Adventures of Harriet Potter

Percy and Padfoot

Harriet was the first to awake in her dormitory next morning. She lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the chink of sunlight falling through the gap in her four-poster's hangings and savored the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. She pulled open the curtains around her bed, got up, rushed to the connected bathroom as nausea so intense she had to puke came over her, returned after brushing her teeth, and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of her fellow Gryffindors. She opened her schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill, and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.
Making straight for her favorite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harriet settled herself down comfortably and unrolled her parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars, and candy wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harriet uncorked her ink bottle, dipped her quill into it, and then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of her parchment, thinking hard. . . . But after a minute or so she found herself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.
She could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write her letters over the summer. How was she supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions she was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information she did not want them to have? She sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, she dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely upon the parchment.

Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're okay, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend. We've got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon. Please write back quickly.
Best, Harriet.

Harriet reread this letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. She could not see how they would know what she was talking about — or who she was talking to — just from reading this letter. She did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back: Harriet did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts. Considering it was a very short letter it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while she had been working on it, and she could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully she climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery. "I would not go that way if I were you," said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of her as she walked down the passage. "Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor."
"Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?" asked Harriet. "Funnily enough, it does," said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. "Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron. . . . He might be able to put a stop to it. . . . See you, Harriet . . ."
"Yeah, 'bye," said Harriet and instead of turning right, she turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. Her spirits rose as she walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last — Something brushed her ankles. She looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal gray cat, Mrs. Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes upon her for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful. "I'm not doing anything wrong," Harriet called after her. She had the unmistakable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harriet could not see why; she was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.
The sun was high in the sky now and when Harriet entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled her eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as she stepped across tiny animal bones, craning her neck for a sight of Hedwig. "There you are," she said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. "Get down here, I've got a letter for you." With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down onto her shoulder. "Right, I know this says 'Snuffles' on the outside," she told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, "but it's for Sirius, okay?" She blinked her amber eyes once and she took that to mean that she understood. "Safe flight, then," said Harriet and she carried her to one of the windows; with a moment's pressure on her arm Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. She watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn.
The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harriet watched them, savoring the fresh air on her face, thinking about Quidditch later . . . and then she saw it. A great, reptilian winged horse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leathery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle and then plunged once more into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly Harriet could hardly believe what she had seen, except that her heart was hammering madly. The Owlery door opened behind her. She leapt in shock, and turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in her hands.
"Hi," said Harriet automatically. "Oh . . . hi," she said breathlessly. "I didn't think anyone would be up here this early. . . . I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday." She held up the parcel. "Right," said Harriet. Her brain seemed to have jammed. She wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in her mind. "Nice day," she said, gesturing to the windows. Her insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. She was talking about the weather. . . . "Yeah," said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. "Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?"
"No," said Harriet. Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down onto her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel. "Hey, has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?" she asked. "Yeah," said Harriet. "It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?" Feeling silly because Cho obviously would know him. "The Tornado-hater?" said Cho rather coolly. "Is he any good?"
"Yeah," said Harriet, "I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention." Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owl's legs. "That Umbridge woman's foul," she said in a low voice. "Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how — how — how he nearly died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that." Harriet's insides reinflated so rapidly she felt as though she might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse, Cho thought she had been really brave. . . . For a moment she considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her her cut hand as she helped her tie her parcel onto her owl. . . . But the very instant that this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again.
Filch, the caretaker, came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin gray hair disheveled; he had obviously run here. Mrs. Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above, and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion. "Aha!" said Filch, taking a flat-footed step toward Harriet, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. "I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"
Harriet folded her arms and stared at the caretaker. "Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?" she asked, finding it ludicrous as she hadn't even used one . . . at least, not yet. Cho was looking from Harriet to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it. "I have my sources," said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. "Now hand over whatever it is you're sending." Feeling immensely thankful that she had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harriet said, "I can't, it's gone."
"Gone?" said Filch, his face contorting with rage. "Gone," said Harriet calmly. Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harriet's robes with his eyes. "How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?"
"Because —" she started. "I saw her send it," said Cho angrily. Filch rounded on her. "You saw her — ?" he said slowly. "That's right, I saw her," she said fiercely. There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned and shuffled back toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harriet. "If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb . . ." He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs. Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him. Harriet and Cho looked at each other. "Thanks," Harriet said. "No problem," said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. "You *weren't* ordering Dungbombs, were you?"
"No," said Harriet. "I wonder why he thought you were, then?" she said, as she carried the owl to the window. Harriet shrugged; she was quite as mystified by that as she was, though, oddly, it was not bothering her very much at the moment. They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led toward the west wing of the castle, Cho said, "I'm going this way. Well, I'll . . . I'll see you around, Harriet."
"Yeah . . . see you." She smiled at her and departed. She walked on, feeling quietly elated. She had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed herself once. . . . You were really brave standing up to her like that. . . . She had called her brave. . . . She did not hate her for being alive. . . . Of course, she had preferred Cedric and wasn't interested in girls romantically, she knew that. . . . Though if she'd only asked her to the ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently. . . . She had seemed sincerely sorry that she had to refuse when Harriet had asked her, and didn't outright say she didn't fancy girls — her exact words having been I don't exactly swing that way after all. . . . "Morning," Harriet said brightly to Ron and Hermione, joining them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
"What are you looking so pleased about?" said Ron, eyeing Harriet in surprise. "Erm . . . Quidditch later," said Harriet happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs toward her. Though the smell of the eggs was turning her stomach. "Oh . . . yeah . . ." said Ron. He put down the bit of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, "Listen . . . you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to — er — give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit . . ."
"Yeah, okay," said Harriet, knowing she shouldn't because her homework was really piling up. "Look, I don't think you should," said Hermione seriously, "you're both really behind on homework as it —" But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the *Daily Prophet* was soaring toward her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg; Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off again. "Anything interesting?" said Ron; Harriet smiled — she knew Ron was keen to get her off the subject of homework. "No," she sighed, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married . . ."
She opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Harriet devoted herself to another helping of eggs that turned her stomach with smell alone and bacon; Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied. "Wait a moment," said Hermione suddenly. "Oh no . . . Sirius!"
"What's happened?" said Harriet, and she snatched at the paper so violently that it ripped down the middle so that she and Hermione were holding half each. "'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer . . . blah blah blah . . . is currently hiding in London!'" Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper. "Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Harriet in a low, furious voice. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform . . ."
"What?" said Ron, looking alarmed. "You didn't say —" He obviously hadn't picked up on Malfoy using the word dogging on the train possibly having a double meaning. "Shh!" said the other two. ". . . 'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous . . . killed thirteen people . . . broke out of Azkaban . . .' the usual rubbish," Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at Harriet and Ron. "Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all," she whispered. "Dumbledore did warn him not to."
Harriet looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet she had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale. "Hey!" she said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could both see it. "Look at this!" She pointed to the page. "I've got all the robes I want," said Ron. "No," said Harriet, "look . . . this little piece here . . ." Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined: