Chapter 4
Disclaimer. I do not own Harry Potter or any of its elements, its ownership remains with JK Rowling.
The dawn of August 1st brought with it a sense of renewal and anticipation. Heather stood before the imposing marble edifice of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, its gleaming white facade reflecting the morning sun. The air was thick with the scent of fresh parchment and polished wood, mingling with the faint tang of metal from the vaults below. The goblins, with their keen eyes and sharp features, moved about with purpose, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and shrewdness.
Heather pushed open the heavy brass doors and stepped inside, the cool air of the bank enveloping her like a shroud. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a drum signaling the beginning of a new journey. She approached the nearest teller, a goblin with a thin, angular face and sharp, calculating eyes.
"Excuse me," she began, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. "I need to speak with the Potter family account manager."
The goblin eyed her suspiciously, his gaze flicking over her attire and lingering on the onyx pendant around her neck. "What business do you have with the Potter account manager?" he asked, his tone both curious and wary.
"I am a Potter," Heather replied, lifting her chin slightly. "I need to discuss family business."
The goblin's eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly. "Follow me," he said, motioning for a guard to accompany them. Heather followed, her footsteps echoing off the marble floor as they made their way deeper into the bank.
They arrived at an ornate door, the name "Sharpclaw" engraved in gold letters upon it. The goblin knocked once and then opened the door, gesturing for Heather to enter.
She stepped inside, finding herself in a spacious office adorned with ancient tapestries and shelves filled with ledgers and artifacts. Behind a large desk sat Sharpclaw, the Potter family account manager, and steward of their businesses and vaults. Heather knew him well from her own dimension.
Sharpclaw was a goblin of considerable stature, his eyes as sharp as his namesake and his demeanor one of authority and intelligence. He looked up from the ledger before him, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
Sharpclaw looked up, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. “And who might you be?”
Heather squared her shoulders. “I am Heather Potter.” She met his gaze, her resolve unwavering. "I need to discuss the Potter family holdings," she said. "And I assure you, I am who I say I am."
Sharpclaw's eyes gleamed with interest, but his skepticism remained. "Step into the truth circle," he instructed, motioning to a glowing circle etched into the floor beside his desk.
Heather did as she was told, feeling a slight tingle as she entered the circle. Sharpclaw watched her closely, his eyes never leaving her face.
"State your identity," he commanded.
"I am Heather Potter," she began, her voice clear and steady. "But I come from another dimension."
Sharpclaw's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. He activated the truth circle, its magic ensuring that only the truth could be spoken within its bounds.
Heather recounted her story, her words spilling forth in a torrent of honesty and determination. She spoke of the war, of the losses she had endured, and of her desire to make things right in this new world. When she finished, the circle glowed softly, confirming her words. Sharpclaw regarded her with a mixture of amusement and respect.
Sharpclaw's eyes were full of mirth, while a grin spread across his face. “Ah, the ever-present Potter luck,” he said with a chuckle. “I have heard many tales as unbelievable from your grandfather, Fleamont, and it seems his legacy continues.”
Heather smiled, relieved. “Yes, it appears so.”
Sharpclaw nodded, his demeanor becoming more business-like. "Very well. Let us see to your affairs."
Over the next few hours, Heather and Sharpclaw reviewed the state of the Potter family holdings. She was relieved to find that everything was stable, just as it had been in her own dimension. She set up her own vault, relocating three-quarters of the fortune she had brought with her, and received the key to a family property in Leeds—a moderately sized, two-story house with three bedrooms.
As she left Gringotts, Heather felt a renewed sense of purpose. She had taken the first step toward carving out a place for herself in this new world, and the path ahead seemed a little less daunting.
After leaving Gringotts, Heather apparated to the Ministry of Magic, making her way to the Department of Mysteries. Her Unspeakable cloak billowed behind her, the familiar weight and fabric offering a sense of comfort and belonging. The Unspeakables she passed glanced at her curiously, their eyes noting her unfamiliar magical signature.
She approached the entrance and was directed to the office of the Head Unspeakable, Croaker. As she entered his office, Croaker looked up from his desk, his expression inscrutable.
“You are a real Unspeakable, I presume,” he said, his voice neutral.
Heather nodded. “I am, sir. From another dimension.”
Croaker’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Explain.”
Heather recounted her journey, detailing the ritual that had brought her here, careful to omit the specifics due to her unbreakable vow. She concluded with her observations of the similarities between the rise of Voldemort in her world and the current state of affairs in this dimension.
Croaker listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “You’ve endangered this dimension by traveling here deliberately,” he said finally, his voice hard.
Heather nodded, her heart pounding. “I understand, sir. But I see a similar pattern happening here, and I wish to prevent it.”
Croaker’s gaze softened slightly. “I understand your motivations, Miss Potter. You seek to make amends for what you couldn’t change in your own world. But you must realize the gravity of your actions.”
Heather met his gaze steadily. “I do, sir. And I am prepared to do whatever it takes to help.”
Croaker was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “Very well. We will help you establish your identity here. It’s a simple task.”
Just a few hours later, Heather walked out of the Ministry with her new birth certificate and various documents in hand. She held the papers tightly, feeling a mixture of relief and exhilaration.
She apparated to her new home in Leeds, a quaint two-story house nestled amidst rolling green hills. The house was modest yet charming, with ivy creeping up its stone walls and a small garden in the front.
Heather unlocked the door and stepped inside, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and aged wood. She made her way to the bedroom, exhaustion finally catching up with her. She collapsed onto the bed, a satisfied smile on her face.
She pulled out her new birth certificate and read the words, her heart swelling with pride and joy. “Heather Rose Potter, born July 31st, 1964. Daughter of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.” She was officially James Potter’s little sister.
Heather clutched the certificate to her chest, feeling a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was home, in a way, and she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, Heather felt a glimmer of hope.