The Great Hall was beautiful, all awash with candlelight and the reflected glow off the dozens and dozens of goblets and plates. Hermione was holding Harriet's hand tightly, her grip damp with sweat. "We'll still be friends," she was muttering to herself, reassuringly. Harriet squeezed her hand back and nodded encouragingly as they shuffled with the rest of the first years up the hall.

Professor McGonagall turned back, and they all tried to straighten themselves into a neater line. Then she set down the stool she was carrying, and put the raggedy hat onto it, where it—

Opened its mouth, and sang a song about the school. Harriet hummed along a little, and relaxed as it ended. She was going to hex Dora across the room. Telling her it was fighting a dragon indeed!

And then Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll and started reading off the names. "Abbot, Hannah!" she called, and a girl with tight pigtails shuffled forward and was promptly sent to a roaring Hufflepuff.

Harriet was sweating, and felt terribly cold. It was massively unfair, she thought, that she had to worry so much about which name was on the scroll. Her letter had said Tonks, but they were expecting a Potter, too, and what if she got called twice? It would be mortifying, she thought.

And then the professor was calling, "Granger, Hermione," and Harriet found something else to worry about.

The hat was on Hermione's head a long time, before it shouted "Gryffindor!" Hermione slipped off the stool, and trotted over the table, where she sat with her eyes locked on Harriet's. It was unnerving, like being stared at by the Colonel when he was mad, and Harriet looked away. She watched as the second blond boy, "Longbottom, Neville," got sent to Gryffindor too, and the nasty boy, "Malfoy, Draco!" was sent to Slytherin.

And her name was creeping closer, as Parkinson, Patil and Patil, and Perks were all called. And then, nothing. A silence overtook the hall as Professor McGonagall paused and stared at the list. She adjusted her glasses, then turned the scroll over. Whispering broke out, and Harriet darted a glance to the head of the hall, where the teachers sat. Some of them were whispering too, and others looked worried.

Finally, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and called, "Thomas, Dean!"

A boy at a table nearby said in a piercing whisper, "Where's Potter?"

"Isn't Harriet Potter supposed to come this year?" a girl near him demanded, a little louder.

It was picked up across the hall, passing from table to table, and the boy on the stool squirmed in embarrassment. Finally, Professor Dumbledore, Harriet knew him right away from the bright robes and the long beard, said, "Silence, please."

The boy was pronounced Gryffindor and pulled the hat off with a look of deep relief.

And then Professor McGonagall, looking cross now, said, "Tonks, Harriet," and Harriet felt herself go icy cold. She padded across the floor, feeling everyone staring at her as a tiny boy at the Ravenclaw table asked loudly, "Is that her?"

"It can't be, there's no scar," a prefect sitting next to him said, and then quavered under Professor McGonagall's fierce glare.

The hat descended, and Harriet jumped as a sly voice said in her ear, "Now, now, that was quite a trick."

Harriet squirmed, and flushed. "No need to be shy," the hat told her. "No one's gotten one over Minnie McGonagall in many years. I rather enjoyed the show."

It didn't seem right to say thank you so Harriet only bobbed her head, the brim of the hat slipping over her eyes.

"Well, onto business, Miss Harriet Asterope Potter Tonks," the Sorting Hat said. "Where shall I put you? Plenty of courage, a good mind, plays well with others. Ah, all you're missing is a spark of ambition. Well, there's a good balance of the other three."

And then he paused. Harriet gripped the edge of the stool and tried not to think it, but—

"There it is," he said slowly. "There is a certain sense of ambition there, but it's rather…hmm."

"Want to be like your parents, do you?" he asked. "The late ones, of course."

He waited, apparently, for her answer.

Harriet shut her eyes in the musty darkness. She thought about her James-dad and Lily-mum sometimes, thought they were mostly shadowy figures in her head. Andromeda-mum didn't have a lot of pictures of them, and didn't want to risk asking around for more. But yes, she thought about them, and felt, well, longing. She thought.

"Yes, please," she whispered very quietly.

"Then it had better be…Gryffindor!" the hat roared and as Professor McGonagall pulled it off her head, she thought it whispered, "Good luck, girl. And well done."

And then she was tripping over the Gryffindor table and Hermione was scooting over to make room. "I knew you'd be here," she whispered to Harriet over the smattering of dull applause. "Cursing those boys like that." She sounded disapproving, but grinned a little, like she couldn't help it.

And then Professor McGonagall was reading through the rest of the list, and Weasley, Ronald joined them, then finally a fabled Zabini slunk his way over to the Slytherin table. Professor McGonagall was rolling up the scroll now, and taking the stool and hat away, and everyone quieted down as Dumbledore stood up.

He beamed at them, his arms wide open, looking truly pleased to see them.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we have our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

And then he sat back down, to a rousing roar of cheers and clapping. Harriet wrinkled her nose. Her mum talked about him like he was an awful man, and her dad didn't like to talk about him at all—he had been the one to put Harriet with her aunt. But Dora talked about everything with Harriet, and she had never said Professor Dumbledore was mad!

And then there was food, blooming in the great serving platters across the tables, and Harriet was busy with eating until she was so full it ached. And then she had to find room for dessert, and as she reached for the treacle tart, she glanced up at the staff table.

There was a man there in all black, like a giant and furious crow, sitting next to man with a turban. The crow man was scowling, and staring right at her. Harriet's scar burned, and she hissed as she clapped a hand to it, dropping the treacle dish.

Four hands shot out to catch it. They were attached to two red-haired wizards with bright grins. Harriet blinked, but the double-sight didn't go away. They were twins! "Careful there," one told her. "You have to mind your manners—"

"—or else Professor McGonagall will try and curse them into you!" the other said, and served her a hefty portion of tart with a wink. "Eat up!" he advised, and Harriet, blushing, stuck her fork into her mouth.

When she chanced another glance at the man, he was looking away and her scar felt fine. "Harriet," Hermione asked, and she was drawn away into conversation.

And then finally dinner was all the way over, and they rose to leave the hall. Hermione had her thinking face on. Harriet was delighted to realize she already knew what the scrunched nose and puffed cheeks meant. "Thinking about what Dumbledore said? About the third floor?" she asked companionably.

"Yes," Hermione said absentmindedly. Harriet steered her out of the way of another first year, and Hermione shook herself. "Never mind," she said, and they trotted along after Percy Weasley, up to the Gryffindor common room.

No one had ever told her what it was like in there. Harriet gave the tapestries and soft looking chairs a wondering glance. Had her mum liked to sit there and study? Or maybe her dad made mischief in this very spot?

And then they were going up to the girls' dorms, and something her mum had told her once struck Harriet at once. they'd been doing arithmetic, and counting by sevens, and her mum had used Hogwarts as an example, and—

"Wait!" she cried as the other Gryffindor girls made to pick beds. "Please," she added softer, and blushed.

"What is it?" Parvati Patil asked. Lavender Brown looked at her curiously.

Harriet blushed harder, knowing miserably she was so red they could see it. "This is my mum's dorm," she said. "And she carved her name into her bed. Please, can I look for it before anyone picks theirs?"

Lavender and Hermione looked baffled, but Parvati stared at her with wide eyes. "Did she—" she asked, and swallowed loud enough that they could hear it.

"In the war," Harriet said, lifting her chin.

"Oh," Parvati said, and then, "Where'd she carve it?"

"Underneath," Harriet said, "so no one would find it."

Parvati gave the beds a speculative look, and dropped down on her knees next to the nearest one. "I'll look under this one!" she said, and gave Lavender Brown a hard look.

"OH!" Lavender said, and dashed over to a bed. And then they were all looking, and luck was on her side, because the one by the window, which Harriet had squirmed under without a thought about the dust, had Lily written on it in a broad and swooping hand.

"This one says Marlene," Parvati announced.

"I've got Dorcas!" Lavender cried.

"This one says Mary," Hermione said, and Harriet heard, as if in a dream, the rustles as they crawled back out.

She reached up, and touched the letters, sunk deep into the wood. "Harriet?" Hermione asked, the edges of her shoes visible.

"This one is my mum's" Harriet said softly, and slid herself out from underneath.

Parvati and Lavender were already dragged the trunks across the floor. "I want Mary," Parvati said. "She sounds nice."

"I'll take Dorcas," Lavender announced. "I read a romance novel with a Dorcas once, and she knew all the good curses. Here, Hermione, have Marlene. It's right next to Harriet's." and then they dragged Harriet's battered trunk to the foot of Lily's bed.

"There," Parvati said, standing back with her hands on her hips. She smiled at them broadly and dusted off her hands, turning to Lavender and chattering again as thought she'd been happy to do it.

Harriet let her thank you die on her lips. She thought Parvati already knew.

And then there was the scramble to have a wash and put on pajamas. Harriet was last, scrubbing off the cream on her scar and hurrying back to bed before anyone could see. She lay back in her mum's bed, and took off her glasses, tucking them next to her wand on the night table. The lamps were all off, and Parvati was snoring very softly. Lavender's curtains were shut.

Very softly, from the bed next to hers, Hermione whispered, "Harriet?"

"Yeah?" Harriet whispered back.

"I thought you said you live with your mum," Hermione said, like a question.

Feeling very sleepy, Harriet whispered back, "My 'Dromeda-mum. My Lily-mum died in th' war."

"Oh," Hermione said wonderingly, but Harriet was already falling asleep.

She slept deeply, and woke with a startle as Lavender's alarm clock went off with a shriek.

"Shut it off," Parvati moaned. Harriet agreed with a grumble, but was already prying herself out of bed. She wanted breakfast, and to send a letter to Dora, and she stumbled into the bathroom and started to brush her teeth at one of the sinks.

Hermione shuffled in not long after and picked up her hairbrush absentmindedly. And then she looked in the mirror, and met Harriet's eyes, and dropped it again.

"What?" she said around the toothbrush and glanced into the mirror herself. Her hair was a mess, but it was always a mess.

"Your face," Hermione whispered.

Harriet looked into the mirror again, and realized. She spat into the sink, and started rinsing her toothbrush determinedly. Her mum always said it didn't have to be a big deal, and Harriet wasn't going to let it be.

"It's just a scar," she said, trying to sound offhand. "I've had it since I was little. I've got cover-up I usually wear, only I haven't put it on yet.

Hermione was staring at her still. "It's really shaped like lightening," she said very softly. "Real lightening. They never said."

"Who said?" Harriet asked and gave up the thought of brushing her hair. She raked her fingers through it and gave it a shake. That, she figured, was as good as it would get.

"The books!" Hermione hissed. "The books you're in! I read all about you defeating You-Know-Who! You never said you were Harriet Potter."

"I'm Harriet Tonks," Harriet said firmly, and reached for the cream. She put a little on her hands and worked it in quickly, until that stupid scar was all but gone. "My mum's Andromeda Tonks and my dad's Ted Tonks, and they raised me, so I'm their daughter, too."

Hermione was frowning, but she didn't look angry anymore.

"Nobody ever listens to that part," Harriet said, ignoring the part where no one had ever known to ask. She met Hermione's eyes. "Or about how I loved my first mum and dad, too, but if I use their last name everyone stares or goes over all weird."

"Hmph," Hermione said, and started to drag her brush through her hair. Then she shot a look at Harriet and asked, "Is there anything else you didn't tell me?"

"I've got two middle names," Harriet said. "Only one is awful, and my mum made me let everyone call me that because she didn't want everyone to stare and all."

Hermione looked at her again and set her brush aside. "Well," she started, but Harriet scrunched her nose up and figured she had better come clean all the way.

"And my mum stole me as a baby," she added, "and that's why no one knows my other last name. 'Cause they didn't want to get caught and lose me. Those people who had me were awful. Only now everyone's going to find out so my parents can sue for real custody."

Hermione stared, and then let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, Harriet," she said. "That wasn't in any of the books. That's mad. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Harriet said. "I reckon the teachers are going to figure it out soon. If they take me out of class, can I borrow your notes? You probably take crack notes."

Hermione laughed again, a little wetly, and went and hugged Harriet. Harriet hugged her back. "We're still friends," Hermione said in her ear. "And I won't tell Lavender and Parvati."

And then she pulled away again, and offered Harriet her pinky finger. "Promise," she said again.

As Harriet clambering into her robes, she couldn't stop smiling. She thought maybe Hermione was her best friend now.

Parvati and Lavender were awake now, but taking so long getting ready that they told Hermione and Harriet to go to on without them, so it was just the two of them trooping off down to the Great Hall. Hermione was chattering nervously about classes, and Harriet was humming at the right times and studying the paintings they passed when they caught up with two familiar other boys.

They were the boys who had tried to fight Malfoy and Harriet went right over to them. The red-head eyed her warily, but shook her hand readily enough. "Harriet Tonks," she told him. "Girl who set you gits on fire."

"Ron Weasley," he said and grinned. "Git who punched Malfoy."

Harriet shook Neville's hand too, though he went pale and didn't say anything. Hermione was then introduced all around, without much fanfare, and then the four of them went clomping down to breakfast together.

As they were going, they passed two Professors, Professor McGonagall and the crow man, arguing sharply with each other in hissing whispers. "Move along now," Professor McGonagall told them firmly when they stopped to stare, but the crow man only glared at them, his eyes lingering on Harriet.

"Great bloody bat," Ron extolled as they settle at the Gryffindor table. "The twins warned me about him."

"Who?" asked Harriet, spooning some eggs out for Hermione, who was down the table scavenging a plate of fruit.

"Professor Snape, he teaches Potions," Ron said. "That bloke with Professor McGonagall. He's a right creep and hates Gryffindors to boot." Neville, sitting next him, dropped his spoon and squeaked nervously.

"I'm sure none of the professors actually hate any of the students," Hermione said as she returned. "Maybe he's just not a morning person."

Ron made a face at her. "He's not an anything person," he said.

Harriet, thinking about the pricking in her scar, shoveled some eggs in so she wouldn't have to comment.

Finally, the other first years drifted in and sat down to eat, and Professors McGonagall and Snape came into the hall. Harriet ducked her head but Professor Snape went right to the Slytherin table without even glancing at them. If only Professor McGonagall had done the same, Harriet thought, because she came right over and started handing out pieces of parchment.

"These are your schedules," she told them severely. "Commit them to memory, because they will inevitably get lost."

Ron already had his, and he groaned and whispered to Harriet, "Potions first thing. That's awful."

Professor McGonagall was holding out Harriet's now, and she reached out to take it but the professor wouldn't let go. She stared straight at Harriet and said in a dry voice, "My, what unusual eyes, Miss Tonks."

"Thank you, Professor," Harriet said. "My mum gave them to me."

Finally the professor let go of the parchment and Harriet tucked it away. She was the last of the first years to get her schedule, and Professor McGonagall, after one last lingering stare, left and went down the table to the next clustered group of students.

"Well," Ron said around a mouthful of sausage, "that was pretty weird."

Hermione was staunchly staring away from him. She made a furious noise at the back of her throat. "What?" Ron demanded.

"Some people don't want to look at your half-masticated food, Ron Weasley!" she said. "Come on, Harriet, are you done? We should go get our Potions books."

Harriet shot a look between them and scrambled up. "Yeah." She said, making a face at Ron, which he returned with equal enthusiasm.

Climbing back down the stairs again, loaded down with textbooks and parchment and quills and ink and having three times checked that her wand was in her pocket still, Harriet decided she was nervous. "Dora's told me all about Professor Snape," she said to Hermione. "She made him sound like a right trial. Didn't believe her that he looked like that, though. Anyways, it's awful, 'cause I love potions."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "When I was reading through the textbook, I thought it sounded rather like cooking." Her tone said exactly what she thought about cooking, and Harriet grinned.

"It is, only I'm not bad at potions," Harriet said. "My mum's awful, too, and only Dora can really get by. Mum figures it's like," and here she pitched her voice lower, and carefully enunciated, "the genetic memory of eight plus generations of useless nobility." She went back to her regular voice, grinning at Hermione's gaping. "She reckons I might grow out of it, but Dad's banned me from using the range."

"You're a good mimic," Hermione said at last.

"I can only do voices," Harriet said. "Dora can do the whole thing. She turned into Dad once and Mum didn't notice for nearly a quarter hour."

They were coming down into the dungeons now, padding along the darkening corridors. "I asked Percy Weasley how to get to the Potions room, and I'm positive he said it was this way," Hermione said, marching along.

Harriet hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and tried not to fall behind. "Maybe we should have waited for the other first years," she said. The only light now were the torches burning in smoky puffs along the walls. Something nearby dripped.

Hermione huffed, and led them further on, until there were only spots of light in the darkness. Even the torches couldn't make the deep pools of shadow disappear completely.

"If we're late, Snape's going to take a million points from Gryffindor," Harriet hissed, feeling along with a hand on the wall from torch to torch. "You heard what he's like!"

A door creaked open out of the lingering gloom. "That is Professor Snape to you, Tonks," a deep and menacing voice said.

Hermione squeaked and bumped back into Harriet, who grabbed her arm to keep from over-balancing. A hooked nose emerged from behind the doors, followed by Professor Snape.

He glared down at them, black eyes glittering in the torchlight. "What," he drawled, "exactly are you doing here."

It was flat, like a statement. Harriet gripped Hermione's arm tighter. "We were just trying to find the Potions classroom," Harriet said, staring past him instead of at him. "Sir."

He shifted. She went a little cross-eyed trying to see his expression out of the corner of her eye.

"Wipe that look off your face," he said. "Five points from Gryffindor. You will look at me when you speak to me, Tonks."

Hermione made a strangled noise. Harriet clutched at her tighter and miraculously, she didn't say anything. "Yes, sir," Harriet said, and shifted her eyes a little closer. He was scowling, his arms crossed, and glared back at her.

"You are far deeper in the dungeons than the Potions classroom," he informed them. "So deep, perhaps, that I might accuse you of spying. Or looking for trouble. How…expected of one with your family."

Harriet didn't say anything. She met his eyes, and felt a strange pressure in her head, building until her eyes watered and she had to look away. Dully, in pain branching all across her face, her scar ached.

"Five more points for insolence," Professor Snape said. "And detention tonight for disobeying a teacher. Return down this corridor, the both of you and wait outside the actual Potions classroom. Do not return here again."

"Yes, sir," Harriet said and turned around, itchy tears starting streaming down her face. She dragged Hermione with her, nearly running, until there were windows again instead of torches, and light bloomed across the grey stones. There was a door set into the stone, the same worn grey that nearly blended in. Harriet stopped running, and leaned against it, bringing her fingers up and feeling carefully across her face.

"Harriet?" Hermione asked. "Harriet, are you all right? We'll go to Professor McGonagall right after class. He can't do that!"

The pain was fading. Harriet scrubbed her sleeve over her face and put her glasses back on. "Is my scar still covered?" she asked in a nervous whisper.

"Yes," Hermione said after a moment of close consideration. "Are, are you alright?"

"Fine," Harriet said. "Only I s'ppose he's figured it out already, about my other mum and dad." She looked both ways, just to make sure, but there was no one else there yet. "My mum says Snape hated my first dad in school. My Lily-mum told her 'bout it."

"Well, that still doesn't give him the right to be so awful to us," Hermione said. "Detention on your first day! Oh, it's so unfair."

"It's fine," Harriet said. "My sister'll be mad I broke her record, is all. My parents will understand."

"Still," Hermione insisted.

There were chattering voice coming down the corridor towards them now. A handful of their year mates were turning the corner.

"It's fine," Harriet said. "Really."

"Fine," Hermione grumbled.

The other people turned the corner and revealed themselves to be the Slytherin first years.

"Oh no," Hermione whispered. "He's not really going to make us take Potions with them, is he?"

Draco Malfoy was leading the pack, and he sputtered to see them standing there. They stared each other down, and Harriet nudged herself in front of Hermione. If curses started flying…

But he only put his nose up and turned away, telling the other Slytherins loudly, "And my father said that first years always had Potions on Friday. It's a horrendous breach of tradition and I'll certainly be writing to him about it."

A girl hanging nearly off his arm giggled shrilly and shot Harriet and Hermione a poisonous look, as if it was their fault Potions was on a different day. Harriet wrinkled her nose back, wishing she could do like Dora did and make a really horrific face. All tall, stocky girl saw her, and stuck her tongue out.

But before anyone could say anything else, there was a rumble of noise and the Gryffindor first years shot around the corner, all of them red-faced and out of breath.

Ron was leading the pack, and he startled when he saw them. "How'd you figure out how to get here?" he demanded. "We ended up on the grounds. These bloody tunnels go on forever!"

"Good directions," Harriet said, and straightened up, tugging her robes into place. Hermione was squinted at her watch, and looked up to mouth, "Five past".

And as she did, the heavy grey door swung open ominously. Harriet leapt out of the way to the sound of several giggles, but any laughter died in the face of Professor Snape, who leveled them all with a flat stare and said crisply, "In."

They shuffled into the room in a ragged clump. Hermione seemed like the type who would take a seat near the front, but she shot a worried look at Harriet and steered them to a desk squarely in the center of the Gryffindor's chosen side.

Harriet settle in and looked around with interest. She thought that the classroom would be a lot more intriguing if Snape hadn't been there; there were all kinds of interesting jarred specimens on the walls. A cauldron in the back of the room bubbled and steamed menacingly.

And then the door was slamming shut and Snape stalked to the front of the room, his robes billowing. Harriet chewed the nib of her quill and wondered what spell he used to get them to look like that. And then he opened his mouth and started lecturing.

Afterward, crouched tightly on her stool with a practiced hand stretched out to keep Hermione from falling over, Harriet thought that she was never going to mention Potions class to her mum. The explosions as she tried to kill Snape would be amusing, but Harriet thought that the Ministry surely wouldn't let a murderer have custody of her.

As they were passing out of the classroom, tagging after the other first years, Snape moved between them and the door. "Six o'clock," he told her flatly. "Do not be late, Tonks."

"But Professor," Hermione squeaked, clutched at Harriet's hand. "That's when dinner is."

Snape turned his glare to Hermione, and she trembled a little. "It's fine," Harriet said soothingly before Snape could give Hermione detention too. "Six o'clock, sir," she said, and tugged Hermione out of the room before steam could actually boil out of Hermione's ears.

She was fuming in the hallway, drawing curious stares from the dawdling Slytherins as she stomped past. "It's not right!" she kept hissing, so Harriet patted her a final time on the back and left her to it. The same Slytherin girl from before was watching keenly as Harriet hummed in all the right places, and crossed her eyes at Harriet.

Slytherin couldn't be all that bad, Harriet thought as she grinned it with a return. Her mum had come from Slytherin, and so had some of her mum's friends. It had given the world Voldemort, Harriet thought, and Professor Snape, but no House was perfect.

They tumbled out of the dungeons near the Great Hall, right in time for lunch. But Harriet wasn't hungry—talking to Snape had taken her appetite away. She steered Hermione to the Gryffindor table and said cheerfully, "I'll be back in time for Herbology!"

"What—" Hermione demanded, breaking off her tirade, but Harriet was already trotting away. Hufflepuff prefect Yardley was coming into the hall surrounded by a gaggle of first years and Harriet stopped him with a polite, "Excuse me?"

Two dozen eyes swiveled over to her. Yardley bounced excited and asked, "Yes, little Tonks?"

"How do you get to the Owlery, please?" she asked.

Yardley squinted at her. "I probably shouldn't tell you!" he said. "After betraying us and going to Gryffindor like that."

There was scandalized whispering among the first years. Finally, several hands pushed a thin, pale-faced girl forward. "Um," she said in a high, sweet voice.

"Yes, my child?" Yardley asked, still squinting at Harriet.

"Um," the girl said again. There was furious whispering behind her. A girl with tight pigtails said, "Come on, Sally," in an encouraging tone.

"Professor Sprout said prefects are supposed to be nice to everyone!" the girl said in a rush, and tried to shove herself back into the group.

Yardley blinked. "Right," he said. "Riiight! She did say that. You've passed my evil test, younglings." He winked at Harriet and steepled his fingers together. "For the Owlery to get—" he started.

"And Professor Sprout said you weren't supposed to give us directions in rhyme anymore!" one of the boys said quickly.

Yardley pouted. "Well fine," he said. "Take the main staircase up to the fourth floor, and there'll be a passageway going to the West Tower," he told Harriet. "Pass the Charms corridor, do not collect two hundred pounds, et cetera. Now, scram. I have to teach these poor, deprived children a sense of fun."

The children shivered, like they had already encountered too much fun, and were not looking for more. Harriet gave them a sympathetic glance as she went past. And then she was climbing up the stairs, and had to haul herself out of the trick stair. She grabbed at the banister, and someone took her other arm, and she pulled free with a squeak.

It was the pale girl from earlier. "I—" she said. "Um," she said. "Letter?"

"Have to post one?" Harriet asked, and peered back towards the entrance to the Great Hall. Yardley was standing there, and he waved his hands at them. "Get on with it!" he called faintly.

"We'd better go," Harriet said. "Or he might decide to go with us."

The girl turned paler. "Come on," Harriet said. "I'm sure between the two of us, we can find the way."

They climbed up the stairs, passing more students as they went. Harriet was chewing her lip, thinking about her letter. Should she add something about Snape? Should she mention what she'd told Hermione? She had already written that she'd made friends with her.

An older boy went rushing past, his face red, and knocked into the girl. Sandy? Sarah? She spun against the handrail and clutched it, hissing in discomfort.

"Hey!" Harriet snapped, indignant. He turned back, face confused. Harriet, straightening the girl up, said, "You ought to apologize! And watch where you're going!"

The boy went redder. "Sorry," he said, panting, and turned and flew down the next set of stairs.

"Maybe Hermione's right," Harriet said, tugging the girl's robes into place again. At the girl's confused look, she added, "Boys are more trouble than they're worth."

The girl laughed, then frowned. "Sorry," Harriet said, feeling embarrassment creeping up, and turned to climb the last set of stairs.

The Owlery was colder than the rest of the castle, and smelled strongly. Harriet dug her letter, and a quill out of her bag and added a quick last line to her letter. And I got a detention with Snape, he really is foul why didn't you warn me more about him. She sucked the end of her quill thoughtfully. And my new friend likes my scar you kno which one and said she isn't gonna tell anyone. She scanned the rest of the letter, and squinted. Love you Dora also please tell dad to send me my Nancy Drew book the one under the bed I didn't finish it.

She waved the letter to dry the ink, and folded it up, smoothing out the crumples. The pale girl was looking at the mass of school owls with dismay, her lower lip trembling. Harriet, with her hand stuck deep enough in her bag that she touched the bottom seam, ducked her head and scrounged harder. But there was only one owl treat lurking in the bottom.

She snapped it in half and went over. "Here," she said, offering half to the girl. "Just watch me and do what I do." And then she whistled, piercingly, to get some attention, and tossed the treat in the air.

A barn owl with a quizzical expression swooped down and snatched it up, then settled itself onto Harriet's arm. "Hello," she said, crooning, and pet at the smooth feathers. The owl hooted. Harriet held out her letter, rolled up tight, and the owl took it in a delicate claw.

"Dora Tonks at the Aurors' Hall, please," Harriet said. The owl hooted again, bit at her glasses, and Harriet flung her arm. Soon it was just a speck out the window, nearly disappearing into the building clouds.

The other girl still looked intimidated. "It's alright," Harriet said. "Here, roll it up first, and remember to keep your arm out after you throw, or it'll perch on your shoulder and mess up your robes."

Soon, another owl was acquired, and Harriet wandered away so she wouldn't overhear the whispered instructions. She stood at one of the lower windows, and the girl joined her as the second owl flew out. "Thank you," she said in a mumble, but when Harriet looked, her eyes were wide and shining.

"You're welcome," Harriet said warmly. "Want to go back to the Great Hall with me? There's sandwiches, I bet."

The girl nodded, then flushed. Harriet waited patiently as she swayed for a moment and burst out, "Who are you? Um."

Harriet laughed and held out her hand. "Harriet Tonks," she said, and they shook.

"Sally-Anne Perks," the girl whispered. "Only, um, only. Please don't call me Sally."

"'Course," Harriet said. She understood exactly how complicated names were, especially your own. They shared a smile, and turned toward the stairs.


"But are you sure?" Hermione asked for the hundredth time. "Professor McGonagall has to be at dinner. And I don't mind—"

"Really, Hermione," Harriet said, hands stuck under the freezing water, scrubbing dirt out from under her nails. "I'm really, really sure. I don't mind either."

"But you missed almost all of lunch!" Hermione despaired. The loo echoed the last word back at them.

"I had a sandwich," Harriet said firmly. "And anyways, it won't be that bad."

A toilet flushed loudly, and the stocky Slytherin girl came out to the sinks. "Come on, Granger," she said with some humor. "You're bleating like a sheep. Professor Snape isn't going to eat her. He's nice enough bloke." She wrinkled her nose up and added, "To us Slytherins anyway."

Harriet watched this new development with interest. Hermione was frowning aggressively at the girl. "I don't recalling asking you, Bulstrode," she said with her nose half in the air. "This is a private conversation."

"Then don't have it in a public loo," Bulstrode said. "Honestly, Granger."

"Oh! Oh! You—" Words seemed to escape her. Hermione stamped her foot and whirled toward Harriet. "Are you done washing your hands yet? It's nearly six. You cannot be late."

"The loo's close enough to the dungeons," Harriet said, but shut off the tap obligingly and shook water droplets from her fingertips. "Bye, Bulstrode."

They both made faces at each other in the mirror until Hermione, huffing, dragged Harriet away. Harriet wanted to ask when Hermione had met Bulstrode, and why she seemed to dislike her so much, but there was no time.

Hermione couldn't go to detention with her, no matter how much she protested, so Harriet was alone when she peered past the bend in the corridor. The Potions classroom was all shut up. She crept to the door, feeling her hands coming over damp and clammy, feeling her heart starting to beat faster. The sneering way he said Tonks, did he know?

Her knock was small but it still echoed through hallway. The door swung open with a creak, and she peered in.

Two candles burst into flames, revealing Snape sitting at his desk. "You are late," he said.

Harriet slipped into the room and the door thundered shut behind her. "Sit," Snape said, a bony finger indicating the desk in front of him, where the second candle was dripping. "You will write lines."

There was a stack of parchment and a single quill. Harriet settled herself into the seat and picked it up. "What am I writing?" she asked but it came out as a whisper, barely there. She tried to feel brave. Her mum wouldn't have been afraid, she told herself. Slowly, she made herself straighten up.

"What am I writing, please?" she asked, louder.

The scratching of his quill didn't pause. "I will obey my instructors," he said drolly.

Harriet licked at her dry lips. "And how many times, sir?"

Now he did look up. Harriet stared at his nose furiously. "Until I am satisfied," he said. Then, when she paused with the dripping quill above the parchment. "Begin, Tonks."

Harriet ducked her head and squinted at the parchment, laboriously scratching out the first line in her best calligraphy. She checked the spelling, and went on.

It wasn't really a punishment, she thought much later. Unless he was trying to bore her to death. She took a moment to shake out her aching wrist and paused at the unexpected silence.

She looked up slowly, the back of her neck crawling, and stared at the end of the wand. "Vultum pateface!" that sinister voice hissed. She jerked, knees knocking painfully into the desk. Something fell.

A gust of hot wind gusted across Harriet's face, and her eyes itched furiously. She shut them and dropped her own hastily-drawn wand to the desk with a clatter, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

"Tonks," that voice said, flatly now.

"Look at me," it told her, "unless you have not learned your lesson yet."

Harriet was furious, furious, in a burning way. She tore off her glasses and let them fall too, and ground her palms into her eyes, feeling tears streaming down slowly.

"Tonks," the voice insisted with a sneer, and she looked upward. Snape's face was a watercolor blur, white against the dark, and it lurched backwards. Then it turned and fled, the door slamming behind him.

There was ink spilled all across the desk. Harriet fished her glasses out of the mess, eyes aching hotly and streaming still, and wiped the dark smears off of them as best she could. Then she groped up her wand—Merlin, even her robes were damp with ink—and stood, wobbling.

The door slammed open again, and Harriet whirled, wand clenched tightly. Snape and McGonagall and Dumbledore poured into the room. The torches along the walls burst into light as Snape snarled, "I told you. I told you, Albus!"

Professor McGonagall put a hand over her mouth. Only Dumbledore looked calm still. "Harriet, my dear," he said warmly, putting a restraining hand on Snape's arm.

"Has anyone ever told you—you have your mother's eyes?"