Adventures of Harriet Potter

The Marauders Map

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harriet in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. She didn't argue or complain, but she wouldn't let her throw away the shattered remnants of her Nimbus Two Thousand. She knew she was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harriet couldn't help it; she felt as though she'd lost one of her best friends. She had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering her up. Hagrid sent her a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harriet kept it shut under her bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harriet (in a hollow, dead sort of voice) that he didn't blame her in the slightest. Ron and Hermione left Harriet's bedside only at night. But nothing anyone said or did could make Harriet feel any better, because they knew only half of what was troubling her.
She hadn't told anyone about what she thought was the Grim, not even Ron and Hermione, because she knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. The fact remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, she had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from her broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt her until she actually died? Was she going to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for the beast?
And then there were the dementors. Harriet felt sick and humiliated every time she thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their head of their dying parents. Because Harriet knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. She had heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours in the hospital wing while she lay awake, staring at the strips of moonlight on the ceiling. When the dementors approached her, she heard the last moments of her mother's life, her attempts to protect her, Harriet, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her. . . . Harriet dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on her mother's voice.

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where she was forced to think about other things, even if she had to endure Draco Malfoy's taunting. Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harriet falling off her broom. Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.
"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. "Check who's in there, Hermione." Hermione peered around the classroom door. "It's okay!" she said. Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill.
"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?" Parvati said. "We don't know anything about werewolves —" one of the Ravenclaws said. "— two rolls of parchment!" Ron complained. "Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly.
The babble broke out again. "Yes, but he said we were really behind —" the Ravenclaw said. "— he wouldn't listen —" Parvati said. "— two rolls of parchment!" Ron complained again. Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. Which gave Harriet a vital clue.
"Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay." he said confidently. "Oh no," said Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!" Harriet smiled at her friend, having finished half of her own essay. They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking. "Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —"
The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harriet among them, but — "Wait a moment, Harriet," Lupin called. "I'd like a word." Harriet doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk's box with a cloth. "I heard about the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?"
"No," said Harriet. "The tree smashed it to bits." Gloom filled her voice. Lupin sighed. "They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance."
"Did you hear about the dementors too?" said Harriet with difficulty. Lupin looked at her quickly. "Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time . . . furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds. . . . I suppose they were the reason you fell?" he said. "Yes," said Harriet. She hesitated, and then the question she had to ask burst from her before she could stop herself. "Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just — ?"
"It has nothing to do with weakness," said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harriet's mind. "The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have." A ray of wintery sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin's gray hairs and the lines on his young face. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself . . . soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harriet, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."
"When they get near me —" Harriet stared at Lupin's desk, her throat tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum." Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harriet's shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment's silence, then — "Why did they have to come to the match?" said Harriet bitterly. "They're getting hungry," said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. . . . I don't think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement . . . emotions running high . . . it was their idea of a feast."
"Azkaban must be terrible," Harriet muttered. Lupin nodded grimly. "The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks." She shivered. "But Sirius Black escaped from them," Harriet said slowly. "He got away. . . ." Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it. "Yes," he said, straightening up, "Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible. . . . Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long. . . ."
"You made that dementor on the train back off," said Harriet suddenly. "There are — certain defenses one can use," said Lupin. "But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist."
"What defenses?" said Harriet at once. "Can you teach me?" She was desperate. "I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harriet . . . quite the contrary. . . ." She held up a hand to stop him. "But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them —" she said trailing off. Lupin looked into Harriet's determined face, hesitated, then said, "Well . . . all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."