In Ink and Inheritance (Book 1)

Chapter 12 - More Than a Name

Harriet Potter's POV

I didn't go back to the castle right away.

After the carriage dropped us off, Hermione and Ron headed inside - Ron still sulking about the "public proximity clause" and Hermione already outlining an action plan for filling out our Ministry forms.

But I lingered.

The snow had slowed, the sky hanging heavy and gray, and I found myself drawn back to the edge of the Black Lake. The path was half-covered in ice, my boots slipping once or twice, but I didn't care.

I needed the quiet.

Needed space to breathe.

Because something had shifted in Hogsmeade - not because of the contract or the Ministry hovering over us, but because of him.

Oliver hadn't tried to charm me or impress me. He hadn't offered some grand speech or made this feel like a performance. He'd just... listened.

Watched.

Waited.

He saw me in a way most people didn't - not as a symbol, or a Seeker, or The Girl Who Lived.

Just as Harriet.

And that... did something to me.

It unraveled a knot I didn't know I'd tied in my chest. The one that tightened every time I looked in the mirror and didn't quite know what I was growing into. I'd been bracing myself - for the fear, for the weight of the contract, for someone to push me toward a future I wasn't ready for.

But Oliver hadn't pushed.

He'd offered.

And in doing that, he'd reminded me I had a choice - not over the magic, maybe, but over what it meant.

And I was starting to think...

Maybe I didn't hate what it meant.

I sat down on the bench nearest the water, pulled out the notebook I'd been quietly keeping since October, and turned to a fresh page.

I didn't write a letter. Not this time.

I wrote a list.

Who I Am (So Far)
• My name is Harriet Lily Potter.
• I'm thirteen.
• I hate pumpkin juice but drink it anyway to be polite.
• My favorite spell is Lumos.
• I braid my hair now because it feels like something I chose.
• I'm scared of Azkaban.
• I still miss my mum and dad.
• I like flying more than I like winning.
• I don't know what I want to be yet.
• But I think I want to be someone who can be loved.
• Not because of magic. Not because of contracts.
• Just because I'm me.

I stared at the list for a long time, then underlined the last sentence.

The breeze picked up. Somewhere behind me, the clocktower chimed once - a low bell that echoed across the lake.

Time was passing.

Things were changing.

And I was, too.

Not into someone else. Not into some perfect pure-blood heir. But into someone who could walk beside Oliver Benjamin Wood - not just because magic had chosen us.

Because I wanted to choose myself first.