Hey everyone !

So, I know most of you won't bother to read this – I know I rarely do, way too pressed to read the actual story... So I can't resent you for that, and I totally don't. But I still need to vent my frustration, so here I am.

For those who think I took way too much time to deliver the promised prequel to 'Team Seven's Strangest Day', don't bother complaining. Seriously, it's a miracle it is even here, so you should be thankful. I certainly won't bother reading those complaints, even if I sound like a bitch.

Honestly. I don't care. Because it was all well-written, up to the 277e page, and I lost it all. All. To be perfectly honest, it was the first time I had ever written so much, gotten that far in a story – usually I become bored after the first hundred pages, because I know how it will end, the story's already over for me, and it is honestly a pain for me to write it down. And to lose all of that ? Well, I was almost decided to just give up.

Yeah, not glorious, I know. But seriously, I know a lot of authors often complain to have lost their work, and I totally believed them but I thought it was strange it happened so often – well, now I don't. We're probably cursed, or something, because I had that computer for two years only and he had never, ever done anything wrong ; and I even took my lessons on it... And suddenly it crashes. Yeah. I totally understand those other authors, and I feel for all of them !

But then I kept receiving little reviews saying they liked my published stories, and some MPs asking if I was planning on writing a prequel or a sequel, even months after having published both stories. And I thought, 'Well, I'm busy as Hell, but I'm also frustrated, and I want to publish the prequel, damn it ; and people keep asking for it because they liked my works, and I can't just let it go, can I ?'

So I wrote it all again. Of course, it's different than the first try, that much I know, even if the events are roughly the same. And I think the first work was best, but that's probably because I idealize it in my head. We will never now. It left us too soon.

Anyway. I've ranted, and hope you will appreciate this new work – which will be a chaptered story, of course, because it's so damn long. But I'm unable to tell you how many chapters there will be. We'll see as we go.

Again, any review is welcomed (except complaints), and honestly, to all the reviewers : you can thank yourself, because this story is here thanks to you. You all helped me write it again, and I wouldn't have done it without you.

Enjoy !

Ah, yes, I forgot to say it in my other stories, and it's apparently very important to precise this point, because they think we're stupid and won't know it if we're not told : DISCLAIMER : the story is mine, but none of the universes are, neither are the characters. And I don't make money out of it. Ah. What a joke.

Anyway, hope you like it ;)

Harriet Dorea Potter-Black-Peverell-Slytherin-Griffindor-Ravenclaw was packing.

Yes, she knew her name was a mouthful, thank you very much. But it was not as if she had had a choice, you see, given that she was the last member of those illustrious Families – or at least the last Heiress.

No way in Hell was she letting the Title Black go to that little slug of a Malfoy. It was the only thing that she still had, that came directly from Sirius. It came from her Godfather, had been given to her in his will – it was hers, even if only for sentimental value.

As much as she didn't really like the other Blacks – Narcissa was the only one she could bring herself to bear, in fact, and only because the woman put Family above everything else, and Harriet could understand and relate to that – she wanted to have Sirius' name next to her own.

But it wasn't why she had accepted all of those titles. Potter and Black were a given – they were her birthright – but the other five had been a surprise. Not to say that some of them weren't her birthrights, of course, since she was the last in line, but they had been complete surprises. Still, she hadn't accepted them for money, the political power they gave her, or even because they had been her ancestors' titles – no, she had accepted them for the knowledge that came with them.

Oh, the books...

Now, don't go and say she had become an Hermione, for she had not.

But she had just ended a war. She had just put an end to years of suffering, deaths, torture and despair, she had just put an end to years of discrimination and injustice. She had accomplished the prophecy – she was done. She was free.

Now, keep in mind that she wasn't Free. Not entirely.

The most obvious of her burdens were the nightmares. They were there every night without fail, plaguing her nights, showing her the what if's and the if only's, shoving her failures in her face, the death of her friends, of her family, of unknown persons even – unknown children, who had fought in a war when adults hadn't ; who shouldn't have been at the Final Battle, but had died there nonetheless.

They had been so small...

So many deaths, so many useless deaths – unknown bodies, but most of all friends.

... Cedric. Sirius. Tonks. Remus. Andromeda. Teddy...

The last two shouldn't have died. The war had been over for two months already, Death Eaters were imprisoned – the deaths should have stopped. But they hadn't. Andromeda and Teddy had been home when a group of resistant Death Eater had attacked. They probably thought that she would be here as well, since she passed most of her time with her godson, his smiles and innocence a wonderful balm on her bleeding and tired heart.

But she hadn't been there – she had been at a Ball, on Hermione and Ron's insistence, and when she had finally been able to go home... It was to see the damned Mark flaming above the destroyed house, Andromeda (poor, poor Andromeda, the last of her family, having lost her husband, daughter, son-in-law, cousin to a stupid war) lying dead on the floor, and her death hadn't been a nice one.

Magic was wonderful, but it could also be terrifying, and to see it being used to such ends sickened Harriet, even if this feeling was dissimulated behind all the others feeling that threatened to strangle her – loss, despair, rage, hurt, culpability...

And her godson...

Her tiny, so tiny godson... So innocent, so bright, so sunny – so cold, so still, so much blood...

He had been a baby, still... and now would forever stay one. Forever unaware of the world's cruelty.

No matter what, she couldn't see that as a good thing.

They hadn't managed to kill her, but they damn near managed to break her. She couldn't – she hadn't been able to forget that. Their deaths had been so... utterly useless ! The war was supposed to be over ! They had won !

But what a victory. It had had a taste of defeat. Still had, in fact. Harriet hadn't felt as if she was her victory – she had felt so tired, so numb, and with a cortege of nightmares and regrets. Old, way before her age.

And alone.

'Victory' was a strange word, indeed, and with a definition so vague, she wasn't sure someone really knew what it meant. Because if what she had done was a victory, then she wasn't sure there was a difference between this word and 'defeat'.

She had lost everything that mattered. The only thing that a defeat could have taken from her was her death, and then, it would have taken with it her pain, her nightmares, her guilt – everything that plagued her, that kept her from living. Really living.

Sometimes, when she was at her lowest, when she was so tired she didn't want to continue going through a life that tasted like a lie, she wondered if death wouldn't have been, in fact, a better end. At least for her. When she had been given a choice, back in the Forbidden Forest – when she could still die.

She knew she wouldn't have been able to let herself die, and let Voldemort take over Britain, thus committing atrocities that would have been her fault, even if she wasn't there to see them anymore. She had too much of a hero complex, she could admit, to let that happen - to let go of her responsabilities and just let him do what he wanted, uncaring and unhurting at least. She wouldn't have been able to do that - she always was one for carrying the world on her shoulders. But to die with Voldemort ? To take him with her ?

That she would have preferred – except at that moment, she still had had her lovely godson, alive but already an orphan, and she had known that she had to live for him. Be there for him, like her own godfather would have been here for her, had he not been unjustly imprisoned in Askaban for twelve years.

But then he was dead, and Andromeda was too, and Ron and Hermione – no, later – and she was alone.

Still, she had fought so hard to stay alive all these years, against Voldemort and, yes, even against Dumbledore, that she just couldn't give up. She had to live, for herself, for those who couldn't do it anymore, for those who would have wanted her to do it, those who weren't ready to see her in the afterlife yet, no matter how much she was ready to go there.

And suicide would feel too much like letting Voldemort win, in a twisted way. He had tried so hard to kill her, and she had tried so hard to survive – it wasn't to give up as soon as the war was over. Because then, he would have been successfull in making her bend... He would have won - not against Britain, but against her, and she couldn't give him that satisfaction, wherever he was now. She couldn't, wouldn't do it, so she fought – another war, but this one against herself, against memories and losses, ghosts and nightmares.

Even if those nightmares were memories and not inventions, even if they were so real and painful that she woke up every night in cold sweat, tears straining her cheeks ; even as she had never cried since Sirius' death. Not even for Teddy's death – she had been to spent, too drained, too numb for that.

It seemed that she could only lower her barriers, only allow herself to cry, when she was asleep.

But no matter what, the nightmares were a burden pressing down on her, forbidding her to sleep, never letting her in peace.

Then there was the Wizarding population. They alternatively loved and hated her, as they had always done, and would always do. Long ago, Harriet had thought that maybe, once everything was said and done, she would be accepted, finally, in what she thought was her world.

Fat chance.

Sure, they were thankful for her 'victory' – but it was a given, for them. There was the prophecy, wasn't it ? She had been prophesized to win, no big deal. It had been her job, nothing more and nothing less.

Each and every one of her failures were inacceptable, each and every one of her success were expected. She wasn't good enough, for them – she never was.

Still now, even after she had killed Voldemort, and saved their world, she wasn't good enough for them. They loved her, but criticized her on everything.

"Don't you want to become like Harriet Potter when you're older, Sweetie ? Oh yes, you want !"

"But still, she should marry and give heirs to her Families..."

"Yes, she's only a woman, after all. She can't control her Families alone – why, the very idea !"

Because even if she had done what should have been impossible, even if she had defeated a wizard with years of knowledge and practice in magic when she had not even graduated from Hogwarts, at the end of the day, for them, she was just a woman.

And the Wizarding world was nothing if not prejudiced. Werewolf, Vampires, Veelas, Muggleborns, women – they were looked down upon, because they were considered as less than a Pureblood male wizard.

She had hoped, oh, she had hoped so much during her Hogwarts years, that she would one day be accepted into her world. But for them, being a woman diminished what she had accomplished, and women were little more than propriety in the Families.

There was no women in position of power, with the exception of Amelia Bones, back when she was still alive. Not even Dowager Augusta Longbottom had had that much power. Sure, she had been a truly intimidating woman, but she had only been a proxy for the Longbottom Title until Neville was of age. Her power had been limited.

And even then, not only had they both often been ignored, but they had debuted in this world with the protection of their families. No one had been able to belittle, insult, criticize them when they had been little and unable to defend themselves. But her ?

She had been a public figure since she was one year old, right after the death of her parents. They had hypothesized and talked and imagined about her, her personality, her life ; and when she had finally arrived at Hogwarts, she had had to conform to their ideas of her, or suffer their critics. She had been placed on a pedestal, and no one had protected her.

Not even Dumbledore, even if it should had been his duty as Headmaster and her Magical Guardian. He had let them talk about her, let them said whatever they wanted, and they had become used to it. It was their right, because in their stupid little minds, she was theirs before being herself.

The journals acclamated or critiqued her depending of their whims, and the public, sheep that they were, followed dumbly.

She was a public figure, and that said a lot about the basic rights she had in their eyes. They had criticized her all her life, and showed no inclination to ever stop. So, she had given up, for the first time in her life.

Because she was not like them. She didn't know about her world. Sure, she knew the basics – what a Portkey was, how to use the Magicobus – but what did she know about being an Heiress ?

She had barely graduated from Hogwarts ! She hadn't had time to learn about her duties during her school years, let alone during the war. No one had taken the time to teach her – and let's be real, that was probably for the best. That knowledge wouldn't have helped her win the war.

What did she knew of her world ?

She was good at Transfiguration and Charms, excelled at Defense Against Dark Arts, and even at Potion (as had been proven when she had taken her NEWTs, in what had been Year Eight, after the war. Snape may have given her Trolls and criticized each of her potions, but the examiners had been impartial and she had been able to prove that yes, she could be damn good at Potion) – but that was because she had to be.

She was lost for History of Magic – the professor had been quite a factor (he had been, let's be honest, the most boring professor of the world. Harriet knew you shouldn't speak badly of the dead – but there was no other words to describe him). But he hadn't been the only reason of her dislike of the subject.

No, the reason was that, when she had tried to study the subject out of the classroom, determined to have good marks ; she had chosen a book on Recent History of The Wizarding World. It had been the program for their First Year. Half of the books had been written on her. Her parents' death, her life, what she had supposedly accomplished, how her survival had won them a war – all in facts so cold, so clinical that Harriet had been revolted.

That was what her life had been resumed to ? Cold facts written in an History book, filled with suppositions, as if that had happened so long ago that it was nothing anymore ? Mere facts with no feelings, no emotions – nothing ? That had been what this fated night had been resumed to : black words inked on a paper.

What did her parents think about this ? What did the dead, of others historical events, think of this – this clinical explanation of their death ? Just – no. No, she couldn't. History books have a whole new dimension, when you're actually in it.

Especially considering that no one knew what had happened this fated night – everything was but suppositions, yet it was said as an affirmation. It wasn't true, it wasn't proved, and what they said about her youth in a nice little family were lies. If there was so much lies only about her – what else was false, invented, supposed in the books ? And how could she know for sure ?

Reading about what they thought of her life and appearance and personality had truly been shocking. They were speaking about someone else, someone she didn't know, but was supposed to be herself. It was only because it was about her that she knew they were lies.

She didn't know about every single other person mentioned in the books. And she couldn't learn that, read what had been written on them – what would they think ? Would they feel like her ? She wasn't sure if there was a life after death, yet ghosts existed so there must be something. It wasn't just, one moment you're alive, and the next you're gone. No transition.

It couldn't be that, or ghosts wouldn't exist.

So would she be betraying them ? She knew those books were wrong, she was the living proof ! And she had realized that she couldn't do that. Couldn't read and learn lies, even if it would have been instructive on what had roughly happened in the past, as long as she skipped the parts about the important actors of said past.

It made her sick.

So she had closed her first book, and never opened another one. History of Magic class was very useful to take a nap, or finish a work for another class, after all.

That did Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense. While on the Horcruxes Hunt, she had learned bits of magic – Healing, Arithmancy, Runes, Wards...

She had loved Runes, and had never more regretted her choice of taking Divination, in her third year. Easy marks, her ass. She loathed Divination – if she had known... She would never have taken it. Never.

She wasn't a Seer, anyway, so it was pretty useless for her. Runes were another matter altogether, though. She loved them, almost as if they sang for her. She understood them, and it felt right to use them. It was hard to learn the different runic alphabets, sure, but so worth it. The possibilities with runes were endless (one could have different meanings, you could change a meaning when linking it to another one, and you could even mix different alphabets, though that was even harder).

Arithmancy was hard, and she admitted that she didn't really like it – it was too much like calculus. Much more complex, even. She had never been that good in math, and had never had an interest in it. She was better with concrete – using her magic, creating runes to obtain a specific effect... She was a doer, not a brainer.

Hermione was a brainer, all theory and honorable practice. Harriet, though, was perfect in practice, it came so easily to her ; but she was a bit more lost in theory. She wasn't convinced that a spell worked because you used this wand movement, and uttered that incantation.

No, if that was the case, then wandless and wordless magic wouldn't be possible at all (though it was way harder to do the former than the latter – for others). So all the 'conditions' to a sortilege were just... what ? Assistance ?

Maybe. But Harriet was of those that thought that magic was intent, and she wanted a result when she tried a sortilege. She had created some, but there was no incantation, no complex wand movements. She would never be a Spell Creator, because no one else would be able to learn what she created, given that everyone had different ways for expressing their intention and she never bothered with specific wand movements or incantations – plus, she saw no interest in this work.

There was enough sortileges in the world already, and no one could learn them all in one life, not even wizards that could easily live for 300 years ; so there was no need to create more. Especially considering that most of the new sortileges were actually simple variations of previously existing curses or charms.

But she could admit that, sometimes, creating entirely new sortileges was helpful, and even necessary – she had done so. Still, hers were all based on intent, though all the sortileges she had created had been given a name, to help herself differentiate them – that way, no one else would ever be able to use them. Even if they heard her spells' names, they wouldn't be able to use them : having a name wasn't enough to do a spell you didn't know at all.

Not that she would let anyone use them, even if they asked – she wasn't much of a social person nowadays. Never had been, really, but she was something of an hermit now.

Anyway, she had also learned to create and destroy wards, and quite a bit of healing.

All of this, she had learned while on the run, it was what had been vital to learn. She had probably learned more magic then, than she had when at Hogwarts, as sad as that was. She had even worked on her Parseltongue, since there was apparently more to that than just speaking to snakes. She had learned, during the years, that snakes had accents of all things, and had learned to understand them, and to be understood by them. She had then worked further on it, and discovered that it wasn't limited to snakes – every reptile could speak, and she could talk to them.

(And boy, hadn't that been a surprise, to search for the snake that she had swore to her best friends was talking right now, only to be corrected by the little, seemingly innocent lizard that had been bathing in the sun ? She had felt quite stupid, at the moment – her on all four, searching for a non-existent snake, right in front of the damn lizard, and swearing to her friends that yes, there is a snake in this place !...)

She had been fascinated when she had talked to a lizard for the first time, but that had been nothing to when she had talked to a Dragon. How she had regretted her handling of the First Task of the Three Wizards Tournament, then. If only she had known ! Talk about wasted opportunities.

Though, in her defense, she had been quite busy staying alive.

Anyway, she had talked for the first time with an adult, unchained dragon a few weeks before The Battle. Courageous Dragon Riders had come to fight for their Country, along with their Dragons. There had been Charlie Weasley as well, and while talking with him, she had heard some hissed words (she had become way better at recognizing hissed talk).

She had distractedly searched for the snake, or lizard, who was talking – right before realizing it had been the dragon. That had been a shock, admittedly. She had afterwards endeavored to know each and every dragon who was there (that was literally an unique occasion), and had, by doing this, become a sort of mascot for the Riders.

They had literally looked at her with stars in their eyes, and endlessly asked her to translate their conversations with their beloved dragons. She was happy to oblige, and that had been the first time she had been admired for something she was doing (and not for stupidly surviving when her parents had died).

That had been a good time, in a tense period.

She was also quite good at Astronomy. She hadn't been, at first. Staying up at night just to observe the stars in the inky, and very often cloudy sky, was a bit too much for her, she saw no interest in it. As said before, she was a doer. There was nothing to do in Astronomy. And truth be told, it was only helpful for rituals or warding magic, since they were stronger depending of the alignement of the stars, or the shape of the moon. But considering that everything was written in the Warding and Ritual books anyway, she had never taken even the smallest hint of interest for Astronomy.

That is, until her Year Five. When Sirius had died... She had been so lost, so alone... Then one night, when she had been sitting at the top of the Astronomy Tower (having flied there with her broom), she had looked up at the sky, and remembered Sirius' place in the sky. In the Canis Major Constellation. The brightest star in the sky.

It had been, then, one of the only few stars she knew the name and emplacement of, and then only because she had learned her godfather had been named after it, and it must have stuck in her head.

It had been as if Sirius was still there in a way, looking for her even when he was – not here anymore. She had taken to learn the others, as well. At first, her families' names. Dorea, her grand-mother, had been a Black, and Blacks always gave star names to their children if they could. It was one of their traditions (probably one of the few that were actually good – or, at least, not actively bad). And Dorea being her grandmother, it made the Blacks part of her family.

Dorea, Andromeda, Narcissa (and hadn't that been a shock to learn that she was related to Drago Malfoy ? Yurk), Drago, Lucius (even if he wasn't a Black, he came along because he was married to Narcissa), and even Bellatrix.

She hated Bellatrix, from the bottom of her heart, and she would have given almost everything to be the one who killed her – but she was still Family, for one cannot choose one's family.

Then, by association, she had learned the other stars and constellations, as well as their emplacements. It hadn't been planned, just Sirius is situated under Orion, and the Dog Constellation is made of Rigel and Betelgeuse and Orion and Sirius, and by doing that she had learned every star that was around. That had been quite handy when on the run, without knowing where they were going, where they were, and with no cards at disposal.

Still, Astronomy, Charms, Arithmancy (the very few she knew), Runes, Transfiguration, Defense, Healing and Warding – that was what she knew of her world. The basics, what everyone knew upon graduating, a lot more in her case... but not enough, because she wasn't everyone, she was an Heiress.

As one, there were things she had to know. But she didn't know anything pertaining to her duties. Politics, Management, Diplomacy, and even Wizarding Customs... She hadn't known, and it had showed. More, it had showed her that she had no place in their world – not the magical one, but the political one. And as an Heiress, she should have been in this world as well. But Harriet had never been much of a political person.

They didn't want her ? She wasn't good enough ? She should marry, and accept a Lord, who would do whatever he wanted with her inheritances ?

They could all go to Fucking Hell.

She was done – she was so done with all this shit.

She had retired into Potter Manor, and became somewhat of a recluse. Not even her friends were here for her now.

They had taken to their fame like fishes to water. Hadn't they deserved it ? After all they had done ? They were truly at ease in their position as War Heroes (and they weren't criticized, so that explained maybe a little, but hadn't they learned during their years with her as a friend, that Fame was a fickle thing, and that she was no friend but well often a lot of problems ? How could they abandon her for... nothing ?).

(Ron, maybe – he had done it before, and he was jealous and envious and craved attention – but Hermione ? Level-headed Hermione ?).

They had tried, at first, to drag her to social and important meetings. Harriet had followed, of course, still with the hope of being accepted. But she couldn't bear being scrutinized each second during the meeting, hearing the snide little comments on her, faking smiles for people she didn't even like – was that what she had fought for ?

To live a farce ?

No. Then, she had continued to go for her friends : they asked so nicely, they were so worried for her – right until she realized they were using her. Pose for a photography next to her, use her in conversation to make their point (because obviously, if Harriet Potter agreed with them, then they were right ; for how could Harriet be wrong ? And they were such good friends, did you know that in their first year, they saved her life... ?), or more generally use her for their own advantages.

Ron felt entitled to her money – surely she could give him a bit ? They were friends ! And she had a lot of it, hadn't he been a loyal friend during the war ? Hadn't he fought alongside her ? One of his brothers had even died for her ! (Because it was Harriet fault, wasn't it ? Fred hadn't gone to war to fight for what he believed in, no, he had gone because he was friend with her, of course... Ron always was one to twist the facts so that they could help him).

Hermione felt she had a right to her Houses' Libraries (completely ignoring the fact that it was Family knowledge and magic, and not for outsiders, no matter how close her and Harriet were), and that Harriet should make use of her Seats on the Wizengamot in order to help her pass her laws.

Both of them didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word 'No', despite Harriet's firm position on the matter.

It was as if the war had changed them, had altered their very nature – or maybe it had just showed Harriet to see beyond the mere words they always gave her, and helped her see them as they were, and not as she wanted to see her first friends.

Whatever the reason was, she hadn't been able to bear what was yet another betrayal, and she had turned her back on all of this. It had been exhilarating – doing it, standing for herself, for the first time since her birth.

So, she had retreated to her Manor, and then the books came. Oh, she had read before – what else could she do ? – but it hadn't been the almost obsessing need to learn more.

Books were utterly neutral. They didn't judge, they didn't know who she was, they didn't care. They were paper and ink, and she was only another person flipping through their old pages, discovering new magics and secrets. She had absorbed the knowledge they contained, though she had a long, long way before having successfully read every one of her books' collection.

They supported her, helped her forget the deaths, the blood, the suffering, the regrets, the despair. She was just a girl reading their pages, learning new facts about a thing she loved dearly : Magic.

She had often thought, during the war, that if only she had known this healing spell... Or that counter-curse... Then maybe, maybe she could have saved this life, and that one, and maybe even this one.

If she had known more spells, she could have saved so much lives ! (Hermione called it her 'Save-people' thing. She called it 'Reality').

She had perfected her knowledge, immersing herself in Runes, Warding and Healing, the three subjects that interested her the most, all the while continuing her studies in Transfiguration, Potions, Charms and Defense, since she only knew what one know upon graduating, and there was so much more to learn.

Even in Defense. She was good, and excelled at Dueling – she hadn't had much of a choice – but there still was a lot for her to learn.

She had her Families' Libraries, after all. Books and books full of forgotten magic, or forbidden ones. Illusion was quite an interesting branch of magic, and Harriet had taken a liking to it. But also Blood magic, Filimagie, Spirimagie... All suppressed because only some could practice them, and the Ministry didn't like this.

They didn't like the idea that some could do what they could not – and more generally, Purebloods hadn't liked the fact that Muggleborns could do some of the magics that some of them couldn't do anymore. So they had forbidden the books, and the magics ; and all the while Purebloods still practiced them in their Houses (though, they stopped soon after, not seeing the point when they had money to do whatever they wanted. Why should they take time and effort to learn that, when Muggleborns would never be able to learn it themselves, and when they didn't need to know those magics to succeed ? That's what their Families' money was for, after all. They were lazy to a fault).

Harriet then went to travel around the world. She discovered lost magics, new magics, new populations, and different ways of viewing magic and using it. She took the time to learn how to be herself, something she had never been allowed to do – not by the others, and not by herself.

Being away from Britain, from their traditional, Pureblood ways – that had been... like a first intake of breath after almost drowning. As life-saving as it was painful – because who wants to realize that the world they had given so much, loved so much ; that this world was imperfect and flawed and wrong ?

That was how she had passed the next hundred years of her life. Quietly, discovering, mastering, and all in all living. Not burdens, no looks piercing her, and though they still criticized her heartily, she wasn't there to suffer through it anymore.

That is, until she learned by a Ministry's owl what was the new belief of the wizarding population. She was by then 128 years old, and had ended the war since 110 years already... but she still looked as if she was 20. Though she had been 18 when she had finally killed Voldemort, war and sorrow did what Time hadn't, and aged her prematurely.

But she still looked as she had when she had come back at Hogwarts for what had then been her Year Eight. And while it was usual for wizards to age much slower than muggles, to the point that you're considered middle-aged when you're 150, she was still way too young-looking for someone her age.

And that was obviously the use of Dark magic, wasn't it ? Hadn't she isolated herself from society ? Who knew what she was doing, when scouring the world ? Was she becoming dangerous ? A new Dark Lady, maybe ?

What a bunch of morons.

But what had enraged her was that they had asked her to submit herself to the Unspeakables. To... study her. As if she was a spectacle, as if she was there to realize their will, as if she had to do what they said, as if she was a freak.

She loathed this word.

She would never submit herself – she never had, not even in front of Voldemort, not even under torture, and not even when someone attempted to use the Imperio curse on her. She submitted to no one, and it would be a cold day in Hell when she submitted to them.

(She was well-placed to know that that would never happen, cold in Hell, she meant – so she was safe on that side).

At first, she had resisted because she had been asked to submit too many times when at the Dursleys', and when she had discovered her magic, she had sworn to herself that she would never do it again. She was stubborn, proud to a fault in some ways, and she never backed down, or gave up.

Then, she had become Mistress of Death, and it wasn't that she didn't want to submit anymore – though she still didn't – it was that she couldn't submit. Death bowed to no one, and as Her Mistress (though it was more a title than anything, since by definition Death didn't submit Herself, even to her), she couldn't submit to anyone else even if she wanted to. Not even to Death.

For example, as she had discovered when visiting Japan a few decades ago, she couldn't bow to people, even if it was their way of greeting others in their culture. Death bowed to no one, so Harriet didn't either – couldn't, more precisely.

It had been a bit difficult to explain – but then, Japanese were often wise and calm people, at least the Magical ones ; and she wasn't that much in contact with human beings to begin with, so she had never had to explain precisely why she never bowed to anyone. They usually accepted that she couldn't bow, because her magic refused to let her bow to anyone, and they had seen strangest things.

After having promised that she wasn't insulting anyone, and insisting they not bow to her either, they had let her be. Not that she had been around living people that often.

(And they still bowed to her, because they were extremely polite, and the fact that she couldn't do it didn't mean they could get away with such a thing).

But sure enough, being Mistress of Death was more trouble than anything.

It wasn't even her fault – as if she had asked to be Mistress of Death ! She wasn't even sure how that had happened, truth be told. When she had finally killed Voldemort, she won the last one of the Deathly Hallows, the Elder Wand. But she had immediately tried to 'lose' the Hallows, trying to make sure that she wouldn't become what could possibly be called Mistress of Death (there was no proof that the legend was true, after all), because she certainly hadn't chosen them.

But apparently, each of the Deathly Hallows had chosen her as their Mistress, thus making her Mistress of Death. And that had been it. Whether she liked it or not.

She had tried, oh Merlin, she had tried so hard to lose the title (and she still had the hope to lose it someday – she had time on her side now, after all), but nothing ever worked.

She didn't think that she had ever tried that hard for anything else. (Except, you know, surviving. And fighting. And killing Voldemort. And – well, you got the point).

She had tried 'losing' the Resurrection Stone in the sea while flying on her broom, making the Elder Wand 'accidentally' fall into the pit of an active volcano, even give the Stone to a common muggle in the street – nothing ever worked.

They would both be there the next day, when she woke up. The Elder Wand held loosely between her fingers, the Resurrection Stone encased in a necklace around her neck, nestled in the shallow of her throat, and the Invisibility Cloak wherever she had put it the day before, because she never tried to lose it.

It was the only material thing she had from the Marauders' days, the Map having been destroyed during the war. It remembered her of happier days, when innocence was still shining in children's eyes. It was also the first thing connecting her to her father that she had received. She could never do anything to it.

But even if she had tried, she already knew what the result would have been. They all returned to her in her sleep – and even when she tried not to sleep, it took only the blink of her eyes for them to reappear. Really, she had sometimes stayed up all night to try and see them reappear –surely if she was to see it happen, then she would be able to study the magic, and maybe block it ? – but even she had to blink from time to time, and it was apparently all the time the magic needed to act.

So she had accepted that she couldn't lose them, and thus the title, that way ; and endeavored to explore the world. She had just wanted to be normal, and that just wasn't possible simply by being Mistress of Death, on top of being herself. Since she would never be able to find normalcy, even in appearance only, in Britain ; she had decided to go and discover the world she lived in. Not the Magic one, but the world as a whole. There, no one really knew her, and she could go for months without seeing any other person, and that had been as close to perfect peace as she had ever experienced.

She never wanted to be recognized, so she never gave her last name when she had to introduce herself – Harriet was a common enough name that it wasn't suspicious to give it, and she refused to take a fake name ; she wouldn't let them take that away from her, on top of everything else – and no one ever recognized her. She hated being recognized, and scrutinized, and followed everywhere she went.

(That was also why she had never told a soul of this particular title of hers – not that she had told them of the others, bar Potter and Black. She had enough problems with those two, and shuddered to think of the greediness she would see in the others' eyes if they knew – even her friends).

She had been... satisfied, with her life. But then she had received the Ministry's letter.

That had cemented her decision. A decision that had taken root in her head quite some time ago.

That had been in the last few years of her self-imposed exile. She had used it as a mean to live, to learn to live at least – no burdens, no expectations weighting onto her, nothing she had to do.

Only what she wanted, and when she wanted it. No one to tell her what she should do. Honestly, she had way more contact and discussions with animals than with humans. She used these years to master her different magics, helped by her Libraries' books, and what she discovered during her travels.

She had finished mastering her Parselmagic – as least all that had been written in the books stored into Slytherin's Vault (and hadn't she been happy to learn that Voldemort hadn't been able to inherit of the Family ? Apparently, Family magic accepted only someone whole, refused to accept only part of a soul, and since the Inheritance could only happen at 18, when one had graduated from Hogwarts, Voldemort had been rejected because by then, he had already split his soul twice. Harriet had been very glad to hear this, because Voldemort with Slytherin's knowledge ? That would have been a nightmare, and from what she had recently learned in Parselmagic, they would probably have lost the war).

Snakes had been very helpful during her travels. The magical ones mainly – they remembered things forgotten by any human, and knew where to find old, forgotten monuments lost in a tropical jungle, or under the water of a lapis-lazuli sea. But the non-magical ones were the funniest.

She had discovered many lost monuments, and many lost magics – though she had never been able to find anything about Atlantis. Had she had more time, and determination, or simply more interest, she would probably have found it (she had Eternity, after all), but she had had other things to do, and thus the mythical city would forever keep its secret.

Or, to be fair, would simply not be discovered by her. Harriet wasn't overly proud, and didn't think that future wizards would be unable to find the mythical city. Still, considering that the wizards' levels were going down, and rapidly, nowadays ; she was almost sure they would never discover it.

Well, they could surprise her. They had done it before – even if only negatively. Still, those things could happen (...she didn't have much hope).

Anyway, a bit before that, she had mastered her Necromancy.

Becoming Mistress of Death had awoken the Necromancy powers sleeping in her blood, and that she possessed for descending from the Peverell Family. She hadn't had much of a choice – ghosts followed her everywhere, over-polite ; and dead raised themselves out of their graves when she walked by – it hadn't been very discreet. She had had to learn and control those powers, that had been vital. She hadn't been able to do anything without dead following her (and she was ever so happy that that hadn't happened when in Britain – they would have screamed for her head).

After using way too much 'Obliviate's on unsuspecting and deadly scared Muggles and Wizards (and probably provoking a new period of muggles creating movies and games with what they called 'Zombies') she had found a secluded spot and learned to control her Necromancy. Death had been particularly helpful on that point, even if She usually didn't talk mych. Harriet didn't use those particuliar powers of hers much – not at all, in fact, now that she could consciously use them. The dead were best left in peace. She used them just enough to hide her powers of Mistress of Death, to avoid appearing to the dead like she was the only shining light in their endlessly dark world.

(Even if she did admit that, sometimes, the temptation to see her long-gone family and friends was really, really strong. Especially on the anniversary of The Battle).

(But she never did, because she was condemned not to die, and what was the point of torturing herself, seeing her dead parents, family and friends, all the while knowing she would never be able to reach them ?).

(She had tried, once, when the need had been too strong, when she hadn't known better. But Dead had a hierarchy, and they had to call her Mistress – her parents calling her Mistress – and she had never done it again. They said they understood, and that they loved her and were proud of her and what she had done, and that she deserved peace and happiness – but it hadn't been enough, hadn't been what she had hoped. She had been burned so badly, the mere memory of it was enough to dissuade her when the need to speak to them again burned right under her skin).

Then she had decided to master her Spirimagies. Occlumency, Legilimency, Telepathy, Empathy, those were the different sides of this particular branch of Magic. The last three had been somewhat easy, for she seemed to have a way with them. She had always been skilled at observing people and feeling their emotions (that came with survival, and she had used that skill a lot when growing up with the Dursleys, so that she could avoid them when their moods were... dangerous for her) ; Telepathy was, roughly, imposing your thoughts into someone's head (and she had a stronger will than most) ; and she was naturally gifted with Legilimency.

Occlumency, though, had been quite hard for her. Not only was she certain that Snape had actually broken what little natural defenses she had had, but to be able to master it, one had to perfectly organize their head. Meaning, their memories.

That was a very, very hard thing for her – most of her memories, she wanted to leave buried forever. But she was nothing if not determined and stubborn (ask Voldemort), and she had faced each and every one of her nightmares.

That had not been easy, and certainly not quick. It had taken a lot of meditation – and that was during one of those trainings that that happened.

A pull. Or was it a tug ? As if someone... asked for her ? Or something wanted to pull her in another place ? She wasn't sure. It felt as if she was being... What ? Called for ? No, not exactly. The sensation was not that different from the one you have when using a Portkey, though not exactly the same.

No, if she had to choose a word, that would be... summoned ? It did feel a bit like when she was summoning a snake – except, not exactly, and the other way around. She wasn't sure. It had been strange, though.

She had been in meditation, which was no easy feat for her, but she had been determined to master Occlumency ; so after making sure that whatever that was had no actual effect on her, she had put it out of her mind and concentrated on constructing her mental wards, and facing her own past. If she allowed herself a distraction, then going back to work on her mind would be all the more difficult.

Some months later, Occlumency finally mastered ; she had taken the time to search answers on what that had been, since that had happened once or twice since then. She didn't like the fact that someone or something could touch her, touch her magic, for the pull had been centered on her magic. She was certain it hadn't been the first time it had happened either, but she was usually doing something, or using her magic, and not in a relaxed and peaceful state. She was usually not meditating (which had helped her centering on herself), and not feeling her magic, (which had allowed her to really feel the pull.

Furthermore, her magic stopped whatever it was, and it was weak anyway, so it was not surprising that she had never felt it before (or, more accurately, remarked it).

And she was Mistress of Death. No one summoned Death.

She had immersed herself in her core, and looked at her intertwined magics. She had a core, of course ; and while hers was immense, it was something every magical being had. Like them as well, each and every branches of magic that she practiced was linked to her core, since her magic was used to them, and knew how to respond instinctively when she asked for them. She probably had a lot more than the others, though.

Spirimagie, Filimagie (it was an in-progress work, since she was not that much interested in it – or was it more correct to say that she had lost her interest for it ?), Blood magic, Wards, Healing, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense, Alchemy, Dark magic even ; but the one that she was concerned with for now was her Parselmagic.

The feeling had, upon further inspection, come from there – and sure enough, there had been a strange speck of dark green among the bright emerald green of her Parselmagic. She had curiously poked it, and upon sensing something, she had tried to reverse the... summoning.

To say she had been shocked to hear and see (after opening her eyes), an explosion of white smoke, would be an understatement. She had been so startled that she had apparated at the other side of the clearing in which she had been standing for the experience (better to fight in open space when you don't know what to expect), only to see a red snake when the smoke cleared.

She had been surprised to see one, because that didn't feel like what using a 'Serpensortia' did, but she had been quite sure that she wasn't hallucinating. Maybe it was a characteristic of her Parselmagic ? That would be surprising, though, given that none of the Slytherins books ever talked about such a thing. She had been startled out of her thoughts when the snake talked.

Now, hear it well.

Talked. Not hissed.

And in Japanese of all things !

Luckily, she had learned the language when travelling (it had been particularly helpful for her, given that they were the masters of Occlumency, along with the Chinese ; and their vision of the discipline had greatly helped her).

(It also allowed her to read their books, and learn their spells).

After much explanations, and puzzled awe, Harriet learned some very interesting things.

Turned out that when she killed the Basilisk, back in second year, she had not so much killed the King of Serpents, than she had killed their Queen. Or, more accurately, their Boss.

Yeah, that had been surprising. What had been even more surprising, though, was to learn that the title was a matriarchal, and hereditary one. More clearly : she was the new Boss of the Snakes.

Yeah.

Had she been a boy, she would have never known about it (not that she had, even as a girl), and the title would have been given to a certain Manda who, even if she hadn't killed the last Boss, was right under her in terms of strength (though that only meant that the gap between the two of them was phenomenal, not even talking of the rest of the Snakes).

And then she learned of another world. Literally another world, in another universe. One where magic didn't exist but chakra did, one which was completely different from the one she knew, yet startlingly similar. A world of ninjas.

That had been... exhilarating, to learn about this. Just imagine it – a world entirely different, with no pollution, and apparently where people using the equivalent of magic didn't have to hide themselves from the ones that didn't ! (Though, it appeared that they had to hide from other Villages, because they sometimes attacked themselves, and spies and assassins were common).

(But that was no problem, not for Harriet. She was what this world had made her, she was a warrior. She had been fighting for her life since eleven, and surviving since her placement at the Dursleys'. That was the only thing she knew, bar magic – war. Fight, train, always be ready for anything... She wasn't good for a peaceful life. Maybe she had been, but not anymore. The Wizarding World asked for a Savior, a warrior, and they created one. She needed action, and adrenalin, the thrilling sensation that came with accomplishing something, the feeling of being useful, needed... That was what she needed, now – and maybe, maybe this world -).

(Ron and Hermione had happily settled, living a peaceful and sheltered life. She hadn't been able to).

(And spending time in hostiles jungles, having to fight for her life when entering old and forgotten magical temples, protected by unknown spells – that was her idea of a peaceful life – a fullfilling one).

It was like discovering the Wizarding World all over again, when she had been eleven.

And the best part was that she could, in theory, go there.

She was, even if she hadn't been aware and hadn't been given a choice in the matter, the Boss of the Snakes, who were a Summon Clan. It meant that people who had been authorized to sign their Contract could summon them in battle, for example, and they would fight alongside their summoner.

Apparently, they had two summoners already. One Orochimaru, and one who had been his apprentice, Anko Mitarashi. From what her Snakes had told her, Orochimaru was a traitor, and a crazy person who liked to experiment on people. Her apprentice had been a victim, but she had returned to Konoha (the Village with which the Snakes had been affiliated before Orochimaru's treason).

(According to them too, the apprentice, an Anko person, was also a crazy person – though in a good way, since apparently being crazy was a condition sine qua non to being a ninja, and there were different types of craziness).

(That worked for Harriet, since she was honest enough with herself to admit that she was not exactly the poster-child for sanity).

(She almost couldn't wait to meet the ninjas – the good ones at least, the bad ones seemed like a bunch of problems and headaches – just to be with people as crazy as she was – or even more crazy than she was : persons who didn't cringe at the thought of drawing blood, who were used to death, whose first reflex was to attack, then ask questions, who cared little for appearance's sake…).

(She was not the craziest person on her Earth, but she could say with certainty that the others were mostly bad-crazy ; whereas, even with her status of Mistress of Death, she was mostly good-crazy).

Her Snakes were quite happy to finally meet their Boss, and ecstatic with the fact that she was in perfect condition, because none of them apparently liked the one who would succeed her if she was to die. The aforementioned Manda, who liked to be given human sacrifices if Orochimaru wanted her help.

It was with her that Orochimaru had signed the Contract, actually, since by then the last Boss was already magically tied to Hogwarts, without hope for freedom. Magic could be frightening, sometimes, and she had been driven crazy from the absence of chakra, and life.

Harriet almost felt bad for having killed her, but then again, it had been survival. Plus, she preferred to think that she had put an end to the old Boss' suffering.

Still, she was now their new Boss, and she had already decided that she would have a conversation with Orochimaru and this Manda snake.

(Figures that even in another world, the bad guy was linked to Serpents. What were snakes, scapegoats ?)

Apparently, the tug she had felt when meditating had been Orochimaru's attempts to summon her. But she was on a whole other world altogether, and that would ask an unimaginable quantity of chakra, one he simply didn't have. And that was without taking into account that her own magic fought the Summon, or even that as Mistress of Death, no one could summon her.

(No one summoned Death – they could call upon Her servitors, though, such as Shinigami, or the Reapers. Apparently, from what Death had told her, that had already happened a few times, in other worlds – yes, Death apparently liked to talk with Harriet, something about being able to have a conversation with someone other than Herself for once. Harriet didn't ask).

But she could summon them to her, since she was their Boss, and was quite powerful. Even as just Harriet, she had more magic than anyone else in this era (and every other eras, indeed). But with the boost that came with being basically the equivalent of a Goddess ? She had more than enough.

Summoning the snake had still cost quite an honorable amount of magic, though, so she didn't abuse of the power. She had learned everything she could from those she now considered to be her snakes, summoning a few alternatively, and immediately trained, and learned, what they could teach her.

For one, chakra wasn't magic, and she simply didn't have chakra. She was a magical being, from another world – she would never develop chakra coils. She had a magical core, and that was it.

Chakra was an energy derived from two sources, a mental one and a physical one. Training could, and would, give larger reserves to one, and they had only five ways of releasing their chakra in a battle (kekkai genkais notwithstanding) : water, fire, earth, wind and lighting. They could also use it to Summon, and do some little things, or even boost one's physical capacity (strength or speed), but that stayed very limited.

Magic was an energy derived from one's core, though the more you stayed in a magical environment, the more you were susceptible to be powerful. That's why Purebloods were supposed to be way more powerful than Muggleborns – and maybe they had been, a long time ago. But inbreeding had cost them this advantage.

That was also why she was strong even as a simple witch, genetics notwithstanding : not only had she survived the Death Curse, Avada Kedavra, and thus gained a curse scar (meaning a constant contact with the potent magic contained in the soul shard in her scar), but she had also been protected at every moment by her mother's ritual protection, and even by the Blood Wards, under which she had lived daily for ten years, then more or less two months per year once she had discovered the Magical World.

They may all have been forbidden magics, and her mother's protection not understood by anyone ; but they were potent magics still, and had affected her core's development. For the best.

(Especially considering that if they had not been present, the Dursleys' treatment would probably have damaged her core, irremediably so).

So she couldn't do what ninjas did. She could, however, copy the effects obtained with chakra while using magic, because walking on walls ? Jumping amazingly high ? And running on water ?

Those were definitely some things she wanted to be able to do.

It had not been easy, not by any mean, but she had managed to do it. Somewhat. The harder had been to do it while using a minimal amount of magic, but she had succeeded. She had also learned to copy some low-level ninjutsu, but hadn't been that interested in it, and had quickly given up. She was magical, and did magic, and found doing chakra-based techniques with magic was needlessly hard with few interests or advantages. If she was to fight one day with a ninjutsu expert, then she would just use her magic to take control of whatever element he would try to use against her, and that would be oh-so-much-more easy. And much less taxing.

She had learned taijutsu though, and was proud to say that her speed, reflexes, eye-sight, coordination and flexibility were all Jonin-level – though her strength was high-genin level at best. What can you do ? Her body just wasn't made for heavy-hitting, genetics hadn't prepared her for physical strength.

Still, she was still way stronger than any other muggle on this world, and even wizard (the lazy asses). She doubted she would have won against Hagrid in an arm wrestling, though.

She had been delighted to learn that they had an equivalent of Runes, though it was called Fuinjutsu. One of her snakes told her than some Masters of the art, as rare as they were nowadays, could even draw their seals on thin air with only their chakra, and they would work all the same !

She had immediately endeavored to apply the principle to Runes, only using her magic to trace the symbols without any material support, and was thus far successful. She had also began to mix Runes and Fuinjutsu, and though some simply didn't mix at all, like some of the Fuinjutsu symbols absolutely refused to work with magic ; others opened a whole new range of possibilities.

A whole new range of explosions, too ; and for once she was thankful to be immortal, for more than one of her tries would have killed her on the spot, if she hadn't been. It had still been very painful.

Then there had been the throwing knives – though they were, then again, way more similar to Japanese's weapons than any other country's.

In fact, the Elemental Nations, as they were called, were strangely like Japan, if she was to believe her snakes (and why would they lie to her ?).

Hence she had acquired Kunais, Shuriken, and even Senbons (even if she wasn't exactly precise with the latter, it didn't matter since they were coated in the deadlier poison of the world – hers. Even if she just grazed someone with one, they would still die in less than a minute).

She had learned how to throw them perfectly, since they were a must for any ninja. Really, apparently every ninja had some on them at all time. They simply never went without them.

She had perfected her mastery of the Japanese, or course, since it was the world's only language (andhadn't that been a welcome information ?) and had then envisioned for the first time the crazy but doable idea of travelling into this other world. To be honest, it had probably always been in the back of her head since the very beginning, hence explaining why she had taken so much care in learning about the world as if to fit in it ; but it was the first time she had consciously allowed herself to consider it. Before, it had just been learning something no one else here would ever learn, just... practicing what people, somewhere, were doing –just playing with the idea. But now...

Of course, wizards would say it was impossible. But then again, wizards liked to say a lot of things were impossible – not even using logic.

They followed what the ministry said, and the ministry banned a lot of magic, saying it was either impossible or Dark, most of the time because they weren't able to do it. So the wizards never learned those magics, and little by little they disappeared. Dark and impossible were two very important words in the Wizarding World.

What a pity.

For wizards, something that hadn't happened was impossible.

Then again, for them, travelling back in time, where there would be the same person twice, thus creating a paradox, was easily possible – but travelling into another world, where no such paradox existed, wasn't ?

And let's not talk about the great mind who decided to invent a mean of travel, and decided to choose fireplaces. 'Let's walk through the fire', indeed. And no one had thought it was a bad idea.

Wizards !

She had always refused these limits. She had been limited all the time when with the Dursleys, and she had obeyed – she had believed them. 'Freaks don't eat with normal people', 'Freaks don't need a bedroom, a cupboard is enough', they said. And she followed.

But their favoring phrase had been 'Magic Does Not Exist'. And she had believed it, like she had believed anything else they said (her parents were worthless drunks who died in a car accident, she was no one, no one would ever love her...).

And then she had learned she was a witch. They had lied. About that – about what else ? (Every child deserves a bedroom, no one should sleep in a cupboard, she wasn't a Freak, she should eat at a table with the others – her parents weren't worthless drunks, they were great wizards and they had died for their daughter, she was someone, she had been loved, she could be loved...).

She had then and there decided she wouldn't ever accept limitations again. For her, Magic was intent, rather than just determined movements and incantations. Because she had never believed in those limits, but always tried to surpass the ones that were placed by others, she had been able to do 'impossible' things.

(Conjuring a corporal Patronus at thirteen. Winning against Voldemort several times. Killing the mad man).

As she had learned long ago, 'impossible' simply wasn't Magic.

She had wondered for a time why no one else did this, why everyone decided to follow the consensus, and believe in said limits. Maybe because it was easier that way ? You are given instructions, as well as what the limit is, and it's easier to do ?

Maybe.

But it was sad, to realize that the Magical World was destroying itself, bit by bit. First it's the ban on some Magics (and though Necromancy is indeed a Bad Thing, and an unnatural one to boot – dead should be left alone – Illusions most definitely are not. And even then, using a bit of Necromancy during a trial, in order to ask the victim who had killed them, was something that should not have been banned – it certainly would have limited the judiciary errors wizards were fond of ), then the limits placed in children's heads, then what ? Fewer and fewer magics available, to the extent that only the basics are covered ?

If you want to know more, then you have to come from an Old Family, and not be too lazy (but considering every Pureblood was lazy... Even Ron was, the only exception to this rule being Luna, but she was cool like that).

By refusing these limits, so, Harriet had been able to accomplish some 'impossible' things. Such as having multiple animagus forms (three, in fact), and magical ones with that. She wasn't complaining – she loved her forms, they were made for her.

One was a Basilisk, as said earlier, and the other a Phoenix. They meant something, she knew why she had them. It was because she had Phoenix's tears and Basilisk's venom in her veins. The highly magical elements had merged with her own magical core, and her animagus forms were thus developed.

(Harriet supposed it was a bit more complex than that. When she had just killed the Boss of the Snakes, tears and venom had been battling in her body. Both kept the other at bay, and then she had become the new Boss. It meant that she had to have a Serpent form, but her original animagus wasn't one at all. So her magic, having recognized her new title, had then worked with the venom to absorb it, and convert it in another animagus form. She wasn't sure how that had worked, and she supposed the Phoenix's tears just followed, thus creating her second form. It was only suppositions, though, and would forever be, since she didn't have the means nor the interest to test her theory. As said before, she wasn't a brainer).

Yet those two forms were perfect for her. And so intertwined in her life...

The Basilisk that had tried to kill her in Second Year, Fumseck that had saved her. His feather in her wand, the Basilisk's fangs with which she had destroyed Horcruxes. The Basilisk Venom and the Phoenix Tears in her blood.

A slithering death, a flying life – they were opposite and complementary. And wasn't Harriet the embodiment of Death and Life ? Always alive, never to die, wasn't that Life to its fullest ? And in the other hand, forever here, undefeated, wasn't that Death to a T ?

She was both, she was Basilisk and Phoenix, and she was Life and Death. They suited her perfectly... Even if her title was only Mistress of Death.

Her third form was a magical one, as well, and it represented her perfectly, if she could say so herself. She rarely used it (in fact she rarely used any of her forms, she was perfectly content with her human form), but it was the one she used the most.

If the Basilisk and the Phoenix represented her life, her experiences and hurts ; her last form was herself, her very nature and character.

But back to the subject at hand, travelling to another world could be possible. Death was, after all, everywhere, and was quite present on this world, if what she had learned was true.

Still, she hadn't been ready to go.

Earth was, for lack of a better way to say it, her world. She had fought, bled, suffered, died for it. That was where her ancestors, her parents were laid in the earth, and she had always thought, ever since she knew the graves' emplacement, that she would one day lay there as well. Next to her family.

She had tried so much for this world, to save it, to be accepted – she had given so much (her innocence, her youth, her life), but she had never received anything for it. Decorations, dubious admiration, a lot of criticism, and a lot of pain and disillusion.

The letter had just confirmed her decision, pushed her to take the last step. She was travelling to another world (and maybe here she would be able to find acceptance).

What had really pushed her over the edge was the fact that they had, with all of their wisdom, decided that they would organize a vote, in an soon-to-be-held Magengamot session, on whether she was or wasn't capable of managing her Families' fortunes.

There was no precedents, of course. It was a direct attack against a Lady of two Houses – but this Lady was Harriet, and that seemed to explain and justify everything. If she was declared unfit for her Titles (and she was under no illusion that that was what would happen, especially since she wasn't allowed to vote, despite having Seats of her own), then someone, named by the Ministry, would marry her and basically take control of everything that was hers – even her life.

That was how women were considered in the Wizarding World. As objects, belonging to their husbands. But Harriet wouldn't – refused to ever live such a life.

So yes, Harriet Dorea Potter-Black-Peverell-Slytherin-Griffindor-Ravenclaw was packing.

And it wasn't some light packing either. No, she was taking everything.

She never planned to return here, after all. Of course, there were some things she couldn't bring with her – her Houses, for example, or even her House-elves. They were tied to a House's magic, as well as the Earth's magic. They could only exist in this world, not another one. And, though they needed to be tied to her magic as well, her being in another world wouldn't break the connection.

It would be as strong as if she was still in this world, though they wouldn't be able to answer her calls. But they would still work for her as long as she was alive (which looked to be quite a long time, if she couldn't manage to lose her immortality) or as long as they were. Since they had her authorization to have family of their own... She didn't think a day would ever come when she wouldn't have any House-elf working for her left.

She refused to let them die just so she could live somewhere else – she wasn't that egoistical – so the fact that they could still be tied to her no matter the distance between them was relief.

She had packed everything else – everything that had been in her Vaults, and in her Houses. She absolutely refused to let anything behind, anything that the Ministry could seize by abusing its authority (and in the doubtful event that they managed to break her protective wards around her homes).

That hadn't been easy.

Right after she had won the war, she had gone to Gringotts. The Goblins were all ready to go to war with them. She had (with Ron and Hermione), broken into Gringotts, stolen from a Vault, and escaped with one of their trained dragons, thus breaking a great portion of the dome. The reparations' cost was astronomical, they had to find and train another dragon – and that was without even taking into account the harm done to their reputation.

The cost of the reparations only was enough to make them want to cry.

So they had taken their spears and swords, endorsed their armors, and were ready to declare war, again. They were a warrior race, and would never let such a offence go unpunished.

When their main enemy (her) set a foot into their territory (for Gringotts was Goblin territory), they had been ready to attack her, and die trying. She was the Savior, the Girl-Who-Lived-And-Won, the Winner. They held no doubts as to their chances of winning this war – she was already a legend – but they were prepared to die. That was the least they could do.

Even when she told them that she wanted to talk, all the while blocking their attacks and defending herself, they didn't stop.

Though, when she began talking of reparation, now that caught their attention. There's nothing a Goblin loves more than money, after all.

By then, she thought she only had the Potter and Black title. But that meant enough money for twenty royal lives. At least.

So she had talked – and this time, they listened.

She would pay for reasonable reparations (she may not know her world much, but she knew Goblins and was no fool), and she would express her faith and trust in Gringotts to the Wizarding population. By then, the Goblins were listening intently, but were still intending to fight.

Then she had proposed them a dragon.

Actually, it hadn't been as much for them than it had been for a friend. As explained before, Dragon Riders had come to fight for Freedom, Light, and against Tyranny, Torture, Discrimination and Voldemort.

Yes, Voldemort's name had its place up there.

Still, that was more than a lot of people did.

While waiting for the battle, Harriet had talked to the dragons. They were marvelous creatures, and perfectly dangerous – but not wild, mindless beasts. Whatever the Wizards seemed to think, dragons were loyal, and had probably more honor than a lot of Wizards she knew.

Of course, dragons were dangerous. But tamed ones, while still deadly, didn't attack everything at all – though they weren't so much tamed as they were raised with affection, care, and respect.

Take a dog, for example. Supposedly the best friend of human kind, a wild dog will attack and bite like a wolf if given half the chance. The same could be said for dragons : when a wild dragon is around, you hide and pray to live to see another day (though it is rarely efficient).

And as a dog will attack to defend its master, so will a dragon protect his or her Rider. But neither the dog nor the dragon are, by then, mindless beasts – quite the opposite, actually.

While talking to them, she had discovered old, wise minds, with a penchant for sarcasm and teasing ; and though they were still fierce, they could also be soft (but do not ever tell them she had said that. They would probably take it as an insult).

She had met a female dragon with a particularly sharp tongue, named Chrisalled. She had loved her humor (quite a dark one, in fact) because it was quite similar to hers. But after the battle was done, the dead buried and the wounded taken care of, she had gone to see what had become her friends only to learn that Chrisalled's wings had been broken by a Giant's punch.

She couldn't fly anymore, and no amount of magic would ever change that. Her magic battled the healers', and while some spells did indeed work on dragons, wings were a delicate part of their anatomy, and a grave wound here was often irreparable.

This one hadn't been, but she would never fly again. A dragon who couldn't fly was a dead dragon, though, as cruel as it seemed. She couldn't hunt anymore, and her wings were always kept tucked against her sides.

The Preserve she had come from had, sadly, no need for a walking dragon. No male would ever want her, so she wasn't useful for reproduction, and her only use would be potion ingredients – all in all, Chrisalled was ready to die. The couldn't afford to keep her for nothing.

Her Rider was inconsolable. A bond between a dragon and his Rider was a strong one, and he knew she would have to die. Not only he didn't have enough money to pay for a peaceful place at the Preserve for her, but she was ready to die. It was instinct, for her – wingless dragons were dead dragons, that was the way of life...

That is, until Harriet came by and proposed her a deal.

The dragons had came and fought for a war that wasn't their. Harriet held a lot of respect for the Dragon Riders, who had fought when they could have stayed securely in their Preserves, who weren't even in Britain. Likewise, she had a lot of respect for the dragons themselves, who had no interest in this war other than their Riders' will.

She had felt responsible for them – for Chrisalled's state.

She wouldn't – couldn't let her die. There had been enough dead as it was. So she proposed a deal instead. Free meat everyday for a peaceful job, with only the odd intimidation show every so often.

That's right, she proposed her a job at Gringotts'.

The total opposite of a Dragon Preserve, Goblins had no need for a flying dragon – they didn't keep one for his aerial prowess, after all. No, Chrisalled would be a Vault guardian, and the Goblins would have a dragon who wasn't trying to eat them or try to escape at the first occasion, that would never try to fly away in search of freedom.

That was perfect for every party.

Of course, she would have a charmed room, in which she would be able to feel the wind's caress, and the sun's warmth. Earth and grass under her feet, water running through the ground in an imitation of a river.

Everything she could want, she would have ; and she only had to watch over the Vaults, burning whoever tried to defy the Goblins and thought greed was more important than life. It wouldn't be as exciting as a true, real hunt ; but Chrisalled would be able to satisfy her hunting instincts when tracking and killing thieves.

Chrisalled and her Rider accepted – as did the Goblins.

To sweeten things with them, she had also proposed to give them some Goblin-made objects back from her Vaults. They hadn't been happy with the return of only some of their loaned objects (why wizards couldn't seem to understand that a Goblin-made object is never sold, but only loaned until the buyer's death, neither the Goblins nor Harriet would ever understand – it had been explained very clearly in an old book Harriet had read once, in the Library, at Hogwarts).

That is, until she then expressed her intention of renewing the loan of the other objects. She had no need for a Goblin-made brooch, or even tiara – but she renewed the loan of each and every weapon she had in her Vaults, and was determined to master them. She had only given back the cursed weapons – those that had been created with the curse tied to them. She had no use for a sacrificial dagger, after all, since she never intended to sacrifice an innocent (and only innocents could be used for sacrifices).

Goblin-made weapons had, as well as very specific enchantments on them, the ability of absorbing everything that would strengthen them. That was very useful, since she would simply have to coat them in her Basilisk venom ; and nothing wizards could create. Plus, they were a warrior race, they knew more about good weapons than wizards ever would.

It meant reparations' costs from her pocket, a new dragon immediately ready to work, the preservation of their reputation, the return of some of their long-time 'lost' objects, as well as the renewed loan of some of their other loaned objects. At the end of the day, they had earned more money than they would have, had nothing happened.

They were more than happy to accept her back into Gringotts, and 'forget' that she had ever stolen from them (though Harriet knew they would never forget, even if they had forgiven – and for Goblins, that was quite a lot already), and welcomed her back as warmly as they could (that is to say, not at all).

(At least they put their weapons away, and stopped trying to behead her).

(That counted as a win).

She had by then been 18, so she had taken the Inheritance test – only to discover she had inherited a lot more than she had thought she would. The Goblins had been delighted – it meant Vaults stayed or returned back to activation.

Some she could understand – Peverell had come with her title of Mistress of Death, as strange as it was, even if it had already been buried in her blood. Likewise, Lestrange had come to her only by a case of circumstances : since Bellatrix died after her husband, who died after his brother, their inheritance came back to Harriet. Rabastan, who had no wife and no children, gave everything to his older brother, who gave everything to his wife, who gave everything to her closest family.

That was how Wills basically worked in the Magical world. Since the Lestrange had no other members, Bellatrix inherited everything. Since she had no children, it came back to the Black Family, whose Head was Lord Black – or, as it was, Lady Black.

And though Harriet had adamantly refused to ever have the name Lestrange in her official name, she had accepted the legacy – how couldn't she ? For all that she would have wanted nothing to do with it, she was interested in the books (if only to search counter-curses), and she didn't think it was wise to virtually give everything to Malfoy.

No, not wise at all.

Then there was the Slytherin title – understandable, since she was then the Boss of the Snakes, as well as the legitimate Lady of the House by Right of Conquest ; an old, magical tradition. Magic Herself recorded these traditions, and She had recognized Harriet as the rightful Lady Slytherin.

Griffindor was logical, since she had been his Heiress since Second Year, when she had called for help, and received his sword for it. The sword had recognized her courage and sacrifice, and since her line comported some Griffindor Blood, it had activated it when she had first taken the sword in hand.

Slaying the Basilisk with it concluded the ritual, even if she hadn't know it then – though it was the act of slaying a monster with said sword that had concluded the ritual, not the fact that it had been a snake.

As for Ravenclaw... Now that had been a surprise. It appeared that her mother wasn't that much of a Muggleborn – rather, the descendant of a long line of Squibs. Harriet felt sad she had never known, before dying. She was sure her mother would have loved to learn about this.

It had been a surprise, but a welcomed one. Almost as if she was wearing the Evan name – but it was her mother's only. She finally had something from her mother, except her eyes and books from the Potter Vaults. Something to tie her to her Lily, the woman who had died for her, the woman whose voice she still heard in her nightmares, or around Dementors. The woman Harriet didn't know at all, and had nothing from.

She had welcomed it.

Some had also named her their Heiress, but they weren't from Old and Noble Families, and she hadn't had to take their names. Though that had added some Galleons to her Vaults (as one could add some water drops in an ocean. Not much of a difference), and some books ; that wasn't very consequential (and Harriet had dutifully searched for any blood-legitimate relative before accepting the legs. She didn't want to ruin people when she had already more gold than she could count – some people could be decidedly petty when they were angry with someone from their family).

Still, after the deal was concluded, loans renewed, and Chrisalled installed ; Harriet managed to make the Goblins promise they wouldn't reveal her other names. As far as everyone knew, she was Lady Potter-Black – a very impressive name all of its own, without even adding the others in the lot.

But she had succeeded in pacifying her relations with the Goblins, as peaceful as relations with Goblins could be ; there was no war, and they even seemed to like her – more than they liked the other wizards, anyway. Though, it was probably because she was their single most wealthy client in the world, and polite to boot.

But heh, at least her goal had been fulfilled.

(Though she could admit, at least to herself, that she had found bitterly funny the fact that Bellatrix's Vault was now hers, and that she could just have waited for the bitch to die – or kill her herself – as well as her husband and his brother, to access the Vault. That would have prevented the mess with Gringotts. But was what done was done).

So, packing. Yes.

As said before, it was no light packing. Oh, no, not at all.

Especially taking into account that whatever she left here would be seized by the Ministry as soon as they were able to do so. She didn't want them to gain anything from her – not anymore.

They had taken enough as it was.

It had taken a long time to organize her trunks, trying to keep a semblance of organization. She had succeeded, thankfully, but almost became bald in the process. She really ought to remember that she should not pull her hair out when frustrated.

(Even if Pousshair potions conveniently existed).

Still, it was quite a lot of trunks. The trunks themselves were quite beautiful, and even more useful. The trunks were in the shape of a perfectly rectangular treasure chest. The faces were all solid dark green scales, but the edges and corners were ensconced in riveted bands of bright silver, and Harriet herself had graved a lot of tiny runes on it. They were more protected than anything else in this world, even Hogwarts (though, given how Hogwarts' protections had been used during her scholarship, that didn't mean a lot – but her trunks were highly protected indeed).

(Harriet would honestly love to meet someone able to open one of her trunks, or even damage it).

(She wasn't holding her breath).

On the front of the trunks were seven latches that did not seem to be connected to anything, and looked like they were there for some decoration purpose more than anything else. But each of these latches opened a different compartment of the trunk, which were all magically enlarged.

Each compartment was the size of a little apartment, and contained thousands of shrunken trunks – which themselves had seven magically enlarged compartments. So yes, it was in no way a light packing, and in every way an organization nightmare.

As said before, the trunks were highly protected – nothing could destroy one : fire, magical means, blunt force – nothing. Furthermore, to open one, one would need a bit of her freely given blood (good luck), a sample of her magic (don't give up ?), and her Elder wand (yeah, right).

Considering that she was the only one able to use the Elder Wand, that noting and no one could ever take a sample of her magic without her authorization, and that her blood disappeared back in her body as soon as it had leaved her...

No, really, she was quite sure that her trunks were safe.

One contained each and every weapon that had been in her Vaults, as well as the ones she had commanded when in Japan. Magical, Goblin and Muggle ones, she had learned to use them all, and liked the different possibilities they offered (Goblins' absorbed every substance that made them stronger, and then could use that substance when used against enemies ; Magicals' had a whole range of uses depending on how they had been created, and for what purpose ; and Muggles' were perfect in their simplicity and efficiency).

Well, the trunks contained a lot of others trunks, but the final result was only one trunk, that she had called, with much originality, the Weapon Trunk.

Well, at least it was clear, and logical. As were the other names.

(And wizards were never known for their imagination anyway...).

Then there was the Gold Trunks. Yes, Trunks, with an 's'. Her fortune was so much that not even seven shrunken magically-enlarged-compartments trunks were enough to contain everything into one big not-shrunken Trunk. There were three Gold Trunks, containing jewels, jewelry, gold and mithril, since it apparently didn't exist in the Elemental Nations, but was damn useful for weapons.

She had quite a lot of this.

After this came her favorites, the Book Trunks. Four trunks, filled to the brim with shrunken trunks, filled to the brim with shrunken books. She was taking every single book that was hers, and that was quite a lot. She had even gone to Hogwarts' Come-and-Go room, and asked for the books it possessed. She refused to let forgotten knowledge disappear, and since she wouldn't ever come back, had painstakingly copied every single book she didn't already have by hand, because the books disappeared as soon as they were out of the Room, as did any magical copy she tried to do. And though the Fiendfire was supposed to have destroyed everything that had been inside the Room, it wasn't quite the truth.

Fact was, the Lost Objects Room was a magically created room that contained every object ever lost in Hogwarts. But there weren't really in the room – they were copies, assembled by Hogwarts, for whoever searched a lost object. And in the same way that they disappeared as soon as they were outside the room, they also couldn't be destroyed while inside, for they weren't really there.

So when Harriet had come here, hoping to save some hopefully intact books, she had been delighted to see everything exactly the same as it had been the last time she had been there, before the Fiendfire. So she had begun to copy them, by hand. It had taken quite a very, very long time.

Well, she had used an old, forgotten (and familial, which explained the 'forgotten' bit, since it had never been public knowledge) spell that slowed Time inside a room, which allowed her to do so more quickly than it should have been ; but that had been long and frustrating nevertheless. (Why, oh why couldn't she simply take the books out of the Room ? Why did the Room forbid it ? That sucked. She had never writen this much in her life before - and by then, she was 128 years old !).

Then, she had scoured the magical libraries all around the world (since languages weren't a problem for her now), and bought then again every single book she didn't already have. It appeared to be quite a lot indeed, and while some were very old books, the majority were more recent books she didn't have (whether because they were in a language not talked by a Potter, or a Black, or any of her Families before, or because with the Wars, her ancestors hadn't had time to purchase books, or simply because when there had been no descendant, the libraries hadn't been actualized after the last Head's death... Whatever the reason was, all of her libraries lacked the more recent books).

(And while an astronomical amount of knowledge had been lost to Time, a consequent amount had also been created in the meanwhile. More recent, more modern, but no less useful – for some of them. She had no need for the spell that whitened the teeth, thank you very much).

She hadn't bothered with the History books (why would she need them ? The other world's History was bound to be vastly different - and she had always hated them... Plus, she already had some in her Families' libraries), and the Divination ones (she was no Seer, and honestly doubted Seers existed in the Elemental Nations), as well as the books on Muggles written by wizards (entirely useless, the lot of them), but the rest was fair game. Everything that caught her attention, she bought.

Then, to be on the sure side, she had bought a whole new library of muggle books (science, chemistry, mechanic, informatics, even medicine... Everything that seemed interesting, or at least promising, she purchased).

Then there was the Clothes Trunk. A trunk that contained every type of clothes – magical ones, since their enchantments were ever-so-helpful, muggle clothes (one couldn't deny the majority of them were quite practical, or beautiful – muggles knew their fashion), and Japanese-style clothes, since, you know, the other world was similar to Japan. In this trunk were also tucked her trusty Basilisk-hide clothes.

Though she had felt bad wearing them in front of the different snakes she had encountered (she was literally wearing the skin of one of their own), she couldn't deny that they were dead useful. Impermeable to magic, could hardly be pierced, even by weapons, and supple and practical ; she wouldn't fight in any other clothes. And that was her trunks' material, since we're talking of this, which went a long way in explaining their security and durability.

In this case, Runes only enhanced the scales' natural strength and proprieties, for the most part (even Basilisks were hard-pressed to shrug a Giant's punch as if it was nothing, hence the need to use Runes to better protect her Trunks. And herself).

The Fabric Trunk contained a bit of every fabric of this world, but mainly the magical ones (the ones she was sure she wouldn't be able to find in the Elemental Nations). It meant what was left of the Basilisk Hide, Dragon Hide from multiple races (since each had their own proprieties), Acromentula silk, Unicorn skin (only when the Unicorn died by natural means, and it could only be wore by a virgin, though it was beautiful. It was traditionally used for wedding dresses, but not that much nowadays, since different times meant different customs, and virginity before marriage was now more an ideal than a fact. She doubted she would ever use one – she was quite the pessimist about finding love – but it was also used for newborns, to symbolize their purity, and if she could have a child one day…), and a whole lot of other materials.

She had learned the method used to treat the materials into useful fabrics, ready to be used for clothes. She wanted to be able to create her own clothes, in this other world. Thankfully, one of her Families owned a clothes' shop in France, and she had been able to learn the trade, after she swore she would never use it to do her own, private shop. Even if she was their owner, she had had to do an Unbreakable Vow. Clearly, that was a very serious matter for them, no matter that using it for her own gain would have only resulted in her loss – loss of her time, mainly. But the important point was that she now knew the well-kept spells to craft clothes.

Being able to find materials that didn't exist where she was going, was also one of the purposes of the Animal Trunk. Shrunken animals, as well as eggs, put into stasis, were waiting for when Harriet was ready to place them into a protected place, in her hopefully future Village. Now, she hadn't been able to take a dragon (they were sadly too big to hide, and she didn't think it was a good idea to introduce some into this world), but some Acromantulas for their silk were fair game.

(She would have loved to take a Nundu. They were so useful, would especially be, in a ninja world – but she knew it wouldn't be a good idea. At all. For all that they couldn't kill her, they certainly could kill anyone else, and even her status as Mistress of Death held no power over them. A weapon you cannot control is a useless and dangerous one, and Harriet didn't want to cause countless deaths just because she wanted a Nundu).

Some Sombrals came with her, though. It was in their nature to follow Death, when they could. And they had been faithful companions, all those years. And, though she very much doubted anyone in her would-be new world, bar the youngest children, would be unable to see them ; it did not matter, since ninjas wouldn't be able to kill them.

See them, sure – but not kill. You cannot kill something that is already dead ; and though one could argue that they were alive, they simply weren't. Not strictly speaking.

No heartbeat, no blood pumping in veins, and impossible to kill. Only Time could take their so-called 'lives' – Time and Death, of course – and that, even if they did reproduce like any other race.

They were a strange species, one belonging to Death, and humans would never be able to kill one.

Well, fact was, she was as attached to them as they were to her, and she had decided to take them with her. No problems, since they freely followed her ; even though she was determined to find a way to hide them from ninjas' eyes.

She wasn't going to another world, only to be chased after like she had been in this world. It was bad enough if people learned (as they would end up to do) that she had magic, and could do amazing things – let's not talk of what they would do if they learned that she was Mistress of Death.

(But she had already decided not to take any Dementor or Levithold – it was too risky, and she didn't really like them anyway. Never had).

The other purpose of this trunk was a supply of Potion ingredients, since some – most, really – of the ingredients needed for potions didn't exist in the Elemental Nations – which explained the Vegetable Trunk as well. It contained plants and pots, as well as seeds of every magical and non-magical plant, with some books on how to treat them. She would need a very big greenhouse, several even, but she was determined to have them installed as soon as possible. She didn't really like Herbology, but she knew she would need to update her skills and knowledge in the growing of plants, even with the generous supply of matured plants she already had.

There was the Potion Trunk, containing a unimaginable amount of Potions (the useful ones, though, such as Veritaserum, Skelegrow, Polynectar – she somehow doubted they would ever need a Color-changing potion, or one giving flatulence to the drinker – though you never know). One of the shrunken trunks contained her own, private laboratory.

Then there was probably the most varied trunks so far, the Tool Trunks. It contained everything that could be useful, from Binoculars (mighty useful for spying) to Pensieves (to show them what she had seen in someone's head by using Legilimency, for example), or the ever-so-useful magical tents (the ones that make you wonder why, exactly, you have a house). It also contained cauldrons, brooms (though she would be the only one able to use them, but maybe if she had children –), some Foe-Glass (always useful for ninjas), and really everything she could think of. She refused to take muggle firearms though. Not only she didn't know how to use them, but ninjas were more about stealth anyway, right ? And using magic on a firearm often made it explode, so she couldn't just silence it.

And she was going into another world. She didn't want to take things from her first world, bar the magical ones (but those came with her being a witch. She would use them, to help the best she could, but ninjas would rarely be able to use them with the intention to kill).

Muggle weapons were way too dangerous, even in a world where death was a job. Harriet could honestly say that she simply didn't like them. They were too... cold. Unpersonal. Just... there was no art behind their use, no technique. Press the trigger, kill. A friend, a foe, an innocent – it doesn't matter. You cannot always control where the bullet will go. Accidents happened, and she had heard once about a child who had killed his father when playing with his gun... How was that possible ?

That was no weapon - that was mindless death, unnecessary destruction. And it was too cold.

Anyway, the last three of her trunks were the most important sentimentally.

They were the House Trunks – and they contained each and every object that was hers. The ones she had in her various houses scattered across the world.

From beds to carpets, from the silverware to the paintings, and from the old, preserved clothes to the old wands left in the Familial Rooms in her different Family Manors (Old Family never threw their wands away, they kept them as reminders. No one knew why, but it was Tradition, and not knowing the reason behind an action had never bothered wizards), she took everything.

While she was going to seal her houses, making it impossible for anyone to enter them ; she knew that one day or the other people would break through her wards. That was how it worked, they would create a new spell, or a new object which could break wards, and that would be it.

But they would never find anything in her houses. Her House-elves would make sure that they stayed in perfect condition, and she had already ordered them to stock the gold earned by her various enterprises in one of her Manors' private Vaults, having decided that should this eventuality happen one day – wizards breaking her wards – she would just send one of her Snakes to collect everything, leaving only dirt and dust to the greedy little bastards.

They would be expecting Eldorado (priceless books, mountains of gold and jewels, inestimable artifacts...), and they would find an empty place. They wouldn't even be able to take the houses, mansions, or castles for themselves – the Family Magic that impregnated the houses would forever reject them. They could, with a lot of time and dedication, break the wards ; not the houses' sentience.

They would gain nothing. She had gone to great lengths to ensure this.

So now, she was packed, and she was ready to go, ready to find another life – a better one, for her. She would miss no one, and knew she would not be missed either.

Her gold, her fame, her power, and the symbol they thought she was – yes, they would miss all of it. Greedily, they would think that they had lost something that was theirs, not even considering that she had always been her own person, and that she owed them nothing. They would see the loss of a figure, not of a person. They would resent her for doing what she wanted, thinking she had taken something from them... They would never realize that it had been her right, and that she had never been theirs.

Even her friends, the persons she had given so much for, would blame her for the world's disapprobation that would fall on them when everyone realized that she was forever gone – not just hidden in another country, and not dead either – just... gone.

And they would know, for they had the artifacts monitoring the magic of every witch and wizard this world had known. As long as the monitored subject was alive, then their orb was bright, even if they were hidden behind countless wards and protections destined to make them disappear from the surface of the world. There was even a rough approximation of their emplacement (generally the country they were in – though it was rarely helpful, what with portkeys and the floo being so easily accessible to any wizard worth their name, thus enabling them to disappear again should anyone come too close to them).

It wasn't checked often – very rarely, in fact, for Unspeakable were the only ones having access to the Room, and they were way too much invested in their research to bother with checking whether said witch was as dead as the world thought she was. But Harriet was pretty sure they would make an exception for her. If not because they were pressured by the ministry, then because they had always wanted to study her, and her apparent inability to die. She was sure they would want to see if she truly was dead for good, this time.

If the wizard died, then their orb darkened, losing the light and the warmth it had held.

And hers would be bright, as bright as it had ever been – but it would show no approximate emplacement, for the orb only knew of this world, and not another world. She would have, for all intent and purpose, really disappeared from this world (true), and that would astound them.

Her magic would still be here, alive ; but out of reach for them. Not dead... but not attainable. If she had died, then some of the wards she had cast around her proprieties would fall with her. Not the permanent ones – those were anchored to Runic Stones, and would hold for as long as the stones would – but the ones she had cast with her own magic, without support.

But even after her depart, they would still stand strong, for her magic wouldn't die. As frail as the bond would be, it would still exist. And as it would be sufficient for her House-elves, so too it would be for the wards. That, and the fact that her Seats would still be active, would be the definite proof that she wasn't dead.

They would forever search her, unable to understand that they would never be able to find her.

Yet there would always be hope in their darkened hearts, and Harriet laughed already, thinking about everything those... trash would do to try and find her.

Let them try.

She had won.

God.

Done.

First part only, and the second one is even longer - and let's not even talk about the others after that... I will post as soon as I can. Hope you liked it ;)