Chapter 8: This isn't so bad
Heather floated a couple of feet above her bed, legs crossed and eyes closed as she concentrated. Meditating helped her relax, even if she was currently stuck in a bottleneck and absorbing the ambient magic around her did little to further her cultivation. It had been a stressful week, especially after Amelia Bones had more or less strong-armed her into becoming her ward. At first, Heather bristled at the idea, but Amelia's stern but caring approach was hard to resist.
There was a knock at the door.
"It's open," Heather called out without opening her eyes.
The door creaked open, and she heard someone gasp. "Wow, you're floating! That's so wicked," Susan Bones said. She was Amelia's niece and, by extension, Heather's sort-of foster sister now. Susan had been kind to her ever since Heather moved in, which was a welcome change from her previous experiences with people her age.
Heather opened her eyes and smiled softly at Susan. The girl's bright red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "Morning, Susan. Did you need something?"
Susan stepped into the room. "I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to visit my friend Hannah's house."
A small flicker of sadness and jealousy stirred in Heather's chest. She pushed it down quickly, memories of her first friend Olivia surfacing for a moment. She wondered if Olivia was okay after these two years. Heather shook off the thought and gave Susan an apologetic look. "Maybe next time. I wanted to practice some spells before Hogwarts starts."
Susan pouted. "What's the point? We'll learn everything we need at Hogwarts."
Heather smirked. "I just want to practice my control a little." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. She needed to know how her magic would behave compared to others.
Susan nodded, though she looked a bit disappointed. "It's so crazy that you're a genuine archmage. The only other one in the country is Dumbledore, and he's ancient."
Heather shrugged. To her, it didn't feel as impressive as everyone seemed to think it was. "I guess."
Susan lingered for another moment, then waved and left the room. Heather waited until she heard the sound of the door closing behind her before she picked up her black wand with the green handle. She wanted to test out some basic spells to make sure she could still perform regular magic like other witches and wizards.
"Lumos," Heather said, and instantly, the entire room lit up with an intense, blinding white light.
"Bugger! My eyes!" Heather yelped, quickly squeezing them shut and dropping her wand onto the bed. Her vision swam with bright spots even behind her closed lids. The books she'd read said Lumos was supposed to emit light comparable to a Muggle flashlight, not a full-blown lighthouse beam!
She groaned, realizing she'd only used a tiny amount of magic. Clearly, her control needed serious work if she didn't want to accidentally overcharge every spell she tried.
"I guess there are downsides to being too powerful," Heather muttered. She blinked a few times until her vision cleared, then picked up her wand, determined to try again. This time, she focused on reining in her magic as much as possible before whispering, "Lumos." The wand tip glowed softly, casting a gentle light over the room. Heather smiled. "Much better."
…
Heather had spent the past few hours practicing spells in her room. After several tries, she'd managed to cast Lumos without turning the entire room into a blinding white light and even managed a decent Levioso without sending her books flying across the room. It felt good to gain some control, but she knew she had a long way to go.
A sudden pop made her jump, and she nearly dropped her wand. She turned and saw a small house elf standing in the middle of the room, its eyes wide and earnest.
"Miss Heather Potter, Madam Bones wishes to speak with you."
Heather sighed, tucking her wand into her pocket. "Alright. Tell her I'll be there in a minute."
The elf nodded, bowed deeply, and disappeared with another pop. Heather took a moment to smooth down her robes and comb her fingers through her tangled hair before heading out of her room and down the grand hallway of Bones Manor. The house was all dark wood, polished floors, and towering bookshelves filled with dusty tomes that probably hadn't been touched in years. The portraits on the walls followed her with their eyes, whispering among themselves as she passed.
Heather pushed open the door to the sitting room and found Amelia Bones waiting for her. Amelia was sitting in her usual armchair, a thick book open on her lap and a cup of tea on the table beside her. She looked up as Heather entered and gestured for her to sit down.
"Come in, Heather. We need to have a chat."
Heather sat on the edge of the chair opposite Amelia. "What's this about?"
Amelia closed the book and set it aside. "You're starting Hogwarts soon, and there are some things we need to discuss before you go."
Heather tilted her head, curiosity prickling at her. "Like what?"
"Like how to conduct yourself as a proper noble lady," Amelia said. "You're the heir of an ancient and noble house, Heather. The Potter name carries a significant amount of weight. And now, with your status as an archmage and the incident involving Lord Nott, more people will be watching you closely."
Heather's eyes narrowed slightly. "Proper noble lady? You're joking, right?" She couldn't help but scoff at the idea. She was used to running barefoot through alleys and scraping by on whatever food she could steal. The thought of acting like some posh noble felt almost ridiculous.
"I assure you, I'm not," Amelia said. "Hogwarts is a place filled with children from influential families, many of whom have parents deeply invested in politics and the power dynamics of the wizarding world. Your actions, even small ones, will be scrutinized. It's important you understand that."
Heather leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "So, what do you expect me to do? Wear fancy dresses and curtsy to everyone?"
Amelia's lips twitched as if she were holding back a smirk. "Not quite. But there are certain expectations when it comes to being the head of a noble house, even at your age. You need to know how to present yourself, how to command respect, and how to navigate conversations without always resorting to magic."
Heather's expression softened a little. The logic in Amelia's words began to sink in. If she was going to be under a microscope, she might as well know how to handle it. "Alright. What do I need to know?"
Amelia nodded, satisfied. "First, we'll cover introductions and the customs of proper greetings among nobles and influential families. You'll need to learn how to read a room, spot potential allies and enemies, and understand when to show your strength and when to hold back."
Heather let out a small sigh. "This sounds like a lot."
"It is," Amelia agreed. "But you're capable. You've already proven that. Think of this as just another form of training. If you want to navigate Hogwarts and the political landscape that follows, this is essential."
Heather thought back to her duel with Nott and the way people had stared at her afterward. Maybe Amelia was right. It wasn't just about raw power, it was about knowing when and how to use it. "Alright," she said. "When do we start?"
Amelia's serious expression softened into a small smile. "This afternoon. And don't worry, it won't be all etiquette and formality. There will be practical lessons too."
Heather managed a smirk. "Good. I'm not the type to sit around sipping tea and talking about which fork to use."
Amelia chuckled. "Noted. But trust me, there's more to this than appearances. By the time we're done, you'll know how to handle any situation, whether it's a duel in an alley or a conversation with a lord."
Heather nodded, determination lighting up her eyes. "Alright. Let's do it."
…
"How are our finances, dear husband?" Narcissa asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. She stood by the window, her posture rigid as she gazed out over the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor. She was not a happy witch, and Lucius knew better than to pretend otherwise.
Lucius Malfoy's face twisted into a grimace. "They've been better," he admitted. "We'll have to cut back on spending for the next year or two, but we'll recover. It was only 10 percent of our total wealth that was taken." He clenched his fists at the thought. "Fucking goblins and their equally stupid ancient laws of war!"
"At least we chose to wait and not act rashly, unlike Nott." Narcissa's lips curled slightly. "How's his arm?"
Lucius frowned deeply. "It won't ever heal. He'll need a permanent prosthetic. The Potter girl's sword was something else—conjured wandlessly, and almost entirely composed of dark magic. I've never heard of such a thing, but apparently, it sliced through even the darkest of curses like they were nothing. Nott's wound is still filled with lingering dark magic that refuses to be purged, no matter what rituals he performs. I suspect even the Dark Lord would have been impressed by such a weapon."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she processed this information. "Well, that settles it. We will not be antagonizing Heather Potter anytime soon. If she's already an archmage at eleven, there's no telling how powerful she'll be when she reaches her magical maturity. What happens when she turns seventeen?"
Lucius swallowed hard, the unspoken fear gnawing at him. "No, that's impossible. No one has ascended since Merlin and Morgana over a thousand years ago."
"And yet, people have gotten close," Narcissa said, turning to face him. Her eyes were sharp, glinting with a mixture of worry and calculation. "Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort. They all reached the pinnacle of power as archmages but could never take that final step to ascend. And none of them were at Heather Potter's level at the age of eleven." She paused, recalling the family records she'd pored over in the Black family library. Heather Potter was an anomaly, a once-in-a-millennium prodigy. It didn't matter if she was feared or revered—she was here now, in their lifetime, and they needed to adapt.
Lucius's jaw tightened. The implications were too much to ignore. "Draco will do his job. He'll do his best to befriend her this year at Hogwarts," he said. "Dumbledore is old and won't live forever. Once he's gone, she'll be the only archmage left in Britain…"
Narcissa stepped closer, her expression softening as she placed a hand on Lucius's arm. "Then we must ensure that Draco succeeds. If Heather Potter is as powerful as we think, aligning ourselves with her might be the only way to protect our family in the future."
Lucius nodded, though his eyes were still filled with worry. "Agreed. Especially if HE ends up returning one day…"
Narcissa frowned. "Is that really possible? Didn't the boy who lived end up blowing him up? He doesn't even have a body."
Lucious shook his head. "The magic that man was capable of was terrifying and unnatural. It's not a matter of if, but when…"
…
"Any news on sword girl?" Fury asked, not even looking up from his desk. The underground bunker outside New York served as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s temporary HQ. This bunker would have to do until their mobile battle cruiser was finally finished.
"Yes, sir," Coulson said. "We finally matched a name to the face that popped up on multiple security cameras. Her name is Heather Potter. Allegedly missing for the past two years. The story is... well, it's pretty crazy."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"It starts with her family," Coulson continued, eyes skimming the notes even though he had them memorized. "Her aunt, Petunia Dursley, has been in prison for the past two years."
"For what?" Fury asked, leaning forward slightly.
Coulson sighed, shaking his head. "Petunia called the British police and claimed that her niece, Heather Potter, murdered her husband, Vernon Dursley, and ran off. Vernon was found... well, the reports say he was turned into mince meat. The police doubted at first that a nine-year-old could've done that. But then they searched the house."
Fury's expression darkened as Coulson spoke.
"They found a tiny, locked cupboard with 'Heather's Room' scratched into the wood. Inside was... it was disturbing. Small cot, barely big enough for a kid, a bucket filled with old... well, waste, in the corner that reeked. The walls and floor were covered in old, dried blood stains. Police concluded she'd been horrifically abused for years. They arrested Petunia for suspected abuse and for the murder of both her husband and Heather. No one's seen or heard from Heather since."
"So we've got a girl who, at nine years old, survived some hellish abuse, maybe awoke mutant powers because of that, maybe killed her uncle, disappeared without a trace for two years, and is now popping up in the middle of London, blatantly using her powers, and then she disappeared without a trace again…?" Fury asked in annoyance.
"Yes, sir," Coulson said. "We've sent our agents to the area she vanished from, but they all came back saying it was perfectly normal." Coulson shrugged.
"We're assuming Heather Potter's a mutant," Fury said, standing up and pacing around the desk. "One with powers that some higher-ups and even other agencies are interested in. Conjuring giant swords out of thin air is a cool party trick, but it's not very practical in modern combat."
Coulson smirked, knowing Fury wasn't done.
"But the fact she can fly on those swords? Moving through urban areas quickly and with the kind of skill she's shown? That makes her valuable. She's young, which means there's plenty of time to mold her, train her to become a perfect agent." Fury paused, his expression darkening. "If we can find her…"
"We're looking into it, sir. If she does have teleportation abilities, or something similar, it makes her even more of a target for recruitment. And potentially… containment."
Fury crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. "Get more agents on this. Find me Heather Potter."