 

Hallie turned slightly, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were pale grey—nearly silver. Watchful.

 

He didn’t blink.

 

Her breath came shallow. Quick.

 

This wasn’t the cupboard-under-the-stairs kind of fear. It wasn’t Dudley’s fists or Aunt Petunia’s voice like vinegar.

 

This was something quieter. Polite. Polished. Dangerous.

 

This was fear in fine robes—fear with a family crest.

 

Draco tilted his head, as if noticing something. As if trying to figure her out.

 

Her throat tightened before the words even came. She felt them building like storm pressure.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked.

 

Each word came out with a thud of her heart.

 

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

 

She’d looked away, though she was no longer seeing him. Her vision began tunneling. She shook her head.

 

“Why not?” there was a frown in his voice, not offended— puzzled .

 

She blinked rapidly, willing the darkness to clear.

 

Trying to breath past the bands that had tightened around her lungs.

 

Then he looked at her—not with scorn. Not quite. With interest . Like a Hawk sizing up a mouse. His relentless gaze sent danger prickling up her spine.

 

A beat later the tape fluted back to Madam Malkin’s hands and she clapped. “All done!”

 

Hallie stepped down quickly, the weight of her own breath catching in her lungs.

 

Behind her, she heard Draco, “See you at Hogwarts, I suppose.” His voice had a new quality to it now. He was… uncertain.

 

She didn’t answer.

 

—

 

Outside, the light had shifted. The sky over Diagon Alley was sharper now, the sun slanting hard across the signs and cobblestones. Everything looked the same. She didn’t.

 

Hagrid spotted her from down the street. “There y’are!” He called. “Robes all sorted?”

 

She nodded. Her hands were deep in her pockets. One was still atremble.

 

Hagrid’s brow furrowed. “All right?”

 

She nodded. Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth.

 

He didn’t press. Just pointed down the road. “Gettin’ yer trunk next. Need a place to store all yer school things.”

 

They started walking.

 

Behind her, the bell over Madam Malkin’s door jingled again. She didn’t look back.

 

As they walked, Hallie’s mind drifted. Not to the robes. Not to the magic.

 

To the boy.

 

 Draco Malfoy had looked at her like she was a puzzle to be solved or dismissed.

 

She knew boys like that. Men like that. The kind who categorized people before they ever saw them.

 

She wondered if he knew he was doing it.

 

She lifted her chin and let herself stand tall. She drew in a deep breath.

 

She didn’t know who he was yet. But she knew this:

 

He reminded her of home in all the worst ways.

 

And she wasn’t going back.

Notes:

At Madam Malkin's, Hallie meets Draco Malfoy—polished, proud, and quietly dangerous. His name means nothing to her, but his gaze does. For the first time in this new world, she is reminded of the one she left behind.

Chapter 9: The Potion Shop Boy

Notes:

Summary at the end as always. If you've stayed with the story this far leave you thoughts in the comments. I'd love to know how this fic is being received. And Thanks SO MUCH for reading!

Neville was a lovely character to write into Hallie's world. He doesn't have memories of his parents for those who think I made a mistake I'll let you know he's taken all of his Grans stories and painted the parents he might have had. So he thinks about 'what they used to do.'

The trunk was heavier than she expected—not just in wood and brass, but with the quiet solidity of something that was hers.

 

It sat open in the middle of the dusty floor of Bottomless Baggage—brass corners and stiff leather, its lid creaking like it hadn’t been opened in years. The shopkeeper had shown her the locks, the hidden compartments, and the expandable interior. But none of that mattered as much as the simple fact that it was hers.

 

Hallie ran her hand along the inside rim, half-expecting someone to yank it away. No one did.

 

Hagrid stood at the counter, sorting through her school list again. “You’ll want a sturdy one,” he’d said. “Holds up on the train and back again come holidays.”

 

Holidays. The word felt strange. Like something meant for other people—people with homes they wanted to return to. She wasn’t sure if she’d be welcome anywhere come December. But for now, she had a trunk. A real one. Big enough to hold books and robes and… whatever else she was about to find.

 

She closed the lid and latched it gently. The lock clicked with satisfying finality.

They had walked for a while in companionable quiet, weaving past bright storefronts and side-carts of spellbooks and sweets. Hallie’s mind was still half caught in the robe shop, looping on sharp grey eyes and pressed collars. But the farther they got, the more the noise of the alley—its chatter and charm and clatter—began to press that memory to the back of her thoughts.

 

“Best place for potion kits is just ahead,” Hagrid had said, pointing toward a low wooden door with a swinging sign carved in copperleaf: J. Pilliwickle’s Apothecary and Supplies .

 

It looked older than the shops around it, slouched slightly to the left as if it had grown tired of standing straight. Hallie followed Hagrid down the two uneven steps to the door, and the moment he pushed it open—

 

The shop smelled like earth and vinegar.

 

Shelves climbed to the ceiling, packed with glass bottles and wax-sealed jars. Bundles of dried roots hung from the rafters. A cauldron in the corner let off a slow, steady burble, and steam curled like ribbon through the beams of afternoon light. A sense of peace and safety seemed to waft around like steam in the air.

 

Hallie slipped inside behind Hagrid. He’d told her she could pick up a basic first-year potion kit here. “Better stuff than what they throw in the pre-packed ones,” he’d said.

 

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this hush. The kind of quiet that made you want to whisper.

 

She wandered toward a shelf marked Herbals & Base Essences, fingers hovering near a vial of something green and sluggish. She was still trying to read the label when she heard a soft clink and a muttered apology.

 

A boy stepped out from the other side of the shelf, half-hidden behind a wooden post, carefully trying to stack a few ingredients in a cloth pouch. He had a round face and dark eyes that seemed always on the edge of apology.

 

“Sorry,” he said when he noticed her, as if she’d caught him somewhere he shouldn’t be. “Didn’t mean to bump the shelf.”

 

“You didn’t,” Hallie said quickly. “It’s just wobbly.”

 

He glanced up at her—relieved, maybe, or just grateful not to be scolded. “The floor slants a bit,” he said. “I think it’s on purpose. Makes the liquids settle right.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s clever.”

 

He gave a small shrug. “Gran says potion shops are all half-magic and half-muddle.”

 

She felt a pinch of humor as she thought about the saying. And for a beat of thought she wondered about his Gran. What was she like?

 

There was a pause. Comfortable enough to stay in.

 

He didn’t look at her the way Draco had. He didn’t look at her like she was missing a label.

 

“I’m Neville,” he added, after a beat. “Neville Longbottom.”

 

Hallie shifted her weight. She opened her mouth then shut it without an uttered word.

 

She hadn’t said her name much that day—not in full—and still wasn’t sure she liked the way it made people look at her. “Hi,” she said instead. “I’m… starting this year too.”

 

Neville brightened a little. “First year?” He held up the cloth pouch. “Getting my kit sorted. Gran said I shouldn’t trust the school’s set to have proper murtlap.”

 

Hallie peered into the pouch. “I don’t even know what murtlap looks like.”

 

Neville leaned toward the counter, then held up a small dried tentacle that looked vaguely like a piece of sea anemone. “This. Well it’s not a murtlap, just a tentacle. It’s for cuts and stings, mostly. Mum used to—”

 

He stopped. Cleared his throat.

 

Hallie almost asked.

 

She didn’t.

 

She just nodded like she understood.

 

Neville carefully tucked the tentacle away. “I think I’m good at potions,” he said, then quickly. “Well, I might be. I like that there’s a recipe. Steps you can follow. That if something goes wrong… it’s not because you’re broken. It’s because you missed a step.”

 

Hallie looked at him—really looked.

 

That feeling stirred again. Of being met without being asked to explain.

 

“I think I’d like that too,” she said.

 

They didn’t say much else after that. Hagrid’s voice boomed from the front—something about hag’s liver and prices being daylight robbery.

 

Neville offered a small, hopeful smile. “Maybe I’ll see you at school?”

 

Hallie nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

 

As she turned to go, she realized she hadn’t told him her name.

 

Today, people had looked at her and thought they already knew who she was. But this boy hadn’t asked. And that somehow felt far more powerful and important.

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

As this strange, overwhelming day in Diagon Alley continues, Hallie finds solace in a dusty old apothecary—and in an unexpected connection with a quiet boy named Neville. As they talk over potion kits and slanted floors, she realizes what it is to be seen without being questioned. No expectations. No labels. Just... accepted.

Chapter 10: A Cover and Spine

Notes:

Summary in the end notes.

I'm excited for Hallie to get her wand next week. She's building in confidence and getting to know other children her age without Dudley or his gang warning them off. She's experiencing the freedom of chosen anonymity which can only stand so long but let's give her this space to breathe.

As the story continues each week, I'd sure love feedback in the comments. What you guys liked and didn't like. How you think I'm doing developing each long known and loved character from the Harry Potter series. I'll take constructive criticism and all opinions and consider them. I'll do my best to respond to comments. But first and foremost, I just want you to enjoy the story with me. I love that you give this fic chance <3

 

I aim to publish a chapter a week, and I won't miss a week if I can help it. You can expect a chapter by Tuesday around 2:30 pm mst every week. It might be posted Sunday or Monday if it's ready and I don't want to risk getting it to you late. This one's being published Sunday because I'm going to be very busy next week. I just want to give you guys expectations. Something to hold me to because I appreciate you.

The door to the apothecary creaked shut behind her, and warm air folded in around her face. Diagon Alley buzzed with late afternoon light, the sounds of voices and rustling parchment sharper than before like her ears had just surfaced from underwater.

 

Hallie blinked and adjusted her grip on the potion kit bag.

 

Hagrid waited just ahead, leaning against a crooked lamppost just down the road, a brown-paper-wrapped bundle tucked under one arm. Her school trunk lifted in his other arm, looking no bigger than a baby against his enormous frame.

 

“Right then,” he said as she caught up. “Next big stop—books.”

 

Hallie nodded, though the thought of adding more weight to her trunk made her arms ache in sympathy. Books would weigh it down.

 

Still, these books would be hers .

 

There was something steadying in that.

 

It made things feel official. Like the rules were real, like there was a way to learn them.

 

“Flourish and Blotts,” Hagrid nodded toward a wide storefront that looked like it had grown upward in a hurry. Three crooked stories of windows stacked one over the next, all crammed with books of every shape and size—leather-bound, chain-bound, glowing faintly at the edges. A ladder zipped past behind the glass, vanishing into the rafters.

 

Hallie stepped through the door as Hagrid veered toward the next shop over. “I’ll just pop in and grab yer quills, ink, an’ parchment.” he said over his shoulder. “Be back in a tick.”

 

Anticipation curled in her chest, quiet and unmistakable. She’d entered a bookstore. She was allowed to enter a bookstore .

 

The bookstore was enormous, built like a thundercloud made of paper and ladders. Shelves stretched impossibly high, ladders slid and clicked across brass rails like they had minds of their own, moving with purpose but no visible handlers. Books fluttered from one shelf to another, as if deciding where they belonged. One heavy tome gave a disgruntled hmph and closed itself as she passed.

 

She drew in a deep breath and caught smells she’d cherished in the school library. Dust, ink, and something else—something alive. Magic, perhaps. Pressed between pages.

 

A pamphlet drifted down from the rafters and slapped gently against her shoulder. She batted it away with a startled twitch.

 

Still getting used to it , she reminded herself.

 

And that’s allowed.

 

The thought landed with surprising gentleness—like a hand on her shoulder. She took another breath and let it settle.

 

This was the kind of room Dudley would have hated. With no imagination of his own, no screens, and no instructions. He would have died of boredom.

 

Endless words, and silence, and choice.

 

She liked it immediately.

 

She turned toward a shelf marked:

 

First-Year Requirements—Hogwarts

 

Titles gleamed gold along the spines: Magical Theory, The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) , One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi , A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration . Her fingers hovered over the last one when a voice came from behind her.

“I didn’t expect to see you again.”

 

Her breath caught. Not because she didn’t know the voice.

 

But because she did.

 

She turned slowly.

 

Draco Malfoy stood half a pace behind her, alone this time.

 

No Madam Malkin, no measuring tape, no mirror to reflect the sharp lines of his expression.

 

His posture was relaxed, but his face wasn’t quite set—like he hadn’t decided who he needed to be.

 

Hallie straightened automatically. Old reflex rising unbidden: Be small. Be still. Be nothing.

 

She didn’t flinch.

 

She didn’t speak, either.

 

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he said, quieter than before. Not cold. Not warm. Just… curious.

 

Hallie kept her hand on the spine of the Transfiguration book as though it were the safe place in a game of tag. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

 

His head tilted. “Everyone has a name.”

 

“Doesn’t mean they owe it to strangers.”

 

There was no heat in it. Just fact.

 

He watched her for a moment. His expression shifted—not insulted, not offended. Just… recalibrating.

 

“You’re afraid of me.”

 

There was nothing cruel in the way he said it.

 

Hallie didn’t deny it.

 

She didn’t look away either.

 

She pressed her lips together. Letting her silence answer.

 

Silence stretched long. Not the comfortable kind.

 

A stand off she finally filled.

 

“You reminded me of someone.”

 

She hated how small her voice sounded.

 

Draco’s brows drew together. “Who?”

 

She didn’t answer. But her stomach tightened. For a flicker she heard the cupboard door slam. Felt the pressure of footsteps too close. A laugh with no warmth.

 

She blinked it away and let her face go blank—practiced, familiar.

 

He didn’t press.

 

“You don’t have to tell me.”

 

That surprised her more than it should have. So did the way he said it—not performative. Just… accepting.

 

A quiet settled between them. A kind of truce. Not warm, not safe. Just… stillness.

 

“People assume they know who you are,” Draco said after a moment, voice low. “Sometimes, before you say a word. Because of your name. Or how you look.”

 

Hallie blinked. That landed with a quiet, heavy weight. A dull echo inside her chest.

 

She knew exactly what that felt like.

 

“I don’t think you care what people think,” she said.

 

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t,” His voice was flat, honest. “I’m starting to.”

 

That startled her. She looked closer, unsure if this was a performance or something slipping through the cracks.

 

He plucked a book from the shelf without glancing— Magical Theory , silver embossed—and handed it to her, careful not to brush her hand.

 

“My father says this one matters. Says you can’t cast anything properly if you don’t understand why it works.”

 

Hallie took the book. “Sounds like your father has a lot of opinions.”

 

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose. Might have been a laugh. Might not.

 

“You’re Muggle-raised,” he said, quieter now. Not a slur. Just a statement.

 

Her grip on the book tightened.

 

“Why do you think that?” she asked carefully.

 

He gave her a small smile, eyes glittering. Closest he’d come to mocking.

 

“The measuring tape. You looked at it like it might bite you.”

 

She held still.

 

“Some things bite.”

 

He grew solemn. His eyes flicked away.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

 

They stood in that odd hush. Two eleven-year-olds surrounded by spells and bindings and names they hadn’t earned yet. Too sharp for their own comfort. Too young to name what was happening between them.

 

He shifted his books in his arms and turned to her.

 

“You’ll tell me your name sometime,” he said. It wasn’t arrogant. Just certain.

 

Hallie met his eyes—bright green against grey.

 

This was a boy who made statements like facts. As if truth bent to meet him.

 

She did not share that certainty.

 

“Maybe.”

 

She turned back to the shelf, still holding the book he’d given her. She pulled down the rest of the required titles, stacking them neatly against her chest. Behind her a ladder zipped past with a soft hiss and clatter.

 

A clerk descended, floating a stack of textbooks overhead. The hush shattered like a dropped mirror.

 

Just like that, she was a girl in a bookshop again.

 

From the front of the store, a woman’s voice called—clear and crisp, likely his mother. “Draco, dear, are you ready?”

 

Draco turned toward it. Then he glanced back.

 

He didn’t smile. Didn’t scowl.

 

Just gave her a long, unreadable look.

 

Then he walked away.

 

Hallie didn’t watch him go, but she felt the silence he left behind. Like a door had opened an inch—and hadn’t closed.

 

Her fear had faded.

 

But something else had taken its place. Something heavier.

 

Not trust. Not comfort.

 

A flicker of comparison. Recognition.

 

Like Neville, Draco had stirred something in her. A sense that someone else walked around in shoes that pinched.

 

He wasn’t like Neville, who left space for her to exist.

 

But he had seen her. And that was dangerous on its own.

While she paid for her books, a thought surfaced like a warning.

 

He’s not Dudley. But he’s not a friend.

 

Then another, softer thought.

 

He doesn’t get to decide who I am.

 

She wrapped her arms around the stack of books—hers—and walked out the door.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

Hallie steps into Flourish and Blotts expecting books, not another encounter with Draco Malfoy. But this meeting is quieter—and sharper around the edges. In a shop full of spells and stories, two first-years circle the weight of names, expectations, and the things they're not ready to say out loud. She doesn't give him her name. He doesn't press. It's not trust. It's not safety. But it's something. And when he walks away, Hallie is left with her books, her breath, and the quiet decision that he doesn't get to decide who she is.

Chapter 11: The Wand Chooses

Notes:

Chapter Summary in the end notes as always. Keeping it consistent.

Thank you for reading! Chapter 12 sees Hallie safely through the barrier at Platform 9 3/4. I can't wait to publish it next week.

Comments are always welcome! I always read everyone's comments and will do my best to respond as well! Let me know what you think of Olivander? Or of Hagrid so far? I love being able to share this with you all!

Strange, how a day could change shape—like it had been holding its breath, waiting for her to notice.

 

She had a trunk now. Books. A name she had left unspoken. And one last thing left to choose—or to be chosen by.

 

The wand shop was nestled between two quiet buildings like it had always been waiting. It didn’t look like much from the outside. But as Hallie stepped inside, it felt less like entering a room and more like stepping into a story that had already been waiting for her to arrive.

 

The door swung shut behind her with a sound like a held breath.

 

The shop was narrow, and taller than it first appeared. Boxes stretched all the way to the ceiling in crooked towers, each marked in faded ink. Mahogany, ash, yew. Phoenix feather. Unicorn hair. Dragon heartstring. The air smelled of wood shavings and ozone, like the sky just before a storm.

 

She didn’t move. Even the floor creaked softly under her shoes, like it was asking her to tread more gently.

 

Hagrid squeezed in behind her practically on his knees, still ducking his head beneath the low door frame. “Mr. Ollivander’ll see to you,” he said softly. “Best wandmaker in the world. Been doing it since before I was born.”

 

She had the oddest sense that something had just turned to look at her—even though nothing moved. Then a voice came from the shadows.

 

“Ah,” said Mr. Ollivander, in a voice that was both kind and unsettling. “Yes. Yes, I thought we might be seeing you soon.”

 

A flicker of surprise and alarm passed through her as the figure stepped from between shelves—pale, fine-featured, with silvery eyes that seemed to see backward in time.

 

Hallie glanced sideways at Hagrid.

 

“Hallie Potter,” Ollivander said gently, and not like a question.

 

She flinched a little.

 

“Your mother’s wand,” he murmured, already turning toward a shelf, “was ten and a quarter inches long. Willow. Excellent for charm work. Graceful. Thoughtful. Your father’s—mahogany. Eleven inches. Powerful wand, very good for transfiguration. A little more… headstrong.”

 

Thoughtful. Headstrong . A quietly powerful yearning weaved through her heart. Her breath shuddered on the way in and caught behind a jagged wall of ice.

 

He looked back at her, eyes like moonlight through glass. “I remember them well.”

 

She didn’t speak. Her throat felt too small.

 

Ollivander tilted his head, birdlike. “Oh yes. I remember every wand I’ve ever sold—and every wand still waiting.”

 

“Well then,” he said, changing tone so briskly Hallie feared she had whiplash, “let’s begin.”

 

He flicked his wand, and a slender tape measure leapt into the air beside her.

 

“Which is your wand arm?”

 

“Right,” she said automatically, and the tape measure got to work—whipping around her wrists, from shoulder to fingertip, then elbow to floor, knee to armpit, even the distance between her nostrils. Ollivander wasn’t watching it. He was watching her.

 

When the tape snapped back into a tight coil and vanished, he murmured, “Now the real work.”

 

Hallie swallowed.

 

He stepped closer, his gaze flicking across her like he was reading more than her face—like he was reading her story . “We shall try a few things, shall we? No use guessing. The wand chooses the wizard—or the witch—as it always has.”

 

He pulled a narrow box from a high stack and handed it to her. “Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Supple. Give it a wave.”

 

Hallie held it awkwardly. It didn’t feel wrong, exactly—but it didn’t feel like anything. She gave it a cautious flick.

 

A vase exploded in the corner.

 

“No, no,” Ollivander murmured, already halfway up a ladder.

 

More boxes followed. Vine and unicorn hair. A shower of blue sparks. Walnut and phoenix feather. A puff of smoke. A wand that whistled like a kettle. Another that made Hagrid’s beard stand on end. Each one felt like a borrowed coat—too loose or too tight or simply not hers.

 

“I don’t think they want me,” Hallie said, half-joking, half-dreading.

 

“Nonsense,” Ollivander said, but he paused. Looked at her again—closer this time. Not with suspicion. With wonder.

 

He reached slowly toward a tucked-away corner, where a thin, dust-covered box sat alone. The velvet was older. The label almost unreadable.

 

He opened it with reverent caution.

 

“Holly and phoenix feather,” he said, voice almost reverent. “Eleven inches. Nice and supple.”

 

He didn’t say who it was for. He simply offered it to her.

 

Hallie reached for the wand.

 

As her fingers closed around it, warmth bloomed in her palm—slow at first, like a struck match that didn’t burn, but filled her with light.

 

A breeze stirred through the shop, though the air had been still. One or two boxes rattled. The light changed.

 

Ollivander exhaled, just a breath. “Oh… oh, how curious.”

 

Hallie stared at the wand in her hand. It didn’t buzz or spark or flare. It simply felt… right. Like an answer she hadn’t known she’d asked.

 

“What’s curious?” Hagrid asked, stepping forward.

 

Ollivander didn’t look away from Hallie. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. The phoenix whose feather is in your wand… gave another. Just one other.”

 

Hallie stared into odd silvery eyes and they watched her right back.

 

“And that wand,” Ollivander went on, voice low and thoughtful, “was the one that gave you that scar.”

 

The wand didn’t shake. She didn’t drop it. She didn’t speak. She just… stood there . Like the floor might give way, or like it already had and she hadn’t noticed yet.

 

Silence.

 

Her stomach flipped. Heat and pressure gathered behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth.

 

Not just the man who gave her the scar. The man who took the only family that might have loved her.

 

Something strong was surfacing in her. Grief, maybe. Or rage. Or something more dangerous than either, simmering just beneath. Like a sunburn on her heart. Uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.

 

Her fingers curled tighter around the wand handle. The warmth didn’t fade.

 

She could feel the shop watching her. Waiting.

 

His wand and hers shared something. Her thoughts slowed, circling inward—like a storm eye settling into stillness. She shared something with her Aunt too. Blood. Familial connection. Maybe this wand felt for its brother what she felt for her own blood.

 

No force tried to take the wand. No warning came.

 

No one said she couldn’t keep it.

 

Then she straightened her spine.

 

She’d been claimed in a way she’d never been before.

 

“I think I’ll keep this one,” she said with quiet resolution.

 

Ollivander blinked, then nodded. “Yes. I daresay you will.”

 

He studied her for a moment longer, eyes unreadable.

 

“It is rare,” he murmured, “for brother wands to meet in the world. When they do, the results are… unpredictable.”

 

Hallie didn’t ask what that meant. She didn’t want prophecy. She wanted choice.

 

She turned to Hagrid. He was grinning, pride alight in his eyes. A different kind of warmth unfurled in her—steadier, safer. His quiet support lifted her, anchored her. She was confident in her choice.

 

And the wand in her hand didn’t tremble. It hummed. Not a vibration. Something deeper. Firm. Certain in its choice.

The day had changed shape.

So had she.

 

She’d bent and stretched—then set into something new.

Someone real.

And her wand had seen her.

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

One last stop. One last choice—except it’s not really hers to make.
The wand chooses the witch, and Hallie isn’t sure what that means until something finally fits.
What she doesn’t expect is what it shares… or what that says about her.
She has been claimed by a wand. She claims the wand. She claims herself.
She takes her identity into her own hands and begins to trust herself with it.

Chapter 12: The Brick Wall Is Mere Smoke

Summary:

Chapter summary in end notes.

Thank you for reading! This chapter was a quiet turning point—small on the surface, huge underneath.

I'd love to hear your thoughts! What did you think of Hallie's unexpected ride to Kings Cross? Was Mrs. Fig a pleasant surprise? Was there a line or a moment that stayed with you? What do you think the brick wall meant to Hallie—emotionally, symbolically?

Comments, thoughts, theories, or just reactions are welcome! I read them all, and they make my day. And I love responding to them while carefully keeping future reveals from bleeding into my excitement.

Hedwig had come near the end of their day in Diagon Alley—after the wand, the books, and everything else Hallie still couldn’t believe she was allowed to have.

 

Hagrid had bought her the owl without asking. He’d just handed her the box—white wings tucked beneath soft straw, amber eyes blinking calmly up at her—and said, “Every witch needs a good post owl. Smart one, she is.”

 

Hallie hadn’t known what to say. Not properly. Not even thank you. But the owl hadn’t seemed to mind. She’d tilted her head, studying Hallie like she already knew her, and Hallie had stared back and felt something settle.

 

She named her Hedwig. A name she’d found in A History of Magic. It sounded ancient. Kind. Like it belonged to someone who watched over others.

 

She’d spent as much time as she could with her nose in her books.

 

Now, on her last morning at Privet Drive, Hedwig was the only one awake with her. Hallie had seen to it by waking much earlier than the Dursleys.

 

The cupboard was cool and quiet. The street outside, still empty. Hallie sat cross-legged beside her half-packed trunk, gently tightening the latch on Hedwig’s cage. The owl gave a soft, sleepy hoot, then tucked her head under one wing.

 

Hallie rested her hand on the top of the cage.

 

“We’re leaving today,” she whispered.

 

She got dressed quickly—jeans, trainers, the least-wrinkled shirt she owned. Everything else was packed. Her wand was wrapped safely in an old sock and tucked deep in the trunk. She touched the envelope in her jacket pocket again. The ticket inside felt like a promise of freedom—or proof that this was indeed real.

 

Then she stood in the tiny square of space and took one last look around.

 

No pictures. No signs she’d ever lived here, really.

 

Just the folded blanket on the shelf, a cup for toothbrushes.

 

The outline of a once-spider in the corner.

 

She opened the cupboard door.

 

No one noticed.

 

She had her trunk and owl out the door like a ghost in the early dawn. There’d be no opportunity for the Dursleys to lock her in now. She hadn’t believed for a moment they’d be willing to take her anywhere. She’d been surprised they’d even given her the cupboard back as a bedroom when she returned from Diagon Alley.

 

Her best shot, as far as she was concerned, was to ask a neighbor if they might take her to King’s Cross. But even as she stepped out into the early light, dragging her trunk behind her, she had no idea how to begin that conversation.

 

She didn’t have to.

 

“Hallie?” a voice called softly across the street. “Is that you?”

 

She turned. There, at the gate of Number Seven, stood Mrs. Fig, wrapped in a knitted shawl despite the warmth in the air, her hair done up in the same careful curlers she always wore when putting out milk for the cats.

 

Hallie blinked. “Um—yes?”

 

Mrs. Fig squinted, then nodded with finality. “Knew it. I’ve been watching all morning. Thought you might try to take the train on your own.”

 

Hallie’s mouth parted. “I—how did you know—?”

 

But Mrs. Fig was already walking toward her, steps surprisingly quick. “I’ve known more than I’ve let on.”

 

She went on muttering, mostly to herself. “The blood wards have cracks, I can feel them. Someone had to be watching.”

 

“Now, no time for all that. You’ve got a train to catch and I’ve got my cousin’s old vehicle with enough fuel for this noble journey.”

 

“You have a car?”

 

“I do today,” Mrs. Fig said grimly. Her eyes twinkled. “Let’s get your things in the boot. You can hold the owl on your lap.”

 

She gave a sniff. “Better company than most.”

 

 

The car smelled faintly of talcum powder and sardines, and one of the back windows wouldn’t roll up all the way. But Hallie didn’t care. With her trunk wedged in beside her and Hedwig’s cage balanced between her knees, she stared out of the window as the rows of houses blurred into the motorway.

 

Mrs. Fig talked the whole way, mostly to herself, muttering about “Minerva’s bright ideas” and “how the Ministry ought to pay for petrol, at the very least,” but her tone was cheerful and brisk.

 

Hallie caught Hedwig’s eye more than once—ruffling her feathers or blinking slowly, with more presence than Dudley had ever managed.

 

Mrs. Fig caught Hallie’s eye in the mirror as the car slowed. “I’ve… kept an eye out over the years.” Her voice had softened, like she was looking after an injured cat. Something in the words held more truth than their size suggested.

 

“You’ll do fine, Hallie,” she said as they came to a full stop on a bustling London street. “I’ve got to go. Dumbledore won’t want me spotted.”

 

Hallie swallowed. She hadn’t expected any of this. Certainly not from Mrs. Fig, who had seemed a simple cat obsessed neighbor. A convenient place for the Dursley’s to store Hallie during their family outings.

 

“I… thanks,” her voice came out soft, smaller than she’d meant it to.

 

Mrs. Fig reached across the gearshift and gave her hand a quick, papery squeeze. “Go on. It would be best if you didn’t tell anyone about me.”

 

With that mysterious dismissal—and a struggling minute of hauling her trunk from the car—Hallie started toward King’s Cross Station.

 

 

The main concourse of King’s Cross was a rushing mess of noise and movement. Hallie had never been here before. She followed the signs to platforms nine and ten, eyes wide, pulling her trolley with both hands. Hedwig gave a quiet hoot, as if she, too, found the place overwhelming.

 

Of course there were no signs for nine and three-quarters. Just a brick pillar and the old, tight question curling in her chest.

 

She stopped between the platforms, staring at the wall.

 

Where was she supposed to go?

 

She didn’t dare try platforms nine or ten. But…

 

“Oh dear.” A plump woman with bright red hair appeared at her side.

 

Hallie blinked her into view with relief. The woman was surrounded by an explosion of children and trolleys—all redheaded, all laughing or bickering, all faintly magical in a way Hallie couldn’t explain.

 

Could she ask to follow them? Would that be allowed?

 

“First year, I assume? Ron’s just starting as well.” There was a warmth in the woman that Hallie didn’t know what to do with.

 

“I—yes,” Hallie said, a little breathlessly. “I don’t—how do you—?”

 

The woman smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, dear. Happens every year. Just walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Bit of a run helps if you’re nervous. Come along with my lot.”

 

What looked like the oldest boy, with horn-rimmed glasses and a badge on his chest, gave her a nod. “I’m Percy,” he said importantly. “I’ll go first.” He turned to the woman. “Mum, the Prefects are supposed to help with order. I need to run.”

 

There was a snort from two identical boys who had been whispering to each other. They grinned.

 

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?”

 

“We had no idea!”

 

“Shut up,” the bespectacled boy snapped, then pushed his trolley briskly—and vanished through the wall. He was there, and then… gone.

 

One by one the others followed: the twins laughing, a small girl staring wistfully after them, and finally a red-haired boy just a little taller than Hallie, who looked about as unsure as she felt.

 

“Go on, Ron,” the woman said, giving him a quick hug.

 

He disappeared too.

 

The woman turned to Hallie again. “Your turn now, dear.”

 

Hallie gripped the handle of her trolley. The wall loomed—brick and mortar, immovable. She tightened her grip. Images flashed behind her eyes: smacking into the very solid-looking barrier, the attention it would draw, the trouble she might be in.

 

“You’ll do fine,” the woman said softly behind her.

 

Somehow, Hallie believed her.

 

She took a breath, leaned in, and walked straight toward the brick.

 

It didn’t stop her.

 

The solid wall was only as dense as vapor or smoke.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

Her trunk is packed. Her wand fits her hand. Hedwig watches quietly from her cage.

Hallie doesn't say goodbye to the Dursleys.

But she doesn't leave alone. A quiet neighbour, an owl with knowing eyes, and the ghost of belief accompany her.

The world is waiting. All she has to do is walk through a wall that was never really there.

Chapter 13: Chaotic Grace

Notes:

Chapter Summary in End Notes:

Thanks for reading to Chapter 13! Hope this one brought a smile to your face. What do you think of Fred and George? I had a blast writing for them! I really wanted to capture Hallie's mix of awe, nerves, and the subtle shift when someone offers unexpected kindness. Let me know how I did!

Have you ever had a moment where someone's kindness changed the course of your day (or life)? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!

The first thing Hallie noticed after stepping through the wall was the steam—thick clouds around her feet, curling like ghosts along the platform, hugging her ankles and rising around the wheels of the scarlet engine.

 

The scarlet engine hissed through the mist, its golden nameplate gleaming: Hogwarts Express .

 

Her breath escaped in one quiet rush—she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.

 

The air smelled of coal smoke, metal, and something sweeter underneath—like caramel and old parchment.

 

Hallie stared up at the school train, blinking against the heat, the noise, and the sheer weight of magic in the air.

 

Witches and wizards were everywhere—hugging goodbyes, dragging trunks, cramming cages of squawking owls into compartments. She stood frozen, one hand on her trolley, unsure how she’d manage the trunk—or where she was even supposed to go.

 

“Need a hand with that?” said a voice behind her, just before two pairs of hands grabbed either side of her trunk.

 

Hallie jumped. “Oh—wait, you don’t have to—”

 

“Too late,” said one of the red-haired boys, already tilting the trunk up.

 

“Yeah, we’ve committed now,” said the other. “We’re invested. Deeply emotionally involved in your trunk’s journey.”

 

She blinked. They were twins—same height and build, with matching freckles, and identical grins. She recognized them from the barrier—laughing, teasing the boy called Percy.

 

“I—thanks,” she almost held her breath, thoroughly out of her depth.

 

“Least we could do,” said the first twin with a solemn nod. “You're a first year, right?”

 

“Let me guess,” said the second. “Muggle-raised, doesn’t know train etiquette, probably afraid we’re going to steal your books and run.”

 

Hallie blinked again. “Only a little.”

 

They laughed together.

 

“Well, we’ll have you sorted,” one said as they rolled the trunk up onto the train.

 

“Name’s Fred.”

 

“And I’m George,” said the other and then grinned. “At least, we think so.”

 

“No one’s checked in a while,” Fred added, mock-serious.

 

Hallie found herself smiling—just slightly. “I’m Hallie.”

 

They paused. Fred tilted his head.

 

“Well,” George said after a beat, “we thought you might be.”

 

“That’s not creepy,” Hallie muttered.

 

Fred grinned. “Sorry. We’ve just heard a few things. But don’t worry—we’re not the nosy sort.”

 

“Unless there’s something really juicy. In which case we’re absolutely the nosy sort.”

 

George leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was about to share a state secret. “To be honest, we weren’t sure you’d come through the barrier alone.”

 

“You didn’t?” Hallie lifted an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah,” Fred added. “Some people were betting on you showing up with a battalion of Aurors and a dramatic fanfare. Banner in the sky. Owls dropping confetti.”

 

Now both eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

 

Fred shrugged. “Wizard gossip. Gets a bit dramatic.”

 

“We don’t buy into the hype,” George said. “But still—good on you. Quiet entrance. Strong move.”

 

Hallie didn’t know what to say to that. She felt her face flush, but not in a bad way.

 

With a kind of chaotic grace, the twins hoisted the trunk onto the train, Hedwig’s cage carefully balanced between them like a fragile treasure.

 

“You’ve got a prime owl there,” Fred said, peeking in at Hedwig, who blinked regally back. “She looks like she knows more than we do.”

 

“She probably does.” Hallie surprised herself by saying it aloud.

 

The second twin snorted. “Right, one of those owls. Probably grades you on moral alignment.”

 

They stood aside as she clambered into the train after her trunk.

 

Fred gave a mock-bow. “Welcome to the Hogwarts Express , Miss Hallie.”

 

George winked. “Find yourself a good compartment. Don’t let Percy boss you around.”

 

“Unless he offers you a chocolate frog,” Fred added. “Then it's worth it.”

 

And with a quick wave, they disappeared back into the steam and chaos, leaving Hallie standing just inside the train, blinking at where they’d been.

 

For the first time that morning, the knot of nervousness in her chest began to loosen.

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:
Hallie steps through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the first time, overwhelmed by steam, noise, and weight of magic in the air. Unsure and alone she'd quickly offered help by a pair of mischievous red-haired twins—Fred and George Weasley—who take it upon themselves to welcome her to the Hogwarts Express. Through their banter and unexpected kindness, Hallie begins to relax. Her nervousness begins to ease.

Chapter 14: Quiet Brave

Notes:

Summary is in end notes.

Hey!

Time for a POV shift—this chapter is from Neville's perspective. We've seen everything from Hallie's eyes so far and I really wanted to give an outside view of how others might see and respond to her.

Neville is the heart of this series—the kind of person who quietly gives, even when no one sees it. He's going to play a larger role than he did in canon because, frankly, he deserves it.

Also: Trevor is 100% attracted to places Neville cannot reach the way a niffler is attracted to shiny things. No, he will not be returning that quill. XD

I hope this chapter gives you a safter space to land. Let me know what resonated for you!

Neville’s POV

Neville Longbottom gripped Trevor tightly, hoping the toad wouldn’t lunge from his hands again. The Hogwarts Express was louder than he’d expected—clanking and rumbling like it was alive, and just a bit annoyed. The compartments were packed with students laughing like they already knew everything and everyone.

 

He didn’t.

 

He’d already lost Trevor once. Then twice. The third time, he’d just spotted a familiar face—the girl from the apothecary.

 

She was alone, sitting in a nearly empty compartment near the back of the train. Her forehead rested against the glass—eyes distant, like she’d rather be anywhere else. He hesitated in the doorway, clutching Trevor like a lifeline.

 

“Sorry—oh. It’s you,” he blurted.

 

She turned. Blinked. “It’s me,” she echoed, dry as ever.

 

That made him smile—nervous, but real. “I’m Neville. Again. Just in case.”

 

She gave a small nod. “Still not telling you my name,” she said, that flat, funny tone landing again. It startled a laugh out of him.

 

She closed her eyes. Just for a second—but long enough for Neville to see it. She hadn’t expected him to laugh.

 

He hid a wince and turned to leave when she gestured to the seat. “You can sit. If you want.”

 

Neville slid in carefully, placing Trevor on his lap. The toad remained still, his eyes half-lidded in a way that suggested either sleep or deep judgment.

 

“I, um… lost him again,” Neville said. “Trevor. He doesn’t like trains.”

 

“Neither do I,” the girl said. “Too much metal. Feels like being sealed in a tin.”

 

Neville nodded. “Or a cauldron.”

 

The quiet that followed didn’t feel awkward. It felt like the sort of space you could breathe in—something he wasn’t used to.

 

After a while, he found himself talking again.

 

“I told my gran about the girl in the apothecary,” he said. “She asked if she was rude. I said no.”

 

The girl’s mouth twitched. “Is that the best thing you could say?”

 

“No,” Neville said. “I also said you didn’t flinch.”

 

She looked at him then. Really looked. He didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. He’d noticed. The way she had watched the room, cautious and quiet—but she’d stood there anyway. Just like he had.

 

The train clacked forward.

 

Perhaps she was afraid of saying the wrong thing too. Neville understood that silence—the kind that felt safer than speaking.

 

“My name’s Hallie.”

 

It felt like a key turning in the space between them. Like something locked had just clicked open.

 

Neville blinked. Then smiled, slow and solid. “Nice to meet you, Hallie.”

 

She leaned back into her seat. “Nice to meet you too.”

 

Trevor shifted slightly. Neville ran his thumb gently across his back, grateful for the familiar weight.

 

“Did you pack your own trunk?” Hallie asked suddenly.

 

He looked up. “Yeah. Gran supervised. Said I was only allowed one frog-related item. Apparently I pushed the line for an appropriate level of frog.”

 

Hallie gave a quiet laugh, and it landed soft in his chest.

 

“Do toads count?”

 

“She doesn’t know the difference.”

 

That earned a smile—not big, but real. He felt oddly proud.

 

She pulled out a creased paper and started unfolding it. Her fingers were ink-smudged and methodical. Neville tilted his head.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“My list,” she said. “Things I might need. I started it before we went to Diagon Alley.”

 

He nodded. “I made one too. Mostly things I wanted to remember not to forget. Socks, mostly.”

 

“Socks are important.”

 

“Essential,” he agreed.

 

She was still looking at the list. “I didn’t know what half of it meant. Like—what even is a phial?”

 

Neville perked up. “Glass bottle. Small. For holding stuff like essence of dittany or—um, other things you don’t want leaking.”

 

“Sounds like the potion shop again.”

 

He smiled. “Always comes back to potions.”

 

There was a pause. Then, softly:

 

“I liked that place,” she said. “It felt… like it didn’t mind if you didn’t know everything yet.”

 

Neville’s chest warmed. “Gran says it smells awful, but I think it smells like being left alone in a good way.”

 

She looked at him.

 

“That’s a good way to smell,” she said.

 

They watched the hills roll by. The sky was shifting. Soft lavender pressing at the edges.

 

“Did you know anybody before this?” Hallie asked.

 

He shook his head. “No. Not really. Gran’s friends, but they’re all old and smell like peppermint and dragon polish.”

 

There was a pause long enough to feel like truth was about to arrive.

 

“Me neither,” Hallie said, voice low.

 

Neville leaned forward before he lost his nerve.

 

“We could… I mean, if you want… we could not know anyone together.”

 

She turned to look at him. There was no teasing in her face, just something quiet and honest.

 

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

A smile broke across Neville’s face—small, simple, full.

 

Trevor stirred, rolled off his lap, and vanished under the bench.

 

“Third time today,” he muttered.

 

Hallie bit back a grin. “Still only one frog-related item.”

 

“Barely.”

 

They both ducked under the seat, knees bumping. Neville tried to coax Trevor out with the edge of his school list, the parchment flopping uselessly. Hallie’s hair was in her eyes, her shoulder wedged against the compartment wall.

 

“He always does this,” Neville muttered. “I swear he’s part Niffler. Attracted to places I can’t reach.”

 

“I think I see a leg,” Hallie said, peering farther. “Or maybe that’s a quill.”

 

“Could be both. He’s not picky.”

 

The door slid open with a thump.

 

“Er—sorry—didn’t think anyone was—blimey.”

 

Neville sat up too fast, hitting his head on the seat. Stars burst behind his eyes.

 

“Sorry!” said the red-haired boy at the door, holding a sandwich in one hand and a rat in the other. “Are you two… under the seats?”

 

“We’re looking for his toad,” Hallie said.

 

The boy blinked. “You lost your toad under there? That’s a rubbish pet, isn’t it?”

 

Neville flushed. “He’s not rubbish. He’s just… energetic.”

 

The rat squeaked once. The boy walked in anyway.

 

“Well, this one’s useless too. Sleeps all day. Bites when he’s awake. Name’s Scabbers.”

 

He held up the rat like it meant something.

 

“Congratulations?” Hallie said, deadpan.

 

Neville blinked at her. She had a way of saying things that made people pause. It impressed him more than it probably should.

 

“You lot first-years too?” the boy asked.

 

“Yeah,” Neville said.

 

Hallie nodded. “Still chasing the toad.”

 

The boy offered to help. Neville wasn’t sure if he liked him—but he didn’t dislike him, either. So he shrugged.

 

The boy introduced himself as Ron Weasley, then dove under the bench like it was a game.

 

Right then, Trevor launched himself out—hit Ron square in the chest and bounced into Hallie’s lap.

 

“Told you he’s energetic,” Neville said proudly.

 

Hallie scooped him up, handed him back. “You might want to tie a bell to him.”

 

Ron blinked. “That was the weirdest start to a school year I’ve ever had.”

 

Hallie gave him an odd look. “It’s the first one you’ve had at this school.”

 

He laughed, slightly awkward, and looked away. “Yeah. Good point.”

 

Hallie didn’t say anything. Neville got the sense she was used to people looking away.

 

“I’m Neville,” he said, brushing dust from his robes.

 

“Hallie,” she said, tucking her hair behind one ear.

 

Ron’s eyes widened. “Wait—Hallie? As in… lightning bolt scar, saved-the-world Hallie?”

 

She winced then sighed, “unfortunately.”

 

She showed him the scar. He stared. Then apologized.

 

“It’s fine,” she said. And she sounded like she mostly meant it.

 

Ron, to his credit, didn’t ask again.

 

—

 

When the trolley came, Ron ordered like someone who’d been planning his snacks since birth. Neville got some jelly slugs and Drooble’s. Hallie didn’t buy anything, and Neville thought she looked kind of… embarrassed.

 

So later, when Ron offered her a Cauldron Cake, Neville noticed how she almost didn’t catch it—like surprise was louder than thanks.

 

He looked away, pretending not to notice. But he tucked the moment away thoughtfully.

 

When Ron asked about Houses, Neville told them what Gran thought—how he might be in Gryffindor, like his dad.

 

He didn’t say more than that. Just my dad, not my parents. Even though they’d both been heroes.

 

He thought about them a lot.

 

His dad used to make portkeys out of rubbish in the house, just to practice. Gran said he once turned her teacup into a portkey by mistake, and she ended up halfway to Cardiff.

 

Mum used to charm the sugar bowl to sing lullabies.

 

He didn’t remember that, not really. But Gran had told the stories so many times that sometimes it felt like he did. Like he almost remembered the songs.

 

“They used to duel in the living room,” he said aloud, not quite meaning to.

 

“Your parents?” Ron looked up.

 

He nodded. “Gran said it was better than watching the telly. She said it’s one of the few times my dad lost at anything. Said it was good for him.”

 

Ron swallowed a mouthful. “Were they Aurors?”

 

Neville nodded. “Yeah. They—”

 

He caught Hallie watching him, head tilted—not prying, but present.

 

Neville nodded. “They were,” he said again. “They were really good at it.”

 

And then he felt it—that familiar prickle. Like Gran’s voice was just behind him, saying Your father got Outstanding in everything. Top of his class.

 

Neville looked down at Trevor, who blinked up at him like he knew secrets too.

 

“I’m not like them,” he added, softly. “But I think… I’d like to be.”

 

Trevor stirred again, warm and grounding in his lap. Maybe he could be like them. But he could only start where he was.

 

Hallie didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, her voice was calm and quiet.

 

“You talk about them like you remember.”

 

He looked at her. “I don’t. Not really. But Gran told me stories. So I filled in the rest. You kind of have to, when… when you lose them young.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he should have said that.

 

But Hallie didn’t flinch.

 

She nodded once. “Yeah,” she said. “You do.”

 

That was all. No pity, no questions. Just understanding.

 

And that… that was better than anything else.

 

Ron was flipping through a ratty copy of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle , clearly unsure how to handle the weight of the conversation. Neville didn’t blame him. Not everyone knew what to do when things got quiet for the wrong reasons.

 

“So,” Ron said after a minute, “what House do you think you’ll be in?”

 

Neville shifted. “Gran thinks I should be in Gryffindor,” he said. “My dad was.” Then he scratched Trevor’s back and added, more to himself, “I’m not brave like that. Not the loud kind of brave. More like… quiet brave. If that’s a thing.”

 

“It is,” Hallie said.

 

He glanced at her.

 

She looked down for a second, then back at him.

 

“I think that’s the only kind of brave that actually means something,” she added.

 

Neville felt his chest tighten—not in a bad way. Just enough to know something had landed and stuck.

 

Hallie didn’t say much. Just what mattered—and somehow, it made the air easier.

 

Ron looked between them. “I dunno. I just hope I’m not in Slytherin. My brothers would never let me live it down.”

 

“Same,” Neville said. “Gran would probably faint.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Hallie said. “As long as I don’t end up somewhere… fake.”

 

Neville smiled. “I don’t think there’s any chance of you being fake.”

 

She looked like she had something sharp to say, but instead just smirked faintly and turned back to the window. The sky outside was turning gold at the edges, long shadows stretching across the hills.

 

Trevor burrowed a little closer into his robes, and Neville thought he could feel his heart slow a bit. He was still nervous. Of course he was. He’d probably trip on the stairs the moment they got off the train. Maybe even lose Trevor again. Maybe the Sorting Hat would take one look at him and say, Better luck next time.

 

But… this was okay. Sitting here, with Hallie and Ron and Trevor. It was better than he’d expected.

 

The train gave a soft jolt as it curved around a hill. Trevor shifted again, warm and heavy on Neville’s lap.

 

It was—

 

pleasant.

 

Company, quiet and warm in the middle of a rattling train.

 

And for someone like Neville, that was more than enough.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

Neville didn't expect the Hogwarts Express to feel like a test, or for the toad to be the only thing grounding him, so much for that as he's already lost Trevor twice. But then there's the girl from the apothecary, a quiet seat near the window, and the kind of company that doesn't mind silence.

Sometimes not knowing anyone is the best place to start.

Soon a boy and a rat bring a lively energy to the compartment.

Chapter 15: In Case You Didn't Know

Notes:

Chapter Summary in the end notes.

The train is slowing, and something ahead has already made space for her. Hallie's POV returns and she meets Hermione Granger. I enjoyed writing Hermione into this scene as Hallie is a girl, so it instantly creates a different dynamic than Harry from Canon. This chapter is about the quiet before everything changes. How did this Hermione land for you? Any favourite little interaction or line? What would you have brought or bought as a train snack?

Sorting next chapter! I've been excited about chapter 16 since I published the first chapter of this fic and I'm looking forward to sharing that with you next week.

I'm eager for comments, impressions, thoughts for any chapter that sparks something in you.

The train had settled into a kind of rhythm, clack-clack, clack-clack —rocking them gently toward whatever came next.

 

Ron was halfway through his second Cauldron Cake. Trevor was somehow asleep with his eyes open. Hallie had started folding the Cauldron Cake wrapper into the shape of a toad, just to see if she could. No one spoke much, but it didn’t feel like silence—it felt like something peaceful, and waiting.

 

Then the compartment door slid open with the kind of purposeful energy that didn’t believe in knocking.

 

“I saw you while I was passing,” said a girl, already halfway inside.

 

Her brown hair  frizzed at the edges—static, stress, or maybe the sheer force of her will. Her expression was earnest, her eyes scanning the room like a checklist.

 

“You’ve got to start changing into your uniforms,” she said briskly, brushing imaginary lint from her sleeve. “We’ll be at the school in less than half an hour—did no one tell you?”

 

Ron blinked, mouth full. “What?”

 

“You’re meant to be dressed in your school robes when we arrive.” Her voice had a slightly forced sharpness that made Hallie flinch internally. “Honestly, didn’t you read any of your letters?”

 

Ron swallowed hastily. “Was going to change in a bit. Who are you?”

 

“Hermione Granger,” she said, already turning toward Hallie. “And you’d better get to it.”

 

Hallie’s fingers curled unconsciously around her sleeve.

 

“Do you want to change in my compartment?” she asked, quiet but certain. “There’s space. And I figured you might not want to… you know.”

 

The girl’s voice faltered just slightly, but Hallie caught the meaning. She glanced between Neville and Ron—neither of whom looked at her like they expected anything—but her stomach still curled tight in that old familiar way.

 

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “That’d be good. Thanks.”

 

The girl nodded, a little businesslike. “Hurry.”

 

Hallie climbed onto the bench to grab her robes from her trunk. “Be right back,” she told the boys.

 

Neville gave her a thumbs-up like she was about to take an exam. Ron offered her the last bite of his Cauldron Cake. “You’ll be back before we hit the lake,” he promised.

 

Hallie followed Hermione out, letting the door slide shut behind them with a soft thunk . The corridor was narrower than she remembered, the train tilting gently beneath her feet.

 

“Your name is—” Hermione began.

 

“Hallie.”

 

“I know,” Hermione said before she could stop herself. Then, hurriedly: “It’s in the books. I mean—your name is.”

 

Hallie looked down at the floor. Something about Hermione’s boldness made her feel like shrinking, just a little.

 

“Thanks,” she said, after a pause. “For the save.”

 

Hermione shrugged. “It’s just what’s proper.”

 

But her voice had softened. Less like a list. More like an invitation.

 

Hallie relaxed—fractionally.

 

They reached the compartment. Hallie changed quickly, but not before Hermione stepped in to help her adjust the robes—her grip equal parts direct and anxious. 

 

The other girls in the compartment didn’t say anything. They sat together, twin silhouettes with dark eyes, neat as dolls and just as unreadable. One leaned in to whisper something, her gaze flicking toward Hallie.

 

Hallie felt the words even if she didn’t hear them. She curled fingers into her sleeves and looked down.

 

“I should get back,” she murmured. “The boys are probably wondering…”

 

Hermione straightened, just a little. “Yes. Of course.”

 

But she didn’t move.

 

Instead: “Are they… nice?”

 

Hallie blinked. “Neville and Ron?”

 

Hermione nodded once—too precisely.

 

“They’re good,” Hallie said slowly. “Not too loud. A little strange.”

 

Hermione exhaled. “Strange I can handle.”

 

She looked so uncertain, guarded, and yet… yearning.

 

Hallie considered that. “You could sit with us. If you wanted.”

 

The decision surprised even her.

 

Hermione looked startled. “Oh. I thought you’d rather… well, I didn’t think you’d want…”

 

Hallie saw the reflection of her own doubts in Hermione’s unfinished sentence.

 

Hermione stopped, cleared her throat, and stood straighter. “I suppose… if there’s room.”

 

Hallie opened the compartment door. Hermione followed—not beside her, not behind. Just close enough.

 

“Just so you know,” Hermione added, already speeding up again, “I’ve read all the textbooks. Twice. If you want to borrow any—”

 

“I’d like that,” Hallie interrupted.

 

Hermione blinked. Then smiled—awkwardly, like she wasn’t used to people saying yes so easily.

 

Hallie was starting to suspect Hermione’s bossiness was a shield. She wondered if Hermione even knew it herself.

 

Inside the compartment, Ron was trying to prove Scabbers could do a backflip if you held him upside down and sneezed. Neville was watching, fascinated.

 

Hermione’s face pinched. “You shouldn’t do that to a rat.”

 

Ron looked up, startled. “Didn’t think you were coming back with her.”

 

“She invited me,” Hermione said, carefully folding herself into the seat by the window like she belonged there.

 

Hallie sat across from her, knees brushing Neville’s. He gave her a quiet look that said, we’re glad you came back .

 

She hadn’t expected to feel relief. But it settled in anyway—warm and quiet. The kind of ease that arrived before you noticed it.

 

A strange little shape was forming around her.

 

Ron raised an eyebrow. “This gonna be a full house, then?”

 

Hermione sniffed. “Better than a noisy one.”

 

“You have met us, right?” Ron muttered to Neville, who snorted.

 

The train rolled on. The light outside had softened—amber on the hills. Inside, the four of them bumped up against each other’s corners, testing how they fit.

 

Hallie leaned her head back against the window. The glass was warm from the sun.

 

She didn’t have a word for this yet.

 

But it felt—almost—like belonging.

Just as Ron launched into a story about his brother setting off fireworks in the middle of Charms class, the corridor lights flickered.

 

“Almost there,” Hermione said, glancing out the window.

 

The sky had deepened to lavender, mountains rising sharp and dark beyond the glass. Somewhere ahead, the train began to slow—the clatter of the wheels drawing inward, like a held breath.

 

Hallie’s own breath was the same: a quiet bundle of nerves and wonder, wrapped in something steadier.

 

She sat up straighter. There was a shift in the air. As if the world ahead had already noticed her coming.

 

She took a deep steadying breath.

 

Ron was stuffing Scabbers into his pocket. Neville checked Trevor for the third time in two minutes. Hermione was straightening everyone’s collars, whether they asked or not.

 

Hallie caught her reflection in the darkening glass. There was something different in her eyes.

 

Something just a bit… magical.

 

Maybe she did belong here, after all.

 

She didn’t know much—not yet. But she was learning. About wands. About robes. About names.

 

And about how it felt to return to a seat and find it had been waiting for her.

 

Then:

 

Hagrid’s voice, calling through the dark—

 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

 

Hagrid’s voice, calling again.

 

A voice that had said her name like it mattered.

 

Hallie stood tall.

 

She didn’t know what was waiting. But her name had always belonged there.

 

So she moved toward the first voice she’d ever trusted.

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

As the train nears Hogwarts, Hallie meets someone new: a brisk, opinionated girl named Hermione Granger. A small act of kindness opens a door—and for the first time, Hallie begins to feel the shape of something like belonging. The closer they get to the castle, the more it feels like her name might actually belong there, too.

Chapter 16: The House of Wanting

Notes:

Summary in end notes.

This chapter was a joy to and a challenge to write—it's such an iconic scene, but I wanted to linger in Hallie's inner world. The Sorting Hat isn't' just sorting her into a house; it's reading the whole like she's only just begun to claim as her own.

I tried to honour the original while digging deeper into Hallie's emotions—her hesitation, her hope, and her quiet kind of courage. If you connected with it or had a favourite moment or line, I'd love to hear from you in the comments. Your thoughts mean a lot and help shape Hallie's story as it's written, edited, and published each week.

What moment from the sorting stuck with you the most—and why?
If you sat under the sorting hat what would it see in you that others don't?
Do you think Hallie wanted Gryffindor or just wanted to be wanted somewhere?

Thanks so much for reading!

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

 

Hagrid’s voice rolled out through the evening light like thunder softened by distance. Hallie looked up.

 

There he was at the edge of the platform, larger than anyone else in the gathering dark, his lantern glowing amber in the mist.

 

She didn’t realize how much she’d missed him until she saw him.

 

“Hagrid,” she said under her breath.

 

He caught sight of her, and his face broke into a broad, bright grin.

 

“Well there yeh are,” he said as she reached him, lowering the lantern so his face was lit from below. “Knew yeh’d make it.”

 

Hallie blinked a few times faster than she needed to. “Thanks,” she murmured.

 

Hagrid leaned down, gently, like she was a secret worth keeping safe. “You all right?”

 

She gave a tiny nod.

 

“Good,” he said, rough, but quiet. “We’ve got boats this way. Same as I came, first time. You’ll like it.”

 

He straightened, turning to the crowding students: “Firs’ years, this way!”

 

They followed him down a sloping path, away from the train and into the gathering dark. Trees creaked softly above them, and somewhere in the distance, something hooted once, then fell silent.

 

Then the trees broke—and there it was.

 

The lake lay still as glass, silvered beneath the rising moon. Moss and chill brushed her senses. Across the black water, floating lanterns pulled Hogwarts into view—towering. Star-lit. Her future.

 

The castle rose from the rock like it had grown there. Towers and turrets casting a massive shadow in the moonlight. Windows glowed like stars. The reflection in the lake shimmered as though the sky itself had dipped down for a drink.

 

Hallie froze as the castle's towers loomed. Awe swallowed worry whole. Her future—a silhouette of stone and light—was massive. And beautiful. And hers.

 

A hush fell over the other students, even the loud ones. No one spoke. Not even Ron.

 

The boats waited at the water’s edge—little things, like wide-bottomed cups, barely bobbing in the shallows.

 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called.

 

Neville climbed into one, wobbling. Ron followed. Hermione hesitated until Hallie stepped in beside them, and then she joined without a word.

 

As soon as everyone was seated, the boats began to move.

 

No push. No paddles. Just a slow, gliding motion, like the lake itself had chosen to carry them.

 

Hallie felt the chill of the water in the air, the weight of the castle’s lights on her skin. She couldn’t look away.

 

It wasn’t just beautiful. It was… impossible.

 

And yet—it was hers now.

 

As they neared the cliff on which the castle stood, a low archway came into view: a tunnel opening in the rock, just wide enough for the boats. The lanterns followed them, glowing in the dark like fireflies.

 

The boats slipped inside, and the endless lake had an edge.

 

Candlelight danced on the water. Their boat bumped gently against the landing beneath the castle.

 

Hagrid was already there, helping them out. “Mind yer step now.”

 

Hallie followed the others up a narrow stone path that led into the cliff itself, twisting upward through cold stone and flickering torchlight.

 

Then they reached a heavy oak door, tall enough for giants. Hagrid raised one massive hand and knocked three times.

 

The sound echoed like a heartbeat.

 

The door creaked open.

 

Standing behind it was a woman in emerald-green robes and a look that could stop Draco midstep.

 

Professor McGonagall.

 

Her bun was so precise, it might have been enchanted. She gave the crowd of students a slow, sharp once-over, her gaze landing briefly—just briefly—on Hallie.

 

Hallie’s spine straightened instinctively.

 

“This way,” said McGonagall. Her voice was cool and exact.

 

They followed her through stone halls and high arches. Portraits watched them. Statues turned subtly. Everything felt vast, ancient, and *watching*.

 

They stopped just outside a great set of doors.

 

McGonagall turned. “You will now be sorted into your houses. Your house will be your family at Hogwarts. You will share classes, common rooms, and meals. Any rule-breaking will lose your house points. Outstanding conduct will earn them.”

 

Her eyes lingered on a boy picking at his sleeve. He stopped immediately.

 

“Wait here.”

 

She vanished through the doors.

 

Whispers exploded behind her.

 

“Did she say houses?”

 

“Are they going to test us?”

 

“Do you think we have to duel?”

 

“What if we fail?”

 

Hallie stood still.

 

Then—the doors opened again.

 

McGonagall reappeared. “We’re ready.”

 

She led them in.

 

---

 

The Great Hall wasn’t just grand.

 

It was divine.

 

Candles floated in the air, thousands of them, each flame flickering softly against the high, enchanted ceiling—a mirror of the twilight sky outside.

 

The stars looked close enough to touch.

 

Four long tables stretched the length of the room, each one lined with students in robes of deep house colors—scarlet, gold, blue, bronze, green, silver, yellow, black. Teachers sat at the head table on a raised dais, beneath a row of shining windows.

 

And at the front, resting on a small stool, was the most battered old hat Hallie had ever seen.

 

It sat there a moment.

 

Then it twitched.

 

Then—

 

It sang.

 

Its voice a rasp of ancient threads

 

Still holding firm and strong.

I see your thoughts, your quiet fears,

The weight you hide behind your years.

In every soul a hundred roads—

I simply show the one that knows.

 

A thousand heads have worn me well,

From those who leapt to those who fell.

I’ve seen the start of every story,

Every shade of shame and glory.

 

So listen close, both brave and shy,

For I will sort you by and by—

But not by blood, nor wealth, nor name,

Nor any loud or hollow claim.

 

To Gryffindor I send the bold,

The ones who’ll fight though nights grow cold.

Not only strength, but strength to stay—

To stand when all might run away.

 

To Hufflepuff I send the true,

The kind, the steady, just and due.

With patient hearts and loyal hands,

They shape the world in quiet strands.

 

To Ravenclaw the curious go—

The ones who seek, the ones who know.

In questions deep and riddles wide,

They chase the truth and never hide.

 

To Slytherin I send those who rise,

Who look ahead with clever eyes.

Their roots run deep, their dreams run long—

They learn to lead where others throng.

 

So do not fret, and do not fear—

I’ve sorted souls a hundred years.

For though the path may start today,

The choice begins with *what you weigh.

 

In every heart a spark, a thread,

Not just the things you’ve done or said—

But who you are beneath the skin...

Now sit, be still—let’s look within.

As the Sorting Hat fell silent, a ripple of applause rolled through the Great Hall—soft at first, then swelling like a tide as every student clapped, some cheering for favorite lines, others simply caught in the wonder of it all.

 

Then Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long scroll with crisp precision.

 

“Abbott, Hannah.”

 

A small blonde girl with nervous hands approached the stool. The hat barely touched her head before it bellowed, *“Hufflepuff!” and a table on the far right burst into applause.

 

“Bones, Susan.”

 

“Boot, Terry.”

 

“Brocklehurst, Mandy.”

 

“Brown, Lavender.”

 

Each walked forward, sat, and were sorted—some in seconds, others after long, thoughtful pauses. House tables lit up with cheer one by one.

 

Hallie tried to focus. She knew she should watch—should learn the rhythm of it—but her eyes kept drifting up to the enchanted ceiling. It mirrored the sky outside: soft indigo dusk, pricked with the first hesitant stars.

 

“Finnegan, Seamus.”

 

More names. More sorting. More cheers. Hallie barely felt the room past magic that lay thick in the air. It wasn’t stifling, it was electrifying.

 

It wasn’t until McGonagall called—

 

“Granger, Hermione”—

 

that Hallie really looked over.

 

The girl from the train stood so straight it was a wonder she didn’t topple over. Her robes were immaculate, her hair extra frizzy from the boat ride. She practically marched to the stool as if daring herself not to falter. Her hands clenched at her sides like she was walking into an exam.

 

The Sorting Hat paused for what felt like minutes—long enough that students started to glance at each other—before it cried, “Gryffindor!”

 

Hermione looked stunned—but pleased. She hurried to the table amid bright claps, several older girls patting the bench beside them as she slid in.

 

Then—

 

“Longbottom, Neville.”

 

Hallie’s attention sharpened.

 

Neville stumbled forward, one shoe slightly untied, holding Trevor like a lifeline. He sat, stiff as a board, and the Sorting Hat dropped low over his ears.

 

There was a long pause. Longer than Hermione’s.

 

Seconds stretched into minutes. Neville squirmed.

 

Then—

 

“Gryffindor!”

 

The relief on his face was immediate and unguarded. He jogged to the table as someone scooted over to make space.

 

The list rolled on.

 

“Macmillan, Ernie.”

 

“Malfoy, Draco.”

 

Hallie tensed.

 

Not far behind her Ron scoffed quietly. “Malfoy.”

 

Draco glided forward like the floor belonged to him. He didn’t sit—he settled onto the stool, chin high. The Sorting Hat had hardly brushed his head—

 

“Slytherin!”

 

There was no surprise in his face. The Slytherin table erupted into cheers and green-silver pride. Draco looked thoroughly satisfied as he walked toward them, already folding himself into place like he’d been there for years.

 

Hallie’s stomach twisted.

 

Not because she feared Slytherin—she didn’t, not exactly. But seeing him, the way he blended in, she couldn’t help feeling the uncertainty she associated with Draco bleed into the green and silver table. She could feel the quiet assumptions in the room, feel them settle like dust.

 

Ron snorted and she turned to him with a whisper. “You know him?”

 

“I know his family.” Ron said in a voice dripping with implication. “Dad says if anyone escaped prison, his father did.”

 

She barely heard the next few names.

 

They passed in a blur.

 

“Perks, Sally-Anne.”

 

Draco’s confidence lingered in the air like smoke. He was exactly where he knew he belonged.

 

Hallie couldn’t imagine that. She didn’t even know how she’d fit, let alone expect to. that level of assuredness about anything.

 

“Hufflepuff!”

 

The new information swirled but before she could ask Ron anything more Professor McGonagall called out.

 

“Potter, Hallie.”

 

The world went still.

 

Every head turned.

 

Every face tilted.

 

The silence wasn’t loud—it was waiting.

 

Hallie found her nerves shaking with the pressure of the attention.

 

She walked.

 

The stool was colder than she’d expected. The Sorting Hat dropped down over her eyes and the Great Hall vanished.

 

And a voice, quiet and old as the stone beneath the school, spoke in her ear.

 

“Ah. There you are.”

 

The Hat’s voice settled into her head like it had always been there, tucked in behind her thoughts.

 

It didn’t echo. It didn’t boom. It simply was—low and careful, like someone trying not to startle her.

 

“So much wrapped tight in you. Thought and fear and something sharper still… Not fear of what you are—but fear of what others will make of it.”

 

Hallie didn’t speak. She wasn’t even sure if she could.

 

“You’re not afraid of being seen, exactly,” the Hat murmured, thoughtful. “But you are afraid of being chosen. Not as someone—but for something.”

 

She flinched, just a little. It didn’t miss that.

 

“Yes… Yes, you’d rather vanish into a room than be pointed to as its reason for existing. Understandable. Quite.”

 

The fabric itched faintly where it touched her brow.

 

“You’ve got cunning, no doubt—clever fingers, sharp mind, quieter ambitions. You read people like rooms—watching where the weight settles, where the sharp edges are.”

 

She was holding her breath.

 

“You already know how to move carefully, how to listen for what’s meant instead of what’s said. In Slytherin, You’d find your footing fast, and you’d rise—quietly, steadily.”

 

A pause, softer now.

 

“But you didn’t come by this skill for power.”

 

Another beat gentle, but certain.

 

Hallie swallowed.

 

“You learned to stay safe. Not by muscle or bravado—by slipping into the shadows. Not provoking. Disappearing behind your own eyes.”

 

Her hand curled, just slightly, into the fabric of her robe. 

 

“You could thrive there, yes. You’d be protected. But you don’t want to live like that anymore.”

 

Hallie didn’t speak—but deep down, a shape was forming. Not a rejection of safety, but a reaching toward something.

 

The voice didn’t press. It didn’t linger. It drifted onward, as if walking slowly past other open doors.

 

“Perhaps Ravenclaw, then. Mmm. There’s hunger there. Not to outdo, not to impress—but to understand. You want to know why things work, why people are the way they are. A mind like a locked door trying to find its own key.”

 

A longer pause this time, more reflective.

 

“There’s patience in you, too. The kind that would serve Hufflepuff well. You would find company and make friends.” 

 

She felt the Hat shift slightly.

 

“I just want something real.” Shock echoed through her as she thought it and it echoed like she’d said it aloud.

 

She was seeking somewhere to belong—and be seen without demanding all of her.

 

“You endure more than you show. And there is strength in kindness—but you’ve had to carry that lesson more than you’ve been allowed to rest in it.”

 

Then, the Hat stilled. As though standing before a doorway rather than passing it.

 

“But the thread that pulls hardest is none of those.”

 

The voice gentled, almost soothing.

 

“You want to stay.”

 

Silence.

 

“Not just survive. Not just be useful. You want to be here. To be allowed to belong. That kind of wanting takes courage, child.”

 

The brim curled slightly in thought.

 

“Not the loud kind. Not the charging-into-danger kind. But the kind that keeps showing up, even when no one’s quite sure where you fit.”

 

Another pause, but not out of uncertainty.

 

“It’s the kind that tries again. The kind that dares to hope, even after everything. The kind that chooses love, though it’s never been safe. The kind that builds trust one brick at a time—even when your hands still shake. You seek justice for yourself. You have the nerve not to shrink.”

 

The Hat’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

 

“That’s not the absence of fear, child. That is courage.”

 

The words landed like truth—not new, but long-awaited.

 

“Courage, honest and steady. You stand strong when you know something to be right. Better be…”

 

Her breath caught.

 

Then:

 

“Gryffindor!”

 

The word echoed—this time aloud.

 

The Hat was lifted.

 

For a single breath, she sat frozen. The word stilled echoed in her chest like a bell rung from the inside out.

 

Then noise returned all at once—cheers and shouts, clapping from the Gryffindor table, somewhere in the middle Hermione practically bouncing in her seat.

 

Hallie blinked under the high ceiling. The air felt warmer. The room hadn’t changed. But she had.

 

She slid off the stool, legs steady, and walked toward the table lit in red and gold.

 

People were cheering her name—some curious, some eager, some just caught in the swirl of legend. She thought she heard Ron's twin brothers above it all.

 

“We got Potter! We got Potter!”

 

One spot at the table was held open without question.

 

Neville gave her a thumbs-up under the table.

 

Hermione scooted over with military precision.

 

The hall fell silent as the sorting continued and Ron joined them in Gryffindor.

 

He bounded up to the table and sat right next to Hallie. He grinned big as his brothers slapped him on the back. Then as things settled he leaned over and muttered, “Well, that’s going to be the headline tomorrow.”

 

She smiled. Just slightly.

 

She didn’t know what came next.

 

But for now—she was here.

 

Here in the house not just of courage—but of longing. Of choosing not just to stay—but to reach for more.

 

Hermione gripped Hallie’s hand. Quietly seeking an anchor in the wake of so much.

 

Hallie squeezed her hand slightly as a quiet agreement. It was an odd feeling. Odd but nice too.

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

Hallie Potter never asked to be anyone's symbol. But the Sorting Hat sees what others miss—the wanting, the weight, and the courage it takes just to stay.

Chapter 17: The Burn Behind the Eyes

Notes:

I have to apologize! I had this pretty much ready Monday but it was late in the day to post. Then Tuesday was busy and I completely sidetracked it. Today it's late to post but I owe it to you guys to get this out now that it's ready.

Summary is in end notes.

Thanks for reading! If you're here for slow-burn tension, complex emotional layers, and characters trying to figure out who they are (even when the world's already decided for them)—you're in the right place.

What do you think triggered the pain in Hallie's scar? Why do you think it happened at that moment? What do you imagine Snape is talking to Quirrell about?
If you were Hallie, would you trust Draco after this encounter? Why or why not?
Did anything in Hallie and Draco's conversation surprise you? Do you think Draco is trying to connect—or manipulate? How have you liked Hallie and Draco's encounters so far?
Please! If you would like to leave a comment I'd love to read them. I will always try to respond to each comment unless you tell me in the comment you don't want me to comment back.

(There's more to come. So much more.)

“Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak. Thank you.”

 

Dumbledore sat after his opening words and tossed his magnificent beard over his shoulder as plates all over the hall filled with food.

 

There was applause and scattered laughter. It was as if someone had opened a window and let the strangeness in.

 

The absurdity of it all tugged a faint smile from her. The headmaster’s expression was pleasant and open, his eyes glittering with humor.

 

Sitting between Ron and Hermione and across from Neville at the Gryffindor table felt like a sphere of company and mutual respect.

 

Her eyes fell on the food stretched as far as the eye could see—roast chicken, roast beef, pork chops, lamb chops. Roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, steaming gravy boats, peas glistening like emeralds, and buttery bread rolls piled high.

 

The scent hit her like a story she didn’t know she’d missed—savory, rich, and impossibly real.

 

Ron dug in instantly. Hermione reached for a napkin first, then assembled a plate like she was cataloguing a textbook—neat servings of meat, mash, peas, and a roll. Neville looked too stunned to move.

 

Hallie picked up a fork like it might disappear if she looked away.

 

She didn’t speak at first. She ate slowly and methodically, not because she wasn’t hungry—she was—but because part of her was still waiting to wake up.

 

The flavors rose like steam, filling her body and leaving a safe, contented warmth behind.

 

“Is it always like this?” she asked quietly, mostly to herself.

 

“Better,” said one of Ron’s twin brothers, having overheard. “Wait ’til dessert.”

 

She beamed, brighter and wider than she’d smiled in her whole life.

 

She had a forkful of peas raised when something caught her attention—movement, at the edge of her vision.

 

A shape.

 

No—a figure.

 

Floating.

 

She turned.

 

Hovering a few feet above the table, gliding effortlessly between the students, was a ghost.

 

Pale as smoke, translucent and pearly, he looked down at them with a vaguely sorrowful expression. Hallie startled, her fork forgotten mid-air.

 

The ghost’s feet never touched the ground. His clothes flowed behind him like underwater silk. He drifted right through a candelabra without noticing.

 

“Did—did you see—?”

 

“Nearly Headless Nick,” Hermione said, matter-of-fact. “I read about him. The Gryffindor house ghost.”

 

“Nearly—?” Neville looked a little green.

 

“Because his head’s almost off. You’ll see,” Ron said, nodding toward the older students.

 

As if on cue, the ghost gave a stately nod to the Gryffindor table. His head lolled disturbingly to one side before snapping back into place.

 

Nearly Headless Nick adjusted his ruff to hold it on more tightly.

 

Ron chuckled. “Bit grim, but my brothers say he’s alright.”

 

Other ghosts moved through the hall now—some in ruffled collars, others in armor. One passed through a stone pillar and vanished entirely.

 

“Do they always come to dinner?” Hallie asked, a dozen more questions lining up behind the first.

 

“Sometimes,” murmured Neville, trying to look interested in his food again. “I heard the Bloody Baron never talks. Except to Slytherins. And even then…”

 

Hallie’s gaze drifted to the Slytherin table.

 

Sure enough, a spectral figure loomed there—bloodstained, drifting in chains that clinked against one another like something still angry with the world.

 

None of the Slytherins looked afraid.

 

Her eyes slipped further down the table—past Malfoy, already deep in conversation with an older student—until she noticed two professors seated at the far end of the head table.

 

One was a man in a purple turban. He looked vaguely familiar—nervous, hands fidgeting, eyes flickering too fast.

 

Beside him sat someone else entirely.

 

He had long, greasy black hair. Skin the color of parchment. Robes like ink spilled into cloth.

 

And eyes—

 

Not dark. Black.

 

Sharp.

 

Watching.

 

Hallie froze.

 

Her heart banged once, hard, against her ribs.

 

He was staring at her.

 

Not just a glance. Not a curious peer. A stare like memory. Like judgment. Like something he’d seen before and hadn’t liked the first time.

 

His gaze gave nothing away. But it was not neutral.

 

“W-who’s that?” she asked, her voice hushed.

 

“Snape,” said one of the twins.

 

“Potions Master,” said the other, just as quickly.

 

“Teaches down in the dungeons.”

 

“Weird bloke.”

 

“Bit scary.”

 

Hallie swallowed.

 

Snape’s attention turned back toward Quirrell. He leaned in closer as one might for a more private conversation. Quirrell twitched, his lip, brow, and the fingers on his left hand.

 

Hallie was ready to turn her attention away.

 

But then—

 

Pain.

 

Sudden. Sharp.

 

Her world narrowed to a point behind her eyes, and then—white heat.

 

She gasped, raising a hand to her scar.

 

It throbbed. No—burned. A clean, hot line of pain, seared along every bend and turn of the old wound like metal just pulled from a fire.

 

She flinched.

 

“Hallie?” Hermione asked, noticing her movement.

 

“I—I’m fine. Just—”

 

She couldn’t finish.

 

Her breath came shallow. Her hand pressed harder to her forehead.

 

The pain didn’t pulse. It roared—silent, but absolute. Like something behind her eyes had woken up too fast—and wrong.

 

Her heart pounded—not with fear, but the feeling of being targeted.

 

Like something had turned to look at her—and seen too much.

 

She heard Hermione distantly. “Should we get someone?”

 

Hallie looked up.

 

Snape had turned away—toward Quirrell, who flinched like the air between them had changed.

 

That’s when the pain began to fade.

 

Not all at once. Slowly. Like heat bleeding off a cooling sword.

Hallie let her palm fall from her brow, but the sensation remained—like smoke in the wake of flame.

 

She didn’t know if it was coincidence. Or if one of them had done something.

 

Her stomach was tight.

 

Her nerves rang.

 

Something had happened.

 

And she didn’t know what.

 

“Really. I’m fine.” She breathed. Trying to keep Hermione from drawing attention.

 

She looked toward the head table again.

 

Dumbledore was smiling, half-listening to a short professor with tufts of white hair who was gesturing wildly with a fork.

 

Hallie didn’t know what she had expected.

 

That he’d look over and just—know?

 

Even she could sense the power in him.

 

She had expected something.

 

Instead, it was Hagrid who caught her gaze.

 

She looked at him a moment longer than was strictly polite.

 

To her relief, he noticed—offered a small, warm wave and a smile.

 

The tension in her chest loosened by inches.

 

The moment passed.

 

The ghosts had drifted away. Plates were emptying. Laughter bubbled across the tables again like nothing had changed.

 

Hallie turned back to her food, though her mind wasn’t on it.

 

She didn’t know what had just happened.

 

But she knew this:

 

Something had seen her.

 

And she had felt it burn.

 

 

Footsteps faded into echoes. The hall had emptied in waves—upper years peeling off with the quiet confidence of people who already knew who they were and where they belonged.

 

The first-years moved cautiously—some chattering, most huddled like survivors of a shipwreck.

 

Hallie lingered at the edge of the marble staircase.

 

The air was cooler here, brushing against her arms like breath from the stone itself. She rubbed at her scar again. The pain had faded, but something remained—low and thrumming, like a storm far off, vibrating through the bones of the earth.

 

“Potter.”

 

She dropped her hand and turned.

 

Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away. His hands were in his pockets, his tie already loosened. His hair looked too carefully careless, like he’d spent time making it look like he hadn’t. His eyes flicked—scar, then face.

 

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not quite.

 

“Hallie Potter,” he said.

 

She kept her voice even. “That’s me.”

 

“You always hang back.”

 

The way he said it, like he’d already seen past her edges.

 

She tilted her head. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

 

“It’s hard not to.” His voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. “Whole room watches you walk.”

 

“I didn’t ask them to.”

 

“No.” He hesitated for a fraction. “But they still do.”

 

There wasn’t judgment in his tone—just observation.

 

He studied her for a moment, then added, “You looked… off. In there.”

 

Hallie crossed her arms. “Did you follow me to say that?”

 

“I didn’t follow you.” He blinked once. “I noticed you. There’s a difference.”

 

She didn’t answer.

 

He stepped a little closer, voice lowering. “What was it?”

 

She stared at him. “What?”

 

“In the hall. Something happened. I saw your face.”

 

For a moment, Hallie said nothing. The memory of the pain flashed behind her eyes—hot, sharp, like something had split open.

 

She swallowed it down.

 

Draco didn’t press. But his gaze sharpened like a blade drawn in silence.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, more casually than before. “About the stories.”

 

“What stories?”

 

“The ones about you.” He shifted slightly, but his eyes didn’t move. “The ones that don’t match what I’ve seen.”

 

“You don’t even know me.”

 

“No,” he said. “But I’ve seen enough to wonder what they got right. And what they got very wrong.”

 

She stepped back without meaning to. Her shoulder met stone. The cold shock of it jolted her. Her spine snapped stiff—a reflex, older than Hogwarts.

 

She had to remind herself: This isn’t Dudley.

 

Draco didn’t move. He just watched her.

 

His eyes scanned her face like a puzzle he expected to understand, but didn’t.

 

“You’re not what I expected.”

 

Hallie narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what people expect.”

 

A noise echoed from the staircase above—someone’s shoes clacking against stone. Neither of them looked away.

 

“They expect a name,” he said. “A story that makes sense. Something to pin to a headline.”

 

“Is that what you do? Pin people to headlines?”

 

He gave her a look—somewhere between impressed and amused. “I just notice things.”

 

She tilted her chin. “Like what?”

 

“You grew up with Muggles,” he said softly. “And all this”—he gestured at the corridor, the floating candles still flickering at a distance, the faint trace of magic in the air—“it doesn’t belong to you. Not really.”

 

The words landed like a stone.

 

There was no real venom in them. Just a flat certainty that made them hit harder.

 

Hallie’s fingers curled into fists inside her sleeves.

 

“It doesn’t belong to you either,” she said.

 

“Wrong.” His voice stayed calm. “It’s always belonged to me. I was born knowing how to walk through it. You’re still finding…” He took a moment to find the words he wanted. “figuring out how not to trip.”

 

That stung. Not because it was cruel.

 

Because it wasn’t entirely wrong.

 

She didn’t answer.

 

“And people already have plans for you,” he went on, his hand flexed. For just a moment it had curled into a fist but immediately relaxed again. “You just don’t know what they are yet.”

 

Her voice was quieter now. “Do you?”

 

“Not all of them.” He tilted his head, watching her closely.

 

“But I know what it’s like to play a part before you’ve even figured out who you are.”

 

That caught her off guard.

 

He didn’t look away.

 

“You look like someone who doesn’t know who to trust.”

 

“I don’t,” she said.

 

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

 

“Good.” His voice was almost a whisper now. “Keep it that way.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment.

 

His eyes flickered between hers with an almost frustrated quality. It was as if her very existence defied expectation.

 

Hallie narrowed her eyes, “What do you want, Malfoy?”

 

His gaze flicked over the entrance to the great hall and then back over her face. The effort of trying to see her gone. He smiled small and dry in quality.

 

“I’m still figuring that out.”

 

Then he turned.

 

His footsteps were quiet on the stone floor as he walked away. Hands in his pockets. Head high.

 

She didn’t call after him.

 

But she watched until he was gone.

 

Her scar didn’t burn again.

 

But something else did—low in her chest, warm and sharp and strange.

 

Not fear.

 

Not quite.

 

Something like being seen.

 

 

Notes:

Chapter Summary:

The Sorting is over. The feast begins.
But as Hallie starts to settle into the magic of Hogwarts, something ancient stirs behind her eyes—something that remembers her from a time before she can remember.
Something has seen her. And something burns. But what's more dangerous—being watched, or being understood?
Not everything that watches means harm. But not everything that sees her is safe.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Hallie Potter