"𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙚."
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Lestrange battles the haunting grip of Tom Riddle's malevolent diary as she unravels long-buried truths about her family, herself, and her growing feelings...
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"I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination."
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Harry adjusted to freedom at the Leaky Cauldron in no time, but for Jupiter, it was a whole new world that took some getting used to. The inn was like a breath of fresh air, a cozy sanctuary where she could finally shed the heavy cloak of her past. Ever since she'd fled Lestrange Estate, her nights had been blissfully free of nightmares—a welcome change from the dark magic that had seemed to lurk in every corner of her old home, waiting to haunt her in sleep.
Growing up, her glimpses of the magical world were rare and shrouded in shadows. Her mother had been reluctant to take her to Diagon Alley, so Borgin and Burkes—dark, dusty, and filled with strange, sinister artifacts—was the closest she'd gotten to wizarding life. She'd been too young then to understand her mother's dealings with Mr. Borgin, but the chill in that dim shop had stayed with her long after they left.
But now, at the Leaky Cauldron, there was warmth. Every morning, she and Harry would head down to breakfast and find themselves in a whirlwind of magical types: witches in elaborate hats, wizards debating spells, even a hag once, her face mostly hidden by a woolen balaclava as she ordered raw liver—fascinating and a bit gross all at once.
Their days began with tapping the third brick from the left above the trash bin, watching the archway open up to Diagon Alley like a secret door to a wonderland. They wandered from shop to shop, wide-eyed and grinning, taking in everything that Hogwarts' supply lists had only hinted at. The days passed in a blur of sights and smells, with stops for butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks' Diagon Alley branch and afternoons spent lounging in the sunny courtyard outside Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, textbooks open but rarely read. And while Harry might not have been much help with her homework, he was certainly easy on the eyes.
There were, of course, distractions. Chief among them was Harry's infatuation with the Firebolt, gleaming in the Quality Quidditch Supplies window. She must have dragged him past that shop a dozen times a day, reminding him that his Nimbus Two Thousand was perfectly fine. But her words were usually lost on him as he stared, lovestruck, at the broom.
One afternoon, after a successful but exhausting book-shopping trip (during which the Care of Magical Creatures textbook had tried to bite Harry's finger, much to Jupiter's amusement), they heard two familiar voices calling their names.
"Harry! Jove!" The voices yelled from Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Sitting under a vibrant pink umbrella were their two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Both of them were frantically waving at Harry and Jupiter. Ron had grown at least a foot and gained a full face of freckles, while Hermione's hair had become significantly less voluminous and her skin a few shades darker.
