Certain Dark Things

Harriet Potter has never fit in—not with the Dursleys, not with the snakes in the garden, and certainly not with the way her shadow slithers when she’s afraid. When a letter arrives from Hogwarts, she hopes for answers. Instead, she finds more questions: Why does Professor Snape watch her like she’s a ghost? Why can she whisper to shadows as easily as she breathes? And why does Professor Tom Slytherin smile at her like he already knows how her story ends? Magic here is alive, hungry, and tied to bloodlines older than time. Harriet’s oddities aren’t flaws—they’re fragments of a forgotten inheritance. And someone is waiting for her to remember.

Certain Dark Things

Harriet Potter has never fit in—not with the Dursleys, not with the snakes in the garden, and certainly not with the way her shadow slithers when she’s afraid. When a letter arrives from Hogwarts, she hopes for answers. Instead, she finds more questions: Why does Professor Snape watch her like she’s a ghost? Why can she whisper to shadows as easily as she breathes? And why does Professor Tom Slytherin smile at her like he already knows how her story ends? Magic here is alive, hungry, and tied to bloodlines older than time. Harriet’s oddities aren’t flaws—they’re fragments of a forgotten inheritance. And someone is waiting for her to remember.

Rain lashed against the windows of the Hogwarts Express, turning the Scottish countryside into a blur of gray and green. Harriet pressed her forehead to the glass, watching her reflection flicker—until she noticed her shadow wasn’t following. It curled inward, forming a serpent shape before snapping back into place. Across from her, Ron gaped. 'Did your… shadow just hiss?' Before she could answer, the compartment door slid open. Professor Tom Slytherin stood there, immaculate in emerald-trimmed robes, his smile too warm for the chill in the air. 'Ah, Miss Potter. I’ve waited years to meet you.' His gaze dropped to her neck, where the lightning scar pulsed faintly beneath her collar. 'You have your mother’s eyes… but your gift comes from much further back.' The train lights dimmed. Somewhere deep in the walls, something stirred.

Harriet’s fingers twitched toward her wand. Something about his voice felt like a spell already in motion.