Adventures of Harriet Potter

Career Advice

"But why haven't you got Advanced Occlumency lessons anymore?" said Hermione, frowning. "I've told you," Harriet muttered. "Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics . . ." Holding her belly as her baby kicked wildly within her. "So you've stopped having funny dreams?" said Hermione skeptically. "Pretty much," said Harriet, not looking at her. "Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!" said Hermione indignantly. "Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask —"
"No," said Harriet forcefully. "Just drop it, Hermione, okay?" It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up study schedules for the three of them. Harriet and Ron had let her do it — it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful. Ron had been startled to discover that there were only six weeks left until their exams. "How can that come as a shock?" Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's schedule with her wand so that it flashed a different color according to its subject. "I dunno . . ." said Ron, "there's been a lot going on . . ."
"Well, there you are," she said, handing him his schedule, "if you follow that you should do fine." Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened. "You've given me an evening off every week!" he said happily. "That's for Quidditch practice," said Hermione. The smile faded from Ron's face. "What's the point?" he said. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister of Magic . . ."
Hermione said nothing. She was looking at Harriet, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at her free hand, trying to get his ears scratched. "What's wrong, Harriet?" asked Hermione. "What?" she said quickly. "Nothing . . ." She seized her copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair. "I saw Cho earlier," said Hermione tentatively, "and she looked really miserable too. . . . Have you two had a row again?"
"Wha — oh yeah, we have," said Harriet, seizing gratefully on the excuse. "What about?" Hermione asked curiously. "That sneak friend of hers, Marietta," said Harriet. "Yeah, well, I don't blame you!" said Ron angrily, setting down his study schedule. "If it hadn't been for her . . ." Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harriet found helpful. All he had to do was look angry, nod, and say "yeah" and "that's right" whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what she had seen in the Pensieve. She felt as though the memory of it was eating her from inside. She had been so sure that her parents had been wonderful people that she never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving Snape's aspersions on her father's character. Hadn't people like Hagrid and Sirius told Harriet how wonderful her father had been? (Yeah, well, look what Sirius was like himself, said a nagging voice inside Harriet's head. . . . He was as bad, wasn't he?) Yes, she had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harriet could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside down for the fun of it . . . not unless they really loathed them . . . Perhaps Malfoy, or somebody who really deserved it . . .
Harriet tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands — but hadn't Lily asked, "What's he done to you?" And hadn't James replied, "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean?" Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius said he was bored? Harriet remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius. . . . But in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen. . . .
Harriet reminded herself that Lily had intervened; her mother had been decent, yet the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed her quite as much as anything else. She had clearly loathed James and Harriet simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice she even wondered whether James had forced her into it. . . . For nearly five years the thought of her father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told her she was like James she had glowed with pride inside. And now . . . now she felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.
The weather grew breezier, brighter, and warmer as the holidays passed, but Harriet was stuck with the rest of the fifth and seventh years, who were all trapped inside, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harriet pretended that her bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams and the worsening cramp like pains from her squeezing womb, and as her fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves and often looked at her sympathetically, her excuse went unchallenged.
"Harriet, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?" said a familiar voice that filled Harriet with unexpected but pleasant warmth. "Huh?" She looked around. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined her at the library table where she had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening; Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to review Ancient Runes; Ron had Quidditch practice. "Oh hi," said Harriet, pulling her books back toward her while fighting not to grimace as what she assumed were braxton hicks contractions. "How come you're not at practice?"
"It's over," said Ginny. "Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing." That got Harriet curious. "Why?" she asked rubbing her belly as her baby was kicking hard while pressure was building inside of her. "Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat." She sighed heavily. "Anyway . . . a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process . . ." She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper onto the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped, and there was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading INSPECTED AND PASSED BY THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR.
"It's Easter eggs from Mum," said Ginny. "There's one for you. . . . There you go . . ." She handed her a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Harriet looked at it for a moment, then, to her horror, felt a hard lump rise in her throat. "Are you okay, Harriet?" asked Ginny quietly. "Yeah, I'm fine," said Harriet gruffly. The lump in her throat was painful. She did not understand why an Easter egg should have made her feel like this. "You seem really down lately," Ginny persisted. "You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho . . ."
"It's not Cho I want to talk to," said Harriet brusquely. "Who is it, then?" asked Ginny. "I . . ." She glanced around to make quite sure that nobody was listening; Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott. "I wish I could talk to Sirius," she muttered. "But I know I can't." She hadn't dared use the mirror out of fear Umbridge would discover it and confiscate it out of the hopes of using it to capture her godfather. More to give herself something to do than because she really wanted any, Harriet unwrapped her Easter egg, broke off a large bit, and put it into her mouth. "Well," said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg too, "if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it . . ."
"Come on," said Harriet hopelessly. "With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?" Leaving out the enchanted mirror as she recalled Sirius' concerns about Mrs. Weasley regarding the mirror. "The thing about growing up with Fred and George," said Ginny thoughtfully, "is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve." Harriet looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate — Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors — or simply because she had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside her for a week, but she felt a bit more hopeful. . . . "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"
"Oh damn," whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. "I forgot —" Madam Pince was swooping down upon them, her shriveled face contorted with rage. "Chocolate in the library!" she screamed. "Out — out — OUT!" And whipping out her wand, she caused Harriet's books, bag, and ink bottle to chase her and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran. As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices concerning various Wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read: