muriel potter

Dear Aunt Muriel, 

Ron mentioned me recently that you’ve always wanted a House Elf. Since I have connections in that department at the Ministry, I thought I could help you out with your conundrum. 

I have an elf looking for employment. Her name is Tuney, and she’s actually charmed not to ask questions, and never to talk about her past or her identity. I thought those qualities might interest you particularly. Ron also mentioned a coat cupboard underneath your staircase? I think it would make an excellent bedroom for her. 

Please write and let me know. Since I am connected at the Ministry, please keep this offer a little bit quiet. 


Hermione Granger-Weasley 

PS - thank you for your last card, by the way. The money was greatly appreciated. 

Chapter 2

I knew I needed to stay calm. But I was in 1947, over 50 years into the past. There weren’t many people I could go to mainly because they haven’t even been born yet. 

Muriel must have noticed my distress as she tries to sooth me with calming words. After a few minutes, I finally wrap my brain around what was happening. I decided that I would need to find someone to confide in and I already know who that person can be. 

“Do you mind, but I need a quill and some paper.” I ask Muriel politely.

“Of course dear.” 

I breath deeply trying to calm my frantic nerves before writing my letter. I smile gratefully as I pick up the quill and dip it into the bottle of ink. 

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I am writing to you asking for an extremely urgent meeting. I am in a dire situation and require your guidance. I find myself in an unfamiliar time with no way of protecting myself for I am a Squib. I beg you for your help.


Kate Hart

I seal the envelope after tucking my letter into it neatly. I write Albus Dumbledore on the front before handing it to Muriel. She doesn’t ask any questions as she instructs her owl to take it to Hogwarts. 

“Why don’t you go up to one of the spare bedrooms and get some rest? You look like you could use some sleep. I will wake you if you receive a letter.” 

I nod and follow her up the narrow staircase to the second floor. I notice she leads me to the room I had been staying in back in 1998. Or Forward?

She gently closes the door behind me giving me my privacy. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m asleep.


I woke up being about to hear people talking downstairs. I sit up, looking around. So I wasn’t dreaming, I really was in 1947. I notice a pile of clothes on  a chair by the door with a note sitting on top.

Thought you would like some clothes since you arrived in your sleepwear. 

I smile, grateful for her thinking. After taking five minutes to change, I make my way downstairs. 

I let out a sigh of relief as I recognize one of the voices to be Albus Dumbledore. 

I find Muriel and Dumbledore talking in the kitchen. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. This is the young woman I was telling you about.” Muriel smiles.

“Thank you, Muriel. If you don’t mind I would like to spend a few minutes alone for us to talk.” Albus asks her with a sweet, polite grin.

I take a seat at the table able patiently wait for Muriel to leave to room.

“Now before you begin, may I go first?” he asks me. 

I nod.

“This morning I have received a letter from my future self explaining who you are. I suggest you go by your middle name Dorothy. Although I can not tell you why, when, or how you return to your time, but I assure you it will happen. I can tell you that you are here for a reason, although the reason is another thing I cannot share with you. I have told Muriel that we shall be leaving. And I advance would like to apologize for the discomfort you may experience in the near future.”

“Wait what?” 

Before I can protest, he apparates the two of us to what appears to be an abandoned building. 

“Where are we? Why have you brought me here?” I ask him frowning.

“Remember, your name is Dorothy Martin. Your family all died in an air-raid during the war. You are here in hopes of drawing someone out of hiding.” he replies.


“His name is Tom. Warning, he had a temper. But know he can’t cause you any harm. Good luck.” he says before he disappears.

Great, just great. I ask for help and I’m left who knows where. 

It’s several minutes before there’s any sign of someone else being there with me. I can hear the sound of footsteps, and something else. 

My eyes widen and I stumble back in fear as a large snake slithers into view. 

Massssster, there’sssss a girl.” the snake hisses. 

I begin to tremble. I shouldn’t be able to understand what the snake just said. 

I look up in the direction the snake had come from. There’s a man, he appears two to three years older than me. He looks about six foot. He has pale skin, and a lean body. His jawline and cheekbones are sharply defined, dark brown hair styled perfectly in neat waves. His gaze was hard, intrusive. I thought his eyes were dark until he stepped out of the shadows letting me see they were more of a grey/green color.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“Dorothy M-mmm-Martin.” I stutter.

“Why are you here?” he growls.

“I don’t know. I’m waiting for someone.” I reply.

“Who?” he asks eyes narrowing.

“His name is Tom.” I reply shyly.

I barely have any time to process as he slams my back against the closest wall. HE stands about an arm-legnth away, his wand raised and pointed directly infant of my face. 

“How do you know that name?” he hisses out in anger.

“Please, I don’t know.” I say trembling.

“Masssssster, thisssss girl hasssss the mark. Yourssssss match.” the snake hisses.

“Where, where do you see this mark?” he asks his snake.

“Near her neck.”

The man takes a step forward, his free hand gripping the neckline of my sweater pulling it to the side. 

Yes, I do have a mark there. It’s a birthmark on the left side of my collarbone. 

Once he sees it, he jerks back, as if seeing it could cause him harm. Something about my birthmark has rattled him. 

“You’re coming with me.” he says as he harshly grabs me wrist and drags me to follow behind him. 

“Where are you taking me? Look, I don’t know who you are or why I’m here. But at you could tell me your name since you know mine.” I try to say in a confident voice but failing miserably. 

He stops, and I bump into his back. He looks over his shoulder glaring.

“My name is Tom Riddle.”

Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,“ said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”
Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Harry’s mind wandered a long way from the marquee, back to afternoons spent alone with Ginny in lonely parts of the school grounds
—  Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J.K. Rowling