The Weight Of Names
1 September 1971
King’s Cross Station, London
Harrie stood in the bustling station of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, feeling small and out of place amidst the sea of people.
She wore a grey checkered pinafore dress with dark blue and red lines crisscrossing over it. Beneath it, she had a long-sleeved button-up shirt, the pristine white fabric contrasting against the darker colors of her dress. Her long, curly brown hair was neatly pulled back with a black bow, adding a touch of elegance to her otherwise simple attire.
The station was a whirlwind of activity, with families saying their goodbyes, young witches and wizards chatting excitedly, and the occasional owl hooting from its cage. The sound of chatter and laughter filled the air, mingling with the occasional call of a train conductor. Harrie’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of the Hogwarts Express, a magnificent scarlet steam engine that seemed to pulse with its own magical energy.
The platform was filled with an overwhelming sense of magic. It buzzed in the air, making Harrie’s skin tingle with its intensity. She had never been surrounded by so many witches and wizards. The sheer number of people, each with their own magical aura, was almost too much to bear. The noise, the colors, the energy – it all combined to create a sensory overload that made her feel dizzy and out of breath.
Harrie clutched her small suitcase tighter, her knuckles turning white from the strain. She felt lost and disoriented, unsure of where to go or what to do next. The towering forms of adults and older students loomed over her, their conversations creating a chaotic symphony that she couldn’t quite tune out. Everywhere she looked, there were robes of different colors, wands being brandished carelessly, and an endless stream of enchanted luggage being hauled onto the train.
She tried to steady her breathing, reminding herself that this was the start of something new. The beginning of her journey to Hogwarts. But the excitement that she knew she should be feeling was overshadowed by a sense of trepidation. The magical world was so much larger and more complex than she had ever imagined, and it was all hitting her at once in a rush of sounds and sensations.
Harrie knew she needed a minute. She needed a moment away from all of this crowd and the ever-changing, fast-paced environment. She looked around desperately for an escape but saw none. She thought of pushing forward, turning in her suitcase and Bowie's cage, finding an empty compartment on the train, and
locking herself in. But there were so many people that she couldn't imagine making it through the throng. She was so small. God, she was so, so small. She could easily be overlooked in such a crowded place.
In a moment of desperation, she did the only thing she could think of: she stopped time. The chaos around her froze instantly, people caught mid-step, mid-laugh, mid-conversation. The station fell silent, and Harrie was the only one left moving.
She walked away from the platform, leaving Bowie's frozen form and her suitcase behind. She navigated through the motionless crowd, slipping through the barrier that led to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and stepping back into the Muggle world. She kept on walking until she was out of King’s Cross station. Harrie had expected to feel the rush of fresh air and the wind on her skin as she exited the station. But there was nothing. No movement, no sound. The world outside was just as still as the one she had left behind. She realized that stopping time meant everything, even the wind, was frozen.
She walked a little further, finding a bench underneath a large tree whose branches provided ample shade. She sat down on the bench, the stillness of the world around her both a comfort and a reminder of her unique abilities.
Harrie took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The silence was almost eerie, but it gave her the peace she desperately needed. She closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts and muster the courage to face the daunting journey ahead.
Harrie had more than a month and a half to process what was going on and to understand what her father wanted her to do, what mission he had put her on. But up until this moment, she had purposely avoided thinking about anything and everything. The overwhelming rush of events and emotions had kept her mind in a constant state of turmoil, and it was easier to push everything aside rather than face the harsh realities.
Sitting on the bench beneath the tree, with the world frozen around her, she knew she needed to organize her thoughts. She needed to come up with a plan, some sort of strategy that, if executed carefully, might allow her to escape this nightmare with some bits and parts of herself still intact.
Subconsciously, Harrie began to reminisce about everything that had happened to her from mid-July to the end of August, since she had entered the Radcliffe Mansion.
She had found herself in a new daily routine. Alfia would awaken her in the mornings. She would take a shower, washing off all the blood and pustule secretions from the torture of the previous night. Then she would head to breakfast, where her father and Edward Radcliffe would tell her things they thought she needed to know about their plans, their ideology, and the dystopian future they
envisioned. Harrie would sit there in silence, not daring to say a word about how bizarre they sounded.
After breakfast, she was usually left to her own devices. She spent most of her time in the library, the study, or her room, reading. There was little else to do.
She had hidden the record player in one of her drawers, knowing her father would be furious if he saw a Muggle gadget in her possession. She avoided going back to the house in Italy where she and Tommy had lived, unable to bear the mere thought of it.
There were no more strange encounters with Edward Radcliffe after that first night; much to Harrie’s disappointment. Harrie had become deeply interested in potions. And she wanted to learn from Edward Radcliffe. Instead, Harrie resorted to reading every potion book she could find in the library, taking meticulous notes. One day, in mid-August, she woke up to find a few books, a wand in a box, and some other supplies on her desk, presumably things she would need for school. She had no idea where they came from or who had bought them, but there they were.
The potions book fascinated her the most. She could do Transfiguration and Charms with ease, and memorizing the contents of the History of Magic or the herbology books was no problem. But potions required precise ingredients, proper blending, and correct timing. It was a science she couldn’t simply shortcut with her abilities.
The wand was peculiar. Harrie read that it was made of: Red oak wood, 11 inches, basilisk horn core. She was curious so she read about wands. Red oak was a symbol of the owner’s hot temper, it is apparently possessed with quick reactions making it the best wand for duels. Basilisk horn was not mentioned with details in the books that Harrie could find at the Radcliffe mansion —She really needed to figure out where to find a magic bookstore, she thought. Harrie only knew that Salazar Slytherin was the only other known wizard to have had this core in their wand. At first that didn’t mean anything to Harrie. Just that …. That name …. Salazar …. Sally.
During one of her morning lessons with her father she learned that Salazar Slytherin was one of the four founders of the Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, the school she was expected to attend, and that Salazar Slytherin was her ancestor. This information should’ve made Harrie feel proud, to be the only descendant of such great wizard to have shared his wand core. But Harrie had read that the wands chose their owners. This one didn’t choose her.
When she held the wand in her hand for the first time, she felt a slight buzz, like an electric current of magic. She tried a simple spell from the Charms book, but it was a disaster. She had no control over the wand, and her room looked as if it had been attacked. She cleaned up the mess with her innate magical abilities, realizing she was much more adept at the magic she had inherited from her mother. She never touched the wand again during that month and a half.
Harrie would have lunch alone, as her father and Edward Radcliffe were often out on business. She spent her afternoons reading and learning. Due to her father's disdain for Muggles, she made a habit of reading Muggle books as an act of rebellion. She would apparate to a bookstore in London, pick up a few books, and bring them back, hiding them in a bag she had enchanted with an extension charm. She read romances, classic novels, plays, and even science books – anything to remind her of a world outside the one her father was trying to confine her to.
At night, when her father returned, he would enter her mind and torture her without a word. The same potion-induced agony as the first night, meant to teach her obedience. These tortures didn’t last all night anymore, just a few hours, but they were still unbearable. Alfia would carry Harrie to her bedroom afterwards.
There was always a potion bottle on her night stand containing the galaxy like liquid. It was never the same amount Edward Radcliffe had given her after that dreadful first night. It was much less. Nevertheless, Harrie would drink the potion with gratitude and fall asleep a happy girl.
This routine helped Harrie keep her wits and not lose her mind from the grief she had for Tommy and the fear of the horrible future she saw before her. She had, of course, thought about joining Tommy to end it all so that she wouldn’t have to do the things she didn’t want to just because her father was her father, and he could control her. But she was only eleven years old. She wanted to live. She wanted to grow up. She wanted to go to concerts and to the cinemas with her boyfriend. She wanted to be part of a friend group that annoyed everybody else around them with their loud laughter. She wanted to fall in love. She wanted to be a mother. No, Harrie couldn’t end it all. She just had to find another way to escape her father.
A pang of hunger brought Harrie back to the present, in front of the King’s Cross Station. Looking around, she noticed a small, charming bakery across the street. It had the appearance of a cozy, mum-and-pop’s coffeehouse. Harrie decided she wanted something sweet, something comforting. She crossed the street and entered the bakery, her eyes landing on a tray of freshly baked, delicious-looking scones.
She picked up one of the scones from the display tray, its golden-brown crust still warm to the touch. She placed some Muggle money on the counter and took a bite of the scone before stepped back outside. The sweetness and warmth of the pastry filled her heart and body, making her feel a little better, a little stronger. As she walked back towards the station, ready to face the overwhelming crowd again, something caught her attention.
Standing right outside the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was a boy and a rather scary-looking woman. What drew Harrie's gaze was the boy. He seemed to be about her age, just as small and slight. He wore an old, dark blue sweater, jeans, and trainers with a hole in them. He was rather pale, with curly, dirty blonde hair.
The woman appeared to be pushing him towards the barrier, as if he were reluctant to cross it. His face was fair, with freckles dotting his cheeks, but it was also marred by scars. They trailed over his ears, neck, and hands, and they glinted silver in the sunlight. Harrie stared at the boy for a moment, intrigued by the peculiar appearance of his scars. She decided she needed to look up what silver scars meant and where they might come from. She took the last bite of her scone, then turned and walked back towards the barrier, steeling herself to re-enter the magical world.
Crossing the barrier, she found herself once again amidst the frozen scene of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. She navigated her way back to her suitcase and Bowie’s cage, where the figure of Edward Radcliffe stood. But this was not Edward; it was her father, who had taken Polyjuice Potion to ensure Harrie boarded the train. He also had some business to conduct, likely involving intimidating some of his followers.
Harrie took a deep breath and restarted the time with a wave of her hand. As life resumed at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the train conductor's voice rang out, calling for the last of the suitcases to be boarded. Harrie reached out to grab the handle of her suitcase, but the sudden weight of a hand on her shoulder made her flinch. Her body tensed as she recognized the touch. Her father lowered Edward Radcliffe’s head to her ear, his voice a cold whisper. "Harrie, don't forget why I'm sending you there. Don't forget our mission."
Harrie swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Please don't touch me," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her father's grip tightened on her shoulder. "Yes, father, I understand what I have to do. Please let me go," she pleaded, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion.
"Let her go. She doesn't want you to touch her. Let her go!" came a voice. Harrie turned to see a boy, about her age, stepping forward.
He had been passing by with his parents but had stopped, his eyes fixed on the scene. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of Edward Radcliffe’s, or rather Tom Riddle’s, now apparently Lord Voldemort’s wrists with both hands and tried to pull it away from Harrie’s shoulders.
Harrie was taken aback by the boy's boldness. She took a good look at him. He was beautiful. He had the fairest, most beautiful skin. His lips were red and beautiful, and his nose was just perfect. He had shoulder-length, glowing black hair. His eyes were mesmerizingly beautiful. They were grey and seemed very angry as he looked at the body of Edward Radcliffe.
"Sirius Orion Black!" came a high-pitched, angry voice making the boy’s eyes change color into a paler grey, almost white. Harrie looked up to see that the voice belonged to a tall, slim woman, who looked just like the boy that had come to her rescue. She was wearing a beautiful dark green velvet robe. Harrie couldn’t help but be fascinated; the woman looked just like a queen. strong and beautiful. Harrie could only assumed she was the mother of this righteous boy standing right beside her.
As the boy let go of Edward Radcliffe's hand, Harrie's eyes darted towards the man next to the woman. He also looked like the boy, with jet black hair, sharp jaw line, and high cheek bones. Behind this man stood another boy, a carbon copy of the boy who came to Harrie’s aid. Harrie thought them to be twins. The second boy had his hair shorter and his eyes seemed icier than that of his brother’s. His face had a lifeless expression. In contrast, the boy who was called Sirius Orion Black, looked full of life and emotions. Sirius walked back towards his parents but gave Harrie a look before joining them.
"Walburga, Orion," came her father's voice from the lips of Edward Radcliffe. The family stopped and turned back. The man and woman came forward, surprise apparent on their faces. The man began, "My lord, I'm sorry we didn't recognize you."
"It's all right," said her father. "I see you're still having trouble with the child." Walburga's cheeks flushed with anger. "He will be your servant, my lord. He's just going through this rebellious phase. We will make sure he realizes his status and his duty," she said.
The train conductor's voice rang out across the platform, calling for all students to board the train. "Off you go," said her father, gesturing towards Harrie. "Go with the boy."
Harrie took a deep breath, grabbed her suitcase, and began walking towards the boys who were standing a few meters away.
The boy called Sirius had his hands on his brother’s shoulders, seemingly trying to reassure him of something. The other boy looked very sad and very scared. Sirius dropped hid hands as he noticed Harrie approaching them. “Ready?” She asked. Sirius nodded his head and adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, To Harrie’s surprise, only Sirius started walking alongside her. She hesitated, then asked, "Isn't your brother joining us?" Sirius glanced at her and then back at his brother, a grin playing on his lips. "That tosser? No. He’ll be going to Hogwarts next year." "Oh," Harrie replied, unsure of what to say next.
Sirius turned to his brother again and shouted while walking backwards “Bye Reggie, be good, and don’t get yourself in trouble.” He had a sheepish grin on his face when he turned back to walk forward beside Harrie. Harrie found that grin quiet attractive.
"I'm Harrie. Harrie Ri..." She hesitated, catching herself. "Harrie Radcliffe." For a split second, she had forgotten the cover story her father had crafted for her. She was coming to Hogwarts as Harrielle Anna Radcliffe, the daughter of Edward Radcliffe, born from an affair with an Italian woman who had since passed away. The story explained her sudden appearance in London and her need to live with her father and attend Hogwarts, all to conceal her true identity. “Sirius,” the boy replied simply. After a moment's pause, he asked, “Your father … he is your father, right?” Harrie nodded.
“Is he...” Sirius looked around cautiously, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Is he like my parents?” Harrie furrowed her brow, giving him an odd look. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know,” Sirius said hesitantly, “does he work for...you-know-who?”
Harrie couldn’t exactly deny that her supposed father was not a death eater since her actual father, the dark lord, was living at his mansion. “yes, I think so,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly. Sirius looked at her, a flash of disappointment in his grey eyes.
They handed their suitcases to the attendant loading the luggages onto the train and walked together in silence. They were among the last students to board, and it took them a long time to find an empty compartment.
Harrie opened the door to the empty cabin and stepped inside, expecting Sirius to follow her. But he hesitated. “Look,” he said, stopping at the threshold. “I just...I can’t sit with you. I don’t want to sit here.” He gave her one last glance, then closed the cabin door and walked away without another word.
Harrie sat down, her mind swirling with thoughts. So that was Sirius Black, the rebellious heir of the noble House of Black. And now, as she sat alone in the cabin, she couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.
Sirius Black was part of her mission.