Everyone knew the Greengrass girls were from Cornwall, and it was said they had a very pretty house overlooking the sea. Everyone also knew they were so poor that the girls had to make up all their clothes themselves, and that each of them would have to marry quite well, and at least one of them very well, to provide for all the rest.
They had all been named from Greek mythology, as part of an old-fashioned trend their Mama had ascribed to, in order to make them appear to be desirable, traditional brides. Leto was eldest; then Daphne; then Asteria; and finally Callisto. It was widely said that each daughter was more beautiful than the last, but of course it was hard to tell with the youngest, who was only nine.
Daphne had come home from Hogwarts in June with a letter in her pocket from Tracey, written to her on the train while Pansy talked endlessly. Mama had fetched her at King's Cross and Apparated them to the rocky beach in the hamlet below their cottage, and chatted about Leto's prospects while Daphne fingered the letter in the pocket of her cloak and said, "Yes, Mama," in all the proper places. She'd long ago learned to listen, really listen, with half an ear, while thinking about something else entirely. She was never without practice: either Mama or Pansy was always talking.
The summer had gone by, full of the sound of the ocean, the isolation of the countryside, the joyful antics of her two sisters at home, letters from Leto abroad, and Tiffany, always Tiffany, her ink on parchment. And now, the day before they were to leave, back to school. . .
"I don't want you to go," sobbed Callisto.
"I know, Callie." Daphne stroked her youngest sister's flaxen hair, feeling the front of her dress grow damp and stick to her skin.
Across the tiny parlor, Asteria was crying too, although silently. Tears dripped down her miserable face. Her stoic silence was even more wretched to witness than Callisto's wild fits.
Their Mama and Leto (home again, at last) had escaped the house. "I can't handle all the weeping and sobbing and moaning," Leto had said in a low voice to Daphne. "Damn this miserable place. It's not that I blame Callie, and Aster cries at every little thing, it's to be expected from her, but all-powerful Merlin it gives one such a headache. If I'm not engaged by next summer I'll throw myself into the sea."
Leto probably would be engaged by then, with no need for the sea that crashed and churned against the cliffs of north Cornwall. Her summer with their cousins in Vienna had been full of social success and diversions (though not an offer of marriage, not yet).
Daphne envied Leto. She would have liked to have been the eldest. She knew she would have been better at it than Leto. Daphne was better at it even though she was the second daughter.
Since she was six years old, Daphne had been aware that she was more responsible than her older sister and their Mama, too. Her sisters were hers to look after. It was going to be hard, leaving little Callie all on her own while the rest of them were at Hogwarts. She would be lonely, on her own for the first time without any of them, now that Asteria was going into her first year. On her own with nobody but their Mama.
It wasn't that Mama was—well, bad. She didn't keep bottles stashed around the house or in her apron pocket, like Mrs. Greary on the moor. She didn't make her girls get jobs and then take all their pay the moment in came in, like Mrs. Wharton. Mama had brought them up very well, in fact: teaching them how to speak elegantly so they wouldn't have half-blood accents; how to be proper wives of a large household; how to entertain guests and be always a gracious hostess. Mama meant for them all to make excellent matches, but she had also seen their individual strengths. Leto knew how to win friends and admirers in the highest places. Daphne, collected and poised, could have spoken elegantly to diplomats and princes from the time she was ten. Asteria's music and art lessons had been more difficult, for they required masters and those required payment, but one of Mama's strengths was collecting favors from useful people. Callie was a little young yet, but one day she would probably rival Leto for vivacity and charm. Daphne knew that Callie had been a little overlooked, but she didn't blame Mama; her first and most important job was to see Leto married well. Callie, the youngest of four girls, two years away from Hogwarts, was the least of Mama's worries.
Daphne had asked Mrs. Martindale, a witch who ran a small, informal school in her home two mile's walk away, to keep Callie and teach her a few things, if she could. Callie would surely make friends there. She was good at that, unlike Asteria, who was so shy and resistant to new things and faces. In fact, Daphne was equally worried about Asteria coming to Hogwarts. The sudden change, the newness of everything, would upset her very much. It hurt Asteria quite as much to be leaving Callie as it hurt Callie to be left.
The front door clattered open and Leto came in, her curly yellow hair wild from the wind, her face flushed. She was clutching a mailing-tube, the sort used for international owl post.
"They wrote back!" she announced with fierce pride.
"Our cousins in Vienna?" asked Daphne, her arm tightening around Callie as her heart beat more quickly. What if it's an offer? she thought, hardly daring to hope.
"Of course—as if I'd care about anyone else." Leto avoided the chair whose seat still had not been repaired and threw herself onto the window-seat, knocking a basket of knitting to the floor. "Listen to this—oh, Callie, please do stop wailing, I can't hear myself think—'Dearest Leto'—they ask how we all are, dull stuff, but you're all fine, aren't you? Listen to this, here's the juice: 'You were such a hit this summer, we've been besieged with requests to have to back with us. So as not to disappoint the whole of our society here in Vienna, we beg you to spend your Christmas holidays with us.'" As she read, her face glowed bright with triumph, and when she looked up from the letter, her eyes were glittering.
Callie's mood, ever mercurial, had already shifted from bitter weeping to breathless excitement while tears were still trembling on her blonde lashes. "Oh, Leto! Does this mean you'll be married soon? Please let me be a bridesmaid!"
"Of course you'll be my bridesmaid," Leto said, laughing in the sparkling way that everyone loved. "You'll all be my bridesmaids, and my husband will feel the luckiest man in the world, marrying into such a gorgeous family of sisters."
Asteria burst into tears.
"Oh, Aster," said Leto in exasperation, getting up from the window to go to her. "You needn't do that, you silly goose."
"I'm s-sorry," Asteria sobbed. "I know it's wonderful—but it makes me so sad—if you go away—"
"Just for Christmas, you goosey goose," said Leto, rubbing her shoulders. "You'll be at Hogwarts with me all year! You'll get quite sick of me and be glad I'm going."
"Never!" Asteria gasped, white-faced.
Leto caught Daphne's eye, her face clearly saying Why are our sisters such gooses?
"We should all be thinking about dinner," Daphne said calmly, while Callie ran over to read Leto's letter. "What shall we make?"
"What have we got in the box?" asked Leto cynically. "It'll be potatoes and water again."
"Walter Matthias brought us a rabbit this morning," said Daphne. "I thought it would make a good stew. I'll make you a potato and leek soup, Aster," she added, for Asteria couldn't bear to eat meat. "Your favorite."
"You'll have to get the Hogwarts' house-elves the recipe," muttered Leto. "Or she won't eat a thing. And you know what Mama would say." She tilted her chin back and put on a prim, nasally voice that made her look and sound exactly like Mama. "Nobody wants a wife that's too fat or too thin, girls."
"Are you going to tell Mama?" Daphne asked, quietly so their younger sisters wouldn't hear. Callie, fully recovered, was now sitting next to Asteria, poring over the letter.
Leto shrugged. "I suppose. It should buoy her up a bit, at least—get her off my case. But I'll do it just before we leave. I don't want her lecturing me on what'll happen if I don't get an offer this time, either." Her voice said she paid little attention to Mama's lectures, but Daphne knew how much Leto had been disappointed to come back home without a single offer. In truth, they had all been surprised. At seventeen, she was quite old enough to be married, and her beauty was only matched by her charm and the purity of her blood. They were poor, but it shouldn't have mattered. Only Asteria had been relieved, and her happiness had made her feel so guilty that she'd cried more bitterly than she would have done if Leto was already married and living on the Continent.
"In that case you probably shouldn't have told Callie," Daphne said practically.
Leto scowled. "Sod it all if you aren't right. Well, there's no point in telling her to keep mum. The sky will fall in on our heads before Callie can keep her mouth shut. I've put up with Mama for years, I can do it for another week.
"Speak of the devil," she said under her breath as Mama's voice sounded down the hall to the kitchen.
"Did I see the post?" Mama asked as she bustled into the room carrying a basket of rosemary and rue over one arm. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and eager. Mama was no longer as slender as she once had been, but she was still recognizable wherever they went as a former beauty. "Was it something for you, Leto my love?"
"Cousins want her to spend Christmas with them!" Callie said rapturously.
Mama's eager brightness dimmed. "Is that all? I thought surely it would be something of more . . . substance."
"Yes," Leto said, attempting casual; but it was brittle, almost challenging. "That's all. Just another boring old invitation from Vienna."
"But Lee, you said—"
"Callie," Daphne interrupted, "will you pick up that knitting for me? It's all over the floor, such a mess, and I need to be starting on dinner."
"Well, that's quite the shame," said Mama slowly. "Still, it's better than nothing, I suppose."
Leto said nothing. Daphne tidied her sewing as if nothing was wrong, but she saw Asteria absorbing everything as she piled the knitting back into the basket Leto had knocked to the floor.
"Which of you is helping me with dinner?" Daphne asked her younger sisters.
"I will," Asteria said, still grave, and followed Daphne down the tiny hall to the kitchen at the back of the house.
"You will have to work extra hard this trip, my love," Mama was saying to Leto as they left. "You can't waste all your time as you did this summer. The Christmas holidays will be shorter, but still a vital chance . . . "
Daphne shut the kitchen door, shutting off Mama's voice. She moved about the kitchen quite calmly, fetching the potatoes and leeks, of which there weren't many, from the store box, reaching for the rabbit—but then stopping, because Asteria was standing beside the table and the sight of blood made her faint.
"You won't want to help me with this stage, Aster," Daphne said.
"I can fix the soup," Asteria said quietly.
"Aster . . . "
Asteria took the potatoes and leeks and turned her back on Daphne, clearly intending to work at the sink. When Daphne passed around the end of the table, kissed Asteria's hair. She had to lean up a little for it. Even though Asteria was two years younger, she had always been half a head taller.
Asteria turned her head and smiled just a little. She did not smile broadly often, which was quite a sad thing for the world. Her joy was the quiet, heart-swelling sort, but if it ever burst into euphoria, she could probably light Muggle London.
Daphne strapped a leather apron over her shabby dress and leather gloves up to her elbow, neatly tied up her hair, and skinned the rabbit. She watched Asteria's back as she worked, but her sister faced the sink the whole time.
"Close your eyes, Aster," Daphne said once she was done.
Asteria obediently shut her eyes, allowing Daphne to wash the bloody knife in the sink.
"Why is it such a bad thing that Leto didn't get an offer?" Asteria asked with her eyes still shut.
Daphne kept rinsing the knife clean. She sluiced the water all around the sink, running all traces of blood away, while Asteria stood patiently with her eyes closed, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell.
Daphne shut off the water. "I think you know why, Aster."
"I don't care if Leto gets married," Asteria said, opening her eyes again. "No—I do, only I would rather she didn't. I don't want her to go away at all, but going away for money is the worst thing she could do."
"It isn't just for money, Aster."
"I know." Daphne had always thought of herself as quite grown-up for her age, but Asteria looked equally grown up then, if not moreso. "It's for all of us. But I don't want her to do it for me. I don't want her to be unhappy so that I can be happy. I couldn't be happy like that."
Daphne slid the knife back into the block. "You would make that sacrifice for Leto?"
"Of course," Asteria said quietly, and Daphne knew she would.
"And Leto would make this sacrifice for us," she said gently. "So would I." She kissed Asteria's cheek. "I'm going to finish cooking the rabbit now."
It's true, Daphne thought. We're not children anymore.
"I hope you enjoyed your summer, darling," Mother said.
"It was all right," Draco said negligently.
He was lying crosswise on the bed, toying with a gold-plate and crystal Sneakoscope his cousins had given him for his birthday. He'd put all his cousins in stitches telling really outrageous lies with a straight face while the Sneakoscope screamed louder and louder in his hand. He'd had loads of fun in Lombardy, but it didn't do to appear too excited. And his mum always got into this mood at the end of August, where she grew quiet and asked him simple questions that seemed to be something else entirely.
She was folding his robes and packing his trunk by hand. It was something she'd done all three summers before Hogwarts, even before Potter had stolen Dobby from them. Draco didn't know why she didn't just use a spell.
"You're going to be careful at Hogwarts this year, my love," Mother said, piling all his school shirts into one neat stack and placing them inside the trunk. "Aren't you?"
"'Course," Draco said, and the Sneakoscope stayed dark and silent. "I'll keep Crabbe and Goyle around and throw them in front of the Dementors if we cross any."
The Sneakoscope flickered but then went dark again. Draco supposed it was because he wasn't sure if he was being serious or not.
"Never give a Dementor any opportunity to notice you," Father had said last night at dinner. "Travel always with others, and keep alert. Dementors do not understand pity, and they have no mercy."
"Do you really think he's broken out of prison to kill Potter?" Draco asked Mother as she packed in his trousers.
(Rita Skeeter certainly did. Reading her stuff, you'd think Sirius Black had really escaped from Azkaban to sit for a series of interviews with her. Either that or she'd smuggled him out herself so she could have uninterrupted access to his personal history.)
Father had said Black's motives were not to be guessed at, since after twelve years in Azkaban, he was certainly mad. Mother had only stared at the flames on the candleabra, the light shining in pinpricks in her wide pupils. But on her own, Mother was more communicative than Father, more indulgent. She used to let Draco hide underneath the tables when she had witches over for tea, and he'd spy on their conversations for her and only tell her what they said if she bribed him properly. (Of course, he'd had to learn to take bribes: he used to be quite easy to win over, Mother said, before she taught him how to hold out for more than a single truffle.)
"Mother?" he said when she didn't answer him. He lay the Sneakoscope down, tired it of it for now.
"Darling, why did you opt to take this ridiculous course?" She took out her wand to levitate his snarling Monster Book of Monsters into his trunk. He'd had to belt it shut to stop it from eating all his other books—and clothes, and shoes, and bedding. . .
"Sirius Black, Mum," he said, pushing up against his pillows so he could fold his arms properly. Father would have said Do Malfoys talk like that, Draco? and Do we slouch? "Is he really that dangerous?"
Mother didn't answer at first. "Sirius Black is our cousin," she said as she packed the rest of his books into his trunk. "Related to your father, too, of course, though much more distantly. But he and I are first cousins, which makes him your first cousin once removed."
Draco knew this. Mother and Father had taught him to read by tracing the silver thread on the family tapestry in the gallery through all the years, from the first Malfoi to himself, Draco, at the end, all alone. The names of dead family members were pewter, the living ones still shining bright. Regulus was dark, but Sirius was somewhere in between, dull, like nickel.
"He went to Gryffindor," said Mother. "He was friends with James Potter."
Draco sat up all the way. "What?" That definitely hadn't been in the paper.
"Mmm." Mother was looking out the window now.
"Does Potter know?"
"I couldn't tell you, darling. It was general knowledge to those who knew him. They were quite inseparable, even after Potter married that Mudblood harridan. But many of their contemporaries died in the war, after all. . ."
This was turning out to be a great deal more interesting than he'd thought it would be. "Did you know him well?"
"We met often as children—he was quite spoilt, in some ways, but in others dreadfully neglected. Uncle Orion was . . . not the warmest of men. And once Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor . . . he left home when he was sixteen and never spoke to any of us again—except on fighting terms, of course. He was quite quarrelsome whenever we'd cross paths."
She fell silent then, still looking out the window, across the broad green lawn.
"Had you asked me," she said quietly, "if Sirius followed the Dark Lord—if he would follow him for any reason—I would have staked my life on the negative."
She turned to look at Draco then, with a serenity as deep and vast as a lake whose opposite shore disappeared over the horizon. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.
"It has taught me how little we can be certain of, in this life," Mother said.
The next day Mother and Father brought him to the train, as ever, and he permitted Mother to kiss him in front of everyone. He was surprised to still miss her whenever he had to go away. Zabini said he should've outgrown that by now, but how could you possibly not miss someone who stood and watched the train until it pulled away, standing there after it had shrunken to the size of a toy, and then a dot, and still imagined they could see you long after you'd disappeared?
He'd never seen Mother do that, of course. She'd be too far away. But he had no trouble imagining it. And if he could imagine it, then surely she was thinking these things about him.
Pansy was easier to find than a Gryffindor in a fireworks factory. In fact, all he had to do was turn around and he almost plowed into her. She oozed into his personal space, her eyes ringed in black makeup, her dark hair falling soft and pretty around her face; much prettier, honestly, than her face.
"Draco," she said breathlessly, looking at him the way Goyle looked at Christmas pudding. "How was your holiday?"
"All right," he said, drawling. He thought about slinging his arm around her waist to see how it worked, but he didn't really want her plastered to him all day.
It was easy to find Crabbe and Goyle, who sat in the same compartment every year. This year the car had developed a growth of Hufflepuffs. Draco and Pansy kicked them out, and the four of them settled down with the candy Crabbe and Goyle had bought, the hamper Mum had sent along with him, and some really vile cookies Pansy had baked for Draco. (All he had to do was "accidentally" move them near Goyle and they disappeared.) Millicent joined them before they'd passed Peterborough, but she just sat near the door and didn't say anything, like usual. After a time Zabini showed up, but went away again after Daphne turned up with her two sisters. Leto was in her final year, husband-hunting (Mum said), but the other was new and the prettiest one yet. Draco thought there was another Greengrass girl out there, a little kid. If it was true what everyone said, that each girl was better-looking than the one before, it was almost incomprehensible how good-looking the next one would be.
Pansy's hatred was instantaneous, but New Sister was so dead silent that after fifteen minutes everyone forgot she was there. Around Doncaster, Tracey slipped in, cool-faced, wearing her curly dark hair in a knot on her head and black rings like Pansy's around her eyes, looking much hotter than Pansy did. Was this a new habit with them, or had he just started noticing? Would Potter take it up, too? She'd have to get rid of those wretched glasses and fix her hair before she'd look halfway decent, no matter how she made up her eyes.
After a time Draco grew bored of talking about the summer—the upcoming classes—Sirius Black—and decided he wanted to go find Potter and taunt her mercilessly. Pansy was locking claws in some obscure argument with Tracey, seemingly having to do with how rich and beautiful his cousins were, so Draco collected Crabbe and Goyle and muscled up and down the train, looking for the Gryffindorks.
They found Granger first, coming out of the loo. She'd already pulled on her school robes, like she belonged here. He couldn't see any makeup on her face at all, and her teeth looked bigger than ever.
"If it isn't the long-molared Mudblood sidekick," he drawled. "Where's your famous pal?"
Granger looked at him like he was a half-dead squirrel someone had thrown on her lap. "Do you really not have anything better to do than taunt me and Harriet?" she asked, reminding him, for a second, of his gorgon grandmother.
"Loads of things to do that are better," he said. "But few things so fun."
Granger's look of disgust was really impressive, not that he would ever tell her that. He wanted to knock it off her big-toothed face. She tried to push past them, but Goyle blocked her.
"Excuse me," she said coldly, not looking the least bit intimidated. Honestly, Gryffindors were so bloody annoying. They were no fun to scare because they were too senseless to be scared of anything.
"Yeah," said a familiar voice behind Crabbe. "Excuse you gents. The lady wants through."
The Weasley twins, hard-faced and already armed. Eurgh. Unlike Granger, they'd hex first and ask questions later.
"Come on," Draco muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, and collecting them, he left.
He didn't see Potter's horrible hair or even-more-horrible glasses anywhere on the train. Dumbledore had probably given her some special escort. His mood soured, the way it did so often with Potter. If he saw her smug git face, he had to taunt her just to wipe that smile off it, the one that made his wand-hand itch. Even when her smug git face wasn't around he thought about it, itching to hex, until he had to go find her and bother her for that split-second where she stopped looking so smug and satisfied. He'd had to put up with not being able to rile her all summer and now she wasn't on the train.
It was just like her. Even when he did get to wrinkle that stuck-up Gryffindor-ness, she usually managed to win somehow.
Stupid Potter.
As they wound closer to Hogwarts, more and more rain rolled in, with a cold mist that frosted the windows all along the train. Looking out, all you could see was that mist. Draco changed into his school robes and pulled on his thick cloak and gloves when he estimated they still had an hour left to go. Lamps flickered up and down the train, shaking and shivering the light when the track got bumpy.
When they stepped off the train, the air outside was biting cold. Somehow Draco lost Crabbe and Goyle and wound up in a carriage with Daphne, New Sister, and Tracey. He wondered if Pansy was lying dead somewhere, because he couldn't see any other way she would have left him alone with three girls all much better-looking than she was.
But when the carriage lurched into motion, it was still Pansy-less, so he shrugged and settled back against the squabs that smelled like wet hay, wondering how much the Sorting Feast would bore him after a month spent with his cousins, who'd thrown him a goodbye feast with a full-feathered swan pie. Hogwarts would never have anything like that.
Out of nowhere, Daphne's sister—Asteria? Astoria?—gasped, like someone had poured cold water on her.
"Aster?" Daphne said.
And Draco felt it . . . a piercing, drowning cold, like the whole carriage was filling with water . . . he couldn't see what was going on around him, even though he knew his eyes were open. . . and then he forgot about even that as he heard voices, the voices of his parents aruging . . .
But Mother and Father never argue, he thought.
"—take him from you, forever and good, Narcissa, by Merlin and Salazar I will—"
"You will take him from me? You think you have the strength?"
"You know very well I have the power to make sure you never see my son again in your life—"
"Threaten me with lawyers, Lucius, with your contracts forged in blood, with all the power of your wealth, and still it will not be enough. I am his mother, and I would die once, twice, a thousand times before I will be parted from him so much as a day, even if it's his father who takes him from me. . ."
He couldn't see; he was someplace dark, and Mother and Father were near him, shouting, glass was breaking, magic was curdling his skin—he knew all this, even though he knew he was in the carriage with Tracey and Daphne and her sister and he knew Mother and Father had never fought. He struggled, trying to get out of it, the nightmare of his parents fighting, over him, over taking him away from each other.
Something heavy landed on his feet. With a gasp, he pulled free of the cold, drowning darkness. The rattle of the carriage was so loud around him. Tracey was gasping, like she was trying not to be sick. Daphne moaned weakly. Asteria—
Was the thing that had landed on Draco's feet. She'd passed out cold on the floor.
He scrubbed a hand over his clammy face. Icy sweat rubbed onto his palm. "Oy," he muttered, twitching his foot. Asteria stirred but didn't sit up. He leaned down and shook her shoulder. "Here, wake up."
"Oh," Daphne gasped again, differently this time. "Aster!" She slid to the floor and pulled her sister's head and shoulders onto her lap, pushing Asteria's heavy blonde hair off her face. "Aster, wake up, Aster."
"Dementors," Tracey muttered. "I read about them in the Prophet, but I thought Skeeter was just full of shit. . ."
Asteria was coming round. She was shivering in Daphne's lap in that threadbare coat. Somewhere amongst all the shittiness, Draco had the thought that it was a shame for someone so pretty to be cold.
"Here." He slung his cloak down onto her. "Your coat's pathetic."
"Thank you, Draco," Daphne said with real gratitude, or at least what sounded real. She was the Nice One, though, of the Slytherin girls in his year, so maybe she did mean it. "Wasn't that kind, Aster? Draco is such a gentleman."
This masterful study of his character made Draco feel a bit less shitty, and when he climbed down from the carriage into the damp cold, with mist crawling around his knees over the Hogwarts steps, he almost didn't mind that he was the one now shivering. Asteria looked so pathetic and so beautiful at the same time that he couldn't even hint for his cloak back, so he simply shoved his way through the swarm of Gryffindorks and Dufferpuffs, heading for where it was warm.
Harriet raced down the Grand Staircase to the Entrance Hall as soon as she saw the lamps on the carriages glinting in the gloom on the track far below. She took a spot a few stairs up so she could clearly see everyone who came in, searching for the riot of Hermione's hair. When Hermione appeared in the swarm, she was already scanning the Entrance Hall for Harriet, who stretched up her hands and waved. Hermione's face lit up, and they ran at each other at the same time, Harriet knocking a couple of Ravenclaws twice her size out of her way.
They jumped at each other, hugging fiercely, and for a few moments didn't say anything, just hugged. Then Hermione said, "I was so worried!"
"So worried you could only finish twenty-two of your twenty-three books?" Harriet asked, grinning.
"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, squeezing her. "I have no idea what any of them were about since you left."
Harriet felt a warmth glow around her heart. Hermione had missed so much she couldn't concentrate on her reading. (Well, she probably had concentrated at least half of the time, but considering she usually concentrated one hundred and ten percent, this was evidence of the strongest emotion.)
They turned to head into the Great Hall and almost plowed right into Professor McGonagall.
"We're sorry!" Hermione squeaked, like she was afraid Professor McGonagall would give them detention for almost walking into her. Well, Snape might have. . .
"There's no need, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, "though I do need you to come with me."
Hermione went white. Professor McGonagall didn't speak any faster, but she said immediately, "It's about your schedule for this year. Miss Potter, you can proceed into the Hall."
Harriet was put out by this cruel sadism that robbed her of her best friend just when they'd been reunited after the threat of a mass murderer had separated them for a month. She'd have expected better from Professor McGonagall. But Hermione didn't seem to feel the same: as soon she heard "schedule," her face lit up. Harriet was resigned to sharing Hermione's heart with schoolwork again.
"See you in a bit, then," Harriet said, and watched Hermione trot off after Professor McGonagall.
"So here you are, Potty," drawled a voice as unwelcome as it was familiar. "Too good to ride the train with the rest of us this year, I heard."
Ugh: Malfoy. Harriet turned around and found herself staring at his chest. He'd got taller. It was very unpleasant to have to scowl up at him.
"Your head may have got bigger," he said, looking gleeful, "but the rest of you had best work overtime to catch up."
"And still it'll never match the size of yours," she retorted. "Asteroids are smaller. Piss off, Malfoy."
She turned her back on him, and almost had a heart attack when two new voices suddenly bellowed in her ears: "Harry old girl!"
"So long it's been!" Fred grabbed her by the shoulders from behind and lifted her up in a hug. No sooner had he put her down than George did the same.
"Though one couldn't tell," he said, "by how much you haven't grown."
"Oh, sod off," Harriet said, trying to kick one or the other of them in the kneecaps.
"Maybe she just doesn't seem like she's grown because you two are becoming even bigger gits," Ginny said, coming up as Harriet tried to squirm free of George's grip. "Who could keep up?"
"Your words wound, little sister," said Fred as George adjusted his grip to trap Harriet in a headlock.
"You'll get more than that once I learn that Bat Bogey hex," Ginny threatened.
"You let Harry go, George Weasley," said Angelina, "or you'll find out if I know the Bat Bogey hex."
George released Harriet, holding his hands up. "When women get tough, the tough get going."
"Not too soon for anyone," Harriet growled. Fred and George pretended to cower, and Angelina drove them into the Great Hall, jabbing her wand at them, which they fake-fled from.
"Gits," Ginny said, shaking her head.
When she and Harriet hugged hello, Harriet couldn't help noticing that Ginny had also grown several inches on top of the couple she remembered her already having. She didn't mind so much Hermione's being taller, since Hermione was almost a year older, and Malfoy was a boy, so it was inevitable he'd outgrow her; but Ginny was more than a year younger. It was deeply bloody disheartening.
"Where's Ron?" she asked, scanning the crowds for his bright Weasley hair and only seeing Percy, who was trying to boss everyone nearby and having success with no one.
"Catching a ride with the boys in your year, I think," Ginny said. "They were all being very blokey on the train. By the way, you won't believe it when you see Neville—he must've grown a foot at least and lost forty pounds. Where's Hermione got to? She was dying to find you."
"Professor McGonagall's talking with her about her schedule," Harriet said as they walked together into the Great Hall. People seemed to be whispering and pointing at her as she passed, but she was used to it. Not that this made it any less bloody annoying.
"That should cheer her up," Ginny said. Harriet laughed.
Finally Hogwarts looked like it should, full of people and noise and light. The thousand candles floated over the tables, which were slowly packing themselves with students; the ceiling-sky overhead was churning and roiling, a Dementor-mist gray, but with all the people and the light it was so warm below that Harriet stuck out her tongue at it. The teachers lined the High Table in their best robes that glinted like jewels, looking like teachers ought: distant and unknowable, a bit inhuman.
And there was Snape.
He was the only one all in black. He sat with his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, his hands linked in front of him, staring darkly into space. The robes did seem to be different than the sort he taught in; they sort of glimmered, even across the hall, like light was falling into them. But his hair was as greasy as ever, hanging around his deep-set eyes and gaunt face, and his expression was one of deep displeasure.
She'd spent a month with hardly anyone else for company, but she couldn't say she knew him even a little bit. She'd wondered more than once these past few weeks if anyone knew him at all. He seemed to live a lonesome life. He didn't have a single picture around his rooms of any friends or family, which even the vile Dursleys did. Even now, all the teachers she could see were chatting with each other while Snape sat by himself, staring into space.
A weird impulse rose in her to go up and say hello, which probably signaled a severe mental problem, because Snape would surely rather suffer food poisoning than want her saying hello to him. Anyway, she'd seen him just a couple of hours ago. But the feeling wouldn't go away, as she sat and watched everyone in the room greet each other and laugh, except for Snape, who didn't once smile or have anyone wave to him. Not even Professor Dumbledore did, but at least he had the excuse of being deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick.
Professor Lupin came in through the teachers' entrance behind the High Table, wearing robes just as patched and shabby as all his others and looking exhausted. But he was smiling as he looked across the Hall, and when he was looking in Harriet's direction he smiled even more broadly. Harriet waved on reflex, at the same time that Snape, who'd been treating Professor Lupin to a look of more-than-usually potent loathing, turned to look at her. Her hand froze in mid-wave, especially when he sent her a look of scathing disgust. Then he looked away to glare at the Hufflepuff table, before Harriet could do anything more than stare at him with her hand half-raised and her mouth hanging open.
"There you are, Harry," said Ron's voice. Still deep in Snape-inspired bewilderment, Harriet turned to see Ron sitting down across from her, with Dean and Seamus and—was that Neville? She did a literal double-take. Ginny was right: he didn't look at all like the Neville she remembered. This Neville was tall and lanky and hunch-shouldered, probably from growing so much so suddenly—but the expression on his face, the never-ending worry, was the exact same.
"H-hi, Harriet," he warbled, clutching Trevor, who hung resignedly in his grip.
"And she's still in one piece," Seamus said, making a show of looking her over. "Not a very big one, though."
Before Harriet could reply, the noise level in the Hall rose. Glancing around, she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary; but she did see the doors behind the High Table open and Hermione squeeze through the gap. She ducked her head down as Professor Sinistra looked haughtily at her and ran along the Gryffindor table bent almost double.
"Hi," she whispered as she squeezed into the space Harriet and Ginny had left her between them.
"What did Professor McGonagall want?" Harriet asked, but Hermione just shook her head and motioned shh: the main doors to the Hall were opening and Professor McGonagall swept in, carrying her scroll of names and leading the newest crowd of first years.
Harriet couldn't recall ever being so annoyed with Professor McGonagall, whom she'd always liked very much. But twice now tonight Professor McGonagall had interrupted her reunion with Hermione, first with her ruddy talk of schedules and now with her ruddy Sorting, which was the exact same every year. Of course, last year Harriet had missed it because she'd been busy flying a car into the Whomping Willow, and the year before that she'd been too terrified of being thrown out of Hogwarts or Sorted into Slytherin to pay much attention. But really, it was just watching a bunch of queasy-faced kids try on a hat, and this year there was no one particular to even cheer for.
She fell back into Snape-watching without really realizing it at first. He clapped only for the kids Sorted into Slytherin, and even then not very much: just hitting his hands together a couple of times and letting them drop again. In the intertim, he glared death and loathing at Professor Lupin, who, like all the other teachers, was watching the Sorting. If he noticed Snape's skewering looks, you couldn't tell. But that was typical of Lupin. Every time she'd run across him and Snape together, Snape was discovering new forms of blistering rudeness and Lupin was just smiling pleasantly through them all.
Grown-ups never stopped being strange.
With the last student (Yarrow, Emmanuelle) joining the Ravenclaw tables, Professor McGonagall magicked the Sorting Hat and its three-legged stool into her arms and strode away, and Professor Dumbledore stood up, the candlelight glinting on his beard.
"Welcome!" he said, his voice rippling across the Hall, washing all the students' voices to silence. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I thought it best to get it out of the way before you become beffudled by our excellent feast. . . "
Dementors, I bet, Harriet thought, repressing a shiver.
"As you may be aware, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."
Hundreds of heads swiveled to look at Harriet, who flushed bright red. Now she understood all the pointing and whispering.
"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly (Harriet blushed again). "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs foul of the Dementors."
Percy, sitting a few seats down, puffed out his chest, looking immensely proud and important. Ginny leaned into Harriet, muttering, "Fred and George charmed his badge to read 'Bighead Boy.' Get a look later."
Harriet turned her laugh into a cough, but Percy gave her a scandalized frown anyway. Knowing it would've been much worse if he'd known what she was laughing about, she put her head down so he wouldn't see her grinning.
"On a happier note," Dumbledore was saying, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. . . "
At Professor Lupin's introduction, Snape renewed his glare of undying disgust and refused to clap. The applause from everyone else was pretty unenthusiastic, and Harriet's guilt at once thinking, like everyone else was clearly doing, that Professor Lupin didn't look like much made her clap harder than everyone else. He looked as unruffled by this lukewarm reception as he'd done whenever Snape had insulted him over the summer.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued when everyone had clapped as long as was polite, "well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."
Hagrid got a much better reception: applause thundered across the Hall, deafening at the Gryffindor table in particular. The strip of skin visible between Hagrid's beard and wild hair went bright red.
"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore said when the applause finally died away and Hagrid was mopping his eyes on the tablecloth. "Let the feast begin!"
"What did Professor McGonagall want?" Harriet asked Hermione immediately, as food bloomed on the golden plates all along the table and the smell of dinner rose like steam.
"Oh, just to have a word about my schedule," Hermione said, with an uncharacteristic airiness that pinged Harriet's internal alarm system. Hermione was never airy about schoolwork. Even schoolwork-related airiness in others wounded her soul.
"I was there for that part," Harriet said. "What about it?"
"Well—" Hermione paused to ladle buttered potatoes onto her plate. "You know how I'm taking a few extra courses this year—"
"You signed up for all the courses," Ron put in from across the table.
"Yes, well, my schedule was a bit full because of it," Hermione said briskly, "so Professor McGonagall and I had to talk about how I would be getting to all the classes."
"How are you?" Ron asked before Harriet could say anything. "Going to split yourself into two?"
"I'm sure it wouldn't interest you," Hermione said loftily. As she piled baked chicken onto her plate, her eyes got a familiar sparkle in them, and Harriet relaxed. "I can't wait to start Arithmancy—and Ancient Runes—and Muggle studies—"
"Your parents are Muggles," Ron interrupted yet again, and Harriet experienced a new annoyance with him, too. Would no one bloody let her talk to her own bloody best friend? "You grew up with Muggles. What do you need to learn about Muggles for?"
"It'll be fascinating to study them from a wizarding point of view," Hermione said earnestly. Ron shook his head, incredulous, and stuffed some yams into his mouth. Unfortunately, this didn't mean he would stop talking.
"I can't believe Hagrid's a teacher," Hermione said to Harriet. "In a good way, obviously," she added hurriedly. "It'll mean so much to him."
"He's really going all out," Harriet said. "Wait till you see what he's got for our first lesson."
"Whaff?" Ron asked immediately, spraying flecks of parsley across the table. Seamus and Dean repeated the question, though happily not the rain of half-chewed food. Harriet raised her eyebrows at them.
"You'll soon find out," she said loftily, which made them scowl and glower.
"You'll tell me, though, right?" Ginny asked, leaning in and smirking at the boys. "Since I'm not in your class?"
Harriet made a show of whispering it in her ear while the boys pretended not to care, but they clearly did, and Ginny gasped and said, "Really? I'm so jealous!" so well that they didn't stop pestering Harriet until the last of the desserts had disappeared and everyone started leaving for bed. By then Harriet was wishing she hadn't done such a good job of interesting them. She almost, almost told them, just so they'd bugger off, but she had her pride.
"I want to tell Hagrid congratulations," Hermione said, and they broke away from the crowd to rush the High Table. Harriet would have expected Ron to come with them, but oddly he stayed with Seamus and Dean, who were heading out the door.
"Congratulations, Hagrid!" Hermione squealed as they reached his chair.
"All down ter you two, really," said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin. "Clearin' up that business with the Chamber—clearin' my name, so everyone knows it weren't me killed that poor girl. . . "
Hermione patted him consolingly on the arm. Harriet felt a renewed surge of anger at Voldemort, one-time Tom Riddle, who'd framed Hagrid for killing Myrtle when he was the one who'd done it. She almost wished there was another diary full of him, so she could stab it and watch him dissolve all over again.
"Dumbledore came straight to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he'd had enough," Hagrid said. "It's what I always wanted . . . great man, Dumbledore . . . "
The emotion became too much to handle, and he buried his face in his napkin. Harriet joined Hermione in patting his arm.
"Go on, you two," Professor McGonagall said, shooing them away.
Neville jogged up to them, clutching Trevor, who must have tried to escape again during dinner. His no-longer-round face was shining with worry. "We've got to hurry!" he said anxiously. "What if we miss the password?"
But the Tower was so far away, and as a House the Gryffindors rambled so much, that Harriet, Hermione and Neville were able to join the crowd hobnobbing outside the Fat Lady in time to hear Percy saying self-importantly, "Excuse me, let me through, I'm Head Boy! The password's Fortuna Major!"
"Oh, no," Neville said sadly. Harriet decided that, like Hagrid, he needed an arm pat, and gave him one. It made him go about as red as Hagrid had been when the entire Hall was applauding him.
Harriet had moved back into the Tower that morning, so she'd already had a chance to unpack her things and make the holiday-barren space homey again. Hermione's, Lavender's and Parvati's locked trunks were parked at the foot of their beds, and while Hermione immediately started pulling out her books (there were even more than usual, owing to all her new subjects), Lavender and Parvati were dumping cosmetics onto their dressers.
But they stopped in the middle of doing this, suddenly, and turned around to stare at Harriet.
"Harry." Lavender's eyes looked large and liquid, and she stared at Harriet as if just noticing she was still alive. "It's so good you're well."
"We heard what was in the paper," Parvati said, staring at Harriet with much the same expression as Lavender: a kind of soulful, morbid curiosity, like they were expecting Sirius Black to jump out from behind the curtains and murder her there on the carpet.
"Usually you read what's in the paper," Hermione said waspishly.
"That's what we mean," Lavender said, stopping her soulful—and frankly creepy—gazing to give Hermione a dirty look.
"About Sirius Black, you know," Parvati said, abandoning the airy-fairy manner too. "Is he really after you, Harry?"
Harriet didn't want to talk about this at all. "If they say it in the paper, it must be true."
Lavender and Parvati didn't notice the sarcasm, however. They gave her, and each other, looks of mingled excitement and horror.
"My God. I can't believe it. He's a mass murderer, you know," Parvati said in a low voice.
"I heard," Harriet said shortly.
Now Lavender and Parvati had joined the ranks of people Harriet wasn't usually annoyed with but sure was now. She turned away from them—and let out an un-Gryffindor shriek when something enormous and furry landed on her shoulders. When she screamed, Lavender and Parvati did, too; the huge furry thing on Harriet's shoulders let out a displeased hiss and, after jabbing its claws into her neck, launched off her back.
"What the fucking hell!" Harriet spun around, clapping a hand over the bleeding cuts on her neck.
"Harriet!" Hermione admonished. "When did you start talking like that?"
Hermione was cradling to her chest the biggest, furriest, gingerest cat Harriet had ever seen. It had a squashed face and malevolent yellow eyes, which it used to watch her with gross self-satisfaction.
"I do when that cat lands on my head and shreds my neck!" She pulled her hand away and showed Hermione her red fingers. "Bloody hell, that hurt."
"Bad Crookshanks!" Hermione scolded the cat, lifting him up so they were face to flattened face. "You don't scratch Harriet!"
"That's your cat?" said Lavender and Harriet at the same time.
"Since when did you get a cat?" Harriet asked, feeling weirdly betrayed. What was wrong with her this year? So what if Hermione got a cat and didn't tell her—why did it matter?
"And why did you choose one so ugly?" asked Parvati, making a face.
"Excuse you," Hermione said, while Crookshanks lashed his thick, fluffy tail and watched them all with smug feline menace. "Crookshanks isn't ugly, he's beautiful."
For the first time since meeting them, Harriet shared a thought with Lavender and Parvati. They looked at each other, all thinking: She's gone mad.
In all fairness, though, Harriet supposed Crookshanks did have a beautiful coat. It would look amazing on a throw pillow.
"Here." Hermione fumbled in her trunk and came out with a Muggle First Aid kit. "Come here so I can disinfect those cuts—"
And after that, Harriet couldn't even be put out with her. How many people had best friends who carried First Aid Kits?
What will all the unpacking (spreading all their things across the room and creating a gigantic mess), catching up (Lavender squealed over Harriet's small stash of romance novels and immediately started swapping them for her Fifi La Folles; Parvati was really looking forward to Divinations, because her mother ran a Psychic's for Muggles and she knew a lot already), and gossiping (were Malfoy and Pansy Pug-faced Parkinson really dating or was he just stringing her along? and Neville was so tall! but still hopeless), it took them all ages to get ready for bed. Crookshanks didn't help by winding beneath their feet whenever he could. But finally they all climbed into bed, and gradually their talking to each other in the dark faded away into sleep.
In the silence of her four-poster, as she drifted off, Harriet felt a brief pang of loss for her room in the dungeons. It had really felt like a room of her own, in the end. But it was good to be back in Gryffindor, with everyone else, where she belonged.
Now, finally, things could get back to normal.