Upon arriving at the mortal port known as Virginia Airport, Harri stepped into the realm of the mundane with quiet resolve. Awaiting her was a sleek carriage of emerald hue—enchanted in subtle ways by Goblin craftsmanship and veiled within a Muggle dealership. Though born of Gryffindor fire, Harri had always harbored a whisper of Slytherin shadow, a cunning edge beneath her courage.
The open road stretched before her like a spell yet cast. With wind in her hair and mortal music echoing through the cabin, Harri sang freely, her voice mingling with the hum of the engine. This was her first true taste of Muggle life, and it thrilled her. She had read of such journeys in books, tales of freedom and reinvention, and now she lived one.
Soon, the sign appeared like a herald's banner: Welcome to Mystic Falls. Consulting her enchanted map, she traced the path to her new sanctuary. The Goblins, ever meticulous and bound by ancient pacts, had prepared everything. Communication with them remained possible—though their friendship, as always, came with a price.
Her new dwelling stood nestled among whispering trees and moonlit stones. At first glance, Harri felt its magic call to her, and she knew it was home. With a few practiced flicks of her wand, the contents of her bottomless satchel soared into place—books, relics, and comforts arranged as if by unseen hands. At eighteen, the trace upon her magic had faded, and she wielded her power freely once more.
The manor was a tapestry of her lineage. One chamber held the collected wisdom of the Potter and Black families, tomes bound in dragonhide and inked with ancestral secrets. Her own room shimmered in green and silver, a tribute to the house she never claimed but always understood. A grand canopy bed stood at its heart, chosen not for luxury, but for healing—a throne to replace the cupboard and cot of her youth. Her wardrobe brimmed with garments fit for a witch of noble blood, each piece a quiet rebellion against the Dursleys' cruelty.
The guest chambers bore the colors of Hogwarts—scarlet, blue, yellow, and green—each a tribute to the houses that shaped her journey. She adorned them with flowers, portraits, and enchanted keepsakes: a golden snitch that danced in the air, a scarf that whispered the school song. The kitchen, warm and inviting, became her sanctuary. She stirred spells into her cooking, reclaiming the joy the Dursleys had tried to steal.
As twilight cloaked the sky in velvet, Harri felt the weight of her travels settle upon her. Too weary to conjure a feast, she let the silence cradle her. She suspected her arrival had stirred the winds of curiosity in Mystic Falls, and soon, questions would come. But for now, she surrendered to sleep—deep, dreamless, and healing. For the first time since the final battle, Harriet Potter rested in peace.
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Another life. Another identity.
FanfictionCover image is my own. Fem Harry Potter crossover Vampire Diaries. Harriet, who preferred to be called Harri, was fed up with the war. Betrayed by her best friends and pursued by the Ministry, she decided to leave Europe. She chose to move to a smal...
