Adventures of Harriet Potter

Snape Victorious

Harriet could not move a muscle. She lay there beneath the Invisibility Cloak feeling the blood from her nose flow, hot and wet, over her face while milk leaked from her bubbies, listening to the voices and footsteps in the corridor beyond. Her immediate thought was that someone, surely, would check the compartments before the train departed again. But at once came the dispiriting realization that even if somebody looked into the compartment, she would be neither seen nor heard. Her best hope was that somebody else would walk in and step on her. Harriet had never hated Malfoy more than as she lay there, like an absurd turtle on its back, blood dripping sickeningly into her open mouth and milk soaking through her bra and shirt. What a stupid situation to have landed herself in . . . and now the last few footsteps were dying away; everyone was shuffling along the dark platform outside; she could hear the scraping of trunks and the loud babble of talk.
Ron and Hermione would think that she had left the train without them. Once they arrived at Hogwarts and took their places in the Great Hall, looked up and down the Gryffindor table a few times, and finally realized that she was not there, she, no doubt, would be halfway back to London. She tried to make a sound, even a grunt, but it was impossible. Then she remembered that some wizards, like Dumbledore, could perform spells without speaking, so she tried to summon her wand, which had fallen out of her hand, by saying the words "Accio Wand!" over and over again in her head, but nothing happened.
She thought she could hear the rustling of the trees that surrounded the lake, and the far-off hoot of an owl, but no hint of a search being made or even (she despised herself slightly for hoping it) panicked voices wondering where Harriet Potter had gone. A feeling of hopelessness spread through her as she imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the school and the muffled yells of laughter issuing from whichever carriage Malfoy was riding in, where he could be recounting his attack on Harriet to Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. The train lurched, causing Harriet to roll over onto her side. Now she was staring at the dusty underside of the seats instead of the ceiling. The floor began to vibrate as the engine roared into life. The Express was leaving and nobody knew she was still on it. . . .
Then she felt her Invisibility Cloak fly off her and a voice overhead said, "Wotcher, Harriet." There was a flash of red light and Harriet's body unfroze; she was able to push herself into a more dignified sitting position, hastily wipe the blood off her bruised face with the back of her hand, and raise her head to look up at Tonks, who was holding the Invisibility Cloak she had just pulled away. "We'd better get out of here, quickly," she said, as the train windows became obscured with steam and they began to move out of the station. "Come on, we'll jump." Harriet hurried after her into the corridor. She pulled open the train door and leapt onto the platform, which seemed to be sliding underneath them as the train gathered momentum. She followed her, staggered a little on landing, then straightened up in time to see the gleaming scarlet steam engine pick up speed, round the corner, and disappear from view. The cold night air was soothing on her throbbing nose. Tonks was looking at her; she felt angry and embarrassed that she had been discovered in such a ridiculous position. Silently she handed her back the Invisibility Cloak.
"Who did it?" Tonks asked casually. "Draco Malfoy," said Harriet bitterly. "Thanks for . . . well . . ." She gestured towards where the train disappeared. "No problem," said Tonks, without smiling. From what Harriet could see in the darkness, she was as mousy-haired and miserable-looking as she had been when she had met her at the Burrow. "I can fix your nose if you stand still." Harriet did not think much of this idea; she had been intending to visit Madam Pomfrey, the matron, in whom she had a little more confidence when it came to Healing Spells, but it seemed rude to say this, so she stayed stock-still and closed her eyes.
"Episkey," said Tonks. Harriet's nose felt very hot, and then very cold. She raised a hand and felt it gingerly. It seemed to be mended. "Thanks a lot!" she said honestly while cleaning up her leaky bubbies. "You'd better put that Cloak back on, and we can walk up to the school," said Tonks, still unsmiling. As Harriet swung the Cloak back over herself, she waved her wand; an immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it and streaked off into the darkness. "Was that a Patronus?" asked Harriet, who had seen Dumbledore send messages like this. "Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you or they'll worry. Come on, we'd better not dawdle."
They set off toward the lane that led to the school. "How did you find me?" Harriet asked. "I noticed you hadn't left the train and I knew you had that Cloak. I thought you might be hiding for some reason. When I saw the blinds were drawn down on that compartment I thought I'd check." Tonks said casually like it was no big deal. "But what are you doing here, anyway?" Harriet asked. "I'm stationed in Hogsmeade now, to give the school extra protection," said Tonks. "Is it just you who's stationed up here, or — ?" Harriet mused."No, Proudfoot, Savage, and Dawlish are here too." added Tonks. "Dawlish, that Auror Dumbledore attacked last year?" Harriet asked in bewilderment. "That's right." Tonks confirmed.
They trudged up the dark, deserted lane, following the freshly made carriage tracks. Harriet looked sideways at Tonks under her Cloak. Last year she had been inquisitive (to the point of being a little annoying at times), she had laughed easily, she had made jokes. Now she seemed older and much more serious and purposeful. Was this all the effect of what had happened at the Ministry? She reflected uncomfortably that Hermione would have suggested she say something consoling about Sirius to her, that it hadn't been her fault at all, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was far from blaming her for Sirius's arrest; it was no more her fault than anyone else's (and much less than hers), but she did not like talking about Sirius if she could avoid it. And so they tramped on through the cold night in silence, Tonks's long cloak whispering on the ground behind them.
Having always traveled there by carriage, Harriet had never before appreciated just how far Hogwarts was from Hogsmeade Station. With great relief she finally saw the tall pillars on either side of the gates, each topped with a winged boar. She was cold, she was hungry, and she was quite keen to leave this new, gloomy Tonks behind. But when she put out a hand to push open the gates, she found them chained shut. "Alohomora!" she said confidently, pointing her wand at the padlock, but nothing happened. "That won't work on these," said Tonks. "Dumbledore bewitched them himself." Harriet looked around. "I could climb a wall," she suggested. "No, you couldn't," said Tonks flatly. "Anti-intruder jinxes on all of them. Security's been tightened a hundredfold this summer."
"Well then," said Harriet, starting to feel annoyed at her lack of helpfulness, "I suppose I'll just have to sleep out here and wait for morning." Glaring at the gates. "Someone's coming down for you," said Tonks. "Look." A lantern was bobbing at the distant foot of the castle. Harriet was so pleased to see it she felt she could even endure Filch's wheezy criticisms of her tardiness and rants about how her timekeeping would improve with the regular application of thumbscrews. It was not until the glowing yellow light was ten feet away from them, and Harriet had pulled off her Invisibility Cloak so that she could be seen, that she recognized, with a rush of pure loathing, the uplit hooked nose and long, black, greasy hair of Severus Snape.
"Well, well, well," sneered Snape, taking out his wand and tapping the padlock once, so that the chains snaked backward and the gates creaked open. "Nice of you to turn up, Potter, although you have evidently decided that the wearing of school robes would detract from your appearance." His expression making Harriet want to punch him. "I couldn't change, I didn't have my —" Harriet began, but Snape cut across her. "There is no need to wait, Nymphadora, Potter is quite — ah — safe in my hands." he sneered gloatingly. "I meant Hagrid to get the message," said Tonks, frowning. "Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took it instead. And incidentally," said Snape, standing back to allow Harriet to pass him, "I was interested to see your new Patronus." He shut the gates in her face with a loud clang and tapped the chains with his wand again, so that they slithered, clinking, back into place.
"I think you were better off with the old one," said Snape, the malice in his voice unmistakable. "The new one looks weak." As Snape swung the lantern about, Harriet saw, fleetingly, a look of shock and anger on Tonks's face. Then she was covered in darkness once more. "Good night," Harriet called to her over her shoulder, as she began the walk up to the school with Snape. "Thanks for . . . everything." she said genuinely, despite the gloom of walking alongside Snape. "See you, Harriet." Tonks called back before disappearing into the darkness. Snape did not speak for a minute or so. Harriet felt as though her body was generating waves of hatred so powerful that it seemed incredible that Snape could not feel them burning him. She had loathed Snape from their first encounter, but Snape had placed himself forever and irrevocably beyond the possibility of Harriet's forgiveness by his attitude toward Sirius. Whatever Dumbledore said, Harriet had had time to think over the summer, and had concluded that Snape's snide remarks to Sirius about remaining safely hidden while the rest of the Order of the Phoenix were off fighting Voldemort had probably been a powerful factor in Sirius rushing off to the Ministry the night that he had been rearrested. Harriet clung to this notion, because it enabled her to blame Snape, which felt satisfying, and also because she knew that if anyone was not sorry that Sirius was back in Azkaban, it was the man now striding next to her in the darkness.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, I think," said Snape. "And, let me see, another twenty for your Muggle attire. You know, I don't believe any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term: We haven't even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter." Harriet wanted to remind Snape that it was impossible for a house to actually be in the negative in terms of points, but held back because Snape would seize the opportunity to give her a detention. The fury and hatred bubbling inside Harriet seemed to blaze white-hot, but she would rather have been immobilized all the way back to London than tell Snape why she was late. "I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape continued. "And with no flying car available you decided that bursting into the Great Hall halfway through the feast ought to create a dramatic effect."
Still Harriet remained silent, though she thought her chest might explode. She knew that Snape had come to fetch her for this, for the few minutes when he could needle and torment Harriet without anyone else listening. They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. Harriet wondered whether she could slip her Invisibility Cloak back on, thereby gaining her seat at the long Gryffindor table (which, inconveniently, was the farthest from the entrance hall) without being noticed. As though he had read Harriet's mind without her noticing, however, Snape said, "No Cloak. You can walk in so that everyone sees you, which is what you wanted, I'm sure."
Harriet turned on the spot and marched straight through the open doors: anything to get away from Snape. The Great Hall, with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a shimmering blur to Harriet, however, who walked so fast that she was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time they were standing up to get a good look at her, she had spotted Ron and Hermione, sped along the benches toward them, and forced her way in between them. "Where've you — blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at her along with everyone else in the vicinity. "Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harriet, grabbing a spoon and squinting at her distorted reflection. "You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here —" She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood. "Thanks," said Harriet, feeling her now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"
"Normal," said Hermione anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harriet, what happened? We've been terrified!" Hermione fretted. "I'll tell you later," said Harriet curtly. She was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop. "But —" said Hermione. "Not now, Hermione," said Harriet, in a darkly significant voice. She hoped very much that they would all assume she had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor. Of course, Malfoy would spread the story as far and wide as he could, but there was always a chance it wouldn't reach too many Gryffindor ears.
She reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips, but before she could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings. "You missed the Sorting, anyway," said Hermione, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau. "Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harriet, taking a piece of treacle tart. "More of the same, really . . . advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know." Ron said with a shrug. "Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?" she asked between bites. "Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn't he? It can't be long now." he said. "Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast —" Harriet began. "You've seen Snape? How come?" said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau. "Bumped into him," said Harriet evasively.
"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," said Hermione. "Look, he's waving at you, Harriet." Harriet looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at her. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting. Harriet was surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, sitting on Hagrid's other side; she rarely left her tower room, and she had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Harriet had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord Voldemort to kill Harry's parents and attack Harriet herself. The knowledge had made her even less eager to find herself in her company, but thankfully, this year she would no longer have to consider joining the Divination class. Her great beaconlike eyes swiveled in her direction; she hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause. Harriet dropped her gaze to her treacle tart, her insides burning again. What she would not give to fight Malfoy one-on-one . . .
"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked. "To know what really happened at the Ministry," said Harriet. "Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?" Harriet looked at Ron. "Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One' —"
"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harriet so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harriet Potter knows that she can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray her trust.'" he said as if it were a great honor. "That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed. "Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly. "The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room. "What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione. She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harriet from the Dursleys. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury. "Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now . . . to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you . . ."
"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harriet whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though . . . or Madam Pomfrey would've done." She started thinking of the possible magical ailments that could cause Dumbledore's hand to look the way it did. "It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure . . . old curses . . . and there are poisons without antidotes. . . ." Mirroring Harriet's thoughts. ". . . and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise. We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn" — Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."
"Potions?" Someone from Hufflepuff said. "Potions?" said another Hufflepuff. The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right. "Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare at Harriet. "But you said —" they began together. "Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"No!" said Harriet, so loudly that many heads turned in her direction. She did not care; she was staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn't it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to do it? "But Harriet, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione. "I thought he was!" said Harriet, racking her brains to remember when Dumbledore had told her this, but now that she came to think of it, she was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling her what Slughorn would be teaching. Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harriet was sure she could detect a look of triumph on the features she loathed so much. "Well, there's one good thing," she said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."
"What do you mean?" asked Ron. "That job's jinxed. No one's lasted more than a year. . . . Quirrell actually died doing it. . . . Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death. . . ." Harriet said while internally praying for it to happen, not that she expected any deity to listen to her. "Harriet!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful. "He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't." Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harriet, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harriet glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's words unworthy of his attention. "I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!" With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches were moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Harriet, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on her trainer, allowing most of the Gryffindors to draw ahead of her. Hermione had darted ahead to fulfill her prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron remained with Harriet.
"What really happened to your nose?" he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else. Harriet told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh. "I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose," he said darkly. "Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harriet bitterly. "Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there. . . ." Harriet had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoy's boasts. With what Harriet considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed. "Come on, Harriet, he was just showing off for Parkinson. . . . What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?" he said slowly. "How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be the first —" she began. "I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha' name, Harriet," said a reproachful voice behind them. Harriet looked over her shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head. "Dumbledore uses that name," said Harriet stubbornly. "Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously. "So how come yeh were late, Harriet? I was worried."
"Got held up on the train," said Harriet. "Why were you late?" she asked curiously. "I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."
"Really?" said Harriet, taking care not to catch Ron's eye; the last time she had met Hagrid's half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he was unable to pronounce properly. "Oh yeah, he's really come on," said Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed. I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant." Ron snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They were now standing beside the oak front doors. "Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!" Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the front doors into the darkness. Harriet and Ron looked at each other. Harriet could tell that Ron was experiencing the same sinking feeling as herself. "You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?" Ron shook his head. "And you're not either, are you?" Harriet shook her head too. "And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?" Harriet shook her head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realized his three favorite students had given up his subject, she did not like to think.