AN: Immediately after I posted the last chapter, I got reviews saying how they were sad that Heri wasn't going to be paired with Marcus. The pairing is still up in the air at the moment so I'm not sure how ya'll came to the conclusion that Marcus was off the list. I know I only gave him a small mention in the last chapter but that doesn't mean he's no longer a part of the story, I just didn't want to add extra potential pairing fluff because the chapter was already far longer than I wanted.
As of right now, anyone is a candidate to be with Heri; the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest, Clarisse, Tyson, the Ophiotaurus, the referee from the Quidditch World Cup, and even Colin Creevey and Malfoy. Hell, I could work Filch in there if I really wanted to (yes, and make it make sense as well). Don't give up your dreams for Heri's pairing just yet, I might just give her a reverse harem with Marcus as her first husband. (LOL: Colin Creevey talking to Marcus and calling him "Lord First Husband." I read too much Asian historical fiction.) Romance just isn't the focus right now.
Also: Shout-outs to Faust VII for their story, Café, where The Nightengale's Cage in Vertic Alley and part of the Gringotts scene came from, and to Silently Watches for their story, Princess of the Blacks, where the Shuffling Whipplestumpers came from.
Chapter Four: The Metamorphosis pt. 1
Heri didn't know why she even bothered going back to the Dursley's. She supposed it was natural for not-yet-grown life-forms to instinctively want to return to where they were raised and cared for . . . but Heri wasn't sure why those instincts told her to go to Privet Drive of all places. In any case, as soon as she got back, she ran up to her room and locked herself in before a word could be said to her. She had had her fill of utter bullshit at school; she didn't need any of the Dursley variety.
Thankfully, the Dursleys took the hint and ignored her as they had the summer before. The fact that the atmosphere around her was just as bad if not worse than what it had been the summer before likely contributed to their decision to let sleeping dogs lie.
Heri spent an extended period of time wondering about her parentage. The centaurs had been adamant that she couldn't be anything less than a child of a god, that there was zero possibility that it had been either one of her parents or both that had been the demigods. This, of course, led her to wonder if one of her parents had been a god in disguise, or if it had been that one of them had cheated on the other.
A bolt of repulsion shot up Heri's spine at the thought that she could have come from a bout of infidelity. She couldn't claim to understand romantic relationships, but her sense of righteousness howled at the thought of cheating. It was so dishonest. It was one thing if someone didn't want to be with another person anymore, she could accept that sometimes people just grew apart, but it was something completely different to pretend one was still committed while sneaking around. Leave if they want; don't flat-out lie and go back on the vows they made when they were getting married.
Yanking at her hair, Heri beat down the urge to scream about the lack of integrity of it all, of going back on one's word. She wanted to thrash whatever she could get her hands on and shriek "injustice!" at the top of her lungs. She hadn't been so worked up since that time Dudley accused her of being a liar.
Reigning herself in with a twitchy shudder, Heri huffed and turned her thoughts away from the how and back to the who. It might have been naïve — and made her previous fit redundant — but she firmly believed that it must have been that one of her parents had been a god in disguise. From the tiny bit she could remember of them and her own gut-feeling, she couldn't believe that Lily and James Potter could have cheated on each other. It was too far-fetched and out of character of them to do so.
Of course, if one of her parents really had been a disguised god, that meant that they were still alive but they left her to live as an orphan with the Dursley. Really, there was no way of winning in such a situation.
The entirety of the summer had been shaping up to be a repeat of before, all self-contained identity crises and voluntary isolation when disaster reared its nasty head. Heri had worked up a good sulk that was taking up most of her time when it was announced over dinner that Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, was coming for a visit.
"Couldn't be more excited to see you again, Dudley!" said Uncle Vernon, clapping his corpulent son on the shoulder. "She'll likely stay at least a week."
Heri hoped the bald-faced revulsion on her face communicated her feelings on the matter in a way that was unmistakable. Taking the horrible news as a hint to snap out of her funk, Heri took it upon herself to get the hell away from Privet Drive.
Heri had thrust her Hogsmeade permission slip under Aunt Petunia's nose as soon as the older woman was alone.
"Sign it and I'll be gone until next summer," she promised her aunt.
Not wanting such an opportunity to escape her, Aunt Petunia had yanked the form from Heri's hand and scrawled her signature out without even reading it. Not wanting to linger lest questions were asked, Heri nodded without a word and scurried back up to her room.
After a quick message via Hedwig to Wayne — the only one of her friends that was as familiar with the muggle world as they were with the wizarding — Heri learned how to call up a magical transportation service and quickly set to packing. She took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley right after breakfast the next day.
Diagon was as colourful as ever. Just the sight of it as she came out through the Leaky Cauldron heartened her. Heri took her time to appreciate the rejuvenating power of the cheery shopping district as she made her way to where she to hoped to stay. The Leaky Cauldron had a special place in her heart, but she had been raised too highly-strung to stay in a place where all sorts — including the disreputable and dirty — came and went as they pleased. Call her a snob, but she would pick a more discerning place if it was available.
Heri ended up staying at an inn down in Vertic Alley called the Nightengale's Cage. It was a corner building with walls a shade of watery blue and large tinted windows. The inside was much the same, but with painted birds flying across the walls. She got herself settled in a room that was much like what one would get at a respectable muggle hotel but without the electronics. She paid for three nights in advance with the money she had left over from her trip for school supplies last year and decided to pop down to the bank the next day to top off her money pouch.
She should have known that a quick stop to the bank would be impossible for her.
Heri got the bank a bit before lunchtime, while the crowd was thin. It was a good month before the school-rush started so the crowd was even thinner than she had expected. She spotted an unoccupied teller and snagged the spot before a new line could form.
When Heri had asked about going down to her vault, the goblin at the counter peered over the counter at her with a dubious once-over.
"Your name?"
Heri checked to make sure no one was in hearing distance before answering quietly, "Heri Potter."
It was a bit of a hullabaloo after that. The goblin teller had asked for verification, looked over Heri's key when she presented it, and then asked if she would also be retrieving her heir rings. Heri, of course, had no idea what heir rings were, and promptly told her teller so. What followed was quite a bit of hollering in what she assumed was Gobbledegook, some confusion on her part when she was bustled out of the front area, and general discontent on the part of the goblins involved. She was shoved off into an office with an older looking goblin before she could understand what was going on.
Grimbak, who turned out to be her account manager, was extremely unhappy about her ignorance. He gave her the nitty-gritty — how the Potters were among the magical families that were landed and titled before the Statute of Secrecy went into place ("Wizarding Britain does not currently have a royal family but those of title and land before the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy retained their status since it was through their collective power that the British Ministry of Magic was first formed."), how her father had been the 12th Earl of Heorshire (along with a handful of lesser titles), and how she was now of-age to formally assume the role of heir apparent by wearing the Potter Family heir ring.
Heri had known that the Potters had been pretty influential and well-off, but she hadn't known how it came to be; all this new information was enough to make her dizzy.
If that wasn't enough, she was also heir presumptive to another family; the Blacks, traditionally Marquess' of Swetechester.
"All I wanted was to withdraw some money," Heri muttered to herself, trying to come to terms with the situation.
"You would do everyone involved a favour by accepting your duties," said Grimbak severely, not allowing Heri to wallow. "Since the time that the mantle of Head of Potter House fell to you, those accounts have been essentially frozen, neither making gold nor paying their dues. That's over a decade of inactivity, Ms Potter. It is only because you are a minor that we haven't seized the holdings as we would have had the vault-holder been an adult. You will not be obligated to reactivate the vaults until you are seventeen, but . . ." here he leaned in with a harsh expression, "Gringotts highly recommends you do so as soon as possible."
Heri sighed through her nose and looked over at the portfolio of parchment listing her vaults, properties, stock-holdings, and entitlements from various accounts. Grimbak had retrieved it when she told him that she had thought she only had one vault. She picked up the cover page and read the summary of her holdings.
Herakles Lilith Potter
Evans - Heir by Blood
Vaults: #529 (14,437 Galleons)
Potter - Heir by Name and Blood
Vaults: #132 (38,032,268 Galleons, 13 Sickles, 23 Knuts and assorted items)/ #687 (45,100 Galleons, 9 Sickles, 14 Knuts)
Properties: Potter Estate. Heorshire. England/ Töpferei. Bavaria. Germany/ Bramblewood Hall. Massachusetts, U.S.A/ Vacation home. Verona. Italy/ Leonis House. Fife. Scotland
Investments: 42% Daily Prophet stocks/ 25% Magical Menagerie stocks/ 38% Nautilus' Newts stocks
Entitlements: Wizengamot Seat, 14 votes/ Earldom of Heorshire/ Viscounty of Heaham/Barony of Nettlestone/ Barony of Leonis
Black - Heir by Name and Magic
N/A
Riddle - Heir by Magic
N/A
Collections Account
Vaults: #782, #985, #639 (Total 196,284 Galleons and assorted items)
A name jumped out at her. Riddle? What? Was this the same Riddle family that that beastly spectre from the haunted diary came from? If so, why was she set as their inheritor?
"What about the rest of these?" asked Heri, her voice revealing none of the breathlessness she felt. "Evans is from my mother, but what about this Riddle person?" As an afterthought, she tacked on, "And what's a Collections account?"
Grimbak looked irked but resigned. He held his hand out for the summary and Heri gave it to him. He placed it on the desk between them and gestured for her to look.
"There are three ways to inherit accounts," he began. "The first is by blood, which means through the family." He pointed a clawed finger to Evans and traced down to Potter. "You are are the only child of the late Lily Potter whose maiden name was Evans and you are a Potter by birthright.
"The second way is if you are formally named as the inheritor, which is what happened with the Potter Estate, the Black Estate, and the Collections account."
Harry nodded slowly, settling herself.
"And what about magic? It has that here, next to Black and Riddle."
"Yes, that's rather irregular," Grimbak replied. "The most recent of the Potter family was known to have ties to the Blacks; I believe your grandmother was born a Black, from the main branch even. That you are named heir implies that whoever is before you in the line of succession was either childless at the time and still is, or has decided to not have children at all. A magical heir is created when an adult shares his magic with a child whose core is still developing; that you are the Black heir by name and magic implies that whoever is before in the line of succession was close enough with your parents that they were allowed to perform an adoption ritual on you. Perhaps a godparent."
A godparent? Heri stiffened at the thought. Forget Riddle for a moment. Wasn't a godparent someone who was supposed to take care of her if her parents couldn't? If she had a godparent, where were they? Harry asked this out loud.
Grimbak shuffled through a separate stack of parchment and pulled out a faded looking sheet. His eyes widened minutely before he looked up again with a blanked expression.
"It says here that your godfather is Sirius Black, lately an inmate of Azkaban."
That certainly didn't sound good.
"Azkaban?"
"A wizard's prison, Ms Potter."
The blanked expression had yet to change.
Well. Heri wondered if she should be surprised or not. A criminal for a godparent felt strangely appropriate.
Heri eyeballed her account manager.
"I'm not thrilled to hear it, but why are you so shocked by this? You seem almost bothered."
The goblin scowled.
"You seem to be in the habit of not knowing things. It has been all over the news that Sirius Black has recently escaped from prison. Your ministry is throwing quite a fit."
Huh. What odd timing. Heri pondered for a moment.
"What did he . . . ?" she began. She tapered off at the outright alarmed look on Grimbak's pointy face. "You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know."
Heri straightened and leaned over the parchment once more. She tapped at the edge.
"And this Riddle person?"
The goblin flipped through the pages again, then shook his head.
"No previous business carried out with that name, nor have I ever heard it used in context with the Potters. I would have assumed it to be another godparent" — Heri sicked up a little in her mouth at the thought — "but your godmother is listed as Alice Longbottom. She is, unfortunately," Grimbak continued, anticipating Heri's question, "currently in the care of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the Janus Thickey Ward for patients with minds declared irreparably affected."
"Any relation to Neville Longbottom?" asked Heri, perking up at the surname.
"I do not handle the Longbottom accounts," was Grimbak's flat reply.
Heri fought back the urge to give Grimbak the two-finger salute while she considered what he had told her.
So, she had possible familial connections with Neville as well as Voldemort. What utter madness. The raving ghoul tried to kill her and now it turns out she's been designated as his heir? Had her failure to die made her a worthy candidate to take over the position when he was done with it? Was this how Dark Lords passed on the torch or something? Well, whatever his intentions, if she ever got the chance to get her hands on his vault, she'd bleed him dry.
Heri motioned for Grimbak to continue.
"The next thing you should notice are the inheritable assets, the properties and investments. At the moment, you only have access to the Evans and Potter properties since you are the last living descendant. The other properties are off limits to you until the current Heads either gives you access or die. This is why their holdings are not listed."
Heri nodded in understanding.
"Entitlements," Grimbak carried on, "are the privileges granted by the Crown to the Noble Families, such as voting rights, to the Head of a House. Since you are the last of your line, you are automatically the Head of your House. However, you are not obligated to attend to your civic duties of participating in the Wizengamot until you formally claim your dominion, and by Family Law, you are not able to do that until your sixteenth birthday.
"I do, however, recommend seeing to your land as soon as possible. Towns and villages are generally self-sufficient in this day and age, but the county of Hautmont does not have a steward on record and it has been over ten years since the Potter family has sent anyone to see to its people." Grimbak gnashed his teeth at his words. "They tend to pay their taxes more willingly when their leaders show an active interest in them."
Bloody hell, she already got that he wanted her to accept her responsibilities, he didn't need to lay it on so thick.
"Right," said Heri, giving him her flattest look. "Now. What's a Collections account?"
This earned her fangs bared in amusement. "Gringotts opens a special account for those that receive a significant amount of donations. It's common practice for many organisations, especially those that rely on charity. St. Mungo's, for instance, has one, and anyone who wants to donate money or entire vaults simply file for a transfer to the Collections account."
"So. . ." honestly, it was like pulling teeth! "Why do I have one?"
"Are you familiar with your status as the Girl Who Lived, a highly celebrated hero?"
Heri nodded stiffly.
"#782 has been receiving regular deposits every July 31st and October 31st since 1982. Many fervent fans have signed over entire vaults to you on top of the usual trinkets. Since the Potter vaults were effectively frozen, Gringotts arranged for all gifts to be accounted for under a Collections ledger." Grimbak shifted and gave Heri a pointed look. "As to be expected, the fee for the upkeep of the account and vault has yet to be taken care of. Gringotts would urge you to settle your debts."
By the gods, could nothing be simple? Heri checked her pocket watch. It was well past lunch by now!
Heri deliberated for a moment.
"Are any of those houses liveable at the moment?"
"The vacation home in Verona is being rented out and the Potter Estate has been in heavy disrepair since the late Potters went into hiding. Töpferei, Bramblewood Hall, and Leonis House are whole, but the last of the house-elves died several years back and the properties have been neglected since then; we are unaware if taking up residence is advisable."
Hmm, well, it wasn't really a good time to leave England anyway. There wasn't enough of the holidays left to do any kind looking into those places. She'd just have to wait. In any case, it wasn't as if she would know what to do with them even if she did go to check them over.
Heri got to her feet and stretched her legs discreetly.
"Alright. It's obvious that there's not much else I can do besides accept the heir rings. As soon as everything's active again, I want all the fees to be taken care of, alright? If something needs to be paid for, it gets paid at once. I don't want any more of this decade-long tab rubbish."
Grimbak nodded his understanding and summoned an escort for her again. Another goblin — Griphook — took over from there and transported Heri to her vaults via the mining carts.
First, she was taken to the Potter Family vault, which was deeper within the tunnels than her Trust vault. She was made to put her hand to a blank section on the ornate door to unlock it. A jolt of electricity and a drop of blood later, she was standing in a hall almost as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts and thrice as decorated.
Among the glass pillars filled with gold coins and gems, the shelves of books and weapons, the tables of jars filled with what appeared to be potions ingredients, and all the other odds and ends, there was a pedestal in the very centre of the room. It was waist high with a red velvet cushion on it. As she walked over to it, Heri could see a trio of pale gold rings on the pillow.
Heri leaned in to observe the rings more closely. They were all signet rings and had small gems embedded around the band, but the seals on them were slightly different from each other. She figured that one was for the Head of House, one was for the Lady of the House, and one was for the problem was: she was technically all three of those things.
"Which one do I wear?" Heri asked Griphook, looking over her shoulder at him where he stood just outside the vault.
"At this point in time, it would suit you best to wear the heir ring, the one with only the heraldic animal on it. While you are Head of your House, your Family Law forbids you from formally claiming dominion until you are sixteen."
He gave her a peeved look as if scolding her for asking such a stupid question.
Well, Grimbak did tell her the same thing earlier, so Heri supposed Griphook was allowed to be annoyed with her.
Heri picked up the one Griphook referred to and gave it a closer inspection. She had thought it to be some kind of dragon at first, but now that she got a better look, she saw that it was actually a hippocampus, the aquatic horse creature created by Poseidon. Perhaps the Potters before her believed in the Olympians as well. Pleased despite herself, a small smile touched her lips as she slipped the ring on.
As soon as the ring was snug, a gust of wind surged up, blowing Heri's hair back and fluttering her clothes. The ring became hot as a fire poker and seared the flesh under it. Heri let out a sharp cry of alarm and pain as needles seemed to stab into her chest, head, and what had to be her magic. The fire that burned her finger like a fresh brand flowed through her veins and her skin prickled like glass was digging into her. All the while, she felt like something was tearing into her brain, physically ripping her head open to get to her mind; it was judging her.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain and power vanished.
Heri found herself on her knees, scrabbling her forehead with tears trickling down her face. Sweat prickled her brow. By the damned in Tartarus! What had all that been about?
Shakily, Heri stood, the pain and weakness flowing out of her with every steady breath she took.
"Congratulations, your ladyship."Heri looked up and scowled at Griphook at his words. "It appears that the Potter ring has accepted you."
"Thanks for the warning," Heri grumbled, brushing off her knees.
Heri was taken to Black vault soon after. At first, there was a moment wherein the door seemed uncertain if it was going to allow her in, but it eventually relented. Griphook told her that the hesitance likely came from the fact that her blood was more Potter than anything else because the Black Family was notoriously picky about the purity of blood. In the end, it was likely because she had traces of Black magic on her that saved her from being attacked; that and the fact that the Black blood within her came from the main family. Not that it mattered much to Heri either way since she was once again sent to her knees from the debilitating pain of being judged by the Black heir ring.
When leaving Gringotts that afternoon to catch a late lunch, Heri wondered if topping off her money pouch had been worth all the trouble it took for her to finally be taken to her Trust vault. Her remaining aches voted against it.
Now that Heri had her eyes opened to the reality of her semi-divinity, it was as if the floodgates of her presence had been burst open. Even without knowing she was Heri Potter, eyes followed her, both benign and malicious. She drew people in. But just as much as she received an increased amount of kindness from friendly folk, she also had those of ill-intent making grabs at her. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Heri had learned that while Knockturn Alley had been a dangerous place for her to wander before, it was a veritable death-trap now. She had only passed by the entrance one day and still, she was almost plucked up in broad daylight by a hag. It was through her experience with those that meant to kill her and a gaggle of her newest admirers that she escaped with nothing more than a slimy feeling on her skin. She made a point to walk on the other side of the road whenever she went down that direction after that.
The Alleys were far more vast than Heri had expected. Hagrid had mentioned other streets when he showed her around, and she, of course, knew about Vertic, but it took her actually traversing the other Alleys to comprehend the reality of them. She had imagined short cul-de-sacs that branched off of Diagon; what she found was a spiderweb network of Alleys that hosted more than just a shopping district. Diagon, Knockturn, Vertic, Whimsic, Quizzic, Satiric, Casu, and a handful of others. She spent a goodly amount of time just wandering.
That day, Heri was in Whimsic, the Alley that hosted an abundance of enchanters, metal-workers, and body-modification businesses on top of the usual shops and pubs. It wasn't anywhere near as posh as Vertic or even Diagon, but the people were friendly and open. It also appeared to be the most liberal of the Alleys. She wasn't sure why, but she had sort of assumed that the other magical species didn't do much mixing with wizards; Whimsic had all sorts of non-human Beings carrying out their business. She wasn't sure if this was because of purposeful segregation or because the other Alleys just didn't cater to their needs.
Heri was currently in a shop that sold alternatives to wands. The layout was much like that of a jewellery store, all glass-casing and velvet lined shelves. There were two shop attendants that she could see, but one was absorbed in a magazine while the other attended to Heri. It wasn't a large place, maybe a touch bigger than the Dursley's sitting room, but it was well-kept despite its homey feel and there appeared to be a workshop in the back.
"What d'you think of these?" said a chirpy voice to Heri's right. She turned to see a sandy-haired girl her age with a riot of freckles holding up what looked to be a pair of decorated hair-sticks.
Mayblossom Marsh was the daughter of a pub-owner that ran a business further down in Whimsic. They had met when Heri popped into The Green Dragon for a quick lunch and Mayblossom tried to deliver the order only to trip over the hem of her skirt and dump the food on Heri's lap. After the babble of loud apologies that drew the attention of not only the other patrons but Mayblossom's parents as well, Heri's was cleaned up and given another platter, free of charge.
The two girls had made friends when they bumped into each other again while Heri was browsing the fresh-produce market on the corner where Whimsic met Casu and Mayblossom had been out doing the shopping. Mayblossom was jittery and tended to babble on, but she was endearing and sweet. Heri kept the other girl company while she bartered and it eventually led to them making plans to meet up more often.
They ended up shopping for alternative foci when Mayblossom discovered that Heri thought everybody had a wand.
"And I suppose every plain Jane has a bloke on a string just mad for her!" Mayblossom said to such an assumption. "I'd like to live in such a world! Where ever did you get such a thought?"
In confusion, Heri explained how everyone at school had wands as did every other wizard she had met before. Mayblossom got a strange look on her face before she regarded Heri seriously.
"Do you go to Hogwarts then?"
Heri frowned lightly.
"I do. But why are you asking?"
"Tell me, how many witches and wizards do you think there are in the world?"
"What?" Heri was puzzled at the non sequitur. She thought about it. "Erm, hundreds of thousands, I suppose."
Mayblossom smiled oddly.
"Heri, two percent of the human population is magical. There's about 1.2 million of us here just in the U.K. Out of that number, twenty percent of us are between the ages of eleven and eighteen; that's about 240,000 school kids. How many students go to Hogwarts right now?"
Heri thought for a moment.
"I've been told that the average is four hundred."
"So four hundred out of 240,000 kids. Where do you suppose all the others go to school?"
Heri looked on in disbelief.
"You don't mean to tell me that Hogwarts is the only school and everyone else just goes on without an education!"
Mayblossom waved a hand negligently.
"Of course not! I go to a school down in Margin Alley that specialises in witchery. Top of my class, I am; I make a damn fine potion. My point is that only the cream of the crop have wands and go to Hogwarts; the best of the best. The people with the capability to do all the branches of magic are less than one percent!"
Mayblossom went on to explain that the common witch or wizard usually specialised in only one branch of magic, one that usually ran in the family. Because of this, most saw no reason to purchase a personal wand, especially not a proper one like from Ollivanders that was capable of performing magic of all types. Instead, they stuck to specialised foci, things made to work specific types of magic. They either bought them, made their own, or used ones that had been handed down for generations.
Heri had been intrigued at the notion of specialised foci. Mayblossom indulged Heri's curiosity by showing her around a shop known for its quality.
Heri smiled at Mayblossom and looked over the lengths of decorated wood in her hands.
"Are these supposed to be wands?" Heri took one of the thin sticks. It was much like a chopstick save for the coloured wire coiled at the handle and the polished stone capping the end. It was quite pretty; decorative without being showy. "I thought the point of coming here was to get something besides a wand."
"Well, there's not much point in that, is there?" Mayblossom shrugged. "You already have a wand so anything you might get would be unnecessary anyway. Since it's all the same, why not?"
"A secondary focus would come in handy in a pinch," Heri retorted. "There's nothing unnecessary about it."
"Oooh, why are so serious all the time?" Mayblossom complained. She reached up and pinned up one side of Heri's hair with the other skinny wand. "Have some fun, you stroppy thing! We already know these will be useful so why not focus on what will look prettiest on you?"
Heri eventually conceded the point and ended up an assortment of the foci in the form of grips, pins, bracelets, and the like. Most of them were one-use only and disposable, but she figured that if she was attacked again as she was coming to expect to happen, she would always have at least something in reach since it was expected that a girl would wear accessories. The ones that she expected greater use from were the single-purpose wands; she had learned that even though they weren't capable of magic beyond O.W.L.s level they lasted as long as they weren't broken and they weren't tagged with the Trace like proper wands were either.
Heri got a wand for every purpose the shop had available: Transfiguration; Charms; Divination; offensive magic; defensive magic; healing spells; protective spells; the works. After taking in the sight of herself with her hair pinned up by several wands-turned-hairsticks, she figured that this was an occasion wherein having long, sheep-like curls was actually a benefit.
Summer ended with little fanfare. Beyond a singular afternoon wherein the Minister of Magic had found her and made a great show of being relieved she was alive — since it came out that she was the likeliest target for that criminal godfather of hers who was on the run (she no longer had it in her to be surprised) — she did little more than mill around the Alleys, read up on her new electives, and finish up her school shopping.
Heri strolled through the length of the train, smoothing down the front of her uniform with a careful hand. It was a new uniform; she had actually done some growing over the summer. Well, the blouse and over-robes were new, her skirts from first-year still fit. They were starting to get short though. She would have gotten new skirts as well, but she really didn't have the patience to stand around being measured when what she had still fit.
She had grown noticeably from last year. It seemed that when she wasn't looking, her body had decided to start climbing out of childhood. She was still short, but at least she was nearer to five feet than before; the clothes-maker in Diagon said she was four feet and eleven inches, a whole three inches taller than before. She wasn't quite certain, but it looked to her that her hips and bottom had gained width and definition. That might have been from the Quidditch training though. If worst came to worst and she grew enough during the year that her skirts became indecent, she'd just visit the clothier in Hogsmeade.
Speaking of growing . . .
Heri slid open door to Marcus' compartment and bounced in. She closed the door with a click and beamed at those within. What remained of last year's Slytherin Quidditch team was present along with Lucian and Graham, and all were sending her peeved looks for interrupting them during their scheming, but Heri ignored them in favour of her favourite person.
"Marcus, Marcus, look!" Heri cried. She cupped her breasts proudly. "I had to buy new bras this summer! Soon they'll be as big as the ones you ogle on the older girls!"
Her breasts really were the crowning glory of her summer growth-spurt (at least, in her adolescent opinion). Instead of the training camisoles she had been wearing since first-year, she now fit into proper bras; the lady at the shop said Heri really should have started wearing them sooner because, at the rate she was growing, she'd be wearing a b-cup at the end of the school year.
Marcus' eyes widened in alarm. Unbelievably, his cheeks glowed red as his eyes were drawn by the motion of Heri's hands. He caught one good look before he could stop himself and then promptly buried his face in his hands, muttering about going to Hell.
"HERI!" Lucian exclaimed, bolting up and yanking her arms up (and consequentially removing her hands from her breasts). His head looked like it was about to explode, his face was that red. "What in Merlin's name—?! You can't just—! You don't—! And YOU LOT!" — here he spun around like a madman and pointed thunderously at the rest of them — "GET YOUR FILTHY EYES OFF HER! WHO THE FUCK SAID YOU COULD KEEP LOOKING?!"
Graham frantically shoved two of the other boys into each other, banging their heads together, and then there was a scrabble of yelps, turning around, and eye-covering.
"Hey!" Heri protested, coming close to a whine. "You could at least tell me if I've gotten prettier first!"
Mind, she didn't usually care, but she had put in some effort today and she wanted her due appreciation, dammit!
Lucian laughed a touch hysterically and hoisted her up like she was a toddler. He then tucked her into his chest and sat her down on his lap.
"You're very pretty, Heri," he said placatingly, still wild-eyed, clutching her to him like cuddle-toy. "You don't need to show us your — your — your assets," he uttered in a horrified whisper. "You've always been pretty! Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot!"
Heri head-butted Lucian's chin to make him loosen up his grip and squinted up at him suspiciously.
"The lady at the shop said I'm cute as a snidget chick, but I'll be a sight to see when my curves grow in," she said. "I asked her what about curves would make me pretty since they seem rather useless unless I wanted to bang them against things by accident or something, and then she said that having a bigger bum and baps meant a girl was becoming a woman and thus acceptable for blokes to think pretty, and that only sick freaks thought little girls were pretty. And, well — I want Marcus to think I'm pretty, but I don't want him to be a sick freak, so I figured if you knew I have those stupid curves now then he can think I'm pretty freely without running the risk of being a sick freak.
"And I already know that Marcus likes curves anyway, so I figured he'd like mine too," she concluded at length.
"Heri . . ." Lucian groaned helplessly, not reacting to the way the others had calmed down a bit and were now sneaking peeks about to what was going on. "There are things . . . there are things you don't do in public or otherwise no matter how sound you think your reasoning is! And presenting your-your feminine attributes is something you don't do!"
"That's not fair!" she protested, banging on his chest with her fists. "The older girls do it all the time! An' some of them cheat with padding and stuff 'cause they don't have much more than I do! Why can they do it but not me?"
"Potter, you're a third-year and Flint's already of-age," another boy chimed in, Adrian Pucey, one of the Chasers on the reserve and a fourth-year. He was peering out from between his fingers warily, still flushed. "You really want to make him a paedophile?"
Marcus growled angrily at Pucey as Heri crossed her arms petulantly.
"Seventeen's hardly grown, Pucey! He can't be a paedophile if he's only four years older than me, an' you can already see I'm no little kid anymore!"
"He's more than a foot taller than you," Graham pointed out, grinning to himself.
"I can't help being short! Don't tell me your size-ist!" Heri turned to Marcus and put on her cutest puppy-eyes. "You don't care if I'm short, do you? I'm growing as fast as I can!"
Marcus groaned painfully, dropping his face back into his hands.
"Come off it, Titch. I told you from the beginning you're too young for me."
Heri made a disgruntled noise and squirmed her way out of Lucian's hold. Ignoring his sighing, she attached herself to Marcus' arm and curled up around it with closed-eye delight.
"I won't be too young forever," she said contentedly, undeterred. "You just watch — I'll grow up taller an' super pretty an' then you'll definitely stop saying I'm too little! You'll see! You just wait! Um . . ." — A thought occurred to Heri and she looked up hesitantly — "You will wait . . . won't you?"
Marcus made another one of his painful-looking faces, a cross between a grimace and a scowl.
"Marcus?" she prompted after a moment, a trickle of uncertainty finally seeping in.
Maybe he heard it — Marcus immediately put his hand on her head and fluffed her curls affectionately. A wry smirk turned up the corners of his mouth.
"Sure thing, runt. Just don't take forever, yeah?"
Heri was roused from a light doze by the feeling of the train slowing. All within the compartment looked up from what they were doing to check the window. It had been drizzling outside and it looked to be getting heavier.
Lucian frowned and checked his watch.
"We can't be there yet. It's nowhere near the right time."
"So why're we stopping?" said Curtis Urquhart, one of the Chasers.
The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.
Heri, who had already gotten to her feet again, went to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, other heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments too.
The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.
"What's going on?" Peregrine Derrick — one of the Beaters — asked in alarm.
Heri closed the door again but didn't move to sit down.
"Doesn't look like anyone knows. D'you think we've broken down?"
"Dunno . . ."
There was a squeaking sound, and Heri saw the dim black outline of Lucian, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.
"There's something moving out there," Lucian said. "It looks people are coming aboard . . ."
"What?" said Heri incredulously. "Doesn't the Hogwarts Express only pick up at King's Cro—?"
The compartment door suddenly opened and someone ran straight into Heri, pitching them both to the floor.
"Sorry — d'you know what's going on? — Ouch — sorry —"
"Hullo, Neville," said Heri, feeling around in the dark and pulling the boy up with her as she got to her feet again.
"Heri? Is that you? What's happening?"
"No idea — here, sit down —"
There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on one of the other boys and stepped on a foot while he was at it.
"Everyone sit down and belt up," Marcus commanded. He cast a light-making spell, prompting the rest of them to do the same. "Vaisey, go ask the conductor what the Hell's going on."
"Why does it have to be me?" Heri heard Vaisey grouse, but he got up all the same and she felt him move past her.
The door slid slowly open before Vaisey could reach it.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Vaisey's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Heri's eyes darted downward, and what she saw made her stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak; glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water . . .
But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Heri's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak. Then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.
An intense cold swept over the compartment. Heri felt her breath catch. The cold went deeper than her skin. It was inside her chest, it was inside her very heart . . .
Heri's vision went black and she felt herself falling. She couldn't see. She was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in her ears as though of water. The roaring grew louder and louder — And then, from far away, she heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. She wanted to help whoever it was, she tried to move her arms, but couldn't . . . a thick white fog was swirling around her, inside her —
And then the fog churned and suddenly she was staring into a gaping maw. Closer and closer — she was being eaten alive! No! It was (The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter —) swallowing her and it was dark and confining and she couldn't breathe and — War. Towering nightmares and the screams of the wounded. ("Not Heri! Take me instead!") Blood everywhere; on the ground, in the air, washing in with the tide filled with the dead, and then— She was running. She was running ("Stand aside, you foolish girl!") because he was chasing her. A mocking voice echoed from behind ("I told you to move, mudblood!") her, but he would not catch her! He was not worthy! — They were sending her away? Why? No . . . No, don't! She would ("Not Heri! Not my baby! Please — I'll do anything —") be good! Mother, please, I'm sorry! No, I don't want to be alone—! Betrayal. It was all a lie. ("Not Heri! Kill me instead!") They had lied to her! Lied to her! How dare they—?!
"Heri! Heri! What's wrong?! Wake up, Heri, please!"
The tempest of anguish lifted enough for Heri to hear the crackling of glass breaking and wood splintering. In the background, there were shrills of screams. ("Mama loves you, Heri. Be strong.") She distantly noted that her own voice was amongst the screaming.
Heri had to be carried off of the train.
When she came to, the train was moving again and she was bundled up in someone's winter cloak. She had been told that the new D.A.D.A. professor had shown up while the foul beast ("Dementor," Neville had choked out, pale as milk) was looming over her and she was in the throes of a fit and making things explode while the others were taking cover. The professor had ordered them to keep her warm, gave them a bar of chocolate to feed her when she woke up, and told them to make sure she saw the nurse when they reached school. By the time they finally arrived, she was still too shaky to walk by herself.
As Heri was hauled into the castle, they were hailed by Professor McGonagall over the crowd streaming into the school.
"Flint! I want a word with Potter!" She then tacked on, "Granger, a moment with you as well," when she spotted Hermione Granger from Gryffindor.
"What d'you need with Heri?" Graham asked warily when they reached the professor. Professor McGonagall had a way about her that made students feel as if they were constantly on the verge of being in trouble.
"Calm yourself, Montague — I just want a word in my office," she told them. "The rest of you can move along. This discussion won't need a procession."
McGonagall had the remaining three students (including Marcus since he was still carrying Heri) accompany her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor.
Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned to the seats. When Marcus settled Heri into a chair, the professor nodded her thanks to him and told him that he was free to return to the Great Hall.
After a comforting stroke to Heri's hair, Marcus retreated.
Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned to the seats. When Marcus settled Heri into a chair, the professor nodded her thanks to him and told him that he was free to return to the Great Hall.
When it was just the three of them, she settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."
Before Heri could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in. Heri felt herself flushing. It was bad enough that she'd reacted so badly with that horrible creature without everyone making all this fuss.
"I don't need to be looked at," Heri said, "Really, Professor —"
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Madam Pomfrey, bending down to look closely at Heri. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?"
"It was a dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall.
The two older women exchanged a dark look.
Madam Pomfrey proceeded to look Heri over, clucking disapprovingly when she noted the shaking and hazy eyes.
"Setting dementors around a school," she muttered. "She won't be the last one who collapses. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate —"
"Delicate!" Heri repeated, offended. When had she ever been described as delicate before?
"Hush now, don't work yourself up," said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking Heri's pulse.
"What does she need?" said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Bed rest? Should she perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"
"A night in the hospital wing might be just the thing; I'd like to keep her monitored until the shaking stops. She should have some chocolate as well."
"I've already had some, ma'am," said Heri. "Professor Lupin gave me some."
"Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies. I suppose you're a sight better than you were before then."
After deciding that Heri didn't need immediate medical attention, Professor McGonagall moved on to the real reason Heri and Granger had been summoned.
"Both of you have signed up for an unusual amount of classes. The usual limit on electives are three, but as you two are the top of your class, I petitioned the Ministry of Magic for the use of two Time-Tuners."
McGonagall went on to described how Time-Tuners worked, their limits (twenty-four hours), and how Heri and Granger were absolutely not allowed to let anyone else know that they had the things.
"For your studies only," she told them severely.
While Granger nodded her head solemnly, Heri wondered when giving time-machines to children became more logical that setting up evening and weekend classes. Not that Heri was complaining of course.
There had to be something wrong with Draco Malfoy. On a chemical level, Heri thought. Why else would he walk up to a creature bigger than a horse with the talons and instincts of a bird of prey that had already been explained to take offence at insult and insult it — right within striking distance as well.
It was the first day of classes and Heri had been in a fine mood since the morning. The shakiness that came from dementor exposure was all gone when she woke up, and she had been excited to start with her new classes. She had signed up for Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, divination, and Ghoul Studies (the last being an extra-curricular class). Before she went to sleep last evening, she had spent a few minutes sketching out how she'd get to her classes and when she'd do homework. It was with great relief that she came to the conclusion that if she used the Time-Tuner as she had first thought to do, she would have no trouble getting in work, sleep, and play between lessons — indeed she'd actually have lots of spare time.
Her first class of the day had been divination, and it had proved to be as interesting though bewildering as she had been expecting. Professor Trelawney had been a masterpiece of showmanship, and even though Heri took her warning of deathly danger with more levity than what was likely appropriate, she thought the woman did a fair job of teaching her subject.
Heri's contentment lasted right up to Care of Magical Creatures.
As soon as the announcement came that Hagrid would be teaching CoMC, Heri knew the lesson would be on something impressive. Lo and behold, she was correct, and the class was greeted by the most magnificent creatures she had ever seen, doubly so because they weren't trying to kill her. Hippogriffs: Creatures with the head and foreparts of an eagle and the hindquarters of a horse.
When Hagrid asked for a volunteer, Heri didn't hesitate.
Heri and the hippogriff named Buckbeak had exchanged cordial bows, taken a short flight around the docks together, and had landed amongst the embolden class when Malfoy decided it was high time that he made an arse of himself.
As the others spread out amongst the other hippogriffs around, Malfoy decided on Buckbeak. While Heri still stood at Buckbeak's shoulder, he had approached the proud avian the same way Heri had.
And then he went and shot himself in the foot.
"I knew it must have been easy if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" Malfoy said to Buckbeak. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"
It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Heri had tackled him to the ground while Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar. Malfoy and Heri laid curled in the grass, blood blossoming over their robes.
"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"
"Are you a complete idiot?!" Heri roared, startling Malfoy from his shrieking. She got up and wrapped her arms around her middle. Though Malfoy was clutching his forearm, it was obvious now that the majority of blood was actually coming from Heri.
Heri pinned him with a furious look.
"Professor Hagrid told us they take offence easily, and you just insult one to its face? Do you have a death wish? If you want to die, Malfoy, there are easier ways of going about it!"
It was then that shock had worn off enough for the other students to react.
"Heri, oh my goodness, we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey!" wailed Megan.
Heri's friends surged forward and hovered frantically. Heri's robe was pulled aside to reveal a slash in her shirt from her hip to shoulder blade. The material was soaked down the side with blood and was dripping down her skirt.
The adrenaline drained out of Heri's system and she slumped into Hannah's side.
"I don't know how deep it is but I doubt it'll kill me," she assured them in a tiny voice. "No one else got hurt, right? None of the other hippogriffs spooked?"
Hagrid was then hoisting her up and cradling her like an infant.
"Let's get yeh to the hospital wing," he said in upset tones. He then glared down at where Malfoy was being fawned over by Parkinson. "Malfoy. Yer comin' too. Fifty points from Slytherin fer ignorin' instructions and causin' injury to 'nother student. I don' think I have to tell yeh that I'll be takin' this up with the headmaster."
The paleness of Malfoy's face when he heard his sentence detracted from Heri's pronouncement of him having a death wish. He was stupid, but she supposed there was some self-preservation in there.
"Why did you save me?" Malfoy asked later when Madam Pomfrey had finished patching them up. His tone was as accusatory as it was confused.
Heri had looked at him with all the scorn for his intelligence that she held.
"I don't like you, Malfoy. I've tried being civil, but you regularly try to pick a fight and make a scene. You're rude, conceited, prejudice, cowardly, and an awful bully.
"But," she continued when the boy grew red with anger, "never once have I wished you dead. You're a thuggish brat, but that's not exactly a hanging offence. You are someone's friend and you are someone's son. I don't agree with how you were raised, but it's obvious your parents love you very much. I might end up disliking them as much as I do you if I were to ever meet them, but I wouldn't let their boy die if there was something I could do to prevent it."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"No matter how much a hideous, horrendous, little haemorrhoid on the arse-end of society that boy is."
Heri ducked an arrow and flung herself down into a roll. Sweat trickled down her back and she panting shallowly for breath. She swung around a tree and sprinted back in the direction she came, forcing her attacker to stumble back to keep balance.
Her bare feet pounded the earth as she darted from tree to tree, using them as cover. Another whizzed by her ear. She cursed and barrel-rolled into the thick underbrush.
As she crawled out on the other side, a heavy hoof stamped the ground in front of her face.
Heri groaned and glowered up at the stern visage of Bane, her most stringent instructor.
"With such feeble evasive manoeuvres, I wonder how you've managed to survive this long."
"Come now, Bane," another voice added. Firenze trotted up, his bow over his shoulder. "It has been a good twenty minutes. You give her too little credit; you know she was injured today."
Bane snorted disdainfully.
"A mere twenty minutes, you mean. And that injury was healed in a thrice by their healer. Get up," he directed to Heri. "We are nowhere near finished yet."
Heri huffed but climbed back on to her feet.
"I thought you were going to teach me how to fight and kill monsters," she said, combing out leaves from her hair. She was dressed in the bare necessities, just her undershirt and the shorts she wore under her skirt. Everything else — her robe, uniform, shoes, and hair-wands — had been left behind Hagrid's hut for safe-keeping.
Bane sent her an uncompromising look.
"To defend yourself from creatures that mean you harm, you must first be able to get yourself in a position where you are not in striking distance. You must be able to evade."
Heri spent the rest of the evening before curfew getting herself boxed into a corner again and again. It was exhausting and infuriating but at least she could tell she was getting better. When the lesson finished for the evening, she even managed a thank you that was actually half-sincere.
Before she went to sleep that night, Heri threw her invisibility cloak over herself, padded down to the common room to the nook at the base of the stairs, and pulled out her Time-Turner. She gave the bauble twenty-four quick turns. When it was once again the night before the first day of classes, Heri crept back up the stairs to sleep in the bed left conveniently open by her younger self spending the night in the hospital wing. She'd have to find a different place to sleep the next day, but for now, she was too tired to think about it. Tomorrow, she would do her second schedule of the day.
Heri reread the notes she had written up during arithmancy, checking to make sure they were understandable enough that the people that begged tutoring off of her would have little trouble understanding them.
—
Numbers 1-9:
1: Beginning, independence, innovation, leadership
2: Harmony, unity, relationships, collaboration
3: Imagination, positivism, playfulness, creative expression
4: Building, formation, hard work, endurance, sober-mindedness, practicality
5: Change, transition, progressive thinking, resourcefulness, freedom, versatility
6: Balance, nurturing, service-oriented, responsibility/duty, family focus, domestic and work issues
7: Analysis, research, solitude, wisdom, spiritual focus, investigative, mystical
8: Authority, finances, business, success, material wealth, organization, self-mastery
9: Endings, tolerance, metamorphosis, cosmic, teaching, global awareness, perfection
Master Numbers:
11: Master of Illumination, the inspirational messenger, the number of light; one who raises the consciousness, reformer of world problems, wants to uplift others, inspires by teaching own truth
22: Master Builder, visionary; knows how to plan and execute large projects; wants to further consciousness of humankind; the humanitarian
33: Teacher of Teachers, master of compassion, master of healing through love, use of creative energies to serve others
Karmic Numbers:
10: Renewal rebirth, karmic completion, master, beginning again with consciousness
13: Reworking karmic laziness through discipline
14: Remedying karmic abuse of freedom through order and stability
16: Remedying karmic abuse of responsibility and love through spiritual rebirth
19: Reworking karmic abuse of power through learning to show compassion and sacred use of cosmic wisdom for the greater good
—
Well, it looked simple enough. Maybe she'd ask one of the fifth-years if there was anything she needed to tweak . . .
"A Shrinking Solution? Really? Why don't we ever learn any of the fun stuff?" said Heri suddenly, breaking the silence when she finally reached the potions portion of her homework. She had worked through her shorter assignments already and hadn't been looking forward to what Professor Snape had assigned them.
Heri frowned down at the brewing instruction for the Shrinking Solution. Juice two shrivelfigs and use the juice as the potion base. Slowly increase the heat to a simmer while stirring gently. Add four finely minced daisy roots and five sliced caterpillars and increase the heat until the potion turns red. Add one tincture of well-shaken wormwood and stir clockwise vigorously until the potion turns yellow. Juice four leeches directly into the potion and stir anti-clockwise slowly for five counts until the potion turns purple. Shake one rat spleen and add it in along a splash of cowbane. Finally, let it boil on a high temperature. If done correctly, it should end up a bright, acid green.
Heri made a face at thought of touching entrails, especially one from a rat.
Megan tittered.
"Somehow, I can't imagine Professor Snape making 'fun' a priority."
Heri and the girls were holed up in Myrtle's lavatory, working on the homework they had been assigned that day. Normally, they would work in the common room or library or out on the grounds, with the boys with them as well, but Wayne had detention with Professor Snape, and Zacharias and Ernie were putting off their homework to spy on the Ravenclaw Quidditch practice instead. The girls had chosen Myrtle's loo because it was a safe place to work on brewing — that and it excited the other girls to be so near the Chamber of Secrets.
It was a month and a half into the school year and already Heri was fed up with what they were learning. It wasn't that she thought it was unimportant, it was just that the subject matter was rarely something that had an everyday use. Shrinking Solution, really? When would she ever need to have a living thing de-aged to infancy and shrunk down to the size of an action figure? And that was just potions; the other core classes were just as superfluous.
Heri was going through a textbook that hadn't been on the book-list that year. It was called Which Way's Witch and it was one of the books Mayblossom had mentioned learning from. It was pretty old-fashioned in mindset by the standards Heri had grown up with, but it made up for its gender-biased instructing by being a potions book with far more interesting recipes than the one Hogwarts used.
"See?" Heri said. "This one gives you the voice of whatever person you choose for three hours! And this one here — it's put in water and makes it taste like the favourite drink of whoever tastes it! I haven't seen a mention of rat spleens or caterpillars even once in this book."
"Maybe we ought to transfer to that school your friend goes to," said Sally-Anne from where she sat on the counter of the sinks. She swung her legs idly as she looked over her parchment. "I much prefer what they teach over there over what Snape has us doing here."
Hannah looked up from the potion she was working on on the floor and scoffed at Sally-Anne.
"Oh, there's a brilliant plan: toss out a quality education that others would kill for to enrol in a second-rate school that peaks at O.W.L.s level. Why didn't I think of it before?"
Heri smiled wryly.
"Claws in, kitty-cat," she said in response to Hannah when Megan giggled and Sally-Anne looked ready to snipe back. "You know quite well that you'd throw a party if Professor Snape turned in his resignation. If Sally-Anne wants to dream of running off to parts unknown, she's has every right to dream."
Hannah rolled her eyes but conceded the point.
There was silence for a few moments save for the scratching of quill on parchment, the flicking of pages turning, and the bass rumble of potions boiling.
Heri gave the brewing instructions another glower before tossing aside the notes she had on the Solution with a huff. Brewing it wasn't a priority anyway, they were going to make it in class the next day all the same; they had only thought to work ahead so they wouldn't be troubled during class.
"Are you alright, Heri?" Hannah said suddenly.
Heri startled lightly. She looked up to see her friends looking at her with concern.
"What do you mean?" said Heri.
Hannah hesitated and looked to the other two for support.
"It's just . . ." she began. "You've seemed so agitated since school started."
Megan nodded.
"It's like you keep expecting something bad to happen."
Sally-Anne scoffed and flipped her hair.
"Of course she's worried something might happen — that Sirius Black bloke has it out for her!"
Megan scowled.
"Oh? Then why're you so concerned as well?"
"It's called caring for your friends. Just because I understand doesn't mean I'm not still worried!"
"Enough with the bickering already," Hannah said sharply.
Megan and Sally-Anne stopped but sent her pointed looks.
Hannah sighed and turned back to Heri.
"We're just worried, you know? I've never actually seen you get angry before until that Care lesson with Malfoy."
Heri looked confused.
"I'm fairly certain that I proved how angry I could be when I smashed his face the year before."
"That was different," Hannah contradicted. "You weren't worked up when you did that. It was like you were just batting aside a fly. You weren't actually angry when you did it."
"Yeah," Megan chimed in. "I didn't know your face could actually do angry."
Heri sighed and tugged at a loose curl.
"I dunno really. Things just bother more lately. I get fed up quicker. Even I have a limit, y'know? I don't get why so many people seem to think I've an infinite well of patience."
"Hormones," Sally-Anne declared sagely. "We're at that age so it makes sense."
Heri snorted.
"Wish I could turn it off then. Being angry is exhausting."
Halloween came with as much excitement and trouble as it did every year since Heri had started Hogwarts. Despite the fact the day had been made fantastic by the fact that it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, she could now say that it was tradition for things to go tits up when October 31st came rolling in. This year, Sirius Black made his presence known by slashing the portrait guardian of Gryffindor House, thoroughly traumatising the inhabitant of the portrait.
There had been a bit of a panic when the battered portrait was discovered and that panic escalated when they couldn't locate Heri afterwards while they were gathering the students to sleep in the Great Hall. Fortunately for the professors' blood pressures, Heri was found shortly after when she wandered back up from Sir Nicholas' Death-day party — where she had been doing hands-on research for her Ghoul Studies class — with Myrtle chattering her ear off about the latest gossip.
The professors would stay vigilant for the rest of the night as they searched the grounds, but nothing came of it in the end. Classes were carried out as usual, but everyone was confused why Sirius Black had tried to break into the Gryffindor common room when it wasn't a secret that Heri was a Hufflepuff.
For a good week before the first Quidditch match of the year, the weather had been almost biblical with its thundering and pouring. In a plot that was quite like them, the Slytherin team had weaselled out of playing and shoved Hufflepuff to take their place against Gryffindor. Cedric Diggory, their new captain, was none too pleased. As much as Heri adored Marcus, even she couldn't help but glower at him when she trudged in from having to practice twice as hard in gale-force winds.
The conditions on that day owereas ridiculous. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. The wind was so strong that the player staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, it couldn't be heard it over the fresh rolls of thunder.
Within five minutes of kick-off, they were all soaked through and frozen to the bone. The sky kept getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. It was only her enhanced eye-sight that kept Heri from crashing into other players like everyone else was, and even then the rain still got in her eyes. The random flashes of lightning weren't helping either.
She turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field where Cohen was fending off one of the Weasley twins, but at that moment another flash of lightning illuminated the stands and Heri saw something that distracted her completely: the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats.
Wasn't that . . .? Didn't Professor Trelawney say—?
Then something odd happened. An eerie silence fell across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was oddly silent. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Heri had gone suddenly deaf — what was going on? And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over her, inside her, just as she became aware of something moving on the field below. . . .
At least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up, were standing beneath her.
Heri didn't hear the screams of the on-lookers when she slipped off her broom, she was lost to nightmares that tore into her when those cloaked devils surged up as if to receive her. She didn't feel anything when she was caught in a levitation spell that prevented from her cracking her head open but did nothing to impede the dementors from touching her. She was swallowed in the screams of the dying as those wretched wraiths converged on her.
Considering the reaction it could have caused, it might have been a good thing that the swarm of dementors prevented anyone from seeing the way Heri dissolved into a cloud of grey smoke in their midst.
When Heri recovered from the ordeal at the Quidditch match and was once again fit enough to satisfy Bane, she was back in the Forbidden Forest.
Her phantom form — as Firenze and Bane called it — proved to be supremely useful for all the evading Bane insisted she did. They had discovered that she was intangible to physical touch, though they weren't certain if that trait also included magical touch as well. Still, it was damn useful. There appeared to be three stages of it: corporeal — where she was merely intangible — semi-corporeal — wherein she was like a ghost in that she became translucent, colourless, and weightless — and mist — where she was a cloud of fog; the last form had the added benefit of swift travel as well.
After they had tested the limits of her new ability, and he was satisfied that she was equipped well enough to not get pinned, Bane chucked a bow and quiver at Heri; she would now help them control the acromantula population.
Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies.
The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Zacharias, Ernie, Hannah, and Wayne would be returning home, but Megan and Sally-Anne had decided to stay. Hannah had initially bounced back and forth between going and staying, but she eventually decided to go when her mother wrote and told her that they were going to host a Christmas party.
To the elation of everyone, another Hogsmeade weekend had been scheduled for the last day of term.
Despite the fact that nothing had happened the last Hogsmeade weekend, the teachers were unhappy at letting Heri go. They had been paranoid since Halloween, understandably so, of course. Not to mention her problem with the dementors. Still, her broom had been blown into the Whomping Willow when she fell from it and it was completely demolished; she needed to place an order for a new one and she could only do so in Hogsmeade.
As Heri was trotting toward the Entrance Hall to meet up with her friends, she was waylaid by Fred and George. The two boys sprang out from a tapestry, hoisted her up between them, and scurried back behind the tapestry before she knew what was going on. A few moments in the dark passageway led them through a secret entrance to one of the empty classrooms a floor up.
"Early Christmas present for you, Heri," said Fred as they put her down again. He pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it.
Heri, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.
"What's that supposed to be?"
"I see you don't remember it. This, Miss Potter, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the parchment fondly.
"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we decided last night, your need's greater than ours."
"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."
"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Heri, her tone as dubious as her expression.
"A bit of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Heri had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."
"Well . . . when we were in our first year, Heri — young, carefree, and innocent —"
Heri snorted. She doubted that had been a time when Fred and George were innocent.
"— well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch."
"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —"
"— detention —"
"— disembowelment —"
"— and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."
Heri groaned.
"Don't tell me . . ." She couldn't help the grin growing on her face.
They went on to detail how they managed to nick the thing from Filch — strategic Dungbombing — and expounded on how it had changed their lives.
"You're winding me up," said Heri, hands on hips, eyeing the ragged old bit of parchment.
"Oh, are we?" said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
At once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers,
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing.
Astounded, Heri bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves was currently bouncing around the trophy room.
"And you're giving this to me?" breathed Heri, looking up again.
"Well, you know . . ." said Fred, shrugging his shoulders but looking a bit awkward.
George looked at her seriously.
"It's just . . . with Sirius Black on the prowl, it's not safe for you to be wandering about without a clue. This way you'll be able to keep an eye out."
Oh, these two . . . Heri's heart clenched. That they were so concerned for her . . . She couldn't help but hug the life out of them.
"Right," said George briskly, patting her fondly on the head. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it —"
"— or anyone can read it," Fred continued warningly.
"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank."
"So, Miss Potter," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy. "Mind you behave yourself."
They escorted Heri to where her friends were waiting and left to go meet up with their own after giving her knowing winks. Heri's friends brushed it off as the eccentricity inherent to the twins and left it at that.
Heri sighed heavily through her nose, the air expelled freezing as it went, making her resemble a dragon as it snorted smoke in warning. It was Christmas day, nearly lunchtime, and she was outside by the lake, sitting on a large boulder that was at the top of a large pile-up of stones. It was a good seven feet off the ground and a popular place for the older years to hang out. Heri was there that day because she needed to get out of the Castle.
"Oh, but, Heri—" Megan had begun to protest when Heri had excused herself.
Sally-Anne had hushed Megan with a pointed looked and tugged her along. Sally-Anne was the one that was the most sensitive to Heri's mood; she knew when Heri wasn't up to humouring a tag-along. It was decided that the two of them would remain inside for the festivities while Heri pulled herself back into a temperament that was suited for public appearance.
It wasn't Heri's way to be a Grumpy Gus, especially during parties or celebrations, but there was just no hiding her discontent at the moment.
She had received a Firebolt among her gifts that year, a Firebolt being an internationally recognised racing broom, the best broom currently on the market, the one that the professional league swore by. Megan had all but fainted when she saw it; her older sister had been raving about it when it first came out. Even Sally-Anne — the one notorious for her lack of appreciation for Quidditch — was mightily impressed. Naturally, they had went down to Christmas breakfast giddy with excitement, over the moon and ecstatic to show Professor Sprout; she had concerns that Heri wouldn't get a new broom in time for Hufflepuffs next match and would be relegated to one of the school brooms which were iffy at best.
All that excitement got shot to hell when the professors learned the Firebolt came without a note.
So what if it came without a note? She got dozens of anonymous gifts year round and they never made anything of those! And did they really think that Sirius Black was able to just walk into a sporting goods shop without any fuss? Why would he waste money on a broom worth more than all seven of the Nimbus 2001s that Malfoy had bribed his way onto the team with if he was going to buy a broom to jinx anyway?
But none of those protest made a difference — Heri's Firebolt was confiscated for checking before she could even get one ride in.
This Sirius Black business and all the paranoia that came with it was really starting to infuriate her.
As if summoned by Heri's ire, Hedwig came flying out of nowhere and landed beside her.
"Hedwig." Heri blinked. "Happy Christmas. What are you doing out here?"
Hedwig spent most of her time either terrorising the owls in the owlery that she had turned into her acolytes or terrorising the denizens of the Forbidden Forest that she tormented like a wicked deity. Heri had yet to need to send out any letters during the school year, so Hedwig was largely free to do whatever she wanted. Provided she didn't kill anything important of course.
Today, Hedwig was a parakeet, and she looked as out of place as . . . well, as out of place as a tropical bird in Scotland during the winter. She fluttered her wings importantly and stuck out one of her legs.
Nonplussed, Heri saw that there was a letter tied to Hedwig's leg.
There were several questions that could be asked at this time, but the most important in Heri's opinion was, "Someone approached a parakeet to deliver a letter?"
Hedwig's warble was not an answer.
Not knowing what else to do, Heri retrieved the letter and opened it.
—
Dear Heri,
A Shuffling Whipplestumper has brought it to my attention that you're bothered by something. I don't know exactly what that something is, of course, but I thought a letter might make you feel better all the same. I would come in person but Daddy and I are in Newfoundland, looking for Muddy Prizzicks.
I hope you liked the bracelet to keep away Nargles I made you for Christmas. I used the prettiest bottle-caps I could find, you know. I would have made you a necklace, but I think a bracelet suits you better.
Hope you feel better,
Luna
P.S. W henever I'm feeling gloomy, I like to knit. Daddy calls it a ladylike hobby. It's a habit that runs through Mummy's family, you see. I thought maybe you'd like to take up needlework as well, since I find it very soothing.
—
The envelope Luna's letter came in appeared to be expanded on the inside. Carefully sticking her hand in, Heri pulled out sturdy white handkerchief set within an embroidery hoop. There was a faint outline of a flower in the cloth and a threaded needle was tucked into the side of the hoop.
Heri stared at the readied handkerchief with no little bemusement. How Luna knew Heri needed cheering up, Heri would never know. Still, it was very sweet of her.
Not seeing any reason not to, Heri began making tiny stitches along the flower outline.
If there was one person that Hermione Granger could say with confidence that she hated, it was Heri Potter.
Ever since first-year, Potter had been showing Hermione up in one way or another. If she wasn't being acclaimed as a transfiguration prodigy, she was turning in homework of a quality that Hermione slaved away for hours to research and write up while still having loads of time to goof around with her friends and being a general Queen Bee. It was so unfair! Hermione worked so much harder at being the top of the class and yet Potter just breezed through with nary a sweat.
And she was on the Quidditch team.
And she was pretty.
How was it possible for a person to be smart, sporty, and attractive? Hermione had comforted herself all her younger years that it was only the lucky few that could manage two out of three! And then she arrived at Hogwarts where being two out of those three things was commonplace, and there were plenty of students — boys and girls — that managed all three: Cho Chang, the Weasley twins, Katie Bell, Cedric Diggory, Roger Davis, Lucian Bole, and Fay Dunbar just to name a few. And Heri Potter was at the top of the list. It was enough to drive someone insane.
Hermione had thought she'd get a leg up on academics by getting a Time-Tuners to attend all the electives as well as core classes, but it was like Potter was always one step ahead. Potter had received a Time-Turner as well, was taking just as many classes as Hermione. This might not have been so frustrating if it wasn't for the fact that Hermione was scrabbling to get all her assignments done on time while squeezing in sleep and eating whenever she could manage, but from all appearances Potter wasn't having a lick of trouble at all, she was seen just as often relaxing with her friends without cracking open a book as the years before.
It was so unfair! Hermione studied for more than an hour before every class, going over theories, the arithmetic calculations, the wand movements, but she was never praised the way Potter was. Oh, sure, she gained loads of points for Gryffindor and none of the professors had anything bad to say about her work, but Hermione doubted she'd ever gain the level of affection they all seemed to have for the other girl.
It wasn't just the professors that loved Potter either, the girl had friends in every House, never mind her fans. She had theoretical discussions with the Lovegood girl and the sycophants in Ravenclaw; she had wrapped the Slytherins around her little finger so thoroughly that it was only blood-supremacist bullies like Malfoy and Parkinson that disliked her; it didn't even need to be said that Gryffindors adored her, the Weasleys treated her like family, and the girls in the years above and bellow couldn't get enough of talking primping with her.
Hermione was forever on the end of a nagging from Lavender and Parvati about doing something about her frizzy curls, but Potter — whose hair was just as untamed, albeit without the frizz — was fawned over for her thick hair that she recently started pinning up with those hair-sticks.
"Where do you get your accessories?" Lavender had asked, that ridiculous pouting look on her face that made the boys in their year go stupid.
"Just here and there," Potter had replied, shrugging as if it was of little consequence, a coy look on her face that made the boys just as stupid as when Lavender was prancing about. "A friend of mine took me shopping during the summer and we picked up quite a haul. You should come around and see all the cute clips and pins I picked up. I have a few that would look perfect on you."
That was one of the top students in their year. That frivolous bobble-head more concerned about looking good and having fun than learning was Hermione's scholarly rival. It boggled the mind.
She was just as frivolous and flighty in classes too. Just the other day, in Ancient Runes, Potter had finished the assignment — a runic crossword puzzle — early and decided to show off for her friends. It was like she couldn't be bothered that others were still working and needed quiet to think! They were technically allowed to discuss the questions with their neighbours, but really, it was so obvious that Professor Babbling wanted them to do it by themselves.
Really. It didn't matter that the professor never scolded anyone for talking.
"Fehu is cattle, or money, or wealth/," Potter had sung, drawing the rune in the air with coloured mist. The rune then shifted into a herd of animals. "Uruz is aurochs of strength and of health/," — another rune; another representation — "Thurizas' prickly, a thorn or a thurs;/ Ansuz is Odin, a mouth, or a verse./"
Potter's entire song went along this vein: stating the rune and giving it a basic, easy to remember definition. With every Rune that she drew, images churned out, dancing in the air.
Her friends were enthralled.
"Raido is riding so tiring and long;/ Kenaz, a torch burning brightly and strong;/ Gebo's a gift, an exchange, an award;/ Wunjo is joy, sweet contentment's reward./
"Hagalaz, hail both harmful and good;/ Naudhiz, our need, helps up learn what we should;/ Isa, ice deadly, a danger unknown;/ Jera, the year, we will reap what we've sown./
"Eiwaz, the yew, reaches into the skies;/ Algiz, the elk-sedge, is foeman's demise;/ Perthro, the dice cup, is wyrd, luck, or fate;/ Sowilo, the sun, circles ever so great./
"Teiwaz is Tyr bringing justice and right;/ Berkana, the birch, is fertility's might;/ Ehwaz, the horse, is your partner and friend;/ Mannaz is people with lives that will end./
"Laguz, the lake, is both treacherous and deep;/ Inguz is Freyr whose abundance we reap;/ Othala, sweet home, is our ancestral right;/ Dagaz, the daybreak, turns darkness to light."
"Well done, Potter!" Professor Babbling had said in her raspy voice. "Five points to Hufflepuff for creative learning methods."
Potter had turned an ancient, sacred language used in magical practices for over a thousand years into a primary school nursery rhyme. And she had been praised for it.
Hermione couldn't stand it! She hated Heri Potter, hated everything about the girl! She hated—!
"Granger?"
Hermione looked up with a start. It was Potter, Abbot, and Macmillan.
"What is it?" said Hermione, her tone wary.
She was in Ancient Runes again, her last class of the day. Hermione would have been eager to get through the lesson and then be able to jump on her homework, but Professor Babbling had just assigned a group project and had told them to get into groups of four. All of Hermione's primary school misery at not having friends to group up with came rushing back.
Why? Professor Babbling had never assigned a group project before! Why suddenly in the last term?
She had just been about to ask the professor if she could do the assignment by herself when the root of all her current academic misery reared her hatefully beautiful head.
Potter cocked her head and smiled pleasantly at Hermione.
"Want to join our group for the project? Ron's told me you're amazing in runes."
Did she just . . . ?
Tears of awe and relief prickled Hermione's eyes.
"Yes, thank you," she croaked. "I'd love to."
Hermione Granger loved Heri Potter. She loved the other girl with all the piety of a heretic just now seeing the light.
Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of Heri's wand — it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.
"Did you see that?" said Heri excitedly. "Something happened!"
When classes started again after the winter holiday, Heri had sought out Professor Lupin for anti-dementor lessons. She had talked to him about them before, but he was too busy at the time. Fortunately, his schedule had cleared up and he now had time to teach her the spell he had used on the train to drive away the dementors.
They were in the History of Magic classroom, and Professor Lupin had brought a boggart in a locked trunk. They, of course, couldn't work with a real dementor, but the professor concluded that a boggart-dementor would better suit their purpose.
"Very good," said Professor Lupin, smiling. "Right, then — ready to try it on a dementor?"
The first few times against the boggart-dementor failed miserably. Though it wasn't as potent as a true dementor, the boggart was still very convincing. Heri ended on the floor both times, tears running down her face and shudders wracking her form.
Professor Lupin looked terribly guilty.
"Listen, Heri — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. . . . I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this. . . ."
"No!" said Heri. She got up again. "Please, sir, I must be just doing something wrong! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is. . . . Hang on. . . ." She racked her brains. A really, really happy memory . . . one that she could turn into a good, strong Patronus . . .
The moment when she'd first found out she was a witch and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn't a happy memory, she didn't know what was. Concentrating very hard on how she had felt when she'd realised she'd be leaving Privet Drive, Heri got to her feet and faced the packing case once more.
"Ready?" said Professor Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. "Concentrating hard? All right — go!"
He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it — the room fell cold and dark —
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Heri bellowed.
The screaming and flashes of images inside Heri's head had started again — except this time, it was as though it were coming from a badly cabled television — softer and louder and softer again — and she could still see the dementor — it had halted — and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Heri's wand, to hover between her and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, she was still on her feet — though for how much longer, she wasn't sure —
"Riddikulus!" roared Professor Lupin, springing forward.
There was a loud crack, and Heri's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor. She sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if she'd just run a mile, and felt her legs shaking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb.
"Excellent!" Lupin said, striding over to where Heri sat. "Excellent, Heri! That was definitely a start!"
The praise was welcomed, as were the obvious results. They ended the lesson there with an agreement that they would continue at a later date.
Sirius Black was spotted again, this time actually in the Gryffindor dorms. The word was that he was slashing open Ron's bed-curtains when the boy woke up the tower with his screams. And, to make things worse, he had escaped again.
Professor McGonagall had torn into their new portrait guardian when he told her that he had let Black in and she just about murdered Neville when she found out that he had left out a list of the passwords the portrait guardian would use. Neville had come sniffling to Heri when it came about that the other Gryffindors were snubbing him again because they were angry with him and because Professor McGonagall had ordered them to not tell Neville the password anymore. Heri could understand her reasoning, but as she comforted Neville in his misery, she couldn't help but think that the Professor was being too harsh.
Professor McGonagall was not the only professor that amped up House security. Though Black seemed fixated on Gryffindor, all Heads of House circled the wagons. No one was allowed to go anywhere without at least two other people accompanying them. Now, this might not have bothered Heri if it wasn't for the fact that it came about that she couldn't go anywhere without all six of her friends and a prefect to boot. And even with that, her friends picked up on their hovering. If it wasn't for her invisibility cloak and Time-Tuner, she wouldn't have had a moment's peace.
Heri jabbed her needle furiously into the soft cloth she was embroidering and hissed when she pricked her thumb. She stuck the wounded appendage into her mouth and glowered at the now blood-dotted handkerchief.
"If you are quite done with doing yourself injury," said Firenze, trotted up into the clearing they trained in. "We're patrolling the western edge today."
Sighing, Heri took up her bow.
Granger had been on the verge of cracking since that lesson with Professor Trelawney when the old bird told her that she didn't have the talent for it. She had hidden it for the most part, but Heri didn't doubt that being told she wouldn't be good at something because of her natural disposition was more than the girl could take. With the way she seemed to be using her Time-Turner ineffectively — if her frazzled, twitchy attitude was anything to go by — it wasn't surprising that her blow-up was as spectacular as it was.
Granger's breakdown came in parts actually. Her temper got the best of her after Care when Malfoy was laughing at Neville for falling into the mud when one of Malfoy's goons pushed him. Ron and his friends had made furious moves to get to Malfoy, but Granger got there first.
SMACK!
Granger had whacked him across the face with all the strength she could muster, sending the wretched boy stumbling backward. Even then, she stalked after him.
"Don't you dare call Neville pathetic, you foul — you evil —" she snarled, drawing out her wand.
"Hermione!" said Ron weakly as he tried to grab her arm as she swung it back.
"Get off, Ron!"
Malfoy made his escape, doing nothing for Granger's mood.
Heri heard from Neville later that Granger had actually missed charms as well.
They had divination that day, starting in on crystal ball reading. Heri had bought a few books on the subject when she saw it mentioned in the textbook index, and she could honestly say that she had been looking forward to this form of divining most out of all the others. Crystal ball reading was so versatile! Not only was it used for to foretell future events, it could show past events, be used to seek advice, learn more about a person, and even scry. It was like the Swiss army knife of divinatory tools, multi-purposed and less labour-intensive than cartomancy.
Unfortunately, Granger seemed to share none of these opinions.
"Good day to you!" said the familiar, misty voice of Professor Trelawney as she made her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. "I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned. The Fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."
Granger snorted audibly from the next table over.
"Honestly . . . 'the fates have informed her' . . . who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!"
"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," Professor Trelawney continued dreamily as if she hadn't heard Granger. "I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practising relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class."
Granger then took to sniping over every little comment Professor Trelawney made as she coasted through the room. The professor was peering into Heri's — because Heri and commented that she was seeing a shape she couldn't identify — and had once again started her scheduled declaration of, "My dear . . . It is here, plainer than ever before . . . my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer . . . the Gr —"
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Granger busted out loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim again!"
Professor Trelawney took such a declaration as well as one might expect.
Granger then took the resulting belittling of her 'hopelessly mundane mind' just as unsurprisingly.
Though they should have seen it coming, it was still a shock to all present when Hermione Granger — she of the opinion that to get expelled was worse than death — metaphorically threw her hands in the air and then not so metaphorically rage-quit divination.
It was times like this that made Heri wonder if she should find someone to write a biography on her and then market it in the Muggle world as a multi-volumed fantasy series. Boost the family coffers and all that. She could become an internationally acclaimed author. Her nom de plume could be Helena Han Boskett.
It all got bollixed up when Heri had been searching for Marcus after the exams with the Marauder's Map and had then seen 'Sirius Black' out on the grounds with 'Ronald Weasley' and 'Peter Pettigrew' being dragging along toward the Whomping Willow. There were so many things wrong with that picture that Heri didn't waste any time high-tailing it out of the castle. It was only luck that had her running into Professor Lupin on the way down.
The luck involved bordered on the edge of 'bad luck' when it appeared that Black and Lupin were pals and that they were laying the blame of betraying her parents to Voldemort and the killing of thirteen Muggles on the tiny shoulders of Ron's pet rat, Scabbers.
"So . . ." Heri had exchanged looks with the also dubious Ron, he who was so bewildered that he had seemed to forget that his leg had been broken. "Scabbers was once a wizard that decided to turn himself into a rat because he made friends with a werewolf, and werewolves are cool with rats. Werewolves are also cool with giant dogs and deer.
"Then there was a war and everyone engaged in guerrilla warfare over whether muggleborns are people too. Scabbers in his Peter form fought against the Dark because all his friends did and he's the type to follow the crowd. And then he betrayed his werewolf — who was and still is Professor Lupin — and his dog and deer — who're Sirius Black and my father respectively — to join the Dark Side because he decided they were no longer important even though he spent all that time to turn himself into a rat and fight with them because—because . . ." — she eyeballed the still struggling Scabbers — "Um . . . because Voldemort had a snake that could eat him? You didn't really explain that last part, sir."
"It's unimportant at this point, Heri," Professor Lupin said tiredly. "What's important is that Peter gets taken care of."
"I'm not saying I believe you," Heri said, crossing her arms.
"Then it's time we offered you some proof. Mr Weasley — give me Peter, please. Now."
Ron had clutched Scabbers closer to his chest.
"Come off it. Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean . . ." He looked up at Heri for support. "Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat — there are millions of rats — how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he was locked up in Azkaban?"
"You know, Sirius, that's a fair question." Lupin turned to Black and frowning slightly. "How did you find out where he was?"
Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.
There had been a few more minutes of back and forth in which Professor Lupin talked Ron into giving up Scabbers for the animagus revealing spell, but the professor eventually got his way. It was a good thing too, because as soon as the spell it, they were greeted by a rodent-like but definitely human man where Scabbers once was.
That had been sufficient proof for Heri.
While Pettigrew was mid-wheedling for his life, Heri plucked her transfiguration wand from her hair and shrunk his arms and legs to stubs before he knew what was happening. Unable to move beyond wriggling his torso, Pettigrew had squealed and whined in terror.
"Heri!" Ron yelped. "What did you—? Is he—?"
"His limbs are only shrunken, Ron," said Heri, her specialized wand still trained on Pettigrew. "I don't claim to be a judge, but a grown man living as a young boy's pet is a criminal enough even without being a mass murderer and the reason my parents are dead. We are taking him to the headmaster and contacting the DMLE at once."
And all of that would have been resolved if it hadn't been for the dementors that had noticed that Sirius was on the grounds while they were marching back up to the castle.
From atop the west tower that over looked the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow, a figure witnessed the scene unfolding on the green.
It was truly a singular spectacle. A veritable flood of soul-sucking wights was descending upon a single fallen man while a young girl raced towards him, and another grown man fought to carry an injured child while also hauling a prisoner up to the safety of the castle, all the while calling back that he would bring help.
Actually, now that he was thinking of it in those terms, it wasn't that singular at all. Such happenings were quite commonplace back in the early ages.
It was still unusual though.
He watched as the ghastly phantoms surged closer, reaching out with their putrid hands to grasp at the fallen man as well as the girl. Before his eyes, she snarled a filthy word and . . . shifted into an amorphous form.
Now, this was interesting. He hadn't known she was capable of such a thing.
Now in similar make as the spectres leering down at them, the girl surged up, trailing smoke, and — with dark tendrils that appeared out of her back — latched onto one them that was clutching at the man. There was a screeching sound as she heaved a steadying breath. Suddenly her mouth became a maw and she was inhaling the beast much like the way they did souls. As the creatures recoiled momentarily, she grew more blurred at the edges and her tendrils lashed the air like a kraken whipping its tentacle.
The monsters were not deterred for long though.
He watched as the girl retrieved a wand from her hair and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" while jabbing the wooden rod into the air. Lo and behold, a dazzling, blinding, silver animal burst forth from her wand.
Was that . . . ? Was that a platypus? Hmm, it could be a tadpool as well . . .
Well, whatever it was, it charged at the swarming wraiths and drove them back. It seemed that the child had hit upon their one true weakness. They were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness of the evening.
That little girl had driven off a murderous flock of those hellish creatures with one spell. He was not familiar with these wizarding types, but he was duly impressed but such a feat all the same.
It seemed that his lord's new fascination was living up to expectation. He would be delighted to hear so.
Without a sound, he shifted to smoke and melted into the night.
AN1: A reviewer brought it to my attention that some of you might be confused about implied events that I didn't write about. I'm sorry, I didn't realize that might throw some of you off. If I don't make mention of an event, it happens as canon. So, since Ginny being possessed wasn't discussed, everything that happened with her was exactly like the book.
2. The rune poem/song mentioned was written Annalemma McKee-Schwenke. She's not a part of, I found her when I was looking for songs to memorize Elder Futhark.
Also: If you haven't noticed, the titles I gave to Heri are fake IRL. There are no counties of Heorshire or Swetchester or any of the others anywhere in the UK. I've always thought it would make sense if the Wizarding World made stretches of land Unplottable to muggles when they separated. I can't imagine people like the Blacks and Malfoys giving up their properties and entitlements, especially to the muggles they looked down on. This is basically my head canon. I got the idea from Josephine Darcy's The Marriage Stone, but honestly, it just makes sense to me.
I know all the titles seem a bit excessive, but I did a little research on it and found that it was very common in the 17th century for noblemen to bulk up their status with subsidiary titles. This was also for the benefit of the eldest son, who would use the highest subsidiary title as his own. For example, the Duke of Norfolk is also the Earl of Arundel (among other things), so to give the son some responsibility, the son goes by the courtesy title of Earl of Arundel even though he wouldn't be the actual Earl until his father dies. Rest assured, the titles won't be a huge part of the story, they're just there for what I consider realism.