The Rise of an Empire

CHAPTER TWO

❛CURIOSITY CAN LEAD US TO INTERESTING DISCOVERIES❜

❝There's no point in sitting around worrying. What will be, will be, and we will face it when it comes❞ — Rubeo Hagrid

WHEN SEEING THE SENDER OF PAPER, Hera raised her eyebrow in curiosity, wondering why she had received a letter from the wizarding bank.

A bank run by curious little creatures.

Goblins.

And wasn't it strange to see the beings who took care of the wizards' gold? If she were anyone else, the brunette would have been filled with fear when she saw the elves; really terrified. But she was just curious about them, about their culture, their customs and everything that related to them, to tell the truth.

Thanks to Merlin, Hera had the good sense not to despise those who take care of her money — and that's why she has a relationship of mutual respect with them —, not like other wizards. But wizards never had much common sense, in her opinion.

Without letting herself be distracted by her random thoughts about the first time she met a goblin, Hera sighed and broke the seal on the bank, quickly opening the scroll.

Heiress Potter, greetings

We at Gringotts Bank invite you to discuss important matters relating to your house and your recent participation in the Triwizard Tournament.

We understand how difficult it may be for you to visit the bank over the next few days with recent events, and if you need to, you can use this letter to make your visit to the bank easier and faster, as we have taken the initiative to turn this letter into a key portal that will take you to the appropriate location within the bank. All you have to do to activate the portkey is touch the letter with your wand and say "Gringotts Bank."

It is essential that you visit us as soon as possible. As your fifteenth birthday approaches, we need to share with you something of utmost importance for the future of House Potter.

May your gold grow,

Manager of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter

Bloodlust

As she read the letter, Hera's eyebrows rose higher and higher until they disappeared behind her bangs.

"Interesting!" — the brunette tilted her head, pondering. — “Well, since I have nothing to do and I'm sleepless...” — the Potter girl thought and without thinking twice (yes, she could be quite impulsive at times), she touched the card with her wand, saying the activation phrase.

“Gringotts Bank!”

With a strong pull on her navel, Hera silently disappeared from the Dursleys house, appearing a few seconds later in the bank's waiting room — a place specially reserved for some people, which is why few people knew about it.

It didn't take long for a goblin to appear and this one she knew very well. It was Griphook.

“Good evening, Griphook,” Hera greeted him without wasting time, bowing her head without taking her eyes off the goblin, as her father taught her. “May your enemies find death at your hands.”

“Good evening, Heiress Potter,” Griphook greeted her back, proudly showing his sharp teeth in a Bloodlusty smile. “And may your gold continually grow. This way, Heiress Potter.”

Shrugging her shoulders, the brunette followed the goblin wherever he was taking her, observing with fascination and curiosity the tapestries and paintings placed all over the place.

Hera had never gone so deep into the bank before. All she knew about Gringotts was the entrance hall and her vault.

Quickly, the two arrived at a hallway with only one door and before she could ask who this door belonged to, Griphook knocked on the door, asking to enter.

“Heiress Potter is here to see you, sir.”

“Good. Send her in,” the voice that came from inside was deep and sounded old, so seeing the old goblin inside the office didn't surprise her that much. Hera walked through the door, waving goodbye to Griphook and closing the door, waiting for permission to sit down. “Good evening, Heiress Potter. Please sit.”

She greeted him in the same way she greeted Griphook when she arrived at the bank, sitting down without delay in the chair offered to her.

“Now, let's get some things out of the way. First, my name is Bloodlust and I've been the Potter Account Manager for almost three centuries,” the goblin informed her and she had to restrain herself from sighing in surprise. Three centuries was a very long time. “Second, do you know why I called you here, Heiress Potter?” he asked.

“Not really,” she denied.

“I understand,” the goblin furrowed his eyebrows and Hera had the strange feeling that he didn't like her answer at all. “So you don't know anything about your titles, your inheritance?”

“No,” the brunette denied once again. “I don't know anything about that. I thought there was only one vault.”

“No, Heiress Potter. You don't just have one safe,” Bloodlust sighed and Hera shrank in her chair, disappointed in her own ignorance. “Well, there's nothing to do other than an Inheritance Test. We'll talk about everything as we go along.”

“Okay,” the brunette confirmed, feeling nervous about what she was about to do. “What do I need to do?”

“All you have to do is hold this diamond with the hand you use your wand,” Bloodlust held out a diamond the size of a golf ball and she took it carefully.

“And I just need to do this?,” she asked, finding the simplicity of the process strange.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Bloodlust smiled, showing his sharp teeth with delight.

“Yes, Heiress Potter. Your magic will do the rest.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Hera took the large diamond offered to her and clasped it in her hand, frowning at the sensation she felt. It was as if there was a rope, running through her heart, up to her shoulders before running down her right arm and stopping in her hand, the crystalline diamond turning the crimson red of her blood.

“Now, Heiress Potter…” Bloodlust continued, drawing Hera's eyes to him. The red diamond was strangely captivating to her. “I need you to place the tip of the diamond on this parchment,” the goblin placed an old parchment on the table and she nodded, obeying the goblin's orders, watching in fascination as all the red from the diamond was sucked into the parchment as if it were ink, making it go back to what it was before she touched it.

When the diamond finished doing its work, Bloodlust quickly grabbed it, cleaned it with a simple cloth and sharpened it with his blade, putting it away in a drawer without further explanation.

“You can read it now, Heiress Potter,” the goblin said, pointing to the parchment and Hera quickly obeyed him, curious to know what the parchment would say about her.

HERA LILIANA POTTER
July 31, 1980, 15 years old,
Twenty-five centimetre wand made of holly and phoenix tail feather core

Mother — Lílian Jade Potter, born Evans (January 30, 1960 — October 31, 1981)
Father — James Fleamont Potter (27 March 1960 — 31 October 1981)
Father by Blood Adoption — Sirius Orion Black III (November 3, 1959), adoption made June 29, 1995
Godfather — Sirius Orion Black III (November 3, 1959)

INHERITANCES AND DONATIONS

Potter House
ladyship, inherited after the death of parents

Properties

Mansion in Charingworth, England, United Kingdom
Potter Mansion in Edinburgh, Scotland
Holiday Cabin in Bergen, Norway

Assets

Trust Vault 687 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, letters)
Potter Family Vault 98 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, diaries, artefacts, portraits, jewellery, businesses, titles, patents, wands, land and buildings)
Lily Potter's Vault 897 (galleons, sickles, knuts, jewels, books and diaries)

Black House
Baronet (Baroness Black), after the death of the current Baronet

Properties

Ravensmoore Hall, Harlech, North Wales, United Kingdom
12 Grimmauld Place in London, England, United Kingdom
Waterfall Cabin in Salem, Oregon, United States
Wood Blockhouse Cabin in Dullstroom, Mpumalanga, South Africa
Apartment on Arbat, Moscow, Russia

Assets

Trust Vault 695 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, artefacts)
Black Family Vault 100 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, diaries, artefacts, portraits, jewellery, titles, wands, land and buildings)
Regulus Black's Vault 743 (Galleons, Sickles, Knuts, Books, Rare Ingredients, and Journals)

Gryffindor House
ladyship, inherited after the death of parents

Properties

Gryffindor Castle, Faroe Islands, Denmark
Godric's Mansion in Copenhagen, Denmark
Simple Cabin in Fernando de Noronha, Brazil
Holiday Home on Mumbo Island, Malawi
¼ of Hogwarts, Scottish Highlands, Great Britain

Assets

Gryffindor Family Vault 12 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, wands, chests, diaries, wands, artefacts, portraits, jewellery, land and buildings)

Slytherin House
ladyship, inherited by magic and conquest

Properties

Slytherin Castle, Montreux, Switzerland
Cotswold Mansion at Pye Corner, Worcestershire, England, United Kingdom
¼ of Hogwarts, Scottish Highlands, Great Britain

Assets

Slytherin Family Vault 09 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, wands, chests, diaries, artefacts, portraits, jewellery, rare ingredients, wands, land and buildings)

Peverell House (Pevēriūn)
Queen of the Valyrian Freehold, by magic and blood

Properties

Castle of a Thousand Diamonds, Valyria, Unknown Place
Peverell Manor, Godric’s Hollow, England

Assets

Peverell Family Vault 01 (galleons, sickles, knuts, books, diaries, wands, chests, artefacts, dragon eggs, portraits, jewellery, rare ingredients, wands, land and buildings)

LEGACIES

Abbott — 10000g
Alderwood — 15000g
Amery — 50000g
Barrett — 10000g
Baldwin — 1000g
Cadell — 47289 gallons, 13034 sickles, 19901 knuts, 4019 books, 712 artefacts, 37 portraits, 1 house, 7921 jewellery pieces, 2 patents, 1 company
Carnell — 50000g
Carlisle — 10000g
Dufort — 5000g
Griffin — 1000g
Gunvald — 5000g
Kendrick — 15000g
Lancaster — 67289 galleons, 10000 sickles, 1183 knuts, 400 books, 26 artefacts, 8 portraits, 3 houses, 374 jewellery pieces, land and buildings
Lewis — 100000g
Sanger — 7986 galleons, 1400 sickles, 1210 knuts, 90 books, 65 artefacts, 4 portraits, 1 house, 22 jewellery pieces, land and buildings
Stewart — 1200g
Talbot — 156000g
Wolfram — 5000g

As soon as she finished reading, Hera bombarded Bloodlust with her questions.

“I have some doubts…”

“Proceed,” Bloodlust gestured with his hand and she nodded, speaking quickly.

“What is a trust vault?”

“A trust vault is the heir's vault, as it were,” the goblin explained and she agreed, moving on to the next question. “It is used to take care of your school expenses and any other things you may need; it is your only accessible vault until you come of age. Of course, with the Triwizard Tournament, you have been emancipated, so this rule no longer applies to you.”

“Okay,” she replied, feeling strange knowing that she was rich, and according to her Inheritance Test, she was too rich. “And how can I be the Black Heiress?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrow in doubt. “I thought Sirius had been disinherited…”

“No,” Bloodlust disagreed. “When Lord Black was ‘disinherited,’ the act was done by his mother, the former Lady Black, who had no power to make that decision, since Arcturus Black III was still alive at the time, and therefore still Lord Black. And when he died, he declared Sirius as his successor in his will. At the time, your godfather was in Azkaban, but since he was never truly convicted, Sirius was still Lord Black presumptive,” the goblin explained, and Hera nodded in understanding. “And that is why you are his heiress, because when he adopted you by blood and magic, that made you his daughter, that is, his heiress with immediate effect.”

“I understand,” the brunette whispered, scanning the parchment until she focused on one thing. “It says here that I inherited the ladyship of Slytherin through magic and conquest,” she said, looking back at the goblin, who gestured for her to speak again and she did. “I suppose by conquest, that means defeating his last heir once and for all a few weeks ago?”

“Yes,” Bloodlust confirmed. “You assume correctly.”

“And House Peverell?” Hera asked, making Bloodlust’s eyebrow arch in surprise. “Or Pevēriūn, for that matter. I admit I’ve never heard of that house before.”

“May I take a look, Heiress Potter?” Bloodlust pointed to the parchment with his sharp nails and she nodded quickly, curious as to why he was looking at her with such intensity. The goblin took the parchment, absorbing every word written before sighing and dropping the parchment on the table. “I understand. I must say, Heiress Potter, I did not expect this.”

“Sir?” Hera called him, feeling confused. “I don't understand. What does it mean?”

“Don't worry, Heiress Potter. I'll explain everything to you,” Bloodlust sighed again and began to speak. “But let me tell you a story first. I suppose it all started exactly a thousand years ago. Have you ever heard the story of the three brothers?” the elf asked her and the brunette denied. “No? All good. You could say that the story of the three brothers is the magical version of muggle fairy tales. All magical children grow up hearing this story, but let me begin,” the goblin started talking and the little witch was captivated by the story. “Once upon a time, three brothers were travelling along a deserted and winding road at dusk. After a while, the brothers came to a river that was too dangerous to cross. The brothers, however, were versed in magic. The three brothers simply waved their wands and made a bridge. Before they could cross the bridge, their path was blocked by a hooded figure: it was Death. She felt betrayed. Betrayed because it would be normal for travellers to drown in the river. But Death was perceptive. She pretended to congratulate the three brothers on their magic and said that they would each get a prize for being smart enough to avoid it. The eldest asked for the most powerful wand that existed and death gave him a wand made from the elder tree. The second brother decided to humiliate death even more and asked for the power to resurrect those who had already died, so death picked up a stone from the river bank and gave it to him. Finally, death asked the third brother: a humble man. He asked for something that would allow him to leave that place without being followed by death. And death, unwillingly, gave him his own invisibility cloak,” Bloodlust told the story and Hera held her breath, knowing that particular cloak very well. Well, wasn't she the one who used that same cloak to sneak around Hogwarts? Either way, she found herself fascinated by the story, even if it wasn't completely true. “The first brother went to a distant village. Where, with the elder wand in his hand, he murdered a wizard who didn't even have the opportunity to fight. Overcome by the power that the Elder Wand had given him, he headed to an inn, where he bragged about his invincibility. But that night, another wizard stole the wand. And, to be safe, he cut the throat of the oldest of the brothers. And so, death took the first brother. Meanwhile, the second brother travelled home, where he picked up the stone and turned it over three times in his hand. To his joy, the girl who one day wished to marry before her early death appeared before him. However, she was sad and cold. She no longer belonged to the world of mortals. Maddened by desperate desire, the second brother killed himself so he could join her. Therefore, death took the second brother. As for the third brother, death searched for many years, but was never able to find him. Only when he reached an advanced age did the younger brother take off the invisibility cloak and give it to his son. He welcomed death like an old friend and went along with it willingly. And, as equals, they departed this life. The elder wand, the resurrection stone and the invisibility cloak. Together, they form the Relics of Death. They say that whoever manages to gather the three relics becomes the Master of Death.”

Hera sighed in delight at the fairy tale — a little scary, but still a fairy tale — that Bloodlust had told her, her mind racing with possible theories of the story. However, she knew that only the creature in front of her could answer her questions. So, she asked.

“Am I to assume that the three brothers were from the Peverell family?”

“Yes, you should,” Bloodlust replied in the affirmative. “But back then they were called Pevēriūn. Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Pevēriūn.”

“But what is their connection to me? Is this story really true?” Hera asked, tilting her head to the side. “Or is it just another one of the many fairy tales created for witch children?”

“No, it’s not just another children’s story,” the goblin denied immediately. “As I told you, the three brothers in the story were called Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Pevēriūn, and they were your ancestors,” he explained. “They appeared overnight, so to speak. At that time, Gringotts Bank was the only wizarding bank, its creation still very recent, and because of that it was not very well known among wizards, leading to us having very few customers. But that was not the only reason, I’m afraid, because only the fact that the bank was run by goblins, creatures not very trustworthy according to wand-bearers, meant that the few people who knew about the bank did not choose it as their first choice for storing their money, because we had a terrible rivalry back then and we distrusted each other, I’m afraid. However, when these same three brothers suddenly appeared, completely unaware of the rivalry that existed between goblins and wizards, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus, your ancestors, were the first wizards to trust us with their wealth and therefore, our first clients, the most important ones,” Bloodlust informed her and Hera nodded, attentive to what the old goblin said. She wanted to learn everything he was saying, because it related to her ancestors, her family, her blood, and she knew little about those with whom she shared blood. “That is why we know the true story behind the tale of the three brothers. And am I who will explain it to you, Hera Potter,” he said. “As it says in your Inheritance Test, House Pevēriūn was part of the royalty of Valyria. Correct?”

Hera nodded.

“What the parchment doesn't say, however, is that Valyria is part of another world, somewhat similar to ours, but very different in some aspects.”

“Another world?” Hera interrupted the creature. “Were my ancestors from another world?” she asked with wide eyes. “Really? ”

“Yes, they were,” the goblin replied, without worrying or caring about the interruption. “The bridge in the story of the three brothers is true, but instead of connecting one end of a river to another, the bridge connected one world to another.”

“Wow,” the little witch sighed, widening her eyes at the information. Hera knew that with magic anything was possible, but she didn't imagine that all was really possible. Even though she knew it was true, just hearing this story about her ancestors made Potter think it was unbelievable! “Wow!” she whispered.

Bloodlust smiled ferociously at the Potter girl's reaction.

“But why did they decide to come to this world, if they were part of Valyrian royalty?” the brunette asked curiously and the elf answered her. “It doesn't make any sense!”

“Well, the truth is that they had no choice in the matter, I'm afraid. Different worlds, different customs, different languages, different people, and some things remain the same,” Bloodlust said, sounding disgusted and Hera didn't understand. Sighing, he deepened his explanation. “From what I was told by my father, who heard from his father and so on, some families in Valyria were not very happy with being ruled by a single family, least of all by the Pevēriūn. In fact, they were extremely frustrated. They all wanted a piece of the power that comes with ruling the greatest empire in that world and at that time, and so they conspired to stage the coup and take the government for themselves,” the creature explained and Potter quickly understood where this conversation was going. “But, even if they didn't see it, the Pevēriūn were the right people to rule, they earned this privilege. After all, the Pevēriūn had forged their empire with their blood, sweat, and tears, working hard to achieve what they had achieved, and the other Valyrians were not at all pleased with that. Do you know, Hera Potter, what frustration, jealousy, and envy can do to a person? Everyone envied the Pevēriūn, because they were unique. Even when compared to normal valyrians. The Pevēriūn were more powerful, stronger, more beautiful, more revered than the other Valyrians, and the forty main families of Valyria did not like that one bit. That was why they conspired with each other, intending to carry out a coup d'état to seize power by force. But it did not go as planned.”

“What happened?” Hera asked curiously and the goblin didn't blame her. He himself loved hearing this story centuries ago, when he was just a teenager, learning different subjects to succeed his father as Manager of the Potter Accounts.

“The event that followed the attempted coup by the Valyrian families was responsible for the death of many innocent people, for the destruction of a land. Because of the ambition of a few, many were lost,” Bloodlust shook his head at the stupidity of those people. Even after all these years, since he first heard this story from his father, he was still outraged by what the Valyrians did for power. “That is why what happened was called the Doom of Valyria.”

“Doom of Valyria?” the brunette asked, full of curiosity and Bloodlust continued.

“You see, Heiress Potter, that there are limits to magic, lines that must not be crossed under any circumstances, for the consequences that follow are too terrible to bear?” the goblin asked and the brunette nodded.

After reading so many books in the Room of Requirement over the past year, Hera knew a lot about magic — much more than what she had learned at Hogwarts in all those years. And one of the things she knew about magic was that there were some lines that should never be crossed, because the cost of doing so was usually too high, so high that wizards were unable to afford it.

“So in other words,” Hera began, sighing at the foolishness of some people, “the Valyrians crossed the line and paid the price for their foolishness?”

“Exactly,” Bloodlust agreed. “And when the Pevēriūn brothers saw the result of their subjects' ambition, they decided to perform an ancient ritual, which would save them from the Doom. What they didn't know, however, was that it would bring them into this world, a world so different from their own, yet somewhat similar in some ways.”

“I understand,” Potter whispered, captivated by everything she heard. “So the deathly hallows don't exist?”

“Oh, no, they do exist,” Bloodlust grinned, showing his sharp teeth again. “But they weren’t created by Death, I’m afraid. They were created by the three brothers, who were far more powerful than any known witch or wizard, with the raw and wild magic of their world. That’s why they’re more powerful than if they were created here,” the goblin exclaimed, tilting his large head to the side. “Let’s see, the elder wand is nothing more than a weirwood wand, a truly unique tree found on Planetos, with a dragon heartstring, dipped in the blood of Antioch. The resurrection stone is a peculiarly shaped piece of dragonglass, taken from the core of a volcano, entirely covered in necromancy runes. And the invisibility cloak is a cloak woven of magic and blood, with specific runes to hide and protect. So you see, Heiress Potter, the so-called deathly hallows are powerful indeed, but they weren’t given by Death itself.”

“I understand,” Hera felt stupid for saying the same word several times, but what fault was she? Everything was so unbelievable!

“Good,” Bloodlust smiled fiercely. “Now that you've gotten all your doubts out of the way, shall we proceed?”

Hera Potter nodded, her thoughts going back and forth with everything she had learned from her account manager.

“Let's start with Potter House,” the goblin began and Hera paid attention. “Potter House is an Most Ancient and Noble House, which is why it has two seats in the Wizengamot. Normally, you would have to be seventeen to receive the mantle of Lady Potter. However, through your participation in the Triwizard Tournament, a tournament created specifically for adults, you were declared an adult by the wizards who had the power to emancipate you, which means that, if you wish, you can receive your ladyship now,” Bloodlust informed her and she stopped to think.

“What benefits will I enjoy if I accept ladyship Potter now rather than later?” the brunette asked curiously and the goblin quickly answered, satisfied with his client's question.

“Well, once you accept the mantle of Lady Potter, you will truly be recognized as an adult in the eyes of the Wizarding World, and that comes with advantages and disadvantages. You will be able to access your family vault, perform magic without restrictions, visit, sell or buy other properties and things like that... But you can also be arrested if you are caught committing any crime,” Bloodlust explained and she nodded, thinking deeply.

“What matters most to me? The advantages or the disadvantages?” — the brunette asked herself, not wanting to make a hasty decision only to regret it bitterly later.

After thinking for a few minutes, Hera decided to accept. What she wouldn't tell Bloodlust, however, was that the main reason she agreed to be Lady Potter at that moment and not at a later time, was the fact that she could live wherever she wanted. In other words, if she wanted, the brunette could live with Sirius anywhere in the world, without any interference from Albus — I'm Merlin reincarnated — Bumblebee.

“I accept, Bloodlust,” upon thinking of her father, Hera straightened her posture and raised her shoulders, her green eyes shining with determination. “I would like to receive my ladyship now, please.”

“Great decision, Heiress Potter,” Bloodlust smiled fiercely, placing a small black box, of simple shape, in front of the brunette. Confused, Potter looked at him for answers. “All you have to do is put Lady Potter's ring on the index finger of your dominant hand and wait to see if it will accept you. If not, well…”

Hera, who was holding the open box in her hand, looking closely at the gold ring, with a large ruby ​​on top, protected on both sides by a gryphon, looked up at her account manager, who seemed immensely happy with the last statement.

Potter didn't like the implications the goblin was making at all.

“And what happens if the ring doesn't accept me?” Potter asked suspiciously, looking narrow-eyed at Bloodlust. Her account manager, on the other hand, just smiled widely, showing all his scary pointy teeth.

Hera shuddered at the sight.

“You die,” her account manager seemed very happy to warn her of her probable death. “Pure and simple.”

“Hmm,” the brunette mumbled, looking suspiciously at the simple ring on her hand, trying to decide if the advantages surpassed the disadvantages, that is, the possibility of her dying at such a young age, leaving behind a father for a while — read a lot — affected by Black madness, which would burn the world — most likely — for the death of his precious daughter. “Well, like Albus ‘many names’ Bumblebee usually says, what is death if not the next great adventure? ”

Taking a deep breath, Hera Potter took the Potter ring out of the box and placed it on the index finger of her right hand — her dominant hand — waiting with bated breath to see if the ring would accept her or kill her for daring to put it on her finger. The ring hung limply on her finger for a few seconds — its magic probing her mind, her heart, and her soul, to see if she was worthy of being considered the next Lady Potter — before, with a warm burst of magic, fit her finger perfectly.

With a smile, the brunette looked at Bloodlust, who looked curiously disappointed. Ignoring that particular reaction — not wanting to think about the possibility that her account manager wanted her dead — Hera asked for her next ladyship's ring.

“Lady Gryffindor's ring,” he muttered discontentedly, handing her a small red box, with a proud golden lion on top. “On the same finger, the rings will merge.”

When looking at Gryffindor's ring for the first time, Hera noticed how similar it was to the Potter ring. Golden and with a large ruby ​​on top, what differentiated them was that, instead of the ruby ​​being protected by two griffins, the rubi was protected by two proud, golden lions.

“Who copied who? I wonder…” she whispered softly before putting the ring on her right index finger. “Very interesting.”

Instantly, Hera felt the powerful and bold magic of the ring probe her, testing her courage, her boldness and her honour with its warm magic. Fortunately for her, the ring accepted her just as quickly as the Potter ring had.

“Now, Lady Slytherin's ring,” the goblin grumbled, placing a small green box with an S embroidered in silver.

Without delay, Hera opened the box, finding a silver ring, formed by two intertwined snakes, holding a small emerald between them. The Slytherin family motto — Semper in honorem Magicae — delicately engraved on the back.

Fearing this ring much more than she could have feared the Potter or Gryffindor ring, Hera took a deep breath before searching within herself for the courage that put her in Gryffindor house and, finding it, she put on Lady Slytherin's ring without thinking twice. 

The magic that probed her at that moment was much harsher than the curious magic of the Potters, and much colder than the warm magic of the Gryffindors. And yet, Hera wasn't uncomfortable about it at all.

When the magic of the Slytherin Family ring completely accepted her as their Lady, the brunette felt like she was being embraced by a large snake. She felt safe.

When looking at the result of the joining of the three rings, Hera saw a delicate gold ring, with a large ruby ​​on top, with three small emeralds on each side.

Nothing too fancy, but not too simple. She could admit that she really liked the result.

“Heiress Black's ring,” Bloodlust presented her with another small box, black with a silver raven on top. “Place it on the index finger of your left hand.”

Nodding to her account manager, Hera opened the box and removed the ring, instantly falling in love with the ring from her father's house.

Like the Slytherin ring, Heiress Black's ring was made of white gold, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike the Slytherin ring, the Black ring was adorned with a large black obsidian, with what looked like a shooting star in the centre, drawing attention to the delicately shimmering line, surrounded by small diamonds. It was very beautiful, and Hera was madly in love with it.

With a small smile, hoping to be worthy of being accepted by Sirius's house, by her father's house, Potter placed the ring on the index finger on her left hand, feeling the dark and powerful magic of the Black probe her minutely; the magic wanting to reveal even her most hidden secrets, known only to her. Hera Potter didn't mind this, however, wanting to be accepted for the ring her father once wore.

And it accepted her. Graciously.

With the magical sensation of being kissed by a raven, Hera saw Heiress Black's ring fit perfectly on her finger, a weight lifted off her shoulders automatically.

“You've been accepted by all four rings, very well,” Bloodlust smiled fiercely, pulling a much larger box from his drawer, as well as a flask the size of her little finger, with a pink potion with mesmerising silver swirls. “Now let's go to Peverell House.”

Bloodlust placed two boxes of different sizes — a square box and a rectangular box — and a flask in front of her, causing Hera to arch an eyebrow at the goblin, questioning the fact that he was handing her two boxes, unlike the other times, and wondering why he was handing her a flask of an unknown potion, when the other times that was not necessary.

“How strange…” — she thought.

“House Peverell is different from the others, Lady Potter,” Bloodlust said, folding his hands on the table and the brunette paid close attention to everything he told her. “As I told you before, the Pevēriūn came from their world to this one, and wanting to blend in with the people of the time, they changed their name to Peverell. Unfortunately, the ritual that the three brothers used required a payment greater than they thought and much greater than they could afford. Shortly after Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus crossed the portal, Antioch died, with his brother Cadmus following him a few weeks later. And so, in less than a year after his arrival in this world, Ignotus Peverell was the only member left of his family. A few years later, her only daughter and heiress, Iolanthe Peverell, married a noble wizard named Hardwin Potter, adopting her husband's surname, causing the Peverell name to die with Ignotus," Bloodlust explained, making Potter's eyes widen, enchanted by her family's history. “However, despite the Peverell name having died, Iolanthe made a point of teaching her children and her children's children the history of her family, about Valyria, from where her father and her father's brothers descended. Unfortunately, not all Potters maintained the tradition of teaching the history and legacy of the Peverell family, and over time, the fact that they were descended from royalty, that they were from another world, was lost in the memories of your ancestors. Within only a few centuries, the fact that the Potters were the rightful rulers of Valyria became unknown to everyone. That is, until you, Hera Potter.”

“Until me?” Hera asked, confused and the goblin nodded. “But if it appeared in mine, why didn't the Peverell Inheritance appear in my ancestors' Inheritance Test? It doesn't make any sense!” she exclaimed.

“If you stop and think about it for a moment, you’ll see that it makes sense, Hera Potter,” the creature commented. “You see, after a long time of forgetting where they descended from, forgetting their family history, the Peverell Inheritance stopped appearing in the Inheritance Tests that the Potter Heirs took at the age of eleven and seventeen because the Lady Magic herself considered them unworthy of such a priceless inheritance. After all, why would she give your ancestors an inheritance that they valued very little ? So, it’s not very surprising that they lost the right to the inheritance. And you, Lady Potter, were the first to conquer the Peverell Inheritance in many centuries,” Bloodlust informed the brunette, who widened her eyes before nodding determinedly. “Note that in your Inheritance Test, you were also chosen by magic, not just by blood.”

“But I don’t understand why, Bloodlust!” Potter exclaimed, surprised at how unworthy she felt of receiving such an inheritance. What had she done to deserve this when so many of her ancestors had not? “I have done absolutely nothing to deserve this. I am barely fifteen! What could I possibly do that was so incredible to receive the Peverell Inheritance? Nothing!”

“What you did that was so incredible, I cannot tell you, Hera,” Bloodlust commented, his dark eyes softening as he looked at her and realised how distressed she was by that fact. “ But you did receive it. You were deemed worthy by Lady Magic to receive this inheritance. So do not wonder why, but do your best and do everything you can to honour the gift she gave you.”

“Right,” Hera bit her lip, wondering what was so special, so unique about her, to be chosen when so many other ancestors before her were not. “I understand,” Potter nodded to herself, before straightening her posture, sitting up straighter in her chair. “So what do I need to do, Bloodlust?”

“Before you accept Iolanthe Peverell’s necklace and Queen Pevēriūn’s ring, last worn by Lady Iolanthe,” Bloodlust gestured to the box, and Hera felt her chest warm at the prospect of receiving a treasured heirloom from her great-great-grandmother of ages past, as well as the ring worn by so many other women before her, “you must drink a blood adoption potion and take a short inheritance test afterwards.”

“Huh?” Hera asked in disbelief, arching her eyebrow in surprise. “Do I really need to drink a blood adoption potion?”

“Yes, you do,” Bloodlust smiled, showing his pointy teeth. “That is one of the requirements required to gain Iolanthe's necklace and the Peverell ring, I fear.”

“Fine,” the brunette grumbled, deciding to comply with the demand. “After all, what harm can it do to accept…” she whispered, accepting the blood adoption potion and a dagger from her account manager. I already have three fathers, what’s one more?, she thought to herself. “Can I ask a question, Bloodlust?”

“Go ahead,” the creature waved her hands for her to continue.

She did.

“Whose blood will adopt me?” she asked, eyeing the delicate flask in her hand suspiciously.

“You can choose, actually,” Bloodlust shrugged — or whatever goblins did, really. “This flask you hold contains Ignotus’s blood,” the goblin gestured to the flask she held before continuing, “but we also have one with Iolanthe’s blood.”

“Hmm…” Hera grumbled, several possibilities flashing in the back of her mind. Before she could continue, Potter had an idea. “Bloodlust, if I asked you to give the flask of Ignotus’s blood to someone else, would you?”

“It depends,” he murmured, looking at her curiously. “To whom?”

“My father.”

“Hmm…” he mumbled, seeming to think deeply. “It is possible,” Bloodlust said, making Hera's heart fill with hope.

“And what would that do to the blood adoption we did a few weeks ago?” the Potter asked, biting her lip insecurely. “Would I still be his daughter? Or would I just be his niece?”

“If you accept Iolanthe's adoption, her blood will cancel out Sirius's blood,” Bloodlust replied, making Hera think about giving up on what she was proposing. “But, if after you do the adoption and Sirius does his, you can redo the blood adoption, becoming father and daughter once again.”

“Good,” Hera smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. “Good! ”

“Have I satisfied your curiosity?” Bloodlust asked and Hera nodded, tremendously satisfied with the answers she received. “Do you want to use Iolanthe's blood and leave Ignotus's blood for Sirius?” Once again, Potter nodded. “Alright, give it to me,” the goblin held out his hand to receive the flask and she quickly handed it over. Without delay, Bloodlust exchanged the flask with another one and handed it to her, this time with Iolanthe's blood. “Add five drops of blood,” the creature commented and Hera nodded, cutting her index finger with the dagger, counting the five drops of blood before healing her finger with a simple thought. Wiping the dagger with her blood — she would never let anyone take her blood without her permission again, Wormtail had taught her that lesson very well —, Potter held the dagger out to Bloodlust, the sharp tip of the dagger pointing at her, and he smiled, pleased with the younger girl's clever action.

Swishing the potion to mix her blood, Hera saw the potion change from pink with silver swirls to vibrant purple. Without thinking twice, Hera Potter swallowed the potion at once, containing the moan of pain that wanted to come out, not wanting to appear weak in the face of such a warlike race. The brunette felt as if all her blood was boiling inside her body, burning and bubbling at high temperatures inside her. Her magic swirled around her as her genetics were remade, making her body stiffen and her skin crawl.

Hera clasped her hands tightly in her lap, waiting for those agonising minutes to pass, before breathing a sigh of relief as she felt her magic calm down and her body tremble one last time, without pain.

“Good,” Bloodlust widened his smile, immediately noticing Hera Potter's physical changes. “Do you want to see your new appearance, Lady Potter?” he asked and Hera quickly denied it, preferring to see her changes when she arrived at the Dursleys house, where she could freak out alone. “So, let's go to the little Inheritance Test. It will show you your Valyrian name.”

Arching her eyebrow, Hera nodded.

“All good.”

Bloodlust handed her an old parchment and a dagger, the same one she had used before, before gesturing with her hands.

“Only three drops of blood will be needed, Lady Potter.”

Sighing and wondering what great obsession those goblins had with blood, Hera cut the same finger as before, letting three drops of her blood drip, before healing the cut and cleaning the dagger.

HAERYN PEVĒRIŪN

“Haeryn,” Hera whispered, smiling softly at the parchment in her hand. “Haeryn Pevēriūn, it's a different name, but very beautiful, I liked it,” she said, smiling at the goblin.

“Great!” Bloodlust smiled, before offering her the box with Iolanthe's necklace and the Peverell queens' ring. “You can put on the necklace and ring now. As for the necklace, don't worry, it's the same situation as your family rings. Whether the necklace accepts you or not is up to it,” he explained, as gently as a bloodthirsty goblin could. “I advise you to put on the ring first. The necklace may be more inclined to accept you if you are wearing the ring.”

With a sigh, knowing that she had already done too much to give up at that moment, Hera opened the smallest box — white, with two dragons intertwined in a dance, forming a perfect circle, in purple and silver (Hera wondered if that was the banner of Pevēriūn House) —, finding a very beautiful ring, that drew her like a moth to a flame. It was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen, made entirely of black steel — a type she had never seen before and seemed to be truly magical —, with very mesmerising purple ripples and a dragon with pink sapphire eyes.

Her magic practically sang just by looking at that ring and it left her both scared and amazed.

Not caring about the recklessness of her actions — that ring was really calling to her and she needed to put it on her finger right now! —, Hera took the ring out of the box, and without thinking twice, put it on the little finger of her right hand, feeling her magic react excitedly with the ring.

Her acceptance was instantaneous, which scared and amazed her tremendously, and Hera felt like she was finally complete — which she couldn't understand. How could she miss something she never had? How did her magic know before she did? It was strange, the feeling she had, but it made her feel so complete, so safe, and it felt so right.

Deciding to think about it later, Hera looked at the small box that contained Iolanthe's necklace.

Expecting to be drawn to it as she had been to the ring, Potter opened the box to find a white gold necklace with a large amethyst heart in the centre, surrounded by diamonds.

It was beautiful!

Enchanted by the beauty and delicacy of the necklace, Hera put on the jewel without thinking twice, feeling an immense attraction to the necklace, as well as to her great-great-great-grandmother's ring. With a sigh, Potter heard a foreign magic roar like a dragon, before burning her with the beast's fire. Curiously, the fire did not hurt her in the slightest, but it left her warm and she felt loved, cared for — truly appreciated.

As soon as her ancestors' magic saw that she was worthy, the necklace fit perfectly around her neck, as if it had been made especially for her.

And maybe it was.

“Magnificent!” Bloodlust applauded, startling Hera, who was focused on caressing the necklace’s magic with her own, the two magics quickly joining together. “With that done, I believe we are done here. But before we say goodbye, I would like to ask you when Sirius Black will be coming here to do the blood adoption and receive a vial to adopt you again?”

Hera blinked.

“In a few days, Bloodlust,” she commented. “For now he can’t come because he’s a fugitive, but after he’s tried and acquitted of all charges — in a few days, I think —, I will ask him to come here. Do you agree?”

Bloodlust nodded.

“Then that’s all we have to discuss today, Hera,” the goblin murmured and she smiled, nodding in agreement. “Is there anything else I could help you with, Lady Potter?”

“Just one thing, Bloodlust,” Hera said, remembering the small problem she had, one that was quite easy to solve. Wasting no time, the Potter — or is it Pevēriūn now? — pointed to the Gringotts letter in her lap. “Will this Portkey take me home? I don’t know how to apparate yet, I’m afraid.”

“Yes,” Bloodlust stated. “You just need to say the same activation phrase, Lady Potter.”

“Alright,” the brunette smiled, getting up from the chair she was in. “Well, thank you for everything, Bloodlust. You were a great help.”

“You're welcome, Lady Potter,” the goblin smiled fiercely. “It was a pleasure helping you. Helping a customer is helping me, after all.”

Hera just laughed at the creature's honest response.

Before she could activate the portkey, however, Bloodlust caught her attention.

“One more thing, Lady Potter,” her account manager said and she paid full attention to him. “Iolanthe's necklace, which is now yours, contains a one-way portkey. We at Gringotts have never known exactly where the portkey is destined for, I believe that only your ancestors knew the destination. That said, the phrase for activating the portkey on your necklace is: zaldrīzes lenton,” Hera looked at him strangely, not understanding what the phrase meant. But as soon as she thought this, her magic whispered to her: House of the Dragon. “Don't look at me like that, I don't know what it says.”

“Apparently, now I know” — she thought, deciding to ignore the strangeness of it.

“Zaldrīzes lenton?” Potter asked doubtfully.

“Zaldrīzes lenton,” Bloodlust agreed.

“Okay, well,” the brunette decided to think about the implications of a one-way portkey to an unknown location at another time. At that moment, the only thing she could think about was sleep. “Once again, thank you very much for your services, Bloodlust.”

“You're welcome, Lady Potter. May the blessings of Magic follow you wherever you go,” Bloodlust spoke, saying goodbye with a phrase from his culture and Hera smiled, greeting him in the same way.

“And may your house always be warm, your table always full and your blade always sharp,” with a last smile and a wave, Hera activated the portkey that would take her to the Dursleys house. “Gringotts Bank.”

And then, she was coming house.

Upon returning to the Dursleys house, Hera managed to sleep for a wonderful few hours — a miracle, considering the horrible family she lived with — before waking up hungry, her thoughts always returning to what she discovered that morning.

When she actually woke up — after a few hours of sleep, at any time possible, Hera needed a few minutes to really wake up, and not just open her eyes —, the girl didn't take a minute longer to call her elf Dobby and ask for a late and hearty breakfast. The only thing she didn't understand, however, was her elf's wide-eyed look at her, before he smiled like crazy and fetched what she asked for.

Shrugging, Hera accepted the situation as it was, just another expression of her elf's eccentric ways, gratefully accepting the food he had brought for her. And as she ate, Hera opened her father's letter — which she hadn't been able to read last night —, raising her eyebrow at the message written on the parchment, before realising exactly what the letter meant.

Cub,

Use the Marauder's password.

Padfoot

Hastily, Hera picked up her wand and with a single gesture, muttered the required password.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Immediately, the writing gave way to a long letter, drawing Potter's curiosity to what her father had written to her.

Cub,

First of all… HAPPY BIRTHDAY! My little girl is growing up (and no, I'm not getting old!) and that makes me so happy — sad too, I admit… After all, because of the mistake I made, I didn't get to see you grow up and become the wonderful witch you are today. Fortunately, we'll have many, many years to celebrate together.

But that's not the only reason I'm sending you this letter… So, let's get to the second reason. My little one, I DID IT!

When Hades arrives at your house, a few hours will have passed since I received this excellent news. And since we can't meet in person for now and you must be asleep at this time — probably, I'm not sure —, I had to send a letter, as I can't wait until tomorrow!

My trial date is out! As you know — and in large part, all of this I owe to you, pup —, lately I have been talking to Amelia Bones — Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement — to get my long overdue trial after your exceptional capture of the rat traitor. As I don't trust our esteemed Minister — and neither does she, to be honest — not to hide this under the carpet — especially with the news that Peter Pettigrew was, in fact, alive and I didn't kill him years ago... In fact, thank you very much for this —, we try to do this discreetly. And we did it!

All this delay was worth it, I can say. My trial will be in five days, on August 4th and I can't wait to get my freedom. My first act as a free man will be to rescue my beautiful girl from the evil hands of her horrible family. Very heroic, I know!

And I owe all of this to you, puppy. You were the only thing that allowed me to maintain my sanity in that madhouse that is Azkaban, just as you were the only thing that brought me joy these last two years. Spending all that time with you in the Room of Requirement was the best time I've had in many years and I'm very grateful for that, even more so for you accepting to be adopted by me, a mediocre man and an idiot. So thank you.

Thank you for not giving up on me, for taking care of me and for loving me, even though I'm not the same person as before. All I want to do after I'm free — and I know I will be free — is live with you, love you and spend the rest of my life spoiling you, my daughter, my cub.

Looking forward to being with you again,

Your father

P.S: I'll give you your present when we meet, I promise!

P.S.S: Just hang in there a little longer at Durskaban, and after my trial I'll come get you, I promise — Screw what Dumbledore says.

Upon reading her father's kind words and the wonderful news he told her, Hera smiled widely, her eyes shining with joy.

Happy, Potter jumped up from the bed, ready to write her reply to Sirius, but before she could grab a parchment, her inkwell and quill, the mirror her father had given her shortly after they parted ways at the end of her fourth year vibrated on his dresser.

With a contented smile, Hera picked up the mirror.

“Sirius Black,” she said her father's name, coming across his face a few seconds later. “Hi, father,” Hera smiled widely as she answered the call from the two-way mirror, very happy to see the one calling her.

Her father was incredible. After spending almost a month with her in the Room of Requirement, after the farce that was the Third Task, Sirius remembered many things that years of being surrounded by Dementors — the most despicable creatures in the magical world — had made him forget. One of those things was the two-way mirror he and her dad, James, created when they were teenagers to communicate in their detentions. A truly incredible feat of magic.

Sirius quickly handed her the mirror that her dad used through her elf and friend Dobby, when he returned to where he was hiding from the Aurors. Since that day, Hera and Sirius always found a way to talk to each other every day, wanting to keep in touch even from afar, while Black still fought to gain his freedom and custody of his daughter — she was no longer just his goddaughter, now she was his flesh and blood, his daughter — or would be, when he adopted her again.

“HAPPY BIRTH... HERA?!” Sirius exclaimed, eyes widening as he looked at his daughter for the first time since the events at Gringotts. “What the hell happened to you, pup? Why are you so different? ”

Before her father said that, Hera had completely forgotten that her appearance had changed, the fact returning to her only because of Sirius.

Curious to see the changes that the blood adoption potion had caused to her, Hera jumped up from the bed, running to the broken mirror in the wardrobe in her room, sighing when she noticed the most noticeable change: her eyes.

No longer green like her mom's, her eyes were now a deeply captivating pink colour, with silver flecks that looked like stars.

Her hair, once a dark brown colour, was now black as a raven's feathers, curled into beautiful, silky curls, very different from the bird's nest it was before. She had her Potter blood to thank for that.

Her skin, once golden as the sun, was now milky white, which accentuated her aristocratic and angelic features, as well as the delicate freckles on her cheeks and nose; her mouth, once thin and outlined, was now fuller and naturally red — as Lavender would say, she had adorably kissable lips now — and her long, well-curled eyelashes gave her an angelic appearance. And Hera knew, deep down, that she was the most beautiful girl in the school, if not in the wizarding world — and it wasn't her arrogance telling her that, no, it was something else.

She knew she was beautiful before, but now she is more so.

Her body — previously of average height and completely skinny — gained a few more curves and her height decreased by a few centimetres. All in all, Hera looked like a porcelain doll, delicately sculpted.

And once again, she compared her former beauty — with her dad's looks and her mom's eyes — with her current beauty, which was completely dazzling.

It was completely disconcerting.

“Cub?” her father's voice sounded through her room. “Are you there, love? ”

Remembering her father's call, Hera blushed at her forgetfulness, rushing to her bed, grabbing the mirror.

“Sorry, father,” she apologised quickly, her eyes widening a little. “I had forgotten about the changes in my appearance. When you asked me about them, I had to go check them out.”

“No problem, puppy. You look very beautiful, you look like an angel,” her father smiled at her, looking at her with as much love, tenderness and care as the first time. Hera blushed. “Are you going to tell me what caused all this? ”

“Of course, father,” Hera rolled her pink eyes, a low laugh leaving her lips. “But only when we meet again. This conversation needs to be done in person.”

Sirius raised his eyebrow, looking at her for a few minutes — enough minutes to make her shift uncomfortably in her seat — before deciding to change the subject.

“I understand,” he said, before winking and smiling, looking a lot like his canine version. “Anyway… HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” he sang, his voice completely out of tune, but it made Hera's heart warm inside her chest, a good feeling filling her. “Did you get my letter, puppy?”

“Yes,” and then, she smiled as much as he did. “I was about to send you a reply with Persephone, actually. First of all, do you have everything ready for your trial, dad? The testimony, the memories, everything?” she asked, raw concern appearing in her pink eyes. “If you need anything, you know you just have to let me know and I'll find a way to help you, right? And second, are you going to tell me what my gift is?”

“Wow,” her father laughed, looking at her with so much love and affection that the little girl inside her wanted to cry, still very unaccustomed to receiving affection. “First, I already have everything prepared for my hearing, don't worry. And yes, love, I know I can count on your help, but it's not your job to do the adults' work, but I love that you're willing to help. And second, no, I'm not going to tell you what your gift is. It's a surprise, love! But don't worry... I promise you'll like it!” Black assured her.

Hera narrowed her eyes, curious to know what she was going to get for her birthday, but knowing her father well enough to know that he wouldn't give in to her puppy dog ​​eyes.

“Okay!” the girl huffed. “But I hope we meet as soon as possible! Besides, how can you ask me not to worry about you when I know the vultures the ministry hides? Of course I worry, father,” Hera exclaimed. “I don't want to lose you again. Just thinking about that possibility scares me.”

Sirius' smiling features softened and he looked at her with pure love in his eyes.

“You won't lose me, puppy,” Black said, his heart warmed by the concern he could see in his daughter's eyes. Concern for him, someone who really didn't deserve it. “The trial will take place in a few days, I will be declared innocent, I will get custody of you and, if it depends on me, you will never get rid of me again. ”

“I hope so, father,” Hera murmured, deciding to trust her father. Hopefully he was right in her suspicions and the Ministry wouldn't kiss him on sight. “But changing the subject, how are you, dad? Are you well? Are Dobby and Winky taking good care of you? And Kreacher?”

“I'm fine, pup,” Sirius chuckled, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “Dobby and Winky take great care of me. According to Winky, I'm still too thin, despite having gained a few kilos since I started living with the two of them. As for Kreacher… You could say that we are reaching an agreement. I don't know how it will end, but I'm trying to have a good relationship with him, as you asked me to do,” he said and Hera smiled, liking the fact that he was treating the old Black elf better.

Hera had never met the house-elf that Sirius hated so much from his childhood, but from what she heard from her father and her two elf friends, Dobby and Winky, the old elf was difficult, so to speak. But knowing that her father was at least trying to improve her relationship with him, giving the house elf a chance, made her very happy.

She wasn't exactly a member of the S.P.E.W. (Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) — which Hermione Granger created with the intention of freeing all house-elves from their wizards — because she knew that the small creatures needed of a strong, healthy bond to live in and because they enjoyed working with and caring for wizards. However, what Hera could not tolerate, under no circumstances, was the mistreatment of little elves. Hera Potter believed that all creatures had rights to equality, safety, and dignity, no matter how prejudiced and arrogant wizards might be in their beliefs of superiority.

“Did you ask him if he wanted a bond with me?” Hera asked her father, knowing the answer to her question before she even heard it. Sirius had been quite clear in the pride Kreacher felt in serving the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. “I'm sure Dobby and Winky won't mind if I accept another elf into my services.”

Sirius, upon hearing his daughter's proposal, rolled his eyes.

“Of course, love,” he said, snorting at the thought of the lunatic elf. “But he doesn't want to know that at all. You know how proud he is to serve Black people and only Black people.”

Hera raised her eyebrow.

“He knows I'm your heiress, doesn't he?” the one with black hair asked, tilting her head to the side with amusement. “Technically, he would continue to serve the Blacks.”

Black snorted, a mischievous smile on his mouth.

“After a while, I stopped trying to argue with that elf,” the older man snorted, rolling his eyes. “He's completely crazy, you know! ” Sirius exclaimed.

Hera, upon hearing the way her father referred to the poor elf, narrowed her eyes at the older man, reprimanding him for his manners.

“Don't call him that, father,” Potter scolded. “Kreacher spent years alone in this house, with only the company of a rude portrait. Situations like this are not overcome so easily,” she said and Sirius' face softened, his heart enchanted by the kindness and goodness that his daughter showed. “Let him get used to you again, you didn't have a good relationship before. I'm sure that once he gets used to it and realises that you're trying, he'll get better.”

“Only you, baby,” Sirius smiled at the smaller girl. “Only you.”

Potter laughed softly, blushing from the compliment and the obvious affection in Black's eyes as he looked at her through the mirror.

“Changing the subject a little about Kreacher… Father, have you heard about Moony?” Hera asked, bringing up her concerns about her honorary uncle. “How is he? I haven't heard from him since the last letter. I am worried.”

And it was true. The last time Hera spoke to her uncle Moony was when he sent her a letter, the day after she arrived at the Dursleys house. It warmed her heart that he cared so much, that he saw her as family, just like Sirius.

Sirius, upon hearing his daughter's question, sighed and looked away, shaking his head.

“Moony is on a mission for Dumbledore,” the oldest said and Hera felt her heart sink inside her chest. “As you can imagine, the old man was not happy about Voldemort's defeat at your hands, especially since he didn't help you defeat him. So he's been constantly talking and preaching that Riddle is gone but will come back, because he's immortal and all that crap. I don't believe him at all, but Remus does and he went on a suicide mission to talk to the werewolf packs because of that old goat,” Sirius then took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, looking tired and she completely understood why. If she were in her father's shoes and her best friend was manipulated by an old man just for being kind, she would also be physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted with worry. “I really don't know what else to do to make him see Albus' constant manipulations. It's not like this plan to talk to the werewolf packs had worked last time! It only hurt him and marked him as an enemy of the packs, especially the one led by Greyback… I feel useless, watching him wear himself out to carry out the orders of a foolish man with a god complex.”

“He's just grateful, father,” Potter commented, looking worriedly at the older man. “Dumbledore let him study at Hogwarts, even though he was aware of his lycanthropy. He is so grateful to the man for what he did for him, for the opportunity that Dumbledore gave him, that it makes him blind,” she said, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth, getting upset with the situation her honorary uncle found himself in. “We get to see Dumbledore's not-so-subtle manipulation of him, but he can't do it because he's grateful to the old man. It's sad, but it's the truth. There's nothing we can do other than be there with him, supporting him.”

Sirius sighed.

“I know, my love. I know,” he said, giving a gentle smile to his daughter, who returned it with her own smile. “And how are doin’, puppy? I miss you.”

Hera smiled, her heart filling with warmth at the love her father showed her. Despite knowing that she was very loved by him, Remus and her parents, Hera still had some insecurities due to the unhappy childhood she suffered living with the Dursleys.

“I'm fine, father. Really,” Hera reassured the man, seeing the concern and distrust in the older man's grey eyes. “Until a few days ago I was just bored, but yesterday I received a letter from Gringotts and a lot happened,” she said, laughing softly when she saw the curiosity on Sirius' face. “Don't worry too much about it, dad, this is one of the topics we'll talk about when we see each other in person. So prove your innocence to those idiots, will you?”

Sirius raised his eyebrow, looking at her with eyes shining with curiosity.

“Alright, pup,” he exclaimed, snorting falsely irritated and Hera laughed. “But know that if I die of curiosity by then, I will come back to haunt you! ”

Hera laughed loudly at her godfather's speech, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“No, you won’t, father…” she exclaimed, pointing out the fact without hesitation and without feeling sorry. Hera Potter was just telling the truth as it was. “You love me too much to do this to me.”

“True,” Sirius laughs. “True!”

Hera laughed softly, before looking at her father and sighing, feeling apprehension for the next few days.

“Father…” she said, somewhat insecurely. “Promise me you’ll come back to me?” she said, her eyes watering a little at the possibility of her father being arrested once again. “I don't want to have to go rescue you from Azkaban, you know?” Potter joked with a smile and eyes full of unshed tears.

Sirius laughed when he heard that, feeling his heart squeeze inside his chest due to the fear and concern that his daughter felt for him.

“We won't need any rescue, pup. I promise you,” Black exclaimed, softening his face as he looked at the most important person in his life. “The trial will happen and when you least expect it, you will be living with me. Right ?! ”

“Right, father,” Hera agreed, biting her lip, unsure.

Before they could talk further, Hera heard her aunt's voice shout for her. Sighing, the black-haired girl turned her attention to her father.

“Do you have to go yet, puppy? ” Sirius asked, correctly deducing what Hera was going to say.

Sadly, Potter nodded.

“Aunt Petunia is calling me…” she said.

Her father just looked at her with love in his eyes and smiled understandingly.

“Everything is fine, love. I understand,” he said, making the youngest girl's heart fill with love for her father. “Why don't you go see what your aunt wants? Later we can talk again.”

“I'll demand it, father,” Hera swore determinedly, eliciting a soft laugh from the older man. “I love you!” she said with a loving smile.

“And I love you, puppy, more than anything in this world. Happy birthday,  luv.”

Privet Drive, Little Whinging — SURREY
— August 2, 1995

A loud, resonant crack broke the silence like a crash; a cat scrambled out from under a parked car and disappeared from view; A scream, a loud swear, and the sound of shattering dishes echoed in the Dursleys' living room, and, as if it were the signal she had been waiting for, Hera jumped to her feet as she pulled out a thin wand from the waistband of her jeans, as if she were unsheathing a sword — but before she could completely lift her body, she hit the Dursleys' open window with her head. The resulting noise made her Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

“By Merlin’s sagging balls, what a dramatic little woman that is!” — Potter thought with disgust.

Hera was sitting amongst the bushes in the Dursley's garden, watching the sky as her mind wandered to what she had learned a few days ago at Gringotts. Few days had passed since her visit to the wizarding bank and all that time was not enough to absorb the crazy and incredible story of her family.

Even when she returned to Diagon Alley — discreetly, of course — and accessed the Peverell Vault, finding two diaries belonging to Ignotus — my grandfather now, she thought — and a family grimoire from when they were still Pevēriūn, and bringing all three to the Dursleys' house, she could not believe the truth of the facts she had been told, even if they were true.

However, even in deep thought as she was, Hera could still distinguish a normal noise from the sound of apparition. And it was this, this sound, that made the witch jump as if she were ready to fight for her life — and she was — because that noise told her that someone had apparated there. Were they Death Eaters seeking revenge for their fallen master? Was it someone with malicious intentions or someone who wasn't even after her? Was she being paranoid?

She didn't think so — if she were to take into account everything she had been through since returning to the wizarding world, she wasn't wrong at all to always be ready to fight for her life.

And she would do it.

The blow to her head, however, made her feel as if her head had split open. Tears streaming from her eyes, she staggered as if she were drunk — Fred and George had made a point of giving her Firewhisky after the first task, and she had learned never to accept anything they offered her again — trying to focus on the street to find the source of the noise, but she had barely managed to straighten herself when two huge purple hands reached through the open window and grabbed her by the throat.

“Save this!” Uncle Vernon growled in her ear. “Now...! Before anyone... Look!”

Angered by the audacity of Vernon Dursley — a bully and a fat man —, Hera put away her wand and touched Vernon's hands with her own, channelling all her magic into his hands, causing the man to receive the biggest shock of his life, his loud and pain-filled screams inaudible to the other neighbours, after she had placed a silencing spell around the three of them — after all, even angry as she was, the girl was not willing to break the Statute of Secrecy.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again, Vernon Dursley!” Hera gasped, furious. “Because if you do that again, compared to what I’ll do to you, you’ll think what I did just now was a mere caress!”

For a few seconds the two relatives fought, her Aunt Petunia watching from the sidelines with horror in her pale blue eyes. Hera held her uncle's hands — as fat as he was — in her hands, her hands glowing subtly with her magic, wanting to hurt him for his audacity; then, when the pain in Hera's head gave another particularly strong throb, Uncle Vernon let out a final scream and dropped his niece as if he had been punched very hard — and considering how he would feel for the rest of the day, he wished he had taken more than the one he actually received. Without thinking, Hera shielded her body against any more physical attacks — she did not trust her relatives, any of them.

Panting, Hera staggered over the hydrangea bush, stood up, and looked around as she remembered the sound of someone apparating. There was no sign of the witch or wizard who had apparated nearby — not even the obvious and somewhat noticeable trace that the Disillusionment Charm left when it was used —, but there were plenty of faces peering out from several neighbouring windows. She quickly smoothed down her messy locks and tried to look innocent, before realising that she didn't care what her neighbours thought — just as they didn't care about the way she had been treated by the Dursleys, who had always treated her as if she were a delinquent instead of a child.

If she were a bitter and vengeful person, she would curse them all for their part in her suffering — because even if they hadn't abused her like the Dursleys, they had turned their backs on her and that was far worse in her opinion.

“Nice evening!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed, his face flushed, waving to the lady in number seven opposite, who was watching them intently from behind the curtains. Gossipy, Hera thought amusedly.

Hera then remembered the barrier of silence she had placed around them, and with an amused smile, let her uncle talk to himself, making him look a little crazy in the eyes of the neighbours he and his wife held in such high regard.

“I don’t care!” — she thought.

“Did you hear the backfiring of a car just now? Petunia and I got quite a fright.”

He continued to smile in that horrible, manic way of his until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from the various windows, then the smile turned into a sneer of fury and he ordered Hera to come closer again. The girl raised her eyebrow and tilted her head, wondering to herself if her uncle thought she was so stupid as to approach the one who was trying to kill her just a few minutes ago.

“I can hear you just fine from here, Dursley, go ahead and talk,” Potter said, knowing very well how much he hated her and she didn't want to risk it, even with a charm protecting her from being physically attacked. She didn't trust him.

In none of them — which was quite sad; after all, they were his relatives, they shared blood.

“I don't want them to hear,” her uncle said through clenched teeth, his eyes shining with fury.

“They won't, don't worry,” the girl assured, completely unconcerned with the look she was receiving.

“He can't hurt me anymore” — Hera thought. — “I'm not defenceless anymore.”

“Very well!” he exclaimed. “Now, what the devil are you up to, girl? With that… That noise?” Uncle Vernon demanded, his hoarse voice shaking with fury. “Do you want to embarrass us in front of everyone with that strangeness of yours?”

“I don't intend to do anything about that noise, after all it wasn't me,” Hera informed her uncle coldly. She refrained from looking left and right on the street, hoping to see who had made the bang — that would only make her look guilty in the eyes of her relatives, especially in the eyes of her uncle. “And I don't need to be embarrassed by doing anything to embarrass you in front of others. You do that on your own, if you want to know!”

“I don't believe you! Making such a noise as if it were a starting gun outside our house…” the man continued, not caring about the insult. This man is completely crazy, she thought. “As if you weren't already strange enough without all this freakishness…”

“Again, I wasn’t the one who made the noise,” the girl replied firmly, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Were they really that ignorant? “Do you think I would have reacted like that if it had been me?”

Aunt Petunia's thin, horsey face now appeared next to Uncle Vernon's broad, red face. She was livid.

“Nothing much different than normal” — Hera thought.

“Why were you hiding under our window?”

“That's a good question, Petunia. What were you doing under our window, freak?”

“I wanted to look at the sky without having to go to the playground,” Hera bluffed, not caring about the mix of colours passing through her uncle's face, knowing very well how angry he must be. “Besides, I wanted to listen to the news.”

Her uncles exchanged indignant looks at her response.

“Listening to the news!” her uncle Vernon asked, looking genuinely indignant that someone like her — a witch —, so strange and abnormal compared to them — and thank Merlin for that! —, could be interested in the newspaper of perfectly normal people like them. Nonsense, really. “Again?”

“Well, it changes every day, you know?” replied the girl, mocking the stupid question her uncle asked her.

“Don't be funny to me, girl!” retorted the eldest, looking furious at his family's disgrace, the aberration he had been forced to care for all these years. “I want to know what you're really up to... And don't answer me again with that story about how you were listening to the news! You know very well that people of your ilk —”

“Careful, Vernon!” Aunt Petunia whispered, and her husband lowered his voice so much that Hera could barely hear him.

“Didn’t I say they couldn’t hear us?” — Hera wondered, surprised at how ignorant her relatives really were. — “How can they be so stupid?”

 “— That people like you don't appear on our news!”

“Well, it's not like you know anything about…” Hera tilted her head to the side, pretending to think about the answer, not caring about the angry looks she received from both of them, “… What did you say, dear uncle? People of my ilk?” the witch straightened up and focused her pink eyes on her uncles, looking with disgust at the couple, making them shudder at the strange eyes of her even stranger niece. “You, Vernon Dursley, know absolutely nothing.”

The Dursleys stared at her for a few seconds, then her aunt said:

“You are a nasty liar. What are those…” and then she also lowered her voice, and Hera had to read her lips to understand the next word. “... Owls doing things that don't bring you news?”

“Ah, ah!” exclaimed Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. Hera snorted. “Now snap out of it, freak! As if we didn't know that you get all your news from those pestilent animals!”

Hera thought for a moment, before deciding that nothing she did was any of their business.

“For your information, uncle, I like to keep myself informed about both worlds, not just my own,” she replied in an expressionless voice.

“I don't believe it,” said Aunt Petunia at once.

“Neither do I,” said the husband, emphatically.

“And I don't care what you believe,” the little witch shrugged, not caring. “What you believe or don't believe is totally and completely irrelevant to me.”

“We know you're up to something strange,” retorted Aunt Petunia.

“We're not stupid, you know,” said her uncle.

“That remains to be seen” — Potter thought scornfully.

“Oh… I didn’t know you were fortune tellers. I’ve never seen you at Hogwarts,” Hera commented, smiling mischievously as she saw her aunt turn pale. Her father had told her a very funny story — her aunt Petunia, when she was a child, sent a letter to Dumbledore, asking to be accepted into Hogwarts after her mother received her letter; her mom told her dad, James, when they got married and Sirius found out about it a few hours later.  “But anyway, what I do or don’t do is none of your business. Have a great day, uncle, aunt,” she said with a mocking smile to her relatives, who were starting to get angry, and before the Dursleys could call her back, the girl turned her back on them, crossed the front of the house, jumped over the garden wall and started walking up the street.

Now she was in trouble and she knew it. She would have to face her uncles later and pay the price for their rudeness — but she didn’t regret it; she would never let her relatives abuse her again, in any way; never again. However, Hera preferred to worry about any repercussions later, deciding to focus on things much more important than her hateful relatives and their pettiness. Like, for example, Sirius’s trial in two days. The girl knew very well that everything was going in her father’s favour, but what if Dumbledore didn’t want to give up on her? What if the old goat decided to frame Sirius, deny him his deserved freedom again and throw him back in Azkaban — all for the greater good ?

She knew very well who that phrase belonged to. Gellert Grindelwald. A former Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore's former lover. What a hypocrite that man was, using the same catchphrase as the former Dark Lord to manipulate the wizarding world in his favour, like a game of chess — and he was succeeding, everyone was listening to him (except her and her father).

And if he decided to go down that path — getting rid of Sirius to control her — Hera would leave the wizarding world behind at the first opportunity, but she wouldn't be able to live with the guilt of being responsible for her father's death, even if she wouldn't actually be to blame if it happened.

But that wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let it.

Wanting to distract herself, the witch thought about what had happened earlier at the Dursleys' home — that wasn't her home, it would never be her home. Hera was sure that the bang had been made by someone apparating or disapparating, after all she knew the sound of apparition. It was exactly the sound that Dobby and Winky, her house-elves, her friends and family, made when they disappeared into thin air. But she knew it wasn't them, because she hadn't called for them — and even if it had been them, they would have shown themselves to her. So the question was, who had apparated?

As this thought occurred to her, Potter turned to scan the street, trying to catch even a glimpse of the person or creature, but the street seemed as deserted as before and she was certain that whoever it was might as well be invisible — even if she couldn't see the obvious sign left by a disillusionment charm.

Hera continued walking, not paying much attention to the path she was following, because lately she had been walking these streets so often that her feet automatically took her to her favourite places.

Every half-dozen steps, she glanced over her shoulder, fearing she was being watched. Some magical being had been nearby when she lay among Aunt Petunia’s dying begonias, Hera was sure. Why hadn’t it spoken to her, why hadn’t it made contact, why was it hiding now? None of it made sense, and she felt tense; her hair standing on end and her heart racing inside her chest told her something she already knew: something was about to happen.

But Hera didn’t know what it was. And it was killing her, stressing her out.

Then, as her frustration reached its peak, her certainty began to fade. Maybe it hadn’t been a magical noise, after all. Maybe she was so desperate to take her mind off her fears about her father’s trial so close at hand that the slightest hint of contact from the world she belonged to caused her to overreact to very ordinary sounds.

Was she really right? Could she say with absolute certainty that it hadn't been the sound of something breaking in the neighbour's house? No. She hadn't been wrong. She trusted her instincts and her magic, just as she trusted her senses. Some unknown wizard had apparated near her, and not knowing who it was was irritating her.

Hera felt a dull sensation as her stomach dropped, and before she knew it, the pessimism, doubt, and insecurity that had plagued her for a small part of the summer took hold of her again.

The day after tomorrow, her alarm clock would wake her at five in the morning so she could pay the owl that delivered the morning edition of the Daily Prophet — but did it make sense to continue receiving it? Lately, Hera had only skimmed the front pages and then tossed the paper aside in disappointment at what she read; she wondered when the wizards and witches who edited the Prophet would realise that the girl-who-lived didn't give a damn about what they said about her.

Her reason for continuing to pay continually to receive the morning and evening editions of the Daily Prophet was one and one only : to read first-hand the news concerning Sirius and his trial. That, and that alone, was what interested Hera enough to keep her interested in that newspaper.

If she was lucky, when her issue of the Prophet arrived, there would also be owls with letters from her acquaintance, Luna Lovegood — a third-year Ravenclaw whom she had met on the train at the end of her disastrous fourth year — although she did not expect much, for in all her years at Hogwarts, Hera had never received a letter from her classmates — well, apart from extremely irritating letters from Weasley and Granger. Fred, George and she had a means of communicating other than owls — a connected diary that the three of them had created in their second year — and Potter hoped that she could do the same with Luna in the future.

The last letter that had arrived from the blonde — to her disbelief, she could admit — made the black-haired girl think about the possibility that the younger girl was some kind of psychic. However, Hera would not speak her thoughts and theories out loud — if it were true, Luna would tell her in her own time.

But would they really see each other this year? Hera was thinking about the possibility of returning to Hogwarts. Although she loved the castle, the magic in its walls, the paintings, the elves and the ghosts, what good did studying at Hogwarts do for her?

Every year — and she meant every bloody year — she found herself in trouble because of Dumbledore and his loyal followers, who were nothing more than untrustworthy adults — putting her safety and that of the others in the castle at risk if it was the headmaster's will. And now that she had killed Tom Riddle — thank Merlin for small mercies — who could guarantee that the old man wouldn't do something drastic to bring her under his control? Especially now with her father fighting to gain her freedom and innocence, and subsequently, to gain custody of her, as he should have done so many years ago. Or how could she be sure that she would be safe at school, with so many Death Eater offspring waiting in the wings for the perfect opportunity to exact revenge on her for the downfall of their master and the defeat of their fanatical, psychopathic parents?

So, Potter wasn’t sure of the answer — whether she would return to Hogwarts or not. Besides, Hogwarts wasn’t the only magical school in the world. She could find another school — one that wasn’t so far behind in magical matters — and leave magical Britain forever; or, she could hire private tutors and leave Britain forever. But Hera knew one thing — she wouldn’t miss this place.

But she didn't want to think about that, Hera just wanted to think about what she had learned about her family a few days ago from her account manager and from the little she had read of her ancestor Ignotus's diaries. She could never have imagined that her relatives were royalty, much less that she was descended from another world! It was so unbelievable and yet, not impossible. Magic was capable of some truly incredible things and knowing that her family was able to do something as unimaginable as travelling between worlds filled her with immense pride. She hoped to live up to her ancestors, she hoped to make them proud with her magical abilities.

Involuntarily, her thoughts went to what happened at the end of her fourth year. The third task, the cemetery, the ritual and everything that followed.

Hera may have defeated Voldemort that night, but even though she had won the battle of her life, of her entire life, going through something like that leaves deep traumas in anyone, especially in a child. And, whether the wizarding world recognizes it or not, Hera Liliana Potter was just a child, still is — not too young to not know what is right or wrong, but not too old to make decisions about her life on her own. The others — Dumbledore above all others — were the ones who made the decisions for her — even when they concerned her — and often, the decisions they made did more harm than good; and she was tired of that. 

It was so unfair, that others could live their lives the way they wanted while she, just because she was the girl-who-lived — as if surviving when her parents weren't was a good thing —, was the exception to the rule. 

“So unfair indeed” — Hera thought. 

And now, when she might finally have the chance to escape the cage that the magical world has trapped her in, along with Sirius, her father, the girl would not waste this chance for anything in the world. Even if it kills her.

“Then I will die happy” — once again, she thought.

Don't think about it, Hera told herself sternly for the thousandth time that summer — as her mind wandered and she pondered everything that had happened in the last few months — don't go down that path. It was bad enough having to revisit the graveyard in nightmares — especially when it was Dumbledore instead of Voldemort — without having to think about her own somewhat unlikely death. But considering the fact that, since she returned to the wizarding world at the age of eleven — or since childhood, if she was being honest —, Potter had been close to the gentle embrace of death more times than she could count, more times than she should have.

And who could guarantee that she would continue to succeed in escaping the arms of death?

After some time, Hera realised that, despite having: a) managed to escape the graveyard alive; b) killed the worst Dark Lord of all time; c) captured Wormtail — indirectly getting her father a trial, a trial postponed for many years —, an escape alive is still an escape and everything she went through at the end of her fourth year made her realise how much she still had to improve, how much she still had to learn — besides the traumas, this is. She would not want to repeat the experience so soon in her life — one day after never would still be too soon in her opinion.

Automatically, she turned the corner and entered Magnolia Crescent; halfway there, she passed the narrow alley that ran alongside the garage where she had first seen her father. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand what she was feeling because he felt the same. Every time they talked, her father asked if she was okay, if she needed help dealing with the Dursleys — even if he had to make a quick visit to scare them if they were too mean to her — and told her how much he loved her before saying how much he wanted her trial to happen so they could finally be together, as they both wanted.

Because even if Hera were Lady of Houses Potter, Gryffindor and Slytherin, Heir of Black and Queen of the Valyrian Freehold — that is, until her father is "adopted" by Ignotus and becomes King, with her as his heir — she could not live with a man on the run, mainly for fear that Dumbledore, wanting to have her firmly under his control, would put Sirius in danger in order to sink his claws into her.

She knew the old man had his eye on her father, wanting to poke his nose into everything that wasn't his business. But as long as her father was a wanted fugitive, there was nothing either of them could do. They would have to deal with it, no matter how hard it was.

Hera would do it for Sirius, though, because she loved him more than anything — and so did he. They were each other's family, the rock that kept each other steady, that kept each other sane. And there was nothing they wouldn't do to keep each other safe, absolutely nothing; and if that included playing the old goat's games and staying in the hated home of her loving family, then so be it!

Well, Hera thought, as she crossed Magnolia Crescent to take the street of the same name towards the park, where it was already getting dark, she had generally heeded her father's recommendation. At least she had resisted the temptation to strap her suitcase to her broomstick and head off to Sirius's safe house alone.

She thought she had behaved very well, considering her great anger and frustration at having been stuck in Privet Drive with her mean, despicable relatives for so long, reduced to hiding in flower beds in the hope of hearing something out of boredom and to quickly find out what the wizarding world had been up to since Voldemort's second defeat. However, it was rather infuriating to be advised against rash actions by someone who had served twelve years in Azkaban, escaped, attempted the murder for which he had been wrongly convicted, and disappeared into the world on the back of a stolen hippogriff — with her help.

Hera jumped over the closed park gate and walked across the parched lawn. The place was as empty as the surrounding streets.

When she reached the swings, she dropped onto one that Dudley and his gang of bullies had not yet broken, put her arm through the chain, and stared at the ground in boredom. She could not hide in the Dursleys' flower bed again, for they would find her there and would look for her before anything else. Tomorrow she would have to invent a new way of listening to the Muggle news, so that she would get any news from the wizarding world and to stave off her boredom. In the meantime, there was nothing to look forward to except another restless and troubled night. For even when she escaped the nightmares about what had happened in the graveyard at the end of her fourth year, after Hera had learned about her family history and had been given Iolanthe Peverell's necklace and the ring of many of her ancestors, she had uneasy dreams about volcanoes exploding, huge flaming stones falling to the ground and throwing people away — all with no escape or a slight chance of survival —, many people burned alive — their screams loud and chilling —, giant beasts roaring in pain, all dying for the same reason that made them so powerful and difficult to kill, fire. Such nightmares — so horrible and despairing — she assumed were about what had happened to the land of her ancestors. The Doom of Valyria. 

How she could be dreaming of something that had happened many years ago — centuries, if she were to count — and in another world, was a mystery that frightened and intrigued her at the same time.

Often, Hera could be found fiddling with the pendant on her necklace — the purple stone burning warmly against her chest, casting a softly glowing light when she was deep in her mind and her worries. And other times — more often than not — Hera could be found fiddling with her dragon ring, twirling it around her finger in a nervous tic. She couldn’t say how, but those two heirlooms soothed her more than anything else. And even if she wanted — needed, actually — to tell Sirius everything, Potter knew she couldn’t. After all, her letters might be intercepted by nosy old men, and the conversation they would have would be too awkward, confusing, and too important not to be done in person — which left her with no options.

The injustice of it all — not being able to talk to her father about what was bothering her and receiving a hug from him when she needed it most, being so confused and lost about everything — grew so much in her chest that she wanted to scream with irritation, exasperation and exhaustion. If it weren't for her, Voldemort would still be alive and more active than he had been in many years — taking advantage of it to spread chaos throughout Britain, terrorising the wizarding world with his terrible actions. And what was her reward? Being trapped in Little Whinging for four whole weeks, completely isolated from the wizarding world, reduced to hiding among dried begonias so she could hear news of Australian parakeets who knew how to ski, all to deal with the boredom and anxiety that her father's trial brought her! How could Dumbledore be so meddlesome and get away with it? How could the wizarding world be so blind to the old man's manipulations? Why couldn't he leave her alone? Why couldn't she live happily with her father now that Riddle was gone once and for all? Why did he insist on controlling her life as if she were a damn chess piece in one of his games, as if that wasn't sick? Why did he make sure that Weasley and Granger were her best friends, as if she were stupid enough to put up with two immature teenagers with jealousy and envy issues? How much longer would they expect her to simply accept his orders like a trained and obedient dog; or resist the temptation to write to the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler informing them about everything Dumbledore had done to her at Hogwarts? Talk about all the tests, the rampant bullying he had let her endure, the attempts on her life… Everything?

These indignant thoughts swirled in her head, and her insides twisted with rage, as the sultry, velvety night fell around her, the air was filled with the warm smell of dry grass, and the only sound that could be heard was the muffled snoring of traffic on the street beyond the park railings.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting on the swing when the sound of voices interrupted her reverie and made her look up. The nearby street lamps projected a misty light strong enough to outline a group of people crossing the park. One of them was singing a rude song loudly. The others laughed. She could hear the soft ticking of the expensive bicycles they were pushing.

Hera knew exactly who those boys were.

The figure at the head of them all was, without a doubt, her cousin Dudley Dursley — and seriously, what a stupid name; she often wondered whether the Dursleys loved or hated their son for naming him that — making his slow way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

Dudley was stockier than ever, but a year of strict dieting and the discovery of a new talent had produced a great change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon commented to anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become junior heavyweight champion in the Southeast Region Interscholastic Boxing Tournament. The “noble sport”, as her uncle used to say, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Hera in elementary school, when she had served as a punching bag for her cousin, despite being a girl. She no longer felt the slightest fear of Dudley, she stopped being afraid of her cousin a long time ago, but she continued to think that the fact that he had learned to punch with more force and precision was no reason to celebrate. The neighbourhood kids were terrified of him — an even greater terror than they felt for “that Potter girl”, who they had been warned was a delinquent of the worst kind and attended St. Emma's Center for Irrecoverable Girls, the female version of the St. Brutus Center for Irrecoverable Boys.

Hera observed the dark figures crossing the lawn and wondered who they had been beating that night. Look away, was the thought that crossed her mind as she watched them. Come on, look away, I'm sitting here alone, come and try it...

If Dudley's friends saw her sitting there, they would definitely make a beeline for her, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to look bad in front of the gang, but he would be too scared to challenge Hera... It would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, tease him, watch her cousin powerless to react... What if one of the others tried to get it right, she would be prepared — she had her wand. Let them try it... She would love to vent some of her frustration on boys who had made her life hell in the past.

But they didn't turn around, didn't see her, they were almost at the bars. Hera suppressed the urge to call out to them... Picking a fight wasn't very smart... She shouldn't use magic... Even though she was considered an adult and could use magic at will, even her wouldn't be exempt from punishment if she put the Statute of Secrecy in danger. The least punishment she would get if she did what she wanted — if she fought Dudley and his gang — would be expulsion. She couldn't risk it, not with her father's trial so close at hand.

The voices of Dudley's companions died away, they had disappeared from sight, towards Magnolias Road.

“There you go, father” — Hera thought, discouraged. — “No precipitation. I didn't get in trouble. Exactly the opposite of what you would do if you were my age and in my shoes.”

She stood up and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to think that the time Dudley arrived was the right time to go home, and any minute after that was too late. Her uncle had threatened to lock Hera in the tool shed if she arrived after Dudley again — not that he could, mind you, but she didn't want to fight with anyone — so, suppressing a yawn, and still in a bad mood, the girl left towards the park gate.

Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of big square houses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by big, square men who drove very clean cars, just like Uncle Vernon's. A bunch of hypocrites with their little lives full of falsehood, she thought. Hera preferred the Little Whinging neighbourhood at night, when the curtained windows were patches of bright colour in the dark, and she didn't risk hearing comments decrying her “delinquent” appearance as she passed the homeowners. She walked quickly, so halfway along Magnolia Road she saw Dudley's gang again; They were saying goodbye at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. Hera took shelter under the canopy of a lilac tree and waited.

“... Squealed like a pig, didn't he?” Malcolm was saying, making his colleagues laugh.

“A good right hook, Big D,” praised Peter.

“How can they feel so proud of beating up children younger and weaker than them?” — Hera thought, filled with disgust for her cousin and his unpleasant company. — “Seriously… That’s nothing to be proud of!”

“Same time tomorrow?” asked Dudley.

Hera rolled her eyes at her cousin's stupidity.

“At home, my parents are going out,” replied Gordon.

“So, see you then,” Dudley agreed.

“Bye, Dudley.”

“See you, Big D!”

“Ugh… Idiots, all of them!” — she thought.

Hera waited for the rest of the boys to continue, before starting to walk again.

When the voices disappeared in the distance, she entered Magnolia Crescent again and, quickening her pace, it was not long before she reached a distance where her cousin, who was walking leisurely, out of tune with a song, could hear her.

“Hey, Dudley!” Hera mocked her cousin, laughing scornfully.

Potter knew that picking a fight with her cousin — who had already shown he wasn’t afraid to hit her time and time again, even though she was a girl — wasn’t smart at all. But she was frustrated, angry, and wanted to take it out on something. And who better to target than her cousin, who had tormented her so many times before?

Dudley turned around.

“Oh,” he grumbled. “It’s you.”

“So how long have you been Big D?” Hera asked, smiling mischievously at her cousin.

“Don't bother,” her cousin growled, turning his back on her.

“Cool name,” commented Hera, laughing and following her cousin's steps. “But to me you will always be Dinky Diddydums.”

“I told you, DON’T BOTHER!” repeated Dudley, whose hands, which looked more like hams, had clenched into fists.

“Don't the boys know that's what mom calls you?”

“Shut up.”

“You don't tell her to shut up,” Potter sneered, teasing him hard. “So can I use ‘My Neffy Poo’ and ‘Diddykins’?”

Dudley didn't respond. The effort not to hit his cousin seemed to require all of his self-control.

“So who have you been beating up tonight?” Hera asked, stopping to smile, feeling sorry for the poor child who was in the situation she herself was once in. By the same boys, in fact. “Another ten-year-old boy? I know they got Mark Evans right the day before yesterday…”

“He was asking,” growled Dudley.

“Oh, yes?”

“He disrespected me.”

“Oh, was it? Did he say you looked like a pig that learned to walk on its hind legs?” she asked, getting irritated with his cousin. Why did he have to punch everyone and everything that didn't share his opinion? “Because that's not disrespect, Dudley, that's the truth. How you can feel so proud of hitting children is what amazes me.”

A muscle began to twitch in Dudley's jaw. Hera felt enormous satisfaction in seeing that she was infuriating her cousin; she had the feeling that she was pumping her own frustration into her cousin, the only outlet she had.

The two turned into the narrow lane where Hera had seen Sirius for the first time, a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk.

It was deserted and much darker than the two streets it connected, because there were no lamps. The cousins' footsteps were muffled between the walls of a garage, on one side, and a high fence, on the other.

“You think you're a great woman carrying that thing, don't you, Hera?” Dudley said after a few seconds.

“What thing?” she asked, knowing full well what he was talking about.

“This... This thing you carry hidden.”

Hera laughed again.

“Aren't you as stupid as you seem, Dudley?” she questioned, looking carefully at the path they followed. For some reason, Hera felt goose bumps all over her body, the uncomfortable sensation that someone was closely watching her steps returning with force. “But I don't think if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time.”

Hera pulled out her wand. She saw that her cousin was looking at her sideways.

“You're not allowed,” Dudley said immediately. “I know there isn't. You would be expelled from that fake school you attend.”

“How do you know the rules haven't changed, Diddydums?”

“They haven't changed,” said her cousin, although he didn't seem entirely sure.

Hera laughed softly.

“For your information, dear cousin,” Hera mocked the name, feeling completely disconnected from her maternal family. “I can do magic outside of school. I got permission a few days ago.”

Dudley shivered in fear, remembering all the times he had been hurt by magic and wanting to play strong, he exclaimed loudly.

“You don't have the guts to face me without that thing, do you?” growled Dudley.

Hera could, her father made sure she knew how to defend herself in every possible way, however she did not inform him of the fact.

“And you need four friends behind you to attack a ten-year-old boy,” she replied, without losing her composure. “You know that boxing title you keep showing off? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?”

“For your information, he was sixteen years old and was unconscious twenty minutes after I finished him, and he was twice as heavy as you. Just wait until I tell dad you pulled that thing…”

“You're going to run to dad now, are you? Could it be that daddy's champion Diddydums was scared of evil Hera's wand?”

“You're not so brave at night, are you?” Dudley scoffed, suddenly gaining courage.

Hera had the feeling that she wouldn't like the direction this conversation was taking at all.

“It's nighttime, Diddydums. That's what we call it when it gets dark like that.”

“I'm talking when you're lying down,” Dudley barked.

He had stopped walking. Hera stopped too, looking at her cousin. From what little she could see of Dudley's broad face, he looked strangely triumphant.

“What do you mean, I'm not brave when I'm lying down?” Hera asked, completely amazed. “What do you think I'm afraid of, pillows or something like that?”

“I heard you a few days ago, a few days before your birthday,” Dudley said breathlessly, looking more like a pig in a wig than ever. “Talking in your sleep. Moaning.”

“What do you mean?” Hera repeated, but with a cold, sinking feeling in her stomach. Her nights were disturbed by dreams of cemeteries, rituals, death, fire, dragons and volcanoes. On many nights, everything mixed together, scrambling her mind and making her feel sick.

Dudley let out a raucous laugh, then made a falsetto, whining voice.

“Wormtail! Wormtail! Don't do that, Wormtail! Who is Wormtail... Your boyfriend?”

An unparalleled fury invaded Hera Potter and she needed all her inner strength to contain herself and not punch her cousin until he knocked him out.

“For your information, Dudley Dursley, Wormtail is the reason I don't have my parents and you don't have your uncles,” Hera growled, glaring at her cousin with hatred. Hearing her, Dudley stumbled back, terrified by the pure fury on the younger girl's face. “And this same man kidnapped me at the end of last year, where I came face to face with the Dark Lord, who killed my parents and who tried to kill me several times,” she informed her cousin, clenching her teeth tightly, hearing them hit each other. “And if you think you can come here and call me a coward, you are sadly mistaken! I am not you.”

But not wanting to admit that she was scaring him, Dudley took a stupid action, like many others.

“Daddy! Help me, daddy! He's going to kill me, daddy! Boo!”

“Shut up,” Hera said in a low voice. “Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!”

“Come help me, daddy! Mommy, come help me! He's going to kill me! Daddy, help me! He's going to... Don't point that thing at me!”

Dudley backed up against the alley wall. Hera was pointing her wand directly at her heart. She felt fourteen years of hatred for her cousin throbbing through her veins — what wouldn't it do to attack him now, to bewitch him in such a way that Dudley would have to crawl home like an insect, mute, antennae sprouting from his head...

“What's stopping me from hexing you now, Dudley? What's stopping me from hurting you right now? You've been horrible to me since the beginning, and I've never been able to fight back, for fear of your father. But now?” Hera laughed, a bitter, hateful laugh. “ Now I'm not afraid of him anymore. Or of you. You're nothing but a cowardly bully, and if you keep going down this path, you'll end up in jail. And I'd say “serve you right” for that, it's nothing more than what you deserve…” then, the girl became serious, capturing her cousin's attention with her mesmerising eyes, which were shining with fury. “Now listen to me and listen to me well, because I'm only going to warn you once. Don't ever speak of this again, Dudley Dursley, because I'll make you regret it and not even your father and mother will stop me from hexing you to death,” Hera growled. “Do you understand me?”

“Point that thing the other way!”

“I asked, do you understand me?”

“Point that elsewhere!”

“YOU UNDERSTOOD ME?”

“GET THIS THING AWAY FROM…”

Dudley let out a strange, shaky exclamation, as if he had been dipped in ice water.

Something had happened at night. The starry indigo blue of the night sky was suddenly black and lightless — the stars, the moon, the misty lanterns at each end of the lane were gone. The distant rumble of cars and the murmur of trees had disappeared. The warmness of the night suddenly turned into a biting cold. The cousins found themselves enveloped by a silent, impenetrable and total darkness, as if a giant's hand had thrown a thick, icy blanket over the dish, blinding them.

For a split second Hera thought she had done some wandless magic — she was still learning, but she knew a little — even though she was resisting as much as she could, even with the anger and pure fury she felt at her cousin mocking her obvious trauma. Then her reasoning caught up with her senses — she had no power to extinguish the stars. She then turned her head this way and that, trying to see something, but darkness covered her eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice rang in Hera's ears.

“W-what are you d-doing? S-stop it!”

“I'm not doing anything, you brainless creature! Shut up and stay still!”

“I don't see anything! I-I went blind! I…”

“I told you to shut up! I'm trying to understand what's going on!”

Hera stopped, motionless, turning her blind eyes to the right and left. The cold was so intense that she shivered from head to toe; goosebumps appeared on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up — she opened her eyes as wide as she could, widening them in all directions, without seeing.

“It’s impossible…” — she thought desperately, trying her best to see through the morbid darkness that had settled there. — “They can’t be here… Not in Little Whinging…”

Hera strained her ears... She could hear them before she saw them.

“So much for Dumbledore's blood wards” — the Potter girl growled in her mind, cursing the headmaster in every sense of the word.

“I'll tell dad!” Dudley whimpered. “W-where are you? W-what are you d-doi...?”

“Will you shut up?” Hera hissed. “I'm trying to lis…”

But she was silent.

She had just heard exactly what she had been fearing.

There was something in the lane beyond them, something breathing in hoarse, dry gasps. Hera felt instantaneous dread as she stood there in the freezing night.

“S-stop it. Stop doing this! I'm going to punch you, I swear I will!”

“Dudley, shut up…”

PAM.

A fist made contact with the side of Hera's head, lifting her off the ground. Little white lights twinkled before her pink eyes. For the second time in an hour, she felt her head split in half; the next moment she fell to the ground and the wand flew from her hand.

“You stupid loser!” Hera screamed, her eyes watering with pain, as she tried to get up on her hands and knees, frantically feeling around in the darkness. She heard Dudley try to walk away, hit the lane fence, trip.

And as much as she hated him for all the pain he put her through, she couldn't let him die, not when there was something she could do to help him. Because that's how she was.

“DUDLEY, COME BACK HERE! YOU'RE RUNNING STRAIGHT TO THE THING!”

There was a horrible screech and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment Hera felt a paralysing cold on her back that could only mean one thing. And there was more than one.

“DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! DO WHAT YOU WANT, BUT KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!” Hera murmured nervously, her hands jumping across the floor like spiders. “Where is... Wand... Hurry... Lumus!”

She ordered the spell automatically, desperate for a light to help her in her search — and, to her relief and disbelief, the light turned on inches from her right hand — the tip of the wand lit up. Hera grabbed it, stood up, and turned around. Her stomach turned.

A towering, hooded figure glided toward her, floating above the ground, with no feet or face visible beneath his robes, sucking in the night as she approached.

Staggering back, the girl raised her wand.

“Expecto patronum!”

A wisp of silver smoke shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed its pace, but the spell hadn't worked properly; Tripping over her own feet, Hera backed away further as the Dementor advanced towards her and panic clouded her brain — focus…

A pair of grey, mangy, slimy hands reached out towards her. A growing noise invaded her ears.

“Expecto patronum!”

Her voice sounded muffled and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, fainter than the previous one, came out of the wand — she couldn't do more than that, she couldn't perform the spell.

Hera heard a laugh in her mind, a nasty, high-pitched laugh... she smelled the rotten smell of the Dementor, a lethal cold filled her lungs, drowning her — think... Something happy...

But there was no happiness in her at that moment... The Dementor's freezing fingers began to approach her throat — the high-pitched laugh became louder and louder and a voice spoke in her mind:

“ Bow to death, Hera... Maybe it will be painless... I couldn't say... I've never died... ”

She would never see Fred and George again, her closest friends — her brothers in everything but blood… She would never see Luna again… She would never see Sirius again…

And her father’s face came vividly into her mind as she struggled to breathe.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A huge silver dragon erupted from the tip of her wand; a jet of flames from the animal, made of pure magic, hit the dementor in the part of the body where the heart should have been; the Dementor was thrown back, weightless as darkness, and as the dragon advanced he swooped away, like a bat, defeated. Frowning at the strange dragon — she had never seen that kind of dragon before —, wondering where her deer went, Hera decided to think about it later, this was not the time.

“THIS WAY!” shouted Hera to the dragon. Turning around, she ran down the alley, holding her lit wand aloft. “DUDLEY? DUDLEY!”

Hera only took about ten steps and already caught up with them: Dudley was curled up on the floor, his arms crossed over his face. A second Dementor crouched towards him, grabbing his wrists with its slick hands, forcing them apart slowly, almost tenderly, bringing its hooded head closer to Dudley's face as if it were going to kiss him.

“CATCH HIM, DRAGON!” shouted Hera, and, with a noise of strength and speed, the huge silver dragon she had conjured flew past her. The Dementor's eyeless face was less than an inch from Dudley when a jet of flame hit him; he was thrown into the air and, like his companion, went flying and was absorbed by the darkness; the dragon headed with strong steps towards one end of the alley and dissolved into an Argentine fog.

The light, the stars and the lamps came back to life. A warm breeze swept across the alley. The trees rustled in the surrounding gardens and the muffled noise of cars in Magnolia Crescent once again filled the air.

Hera remained very still, all her senses vibrating, trying to absorb the return to normality. After a moment, she realised that her t-shirt was stuck to her body; she was flooded with sweat.

Dudley moved in her place, groaning in fright and Hera opened her mouth to provoke him — her defence after going through a dangerous situation — when a Dementor quickly returned and grabbed her neck with his hands, choking her.

With the Dementor so close, sucking away all her happiness with sadistic pleasure, Hera found herself unable to conjure another Patronus, her strength exhausted by the situation she found herself in.

Her cousin, Dudley, continued moaning on the floor, oblivious to what was happening around her, caught up in his own fear, when the Dementor approached to kiss her and Potter knew instinctively that he was going to die.

She couldn't conjure a patronus, she couldn't ask for help, and her father would learn of her death within hours. There was nothing she could do.

“Unless…” — she thought, remembering the peculiar necklace she had received as the current Queen of House Peverell and the unique function it had. Hoping that it works, Hera whispered in the dark of the night, with only the dementor as a witness.

“ Zaldrīzes lenton,” and with a tug on her belly she disappeared.

Dragonstone — WESTEROS

Feeling the change in the air, the increase of raw magic in the earth, the creature opened its green eyes, feeling in its heart the certainty that its wait was over; that everything she had been through for all these years, for all these centuries, had been worth it.

All the anguish she went through all this time, enduring the scrutiny and contempt of beings like her, living with the knowledge that they hated her and were disgusted by her, for everything she did, for all the pain she caused it and yet, she regretted nothing.

It had all been worth it, because it had all helped to get to this moment, to get to her.

After all this time waiting, it finally happened.

Her knight had arrived.

TRANSLATION OF PHRASES THAT ARE IN HIGH VALYRIAN

“Zaldrīzes lenton” — House of the Dragon;