Adventures of Harriet Potter

Dumbledore's Army

"Umbridge has been reading your mail, Harriet. There's no other explanation." Hermione said the following morning, not mentioning Harriet's pregnancy as Harriet had asked her to keep it from Ron just a little longer. Though Harriet felt it wasn't going to be long before she could no longer hide it, her bump was only going to get bigger after all. "You think Umbridge attacked Hedwig?" she said, outraged. "I'm almost certain of it," said Hermione grimly. "Watch your frog, it's escaping." Harriet pointed her wand at the bullfrog that had been hopping hopefully toward the other side of the table — "Accio!" — and it zoomed gloomily back into her hand.
Charms was always one of the best lessons in which to enjoy a private chat: There was generally so much movement and activity that the danger of being overheard was very slight. Today, with the room full of croaking bullfrogs and cawing ravens, and with a heavy downpour of rain clattering and pounding against the classroom windows, Harriet, Ron, and Hermione's whispered discussion about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius went quite unnoticed. "I've been suspecting this ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed such a stupid lie," Hermione whispered. "I mean, once your letter had been read, it would have been quite clear you weren't ordering them, so you wouldn't have been in trouble at all — it's a bit of a feeble joke, isn't it? But then I thought, what if somebody just wanted an excuse to read your mail? Well then, it would be a perfect way for Umbridge to manage it — tip off Filch, let him do the dirty work and confiscate the letter, then either find a way of stealing it from him or else demand to see it — I don't think Filch would object, when's he ever stuck up for a student's rights? Harriet, you're squashing your frog."
Harriet looked down; she was indeed squeezing her bullfrog so tightly its eyes were popping; she replaced it hastily upon the desk. "It was a very, very close call last night," said Hermione. "I just wonder if Umbridge knows how close it was. Silencio!" The bullfrog on which she was practicing her Silencing Charm was struck dumb mid-croak and glared at her reproachfully. "If she'd caught Snuffles . . ." Harriet finished the sentence for her. "He'd probably be back in Azkaban this morning." She waved her wand without really concentrating; his bullfrog swelled like a green balloon and emitted a high-pitched whistle. "Silencio!" said Hermione hastily, pointing her wand at Harriet's frog, which deflated silently before them. "Well, he mustn't do it again, that's all. I just don't know how we're going to let him know. We can't send him an owl."
"I don't reckon he'll risk it again," said Ron. "He's not stupid, he knows she nearly got him. Silencio!" The large and ugly raven in front of him let out a derisive caw. "Silencio! SILENCIO!" The raven cawed more loudly. "It's the way you're moving your wand," said Hermione, watching Ron critically. "You don't want to wave it, it's more a sharp jab."
"Ravens are harder than frogs," said Ron testily. "Fine, let's swap," said Hermione, seizing Ron's raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. "Silencio!" The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out. "Very good, Miss Granger!" said Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice and Harriet, Ron, and Hermione all jumped. "Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley!" Harriet hoped Ton got the spell right. "Wha — ? Oh — oh, right," said Ron, very flustered. "Er — Silencio!" He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard that he poked it in the eye; the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk.
It came as no surprise to any of them that Harriet and Ron were given additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework. They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. They found seats in a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor in which Peeves was floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally blowing an ink pellet at the top of somebody's head. They had barely sat down when Angelina came struggling toward them through the groups of gossiping students. "I've got permission!" she said. "To re-form the Quidditch team!"
"Excellent!" said Ron and Harriet together, though Harriet was apprehensive as riding a broom wasn't exactly comfortable and her growing baby bump was bound to compound the issue. "Yeah," said Angelina, beaming. "I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore — anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, all right, because we've got to make up time, you realize we're only three weeks away from our first match?" She squeezed away from them, narrowly dodged an ink pellet from Peeves, which hit a nearby first year instead, and vanished from sight. Ron's smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.
"Hope this clears up . . . What's up with you, Hermione?" She too was gazing at the window, but not as though she really saw it. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a frown on her face. "Just thinking . . ." she said, still frowning at the rain-washed window. "About Siri . . . Snuffles?" said Harriet. "No . . . not exactly . . ." said Hermione slowly. "More . . . wondering . . . I suppose we're doing the right thing . . . I think . . . aren't we?" Harriet and Ron looked at each other. "Well, that clears that up," said Ron. "It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly." Hermione looked at him as though she had only just realized he was there. "I was just wondering," she said, her voice stronger now, "whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defense Against the Dark Arts group."
"What!" said Harriet and Ron together. "Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!" said Ron indignantly. "I know," said Hermione, twisting her fingers together. "But after talking to Snuffles . . ." Her eyes darted to Harriet's abdomen. "But he's all for it!" said Harriet. "Yes," said Hermione, staring at the window again. "Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all . . ." Peeves floated over them on his stomach, peashooter at the ready; automatically all three of them lifted their bags to cover their heads until he had passed.
"Let's get this straight," said Harriet angrily, as they put their bags back on the floor, "Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it anymore?" Hermione looked tense and rather miserable. Now staring at her own hands she said, "Do you honestly trust his judgment?" Her eyes again going to Harriet's abdomen. "Yes, I do!" said Harriet at once. "He's always given us great advice!' An ink pellet whizzed past them, striking Katie Bell squarely in the ear. Hermione watched Katie leap to her feet and start throwing things at Peeves; it was a few moments before Hermione spoke again and it sounded as though she was choosing her words very carefully.
"You don't think he has become . . . sort of . . . reckless . . . since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's . . . kind of . . . living through us?" she asked. "What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harriet retorted. "I mean . . . well, I think he'd love to be forming secret defense societies right under the nose of someone from the Ministry. . . . I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is . . . so I think he's keen to kind of . . . egg us on." said Hermione cautiously. Ron looked utterly perplexed. "Sirius is right," he said, "you do sound just like my mother." Hermione bit her lip and did not answer. The bell rang just as Peeves swooped down upon Katie and emptied an entire ink bottle over her head.
The weather did not improve as the day wore on, so that at seven o'clock that evening, when Harriet and Ron went down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, they were soaked through within minutes, their feet slipping and sliding on the sodden grass. The sky was a deep, thundery gray and it was a relief to gain the warmth and light of the changing rooms, even if they knew the respite was only temporary. They found Fred and George debating whether to use one of their own Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying. "— but I bet she'd know what we'd done," Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. "If only I hadn't offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday —" Harriet's stomach rolled at the word 'puking' and she covered her mouth from the intense nausea that swept over her. "We could try the Fever Fudge," George muttered, "no one's seen that yet —"
"Does it work?" inquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building. "Well, yeah," said Fred, "your temperature'll go right up —" That sounded like quite the breakthrough. "— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too," said George, "and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet." Harriet winced at the thought. "I can't see any boils," said Ron, staring at the twins. "No, well, you wouldn't," said Fred darkly, "they're not in a place we generally display to the public —"
"— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —" George began, making Harriet touch her abdomen thinking about how she was worried about her baby bump making sitting on a broom uncomfortable. "All right, everyone, listen up," said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain's office. "I know it's not ideal weather, but there's a good chance we'll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it's a good idea to work out how we're going to cope with them. Harriet, didn't you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?"
"Hermione did it," said Harriet remembering she could've done it but had forgotten her wand that match. She pulled out her wand, tapped her glasses and said, "Impervius!" Happy she remembered her wand this time. "I think we all ought to try that," said Angelina. "If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility — all together, come on — Impervius! Okay. Let's go." They all stowed their wands back in the inside pockets of their robes, shouldered their brooms, and followed Angelina out of the changing rooms. They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds.
"All right, on my whistle," shouted Angelina. Harriet kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upward, the wind pulling her slightly off course. She had no idea how she was going to see the practice Snitch in this weather; she was having enough difficulty seeing the one Bludger with which they were practicing; a minute into the practice it almost unseated her and she had to use the Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it. Unfortunately Angelina did not see this; in fact, she did not appear to be able to see anything; none of them had a clue what the others were doing. The wind was picking up; even at a distance Harriet could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummeling the surface of the lake as she subconsciously rubbed her baby bump to reassure herself that the child within was safe.
Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice. Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. Harriet could hear them complaining in low voices as she toweled her hair dry. "I think a few of mine have ruptured," said Fred in a hollow voice. "Mine haven't," said George, wincing. "They're throbbing like mad . . . feel bigger if anything . . ."
"OUCH!" said Harriet. She pressed the towel to her face, her eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on her forehead had seared again, more painfully than in months. "What's up?" said several voices. Harriet emerged from behind her towel; the changing room was blurred because she was not wearing her glasses; but she could still tell that everyone's face was turned toward her. "Nothing," she muttered, "I — poked myself in the eye, that's all . . ." But she gave Ron a significant look and the two of them hung back as the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.
"What happened?" said Ron, the moment that Alicia had disappeared through the door. "Was it your scar?" Harriet nodded. "But . . ." Looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain, "He — he can't be near us now, can he?" Almost trying to convince himself more than her. "No," Harriet muttered, sinking onto a bench and rubbing her forehead. "He's probably miles away. It hurt because . . . he's . . . angry."
Harriet had not meant to say that at all, and heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them — yet she knew at once that they were true. She did not know how she knew it, but she did; Voldemort, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, was in a towering temper. "Did you see him?" said Ron, looking horrified. "Did you . . . get a vision, or something?" Harriet sat quite still, staring at her feet, allowing her mind and her memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain. . . . A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices . . . "He wants something done, and it's not happening fast enough," she said. Again, she felt surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth, and yet quite certain that they were true. "But . . . how do you know?" said Ron. Harriet shook her head and covered her eyes with her hands, pressing down upon them with her palms. Little stars erupted in them. She felt Ron sit down on the bench beside her and knew Ron was staring at her.
"Is this what it was about last time?" said Ron in a hushed voice. "When your scar hurt in Umbridge's office? You-Know-Who was angry?" Harriet shook her head. "What is it, then?" Ron asked quietly. Harriet was thinking herself back. She had been looking into Umbridge's face. . . . Her scar had hurt . . . and she had had that odd feeling in her stomach not connected to her pregnancy . . . a strange, leaping feeling . . . a happy feeling. . . . But, of course, she had not recognized it for what it was, as she had been feeling so miserable herself. . . . "Last time, it was because he was pleased," she said. "Really pleased. He thought . . . something good was going to happen. And the night before we came back to Hogwarts . . ." She thought back to the moment when her scar had hurt so badly in her and Ron's bedroom in Grimmauld Place. "He was furious . . ."
She looked around at Ron, who was gaping at her. "You could take over from Trelawney, mate," he said in an awed voice. "I'm not making prophecies," said Harriet. "No, you know what you're doing?" Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. "Harriet, you're reading You-Know-Who's mind. . . ."
"No," said Harriet, shaking her head. "It's more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I'm just getting flashes of what mood he's in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I'm feeling it when he's pleased too . . ." She knew what Legilimency was and felt like, having practiced it a few times herself, what she was doing with Voldemort was different somehow. Similar but different, as though their minds were touching via a third party factor.
There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. "You've got to tell someone," said Ron. "I told Sirius last time." Harriet said subconsciously touching her abdomen. "Well, tell him about this time!" said Ron, his eyes following her hand before he looked confused. She could almost hear the question in his mind, without even using Legilimency. "Can't, can I?" said Harriet grimly. "Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?"
"Well then, Dumbledore —" Ron began. "I've just told you, he already knows," said Harriet shortly, getting to her feet, taking her cloak off her peg, and swinging it around herself. "There's no point telling him again." Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harriet thoughtfully. "Dumbledore'd want to know," he said. Harriet shrugged. "C'mon . . . we've still got Silencing Charms to practice . . ." she said resisting the urge to touch her growing baby bump again. They hurried back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, not talking. Harriet was thinking hard. What was it that Voldemort wanted done that was not happening quickly enough? Was it enough for her to worry about with a baby on the way.
"He's got other plans . . . plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed . . . stuff he can only get by stealth . . . like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time." She had not thought about those words in weeks; she had been too absorbed in what was going on at Hogwarts, too busy dwelling on the ongoing battles with Umbridge, the injustice of all the Ministry interference. . . . But now they came back to her and made her wonder. . . . Voldemort's anger would make sense if he was no nearer laying hands on the weapon, whatever it was. . . . Had the Order thwarted him, stopped him from seizing it? Where was it kept? Who had it now?
"Mimbulus mimbletonia," said Ron's voice and Harriet came back to her senses just in time to clamber through the portrait hole into the common room. It appeared that Hermione had gone to bed early, leaving Crookshanks curled in a nearby chair and an assortment of knobbly, knitted elf hats lying on a table by the fire. Harriet was rather grateful that she was not around because she did not much want to discuss her scar hurting and have her urge her to go to Dumbledore too. Ron kept throwing her anxious glances, but Harriet pulled out her Potions book and set to work to finish her essay, though she was only pretending to concentrate and, by the time that Ron said he was going to bed too, had written hardly anything.
Midnight came and went while Harriet was reading and rereading a passage about the uses of scurvy-grass, lovage, and sneezewort and not taking in a word of it. . . . These plantes are moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness. . . .  Hermione said Sirius was becoming reckless cooped up in Grimmauld Place. . . . moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used . . . the Daily Prophet would think her brain was inflamed if they found out that she knew what Voldemort was feeling . . . therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts . . . confusing was the word, all right; why did she know what Voldemort was feeling? What was this weird connection between them, which Dumbledore had never been able to explain satisfactorily? . . . where the witch or wizard is desirous . . . how she would like to sleep . . . of producing hot-headedness . . . It was warm and comfortable in her armchair before the fire, with the rain still beating heavily on the windowpanes and Crookshanks purring and the crackling of the flames. . . .
The book slipped from Harriet's slack grip and landed with a dull thud on the hearthrug. Her head fell sideways. . . . She was walking once more along a windowless corridor, her footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger her heart beat fast with excitement. . . . If she could only open it . . . enter beyond . . . She stretched out her hand. . . . Her fingertips were inches from it. . . . "Harriet Potter, ma'am!" She awoke with a start. The candles had all been extinguished in the common room, but there was something moving close by.
"Whozair?" said Harriet, sitting upright in her chair. The fire was almost extinguished, the room very dark. "Dobby has your owl, ma'am!" said a squeaky voice. "Dobby?" said Harriet thickly, peering through the gloom toward the source of the voice. Dobby the house-elf was standing beside the table on which Hermione had left her half a dozen knitted hats. His large, pointed ears were now sticking out from beneath what looked like all the hats that Hermione had ever knitted; he was wearing one on top of the other, so that his head seemed elongated by two or three feet, and on the very topmost bobble sat Hedwig, hooting serenely and obviously cured.
"Dobby volunteered to return Harriet Potter's owl!" said the elf squeakily, with a look of positive adoration on his face. "Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now, ma'am!" He sank into a deep bow so that his pencil-like nose brushed the threadbare surface of the hearthrug and Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and fluttered onto the arm of Harriet's chair. "Thanks, Dobby!" said Harriet, stroking Hedwig's head and blinking hard, trying to rid herself of the image of the door in her dream. . . . It had been very vivid. . . . Looking back at Dobby, she noticed that the elf was also wearing several scarves and innumerable socks, so that his feet looked far too big for his body. "Er . . . have you been taking all the clothes Hermione's been leaving out?" she asked. "Oh no, ma'am," said Dobby happily, "Dobby has been taking some for Winky too, ma'am."
"Yeah, how is Winky?" asked Harriet. Dobby's ears drooped slightly. "Winky is still drinking lots, ma'am," he said sadly, his enormous round green eyes, large as tennis balls, downcast. "She still does not care for clothes, Harriet Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower anymore, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, ma'am. Dobby does it all himself, ma'am, but Dobby does not mind, ma'am, for he always hopes to meet Harriet Potter and tonight, ma'am, he has got his wish!" Dobby sank into a deep bow again. "But Harriet Potter does not seem happy," Dobby went on, straightening up again and looking timidly at Harriet. "Dobby heard her muttering in her sleep. Was Harriet Potter having bad dreams?"
"Not really bad," said Harriet, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "I've had worse." The elf surveyed Harriet out of his vast, orblike eyes. Then he said very seriously, his ears drooping, "Dobby wishes he could help Harriet Potter, for Harriet Potter set Dobby free and Dobby is much, much happier now . . ." Harriet smiled. "You can't help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer . . ." She bent and picked up her Potions book. She'd have to try and finish the essay tomorrow. She closed the book and as she did so the firelight illuminated the thin white scars on the back of her hand — the result of his detention with Umbridge.
"Wait a moment — there *is* something you can do for me, Dobby," said Harriet slowly. The elf looked around, beaming. "Name it, Harriet Potter, ma'am!" Dobby said excitedly. "I need to find a place where twenty-eight people can practice Defense Against the Dark Arts without being discovered by any of the teachers. Especially," Harriet clenched her hand on the book, so that the scars shone pearly white, "Professor Umbridge."
She expected the elf's smile to vanish, his ears to droop; she expected him to say that this was impossible, or else that he would try, but his hopes were not high. . . . What she had not expected was for Dobby to give a little skip, his ears waggling happily, and clap his hands together. "Dobby knows the perfect place, ma'am!" he said happily. "Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, ma'am. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, ma'am, or else as the Room of Requirement!"
"Why?" said Harriet curiously. "Because it is a room that a person can only enter," said Dobby seriously, "when they have real need of it. Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs. Dobby has used it, ma'am," said the elf, dropping his voice and looking guilty, "when Winky has been very drunk. He has hidden her in the Room of Requirement and he has found antidotes to butterbeer there, and a nice elf-sized bed to settle her on while she sleeps it off, ma'am. . . . And Dobby knows Mr. Filch has found extra cleaning materials there when he has run short, ma'am, and —"
"— and if you really needed a bathroom," said Harriet, suddenly remembering something Dumbledore had said at the Yule Ball the previous Christmas, "would it fill itself with chamber pots?" Wondering how she hadn't figured out there was a room in the castle that shaped itself as needed before, it wasn't even hinted at in Hogwarts a History. "Dobby expects so, ma'am," said Dobby, nodding earnestly. "It is a most amazing room, ma'am."
"How many people know about it?" said Harriet, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Very few, ma'am. Mostly people stumbles across it when they needs it, ma'am, but often they never finds it again, for they do not know that it is always there waiting to be called into service, ma'am." Dobby said. "It sounds brilliant," said Harriet, her heart racing. "It sounds perfect, Dobby. When can you show me where it is?"
"Anytime, Harriet Potter, ma'am," said Dobby, looking delighted at Harriet's enthusiasm. "We could go now, if you like!" For a moment Harriet was tempted to go now; she was halfway out of her seat, intending to hurry upstairs for het Invisibility Cloak when, not for the first time, a voice very much like Hermione's whispered in his ear: *reckless*. It was, after all, very late, and she was exhausted from both Quidditch practice and her currently hidden pregnancy. "Not tonight, Dobby," said Harriet reluctantly, sinking back into his chair. "This is really important. . . . I don't want to blow it, it'll need proper planning. . . . Listen, can you just tell me exactly where this Room of Requirement is and how to get in there?"