Chapter Text
Prologue:
The day the wizarding world was lost was the day Harriet Potter was kidnapped from her cradle. The Potters had been under the Fidelious for only a few short months when Peter snuck in to collect the object of the prophecy for his master. Voldemort knew only that the little girl was destined to have great power, equal to his own, and he intended to ensure that that power was used only by him.
With the child safely ensconced in Narcissa’s care at Malfoy Manor, Voldemort continued his conquest of magical Britain, and within the year, he had control of the ministry and Hogwarts. With Voldemort as minister, and his trusted followers entirely embedded in every facet of the wizarding world, the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix went underground. They scattered to hiding places across the country, fighting when they could, surviving when possible.
Dismantling the spell that automatically identified Muggleborns ready for Hogwarts was their last great achievement before a long stretch of perilous, dark times.
James and Lily woke that fateful morning to their precious baby girl missing, and they would not see her again for many, many years.
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Harriet Riddle was a happy child.
She lived in a big house, with gardens full of peacocks and flowers that bloomed year-round. She was never bored, there were always etiquette lessons with Aunt Narcissa, sparring with Auntie Bella, and her and Draco’s tutoring with Mr Snape. Draco was also usually willing to entertain her by flying around the garden or playing Death Eater vs Rebel as they took turns hiding around the house. Sometimes, Theodore Nott or Pansy Parkinson would be brought to play with them while their parents held meetings in the study (the one room in the house Harriet was allowed in but Draco was not).
Harriet Riddle was a stubborn child.
When she did not get her way, she didn’t throw tantrums like Draco was apt to; she simply held her chin high and stared down her opposition until they either gave in or she was able to negotiate away bits and pieces of what she wanted, in such a manner that her opposition never realised what they were giving up. She had gotten her hands on a broom through this method, as well as Draco’s after-dinner dessert whenever she felt he was being particularly annoying.
Harriet Riddle was a fierce child.
Bellatrix had begun training the girl in dueling (both hand-to-hand and any magic that didn’t require a wand) as soon as she was old enough to understand the word “knife”. She often loudly proclaimed that Hari was the deadliest little girl, much more dangerous than her dainty little nephew. (Sometimes, Narcissa wondered if Bellatrix had deluded herself into believing that Harriet was her own daughter, in some manifestation of her obsession with the Dark Lord).
Harriet Riddle was a promising child.
Narcissa loved her son, would kill and die for him someday, but she adored the girl the Dark Lord had bestowed upon her. Harriet sat attentively through all her lectures, practiced her manners at every meal, and was developing into exactly the manipulative, high society woman Narcissa would have wanted as a daughter. Harriet was not much of a reader, not like Draco, but she was keenly intelligent and had sharp instincts. Narcissa was sure Harriet would rule them all one day (she hoped it was soon).
Harriet Riddle was a powerful child.
The Dark Lord coveted power. He collected those with dark magic brimming near the surface, put them to use, and made them something better. He had heard the prophecy of a child with the power to defeat him and decided that that was something he wanted on his side. So far, it had proved a fruitful decision. Little Harriet was amusingly witty and kept his most important pawns content and busy. She was powerful too: she had a well of magic within her greater than most adult wizards. She was being taught control of it from such a young age that the Dark Lord was sure she would become his fiercest warrior yet. He looked forward to the day he unleashed her on the world.
Harriet Riddle was a pretty child.
Narcissa taught her to use that beauty to her advantage. Bella told her that she looked like a Black (sometimes Harriet wondered if Bella was her mother and just too insane to act like it). Her father told her she looked regal, like she was meant to be a Dark Lady. Harriet looked in the mirror, saw curse-green eyes and blood-red hair, and couldn’t help but agree.
Harriet Riddle was a clever child.
She understood the adults in her life (or she thought she did, at least). She knew that ruthlessness and quickness were what Auntie Bella expected and gave. She knew that Aunt Narcissa wanted her manners to mask her manipulations. She knew that her father demanded she be the best, that she work the hardest, and that she be the most powerful in any room (so long as her power never exceeded his). She knew that Mr. Malfoy was only ever led to do things by her father or Aunt Narcissa, that he loved his son, and tolerated her.
The only person she never fully understood was Professor Snape: Draco’s godfather and both their tutors. He was a fine teacher, helping them read and write and learn potions and arithmancy, but he was a strange person. He was always glaring or looking sorrowful, somehow full of hatred and guilt and sadness to a degree Harriet had never experienced in her short little life yet. He was usually snarkily polite to her, but sometimes he looked like he really wanted to curse her.
And the questions he asked! No one else asked silly things like “has anyone hurt you today?” or “what did the Dark Lord tell you today?” or “are you happy here, Miss Riddle?” Sometimes, he just studied her, looking for answers she didn’t know the questions to.
Most of all, Harriet Riddle was a watched child.
She was watched by her father, the Dark Lord, as she grew into her magic. She was watched by the Black sisters, reprimanded for any error, and moulded into perfection. She was watched by Draco, Theo, and Pansy; they regarded her opinion above most others. She was watched by the Death Eaters as they measured up their Master’s Heir. She was watched by Rebels, unknown to her. She was watched by Snape, who couldn’t decide which of her fathers he hated more.
Harriet was watched, and she watched the world in return, anticipating the day she would make it hers.