Another life. Another identity.

Meeting strangers

As dawn's golden fingers brushed the sky, Lady Harriet Potter stirred from slumber, her thoughts already weaving the tapestry of the day ahead. Though her soul longed for solitude, she knew well the dangers of isolation—especially in a village as tightly woven as Mystic Falls. In places such as this, silence bred whispers, and whispers could become curses. She would not allow idle tongues to shape her story.

Determined to make her presence known, Harri resolved to visit the village's gathering hall—the Grill—at midday. It struck her as peculiar that the town offered no other place for communal feasting. Everything bore the same name: Mystic Falls High, Mystic Falls Library, Mystic Falls Park. A lack of imagination, perhaps. But such matters were beneath her concern.

She adorned herself with quiet regality: black leggings like shadowed silk, a silver top that shimmered like moonlight on water. Around her neck lay a silver choker etched with the sigils of the Potter line, and her fingers bore rings of the Black bloodline—ancient and proud. Her hair, bound high, cascaded like a raven's plume down her back. After a modest breakfast of enchanted grain, she turned to her studies, delving into the arcane art of rune-making. She sought to craft wards—silent sentinels—to guard her lands and forest without the need for wandwork.

The enchanted clock chimed noon, its song stirring her from the depths of ancient texts. Rune magic was intricate, demanding precision and power. Rising, she slipped into her heels, gathered her satchel, and stepped into the mortal world once more.

The Grill buzzed with life, but as Harri crossed the threshold, a hush fell like a spell. Eyes turned, voices stilled. Though none knew her name, they felt her presence—a quiet storm cloaked in grace. She approached the counter and ordered a light repast with tea. Her voice, lilting and unmistakably British, caught the ear of the steward, Matt, who inquired gently if she was merely passing through or had come to stay. Harri, ever poised, answered with measured truth, knowing the questions would not end there.

She settled into a booth, sipping her tea with a grimace. The brew was weak, a pale imitation of the comfort she knew. A chuckle broke the silence, and she looked up to find a man seated across from her.

"You're British and love tea," he said with a grin, "but we Americans can't seem to brew it right."

Harri smirked. "How hard can it be to boil water, steep leaves, and let them breathe?"

"Beats me. I'm Alaric—Ric, if you prefer. I teach history at the local school."

"Lady Harriet Potter," she replied, her voice calm and clear. "Graduated, so I won't be in your class." She hadn't meant to reveal her title, but it slipped out like a truth long held. Technically, she was Lady Heir to both the Potter and Black legacies—in both the magical and mortal realms.

Ric blinked, surprised. Few in this land spoke of Lords and Ladies. He wondered if she hailed from an ancient line, perhaps one touched by royalty. He wasn't wrong.

"So, what fills your days now that school's behind you?" he asked, careful not to dwell on her title.

"I've family matters to tend to," she said softly. "Much to arrange before I can truly settle."

As they spoke, Harri remained unaware that the entire hall had heard her name. Then, a figure approached—tall, composed, and unmistakably otherworldly. He bowed low.

"It warms the heart to know the Lady of the Potter line lives," he said. "Rumors spoke of tragedy, that your kin had been lost. I am Klaus. Your family once served me well."

Harri froze, her breath caught in memory. "I am Lady twice over," she replied with quiet dignity. "I hope the Potters aided you honorably."

Ric watched, his heart heavy with the weight of her past. To survive such loss and still walk with grace—he saw strength in her silence.

Before more could be said, a strange chime rang from her satchel. Harri stared at the device, uncertain. The room watched, curious. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Ric leaned in and pointed to the correct rune—er, button.

She answered softly. "George, how do you know how to use this when I don't?"

He laughed. "Arthur taught us. Said it was vital for blending in. Oh, and an owl is on its way."

With a sigh, Harri ended the call, rose from her seat, and placed a generous offering of $80 on the table. When Matt approached to inquire about the meal, she whispered for him to keep the change.

Departing the Grill, Harri felt the weight of eyes upon her back. She had revealed much, and the winds of curiosity would surely stir. But for now, she returned to her sanctuary, seeking the solace of warm water and silence. The bath awaited, and with it, a moment of peace in a world still learning her name.