Professor Dumbledore's office was warm and cluttered with interesting things. Harriet ate another biscuit off the tea tray, trying to ignore the furious roar of the adults arguing. She wasn't really hungry, but anything was better than the empty twisting in her gut. Professor McGonagall had sat her down between her and Professor Sprout, and Professor Dumbledore had told Harriet to help herself to the tray, and that was the last anyone had actually spoken to her.

"—put with those vile people!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "I told you not to—"

"—stolen for ten years, and no one—" Professor Sprout said, and wrung her hands.

"—helped you put those wards up myself!" Professor Flitwick squeaked from his perch on his chair. "They should have—"

"—must notify the Ministry! At once!" Snape growled. "The Black family is notoriously dark, and should have never—"

"Oi!" Harriet said, and clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the spray of crumbs.

Five heads swiveled towards her. Harriet swallowed frantically and burst out, "My mum isn't a Black! And she isn't dark! And, and she's never been even a little nasty at me!"

"I never said," Snape began, but Harriet scrambled up.

"You implied!" she said. "Professor Dumbledore, if everyone's just going to say bad things about my family, can I please leave?"

Professor Dumbledore considered her from over the edges of his glasses. "Please pardon us, my dear girl," he said. "We're only a little shocked, for we all thought Harriet Potter was growing up safe and secure with her Muggle relatives. Imagine our dismay when she did not show up to be Sorted, and in fact, it appeared as though she was not enrolled at Hogwarts at all. Is some confusion not understandable?"

Slowly, Harriet sat back down.

"Have another biscuit," Professor Dumbledore suggested. "And we shall take a moment to organize ourselves, and remember how to be civil towards one another."

There was a long silence. Professor McGonagall was the first to recover. "Albus," she said slowly. "There's one thing I am the most confused about—and I have checked several times!—all of the registration papers were in the name of Tonks. There is no Potter on the list."

Professor Dumbledore was selecting a biscuit of his own. "Ah, raspberry chocolate," he said to Harriet. "Would you like one, my dear?"

"Albus," Professor McGonagall insisted.

"I should think the answer is obvious, to an inquiring mind," Professor Dumbledore said. "The quill that composes such lists uses the child's legal name." He fixed Harriet a look. "What was the name on your letter, my dear?" he asked pleasantly.

"Tonks," Harriet said at once, heart pounding. She thought her mum wouldn't mind her answering that much.

"Thank you," he said gravely. "I believe some investigation is in order to confirm this, but I have no doubt that all of Miss Tonks's documents will be in proper order. All, perhaps, excepting those giving them official custody of the child. That, I have no doubt, will be missing."

Harriet squirmed, and shoved a biscuit into her mouth.

"Yes, that's well and good," Professor Sprout said, "but how did they get the poor girl in the first place? I remember shortly after, well, and you told us all she was going to Lily's family."

"Yes!" Professor Flitwick added. "I went and helped put up the wards at their house. Somewhere in Surrey, was it? They should have alerted if she was removed!"

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said and steepled his fingers gentle, peering at Harriet over the tops of them. "Of this, I also have questions. Perhaps you could enlighten us, Miss Tonks?"

This was the moment she had been waiting for! Finally, it would be over. Harriet wiped at her mouth, and said, "No. Sorry, sir."

Another silence, this one hot with rage. She heard the gusted breath as Snape, lurking behind their chairs, drew himself up. "You impertinent child!" he hissed. "You will answer the headmaster this instant, or I will have you in detention until you leave this cursed school!"

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Restrain yourself!"

Then she turned to Harriet. "This is a very serious matter, Miss Tonks. What your, what Edward and Andromeda did was illegal, and could have repercussions. The re-homing of a child must go through the Ministry, especially for a child of your renown."

"Sorry, Professor," Harriet said. "But I'm really not supposed to talk to anyone about it."

"Under whose orders?" asked Professor Flitwick with a shrewd look.

"Our lawyer's," Harriet said. "And I'm sorry, sir, but I'm much more scared of her than I am of you."

Professor Sprout covered her mouth to hold in a laugh.

"Well, I see that your parents have indeed considered the legal side of this," Professor Dumbledore said. "And I can hardly ask a bright young lady like you to go against the advice of your legal counsel. Now, my dear, I think this is where we must ask you to return to your dormitory."

"You can't mean to leave it at that!" Professor McGonagall said.

"I do not," Professor Dumbledore told her. "But I also have no doubt that young Miss Tonks would serve as an adequate and willing spy for her family if we allow her to remain. But I do have one last question, before you retire." He looked at her, eyes twinkling. "I have my suspicions, of course, but would you humor an old man and answer, if you are able?"

"Yes, sir," Harriet said. "If I think I can."

"When last I saw you, you were in possession of a rather prodigious scar."

"Oh!" Harriet said, and dug in her pocket for her handkerchief. She handed it over promptly, and asked, "Could you make this wet, please, sir?"

"Of course," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling as if she'd told him a joke. He waved his wand over it and handed it back.

Harriet tugged off her glasses, and holding one of the ear pieces between her teeth, scrubbed with both hands at her face, starting her forehead and working her way down her nose and across her cheek. Slowly, the cover-up came off in brown smears, soiling the handkerchief.

When she shoved her glasses back on and looked up, the Professors were staring in astonishment, except for Professor Flitwick, who looked pleased, and Professor Dumbledore, who only offered her a smile.

"The most complicated solutions are not always the best," he said wisely. "You may retire now, my dear. However, if you wish to speak to me again, please remember that I am fond of Jelly Slugs."

"Yes, sir," Harriet said, and slipped out of her seat.

In the corridor, as the gargoyle slid back into place, Harriet leaned against the wall and rubbed at her chest. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt! She took a minute to make sure she wouldn't wobble over when she walked, and turned back towards where she thought the stairs were.

It wasn't curfew yet, so the common room wasn't very crowded. Harriet ducked her head so her hair fell over her face, and picked her way up the stars to the girls' dorm. Hermione was perched on the edge of her bed.

"What happened!" she cried when she saw Harriet.

"Snape's a git, is what happened," Harriet said. "I should have brought my cover-up with me, I had to take it off. And Professor Dumbledore sent me away so I wouldn't be a spy."

She ducked into the bathroom and jerked back.

"What?" Hermione demanded, standing nearly on her heels.

"Nothing," Harriet said, peering into the mirror.

Then she ducked her head again, and put her cream on with her eyes closed. "Snape took the charm off my eyes. I'm not, they look weird."

"Well, let me see," Hermione said. "Did your mum tell you what the charm is? Maybe we can put it back on."

"It's too complicated," Harriet said. "I dunno what I'm going to do tomorrow, everyone will notice!"

She blinked her eyes open, looking at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows. "They aren't going to miss that," she said. "But they're such a gorgeous color. It must have been awful having to hide them."

"Not really," Harriet said, throwing herself onto her bed. "I was so little, and now I'm used to the other way. Anyways, Dora's are supposed to match." She wrinkled her nose, her stomach aching.

"We'll think of something," Hermione said. "We can always ask a teacher."

"No," Harriet said at once. "I'm sick and tired of teachers. They all think I shouldn't be living with my mum and dad. Like they know anything about it."

Hermione came over and patted her arm. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's fine," Harriet told her. "Can we talk about something else? What happened between you and Bulstrode?"

"Urgh!" Hermione cried. "Not her."

"Oh yes, her," Harriet said. "I didn't even know her name, Hermione, she's in Slytherin! How're you making friends with her?"

Hermione sputtered. "We aren't friends!" she said. "We'll never be friends! She accosted me in the library during lunch period, and was awful."

Harriet rolled over to stare at her. "Was she really?" she asked. "I'll hex her for you. I'll write Dora for some really nasty ones."

"Well," Hermione hedged. "Not that awful."

"What did she say?"

"I won't be repeating it," Hermione said. "Anyways, we shouldn't be gossiping. I finished my homework already, so you start yours and I'll go find a book on color changing charms. You probably shouldn't leave the dorm until we figure out what to do."

Harriet pulled a pillow over her face and groaned into it. Hermione stood up, the bed bouncing from the force and told her, "Try not to look at Parvati or Lavender, either! I'll be back."


"I'm not going to try it on your eyes!" Hermione hissed, a dark blur against the harsh white of the loo wall. "What if it goes wrong and you go blind? Or I get the color wrong and you end up with red eyes?"

"Better than this," Harriet said, squinting at her. "Then we can tell everyone you mucked up a spell and make a teacher put them the right color. Or just leave them. Red eyes would be cool."

"Harriet!" Hermione shrieked, but quietly.

"Well, we've got to do something! The others are going to wake up any minute now. And you nearly turned that parchment all the way pink."

"It was supposed to go over blue!"

Harriet shrugged, and fiddled with her glasses. "Come on, just give it your best shot."

"No," Hermione said, and made to fling her wand away. "I know you don't want to, but we should really ask a teacher. Harriet, please."

"Fine," Harriet huffed. "I suppose we can go ask Professor Sprout. She didn't say anything nasty about how the Ministry should take me. And we had better go now. I don't fancy going down to breakfast looking like this."

They were climbing out of the portrait hole when someone cleared their throat noisily. Harriet looked out, then looked down.

"Hello," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully.

"Er, hello," Harriet said.

He smiled brightly. "You're just the student I was looking for!" he told her. He shot a glance at Hermione and asked, "Could I speak to you alone for a moment? It's a sensitive matter."

"If it's about last night, Hermione can stay, thanks," Harriet said.

"You told her, then?" he squeaked.

"It was hard for her not to notice my eyes," Harriet said. "Seeing as they're bright green now."

Professor Flitwick straightened up. "Just what I wanted to talk to you about!" he said. "We, that is, the professors involved, have decided that we're going to proceed with discretion for now. Don't look startled, it's perfectly fine for me to tell you that. In fact, I think the headmaster is counting on you to inform your family. Think of it as a cessation of hostilities, if you will. So I've come to reapply that clever charm, if you'll let me."

"Um, alright," Harriet said.

"Kneel down here," Professor Flitwick said. "And remove those glasses, please. Very good, try not to blink. Professor McGonagall let me peek at her memories, so I think I can get the color right."

Harriet stared, and felt her eyes water. And then there was that familiar warm breeze gusting across her face, and Professor Flitwick nodded in a job well done. "Pull out your mirror, and have a look!" he said. "Incidentally, did your mother do this charm, or your father?"

"My mother," Harriet said. "Professor, I haven't got a mirror."

Hermione was making a face, but she didn't say anything.

"Really?" Professor Flitwick said, and waved his wand through the air, producing a small and ornate pocket mirror. "In my day, pocket mirrors were all the rage. Very good at reflecting small jinxes during class. But, I suppose, times do change."

"Reflecting jinxes?" Hermione demanded, suddenly looking excited.

Harriet slid her glasses back on and peering into the mirror.

"It was rather the fashion to jinx your friends in class," Professor Flitwick said, "usually when the class was supposed to be quietly studying. And Shield Charms, which not everyone can produce, are rather noticeable. So we used mirrors to reflect the jinxes back when we could. To get the caster in trouble. It was a grand time." He heaved a nostalgic sigh. "And of course, you could use them at night to send Morse code messages, or to peer around corners when playing war. Useful tools, mirrors."

Hermione bit her lip and looked extremely hopeful.

"Oh, very well," Professor Flitwick said, and waved another mirror into existence. "Now, don't be using these to get into trouble, children. Well, Miss Tonks?"

"It's right, Professor," she said, and climbed back to her feet. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course!" He beamed. "Now, you had best get along to breakfast. I myself never attended the morning meal, and look what happened." He gestured at himself, conveying his extremely short height, and they laughed in surprise.

"Either way, you must excuse me, for I have to speak to Professor McGonagall. Run along, and I'll see you in class later this week."

Carefully, they tucked their new mirrors away and headed for the stairs.

"Well," Hermione said, when they'd gone a decent distance. "He's very nice."

"Hmm," Harriet agreed. The back of her mirror had a flowering lily on it, twisted into the design of vines.

They were first at the breakfast table, and sat dawdling over bowls of oatmeal until the rest of the first years trickled in, and the mail finally came. A school owl traded Harriet a brown paper-wrapped package for a piece of sausage, and she tore into it eagerly. A letter, a newspaper cutting, and two books fell onto the table.

"It's from Dora," Harriet said, scanning the letter. "She said she'd awfully mad I'm in Gryffindor, that Mum and Dad still love me though, she's sent my Nancy Drew book and the next one because she guesses she still loves me, too, and there's a newspaper article she thought I might like."

Hermione reached for the clipping, and turned it over. Gringotts Break-In! the headline screamed. Several sharp-faced goblins in the picture frowned and shuffled out of frame.

"Apparently nothing was taken," Hermione said. "The vault's owner emptied it just before the break-in. Look, on July 31st." She passed the clipping to Harriet. Dora had scribbled across the back, Now this is a real whodunit. My mentor wants to investigate, but the goblins aren't letting any Ministry workers in, not even the Aurors.

"Whatever it was, it must have been important," Harriet said, and shoved her books into her bag. "I don't think anyone's ever broken into Gringotts before. They must have been mad to do it."


The rest of the week passed in a blur. Harriet had sent off a letter to her mother, and had gotten no response, which was worrying. The teachers hadn't said anything either, though sometimes she thought she caught them looking at her. But the announcement that flying lessons would begin on Friday cheered her greatly.

Hermione was nervous about learning, and turned faintly green whenever broomsticks were mentioned, but Harriet had her fill of bragging and Quidditch talk with the rest of their housemates. Only Neville preferred to join Hermione as she poured over Quidditch Through the Ages. They shared crash statistics and bad injuries in hurried whispers, taking turns frightening each other, sometimes nearly to tears.

"It'll be fine," Harriet reassured her as Hermione braided her hair back on Thursday night. "Broomsticks are easy, and I'll be right there. If you fall, Madam Hooch will just grab you. She did it for Dora loads of times."

Hermione made a horrified sound and tugged at Harriet's hair. "Stop moving!" she said sternly. "I'm not worried about falling, not really. I don't suppose we're even going to fly very high the first day. But we do have flying lessons with the Slytherins, and I'm worried about them making trouble. Draco Malfoy's got an awful grudge against Neville and Ron."

"Really?" Harriet asked. She hadn't noticed.

"Ever since the train," Hermione said, and tied off the end of the braid. "Honestly, Harriet, you should pay more attention. I know your mind's on other things," she said meaningfully. "But didn't your mum want you to be making friends?"

"I'm not going to make friends with Draco Malfoy," Harriet said and wrinkled her nose.

"No," Hermione agreed at once. "But you could with Ron or Neville. They're alright."

"I suppose," Harriet said, and clambered off her bed to check the mirror in the bathroom. She tugged the braid, and tried swinging it over her shoulder. "But I've already got a best friend, so don't you expect me to spend too much time with those boys ."

Hermione grinned, embarrassed.

"I like my hair this way," Harriet said, turning in all directions. Hermione had used oil to smooth down all the strands threatening to break free of the braid. It was the most controlled her hair had ever been, she thought. "Thanks, 'Mione. And really, everything's going to be fine."

But Hermione must have been gazing into a crystal ball or reading tea leaves, because Friday morning began with an ominous start. Harriet was staring at the mail owls with a frown, hopeful of a letter still, when a furious bark of "Give it back!" broke her train of thought.

Malfoy was standing at the Gryffindor table, throwing a glass ball hand to hand as Ron Weasley quivered in rage and Neville approached tears.

"That's Neville's," Ron said, and pulled his wand. "Give it back to him right now, you slimy git."

"Now, now, Weasley," Malfoy said. "That's no way to speak to your betters."

Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the length of the hall towards them. Malfoy must have spotted her first, because he tossed the ball back to Neville, who barely managed to fumble a catch. "You two had better watch out," Malfoy said nastily. "Accidents can happen."

But he had already swanned back to the Slytherin table by the time the professor got there. Harriet sent a frown after him, and resolved to be on the lookout during flying practice.

At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindor first years hurried onto the grounds, this time on purpose. It was a beautiful day, Harriet thought, turning her head up to catch the warm sun across her face. Not even arriving after the Slytherins and having the worst pick of the broomsticks could spoil her good mood. Harriet loved flying.

Hermione was settled next to her, nervously eyeing an old Shooting Star when Madam Hooch arrived and started to direct them. Ron broke into sniggers when she corrected Malfoy on his grip, but nearly turned purple when she did the same to him.

Harriet had helped Hermione, and they passed under Madam Hooch's keen eyes with an approving nod.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off the ground hard," Madam Hooch told them. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come back down by leaning forward slightly." She started to count them off, but Neville was already pushing off and rising hard.

Madam Hooch shouted in alarm, and mounted her broom. But Neville was rising faster and faster, his face a small, round white blur above them, and he shrieked as he slipped, his hands sliding, and fell right off the back of his broom! Something small and glittering faintly was thrown from him, and settled into the grass.

There was a hush, Madam Hooch was flying towards him, but she was too slow, and he hit the ground with a thud and a snap, and burst into tears. Madam Hooch helped him sit up, and diagnosed his wrist as broken right away.

Hermione had jumped away from her broom with a startled gasp, and now stood with her hands over her mouth. Harriet put a comforting arm around her shoulders while Madam Hooch gave them instructions and hurried off.

The class burst into chatter as she and Neville disappeared indoors.

"That was horrible," Hermione was moaning, when a scuffle broke out.

"Give that here," Ron was saying to Malfoy, who was holding the little glass ball and smirking.

"No," he said easily. "Longbottom's lost his Remembrall on the first day. I dare say, wouldn't it be funny to put it somewhere he's never think to look? Maybe up a tree…"

Several Slytherins snickered.

"Give it here!" Ron bellowed, but Malfoy was already astride his broom, and rising in a lazy spiral.

"Come and get it, Weasley," he said.

Ron flung himself onto his broom, and rose in a wobbly line.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "Oh, he's going to get us into so much trouble!"

Ron flew at Malfoy, and they tussed furiously, broomsticks clattering against each other as they shoved and punched. Finally, Malfoy hooked his leg around Ron's and unseated him; Ron tumbled into the grass and watched with clenched teeth as Malfoy rose higher.

"Maybe you're right, Weasley," he shouted. "Even baboons are right once in a blood moon. I shouldn't have it. In fact, these things are practically useless. No one should." And with that he wound his arm back and chucked the ball with all his strength.

It flew through the air towards the castle, straight at the high stone walls. Hermione was crying out—

"Don't be scared," Dora said, and set her on the broom, climbing on after her. They rose steadily.

Harriet was mounting her broom and pushing off, going smoothly upward—

"The trick is to get some height," Dora told her as the ground disappeared into the clouds. Her arm was warm and secure around Harriet's waist.

The Remembrall flew straight for one of the towers, arcing in the air. Harriet watched it and knew the path it would take, even as the wind rose—

"Let the broom do the work for you. Falling is always faster than flying."

She picked up speed as if in a dream and spun, diving, heading straight for the castle wall—

The handle of her broom scraped against the stone as she wrenched it and turned the bloody thing, hand outstretched to catch the ball, and the force of it crashed her knuckles against the stone. She swore, and tucked her hand back to her chest, and kicked off the wall, spiraling gently back towards the raised faces of the class, and of—

Professor McGonagall, who was rushing across the lawn, hand clapped to her head to keep her hat on as she ran. Harriet swallowed, and landed, dropping the broomstick like it burned, just as the professor shouted, "MISS TONKS!" in a furious voice.

Hermione buried her face in her hands and moaned. "Never!" Professor McGonagall shouted, panting. "In all my time at Hogwarts! You could have broken your neck!" Her glasses caught the sun, her eyes hidden, but Harriet wouldn't have been surprised if they had caught flame.

"You will come with me, right this instant!" she demanded. "And you—" whirling on Malfoy and Ron. "Madam Hooch will be hearing about this!" and then she took out her wand and cast a spell, and all the broomsticks turned into tree branches.

Harriet was swept along in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle, and she trotted after her in silence, up the stairs and into the Charms corridor, when the professor stuck her head into a door and said, "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, but I must borrow Wood, immediately."

A confused Gryffindor drifted out, and shared a look with Harriet, but Professor McGonagall only swept them along and into an empty classroom where Peeves, scattering the trash out of the can, took one look at her and fled right out of the wall, leaving behind an oozing green slime that obligingly formed itself into the words Bugger Off.

Professor McGonagall whipped around, her face red, and breathed out hard. "Wood," she said, "meet the new Gryffindor seeker."

Wood made a noise like an startled cat, his eyes wide.

"She caught—take it out, Tonks, yes—that thing out of a fifty foot dive straight at the castle wall, and barely got scraped. Charlie Weasley would have flattened himself."

The cat noise cut off. Wood looked rapidly from Harriet's hand to Professor McGonagall and back again. "Are you sure?" he demanded.

"I saw it from my office window. It nearly gave me a heart attack," the professor admitted.

Wood spun back towards Harriet and rushed her, scooping her up and spinning her around with a delighted shout. "We're going to flatten the Slytherins!" he crowed. "Was it your first time on a broom? No? Well, training doesn't account for sheer bloody, sorry professor, talent."

He dropped her and said cheerfully, "Built like a Seeker, too. Hollow bones. She'll need a good broom, it'd be a waste to put her on a school one. Oh, Professor! We've got a real chance this year!"

Stunned, Harriet shoved the Remembrall back into her pocket.

"Back to class now, Wood," Professor McGonagall said. "And not a word to anyone except the team."

"The Slytherins really haven't got a chance," he said, delighted, and grabbed Harriet's hand, shaking it aggressively. "Training's Sunday at eight. See you then—Tonks? Tonks." And then he bounded out of the room like he was walking on air.

Professor McGonagall looked at Harriet over the tops of her glasses. "These are special circumstance, Miss Tonks," she said, not quite managing to sound severe with such a huge beaming smile on her face. "I want to hear you're training hard, or I might have to punish you after all."

"Yes, Professor," Harriet said with relief.

"You may go now," Professor McGonagall said. "I'll have you excused from further flying classes. You may spend them in the library."

It wasn't until Harriet had her hand on the door that the professor cleared her throat a little awkwardly, and said, "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

Harriet knew, she just knew the professor wasn't talking about Ted Tonks. She left, feeling like she, too, wasn't hardly touching the stone floor.


Wood spread the news fast: Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet cornered Harriet and Hermione in the bathroom before dinner. Harriet, up to her elbows in pale green soap suds, was listening to Hermione recounting the rest of the flying lesson, when the door creaked open and the three older girls sidled in.

"She yelled at them for almost half-an-hour," Hermione was saying. She shot a look at the older girls, and lowered her voice. "I timed it. Honestly, Harriet, I think you got off quite lightly."

Harriet was also watching them in the mirror. All three girls were quite popular in Gryffindor, and had been awarded the smallest loveseat by the fire, an honor usually reserved for seventh years. Katie Bell would read your palm for ten Knuts, and Angelina Johnson knew the most hair braiding charms out of all the girls in their house.

They didn't say anything to Harriet and Hermione, only checked that the other stalls were empty, and then Alicia Spinnet locked the door with a flick of her wand.

Harriet tensed, and turned around with her hands dripping as Angelina Johnson said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "I heard that an ickle little firstie is going to be our new Seeker."

"I heard that too," Katie Bell said, giggling. "I wonder, whoever could it be?"

Alicia Bell was digging something out of her pocket—it turned out to be a plastic blue kazoo, which she blew into enthusiastically, as Angelina raised her wand and shot out a cloud of confetti and ribbons.

"Congratulations!" they all shouted as one.

"Now we finally have a chance!" Angelina Johnson said, and shook Harriet's dripping hand.

Harriet beamed. "I thought you were going to put my head down the toilet," she said with great relief. That happened all the time in bullying stories, and she wasn't keen to experience it herself.

"Is that a Muggle thing?" Katie asked.

Angelina furrowed her brows. "D'you want us to?" she asked. "Bit of an odd requested, but I bet between the three of us, we could lift you."

"Don't be stupid purebloods," Alicia said. "I told you both to take that Burbage's bloody class instead of Divination. And no one is putting anyone's head down the toilet. That's disgusting."

Hermione made a deeply relieved noise.

"Wood told us," Angelina said, and slung an arm around Harriet's shoulders. "We're going to have a House party tonight—the Weasley twins have gone out to get Butterbeer and nibbles. Officially it's because their brother got ickle little Malfoy a week of detention, but we'll know the real reason."

When they left, Harriet shoved her hands back into the soap, and laughed as she came up with a soggy handful of ribbons.

Hermione was grinning, too. She bumped her shoulder against Harriet's and said, "I'm glad Professor McGonagall didn't expel you."

Harriet thought Hermione's relief about this was so extreme she wasn't even going to bother bringing up her feelings about rewarding rule breaking. She grinned back, and they left to troop down to dinner. But on the way, they got caught up in a small traffic jam—Ron, Seamus, and Dean were facing off against Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"A wizard's duel," Malfoy was saying. "Unless you don't have any honor. Crabbe's my second."

"Oh no," Harriet said, and muscled her way to Ron's side. He was red-faced and sputtering.

"Well?" Malfoy demanded coolly.

"At midnight!" Ron burst. "In the trophy room." He swiveled to look at Seamus and Dean, who both took rapid steps back.

"I'll be his second," Harriet said at once, and gave Malfoy a mean look. Hermione hissed, "Harriet!" but she only shook her head and put her hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Fine," Malfoy said. "A Weasley and Muggleborn? I'll blow through you both in five minutes." And then he turned on his heel. "Come on, Crabbe, Goyle. We'd better let them get to dinner. Shame if they missed their last meal."

They all sniggered meanly and left. Ron, panting, whirled around. "That git!" he said. Harriet agreed grimly.

"Um," Dean said. "What's a wizard's duel?"

Hermione let out a noise like a tea kettle. "You just got out of trouble!" she told Harriet. "What were you thinking?"

"That Malfoy's a git, but even a git can be dangerous," Harriet said. "And so can wizard duels. I couldn't let Ron go alone."

Ron, meanwhile, was explaining the concept to Dean and Seamus, who were rapidly looking sick. "You could die?" Dean asked in a wobbly voice.

"Probably we won't," Ron said. "I don't think he knows many curses; I know I don't. We'll send sparks, I bet, and then punch each other a bit." He was rallying. "Worst that happens is we'll get caught, and I'm already in detention."

"Harriet," Hermione said, hanging onto her arm. "You can't!"

"I've got to," Harriet said, and she and Ron shared a look. "It's not just our honor, Hermione. It's about our families now."

All five of them went to dinner in a diminished mood, and not even the raucous celebration afterwards could make Harriet feel better. She got in her bed at half-ten, full of Butterbeer and chocolate and sticky pieces of toffee the size of her hand, and lay in agony until it was time.

Silently, hearing Lavender snoring and Parvati mumble in her sleep, she tugged on her bathrobe and headed for the stairs. She wasn't surprised when Hermione's bed creaked, or a second pair of feet padded after her.

"We shouldn't do this," Hermione said grimly in her ear, "but I'm not going to let you go to a duel alone with Ron Weasley."

Ron was waiting in the common room, empty except for a handful of snoring seventh years. "C'mon," he said impatiently, and pushed open the portrait hole door. They clambered out, and nearly tripped over Neville, who sat up with a squeak and groped for his wand.

"Neville?" they all demanded at once, and he flushed bright and miserable red.

"I forgot the new password," he moaned. "And the Fat Lady went off when I couldn't remember it. I've been here for hours." And then he squinted at them. "What're you doing?"

"Wizard's duel," Ron said grimly. "Harriet's my second. I don't know why Hermione's here."

"Harriet's my best friend," she huffed. "If Ron's going to get her killed, I'm going to be there and kill him."

Neville paled.

"No one is going to die," Harriet said impatiently, and picked up Hermione's wrist to check the time. "We've got to get going. Neville, the password is Pig Snout. Try to remember it until the Fat Lady comes back."

"Oh, no!" he whispered. "Don't leave me here!" And he scrambled up and crept down the corridor after them.

Hogwarts was different at night—sinister. Hermione clutched Harriet's hand, and Harriet grabbed the back of Ron's bathrobe, and with Neville trodding on their heels, they crept down to the third floor. The trophy room was open, and empty.

"They had better hurry up," Ron said grimly, and tugged his wand out of his pocket. Harriet withdrew her own—she'd checked half a dozen times since they'd left the tower that she still had it.

Then there was a shuffling noise, and a voice muttered, "Where are those vandals, my pretty?"

Filch!

They scrambled backwards as the doorknob began to turn. "This way!" Ron hissed, and they scrambled out a door Harriet had never been through before, into a small, empty classroom. Peeves, spectrally green in the thin light the windows provided, looked up from where he was cramming gum under the desks. "Students," he whispered gleefully.

Ron whimpered. "Students!" Peeves screamed, and flew through them unpleasantly. "Students out of bed! Students out of bed!" He passed into the trophy room, where they heard Filch cursing him as they scrambled away.

They ran out of the room, into a long corridor, in and out of several more connected rooms, and passed several suits of armor who rattled menacingly. It was bad luck that Neville fell into one, and it collapsed with an enormous clatter and a thin cry.

"Oh, get up!" Harriet cried, and she and Ron hauled him out of the pile of metal. Filch was shouting now, and coming closer, and they fled down the corridor and all piled up into a closed door.

"Ouch!" Hermione cried, who had been flattened against it.

"Shh!" Harriet said, and they all held their breath. "He's coming," she hissed, and tried the door madly.

"Out of the way," Hermione said, the whites of her eyes bright in the dark, and pointed her wand at it. "Alohomora!"

The door creaked open, and they all piled in, shushing each other, and squeaking as it seemed all their feet got tread on at once. "Hush!" Harriet hissed finally, and pressed her ear to the door. Filch was scraping around right outside, and she clenched Hermione's hand tightly, until she heard something else clatter and crash in the distance.

"Icklie Filchie can't catch the firsties!" Peeves cried, and there was another crash, like he'd pushed over a suit of armor. "Can't catch them!" Crash! "Can't catch them!"

"Stop that! Peeves!" Filch cried. "I'll get the Bloody Baron! I will!"

"He's going away," Harriet said, but didn't hear any sighs of relief. She turned to look at the others, and froze.

There was a very small window in the room, through which moonlight was barely trickling in. It was just big enough, in fact, to give the sense of several shadows, which were in possession of three heads, and six rows of flashing, gleaming teeth.

It was an enormous three-headed dog, staring at them dumbly.

Very slowly, out of the corner of her mouth, Hermione whispered, "We're…on…the…third…floor."

Neville squeaked, and the dog, previously confused at the sight of them, rallied. Those three terrible mouths opened in a furious chorus of barks, and it drew closer as Harriet fumbled frantically for the doorknob. She swung it open and they all fell out in a heap, just as the dog reached the end of its rattling chain.

Hot, rank breath ghosted over Harriet's face, and she slammed the door shut.

As one, they scrambled to their feet, and all ran as fast as they could back to Gryffindor tower, where the flabbergasted Fat Lady swung open for them. They piled in, all of them panting, in front of the low-banked fire, and stared at each other with huge eyes.

"Did you see?" Hermione gasped.

"All those bloody heads?" Ron wheezed. "Yes, I did notice that!"

Harriet sank slowly onto the floor, thinking she would never move again.

"Not the heads," Hermione snarled at Ron. "It's feet!"

"No," Ron said slowly. "I didn't really look at its feet. I was more distracted by the three bloody heads trying to eat us!"

"Well, if you'd used your eyes, instead of trying to get us all killed!" Hermione screeched, "You might have noticed the great big trapdoor it was standing on! It's guarding something!"

"Bugger what it's guarding," Ron said. "We could have died! And you're the one who opened that door! Obviously it was locked for a reason!"

"For three big reasons," Harriet muttered, but that was all she had time to say because Hermione was grabbing her hand and dragging her up.

"We're going to bed now," she said huffily. "And if you know what's good for you, Ronald Weasley, you'll stay away from us!"

Harriet followed her obligingly up to the dorm, and then crawled after her into her bed. "I'm not sleeping alone tonight," she told Hermione. "Did you see those teeth?" she shivered, and Hermione threw the sheets over the both of them.

In that small, dark cave Harriet felt safe to whisper, "Was it really standing on a trap door?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered back. "And it must be guarding something awfully dangerous for Professor Dumbledore to be keeping it in the castle, where students can run into it."

"Let's think about it more tomorrow," Harriet said when Hermione stopped to breathe in. "I'm so tired, and bloody sore all over."

"Alright," Hermione agreed readily enough, and they both pretended not to notice the other snuggling closer. Harriet, with a mouth half-full of Hermione's hair, fell asleep at once.

But in the morning, there was no time to think about anything. Harriet woke up to Hermione's small hand shaking her awake. The dorm was empty except for them, and Hermione's enormous frown. "Oh, Harriet," she said.

"What?" Harriet mumbled and put her glasses on.

"I went down to breakfast," Hermione said in a small voice. "And, well—"

She offered Harriet a copy of the Prophet, folded closed tightly. Harriet fumbled it open, and dropped it onto the bedspread, where the headline shook in place.

Girl-Who-Lived Stolen By Andromeda Tonks Née Black!

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said.