Hermione wanted to start researching right away, but Harriet had other things on her mind. Her first Quidditch match was approaching rapidly, and a desperate Oliver Wood sitting two seats down from her at dinner was a much more real threat than a mysterious unknown figure.
Thrice weekly Quidditch practices became once a day, and Harriet had to pull herself out of bed two hours early and slog through the increasingly cold and muddy grounds to run around the lake. No one was cheerful about this, not even Oliver, who was becoming higher strung. He popped out at Harriet between classes, offering her last-minute advice, and Hermione had taken to saying, "No. No!" to him when he did in the tone someone might use to scold a dog.
Finally, the day was there. Harriet, sitting at the breakfast table, looked at her empty plate and thought she might be sick.
"Have some toast," Hermione said.
Sally-Anne had joined them, though Millicent remained at her own table. "Eat something," she said in alarm.
Harriet shook her head minutely.
Sally-Anne huffed and turned towards the Slytherin table. "Milly!" she shouted. "She won't eat anything."
All of the Slytherin first years were sitting together as they always did, and Draco Malfoy sneered at them. "Written your will yet, Potter?"
Millicent said easily, "Shut up, Little Dragon." Draco turned red, while several of the others sniggered. "Think of the troll!" Millicent said. "You're going to die—might as well have your last taste of bacon."
Hermione made a deeply frustrated noise. Harriet stared at the breakfast platters laid out along the table, and picked up a single sausage. Seamus, who had been watching in concern, said, "Got to have your strength!" He was the only other first year there—the rest hadn't come down, not even to wish her good luck.
The sausage tasted like ash. Millicent leaned over and said, "Do you really want that to be the last thing you taste?"
Harriet, slowly, being chided along, ate an orange and an egg. "That's enough, then," Hermione said soothingly when Harriet clapped her hand across her mouth.
"Just got keep it down, now!" Seamus said. He was making scones into sandwiches, with eggs and bacon and orange marmalade, and wrapping them up in napkins.
It was a good thing Fred and George appeared then, and picked Harriet up under her arms to take her out to the pitch. Harriet thought if she'd had to stay and watch him eat those sandwiches, she really would have been sick.
In the locker room, everyone was changing together with no regard for privacy. Harriet let Fred lace her into the thick, red leather doublet that would protect her back and chest. "Don't be nervous," he told her. "The person who ends up injured most often is the referee. They keep disappearing and turning up in the Sahara."
Harriet laughed a little. George, who was doing up his boots, said, "And don't worry about looking stupid either; I paid of Lee not to say anything when you do. But you'll owe me for that." He winked at her good-naturedly.
Katie Bell, yawning as she tugged on her gloves, said, "It's not too exciting after your first match."
Oliver Wood came in from off the pitch, his face pale. "Everything's all set up," he said. "Listen, everyone." He paused and looked at them all in turn. "Just do your best," he said at last.
"Wow," Fred said quietly in Harriet's ear. "That's the first time he hasn't given a speech."
"We ought to know," George said in her other ear. "We've been on the team with him for two years. Even when Charlie was Captain, Oliver gave us a speech."
Oliver was very pale now, and sweating. Outside, a whistle blew. "It's time," he said. "Come on, you lot. And Harriet?"
She looked up.
"Try not to die," he said grimly. "I'm not going to rewrite all those three hundred maneuvers again."
They stepped out of the locker room to the booming voice of Lee Jordan, who was commentating in a magic microphone under Professor McGonagall's unamused stare. "And here we have the Gryffindor Team: Oliver Wood as Captain and Keeper, give us a wave, Oliver! Fred and George Weasley are still our Beaters, two peas in a pod, those ones. Angelina Johnson, blow us a kiss, beautiful—"
"Jordan," McGonagall hissed.
"Sorry! Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, both also very fine, finish the Chaser line. And rounding out the team is Gryffindor's newest troll slayer and the youngest Seeker in a century, so she had better be bloody talented—"
"JORDAN!"
"Harriet Tonks, whose House is currently campaigning should be given the position of Headmaster, and I've got to say, she certainly wears the beard better. Give us a wave, love, in case someone here somehow doesn't know you!"
Angelina had been raising Harriet's hand for her, and started laughing as Lee spoke. "Look, Harriet!" she cried. "Look at the Gryffindor stands!"
Harriet craned her neck, and saw: all of the Gryffindor first-years, standing cheering on the row closest to the front, where they had hung two massive banners. They must have used bed sheets, Harriet thought.
The first one said Harriet for Headmaster and had a cartoon of Harriet with a long white beard like Dumbledore. The words flashed between red and yellow. The second one was an enormous lion, mouth open in a menacing roar.
Harriet started laughing, too, delighted. Now she knew what everyone had been doing at breakfast. She waved at them frantically, and they all jumped up and down and waved back. She was no longer nauseous when Madame Hooch instructed them to play a fair game, and even the Slytherins' furious scowls couldn't dim her budding excitement.
"The team captains have shaken hands. Here come the balls, better stay away from those Bludgers, boys and girls! And the whistle—"
The Bludgers and the Snitch were released. They mounted their brooms. When the whistle blew and Madame Hooch launched the Quaffle in the air, Harriet kicked off and spun dizzily towards the sky.
"And we're off!" Lee roared. "Slytherin takes possession, Flint with the ball, passes to Pucey, oh, nice shot by Weasley! Bludger straight to the head, Angelina Johnson in possession now. Did I not tell you to watch out?"
"Angelina goes for the goal, passes off to Katie, who is hanging back, waiting? Tonks! Tonks is diving, has she seen the Snitch! Oh, Gryffindor scores! Good use of distraction there, totally legal, Keeper Bletchley had better learn to keep his eye on the game!"
The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers as the Slytherins hissed and booed half-heartedly.
"I always say you can take the lay of a game by the first score. Looks like Slytherin's going to get stomped, and righteously so—"
"Jordan, I am warning you!"
"Opinions are dissenting, obviously!"
Harriet, spiraling back up to a high perch, watched the game play out, riveted. She fell and rose in mad swoops, spun inches in front of one of Slytherin's Chasers, blocking his catch, breathing in sunshine and exhaling laughter as the score counts rose and Lee's commentary got wildly out of control.
"Here now, Alicia's got the ball, headed for the goals, where are the Slytherin Chasers? They've all scattered, WATCH OUT ALICIA! Cassius Warrington, sloth of Slytherin doesn't need to be a fast flyer, he's got the Bludgers doing all the work, I am forced to admit that was a masterful shot."
"Here's Oliver signaling she's all right, bet she'll be feeling that tomorrow. Oh, and he still has time to block that weak shot by Flint, they're swearing at each other now, Madame Hooch is making them move on, Katie takes the ball—"
The counts had risen steadily—Gryffindor hovered at fifty points, Slytherin at sixty-five. Harriet was spinning slowly towards the Slytherin goal posts when something finely golden and frighteningly fast spun across the field and danced a lazy circle around Pucey, who went cross-eyed and dropped the Quaffle.
"Is that—" Lee said, a magnified whisper.
Harriet dove.
"The Snitch has been spotted, Harriet and Higgs are giving chase!"
A Bludger bound past Harriet, she didn't even flinch as it struck Higgs, and he burst into coughs. He disappeared from the side of her view. The Snitch was so close now!
Wham! She shrieked as her broom spun, Marcus Flint rising out of her way with a nasty grin. The field echoed with Gryffindor stands' shrieks of "Foul!"
Lee and McGonagall scuffled for the microphone, and a scream of feedback had Harriet wincing, hands over her ears as she rose. The Snitch was gone.
"Tonks was hit, Hooch calls a foul," Professor McGonagall said, before Lee planted an elbow in her chest and jerked the microphone back.
"A disgusting bit of cheating, better watch out later, Flint! Those Gryffindor lions look ready to eat you alive!"
The Gryffindors obligingly started up a furious roar that echoed from one side of their stands to the other.
Harriet gained as much height as she could, focused only on the Snitch now, eyes darting furiously. She was ignoring the rapid clangs of the point counter when someone struck her broom again. She jerked, grabbing at the handle, and fell back into her seat with an aching jolt. She ducked her head around, but no one was anywhere near her.
The broom rose again, even as she kicked down, and then dropped itself two feet. She cried out as she slammed against it, hearing the noises on the pitch fade into a dull roar. Her ears were buzzing. The broom shot to the side, and she was forced to roll with it, or fall off.
Brooms, especially brand new Nimbuses, didn't do this, Harriet thought wildly as she tightened her hold and spurred it downwards.
"Katie sinks the penalty no problem, Bletchley's got to get his eyes looked at, Quaffle's in the air—Angelina is in possession! Angelina's also got my heart, she'd better be careful with both!"
The broom kept rising. Harriet looked around wildly—no one was noticing, and she was too high now to scream and be heard.
The broom started to rotate, slowly. Harriet gritted her teeth grimly and tucked her whole body down as close to it as she could.
"Angelina passes to Alicia, Derrick's stolen the pass, who gave that nasty snake a pair of hands—"
"Jordan, this is your last warning!"
"Wait, Oliver's signaling, WHAT, OLIVER? Look up, look—There appears to be something wrong with Harriet's broom, she's spinning around—"
"Jordan, give me—Madame Hooch, what is going on? No—Filius, send a Patronus to Albus—I've got to get on the pitch!"
There was a commotion below, but she couldn't hear anything over the mad rushing of her heartbeat. She wished she'd had cake for breakfast. She wished she hadn't had anything at all.
The rotations increased. Something very far away in the stands below was flashing hotly silver. Harriet, snapping her head around and around in place to keep from getting dizzy, focused on it slowly.
Flash. A pause. Flash!flash. Flash. Flash! A pause. Flash, flash!flash!flash! A pause. Flash, flash. A pause. Flash!flash.
Harriet jerked her head away, and shut her eyes as the broom spun and bucked madly, adding up in her head and counting her way along twenty six.
Alright, a jinx. How did one trapped a broom a million bloody feet in the air with their wand left safely in the bloody locker room overcome a jinx?
"Hey!" someone shouted. She pried her eyes open, and saw a blur of red and white. She hadn't lost her glasses, Harriet thought, the world was just spinning by faster and faster.
The blur reached out for her, and her broom stopped moving with a sickening lash and jerked twenty more feet up. Fred Weasley resolved into actual lines and color.
"I'm going to try and put you on my broom," he told her. "Don't panic, George and Angelina are down below. If I can't grab you, they will."
He reached out, slowly, slowly. She was going to kiss him; she was going to cry. And then, his fingertips grazed barely along with handle, her broom shot away and flipped itself on the vertical axis.
Harriet screamed, and the broom stilled itself menacingly. She had left her gloves behind, concerned only with being able to grab the Snitch, and her hands were sweating. They slid along the polished wood and she didn't dare let go to wipe them off.
"—right," Fred was saying. "It's alright, it's alright."
Harriet stared at him with wide eyes. Shapes circled below her, and she felt the subtle hum of the broomstick increase.
Somewhere below, smoke was rising, like someone had lit up a campfire.
Harriet wished her broom was thrown into it. She wished she had written her mum back. She wished Dora was there. She wished desperately she had finished Lily-mum's journal instead of rationing it out to herself page by page, a small and sweet treat she wanted to savor for as long as possible. She wished all of this very quickly, as the broomstick started vibrating, and Fred's eyes widened.
And then the broom flipped itself again, bristles over handle, and she was screaming as she fell.
It seemed to last forever, with no thoughts at all in her mind, just wind rushing around her wildly, and she lost her breath completely as something small and hard struck her teeth and tried to fly down her throat.
And then she struck something—something struck her, and pain exploded all along her arm, and air forced itself thinly into her lungs. She was coughing, trying to raise her arms to scrabble at her throat, and dropping still, but slowly, until she hit something soft and fell over.
Someone was pulling her up, forcing her onto her knees, and a terrible pressure hit her back, making the world explode into white flares. Something fell out of her mouth, and she could breathe again, really breathe.
Someone was roaring as the ringing in her ears faded away.
"—LIVED UP TO HIS NAME, DID YOU SEE THAT BLOODY CATCH—"
Harriet's face was wet, her whole right-side-half burned still, her glasses were gone. The world was a watercolor; deep green spreading out around her, around a pale splotch, and inside that oval was a spot of gold.
The cries cut off. "The Snitch," someone whispered. It rose in a susurration around them, catching slowly from a whisper to a wild roar, and a voice Harriet only faintly recognized as Lee screamed, "IN THE FACE OF CERTAIN DEATH, HARRIET TONKS HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS—250 TO 75!"
Bells were ringing furiously; Harriet didn't care. Someone muttered, "Bloody fucking unbelievable," right in her ear, and said, "Take a breath."
It was not a nice voice. Harriet sucked in as hard as she could, which wasn't much—her whole chest was aching, and screamed as something wrenched her arm painfully.
When the world came back and she opened her eyes again, everything on her side hurt a whole lot less. "—reduce her arm like that!" someone, a lady, shouted. "Detention, Derrick! For a week! With me! Now help me get her on the stretcher!"
Someone picked Harriet up very carefully, and her cheek caught against warm, fragrant leather. She clutched at it slowly with her good arm, everything feeling very far away. "—bloody think so, ma'am," someone rumbled under her ear. And then, with bad humor, "Pass out already, would you? Just take a nice, long nap. Bloody well hate crowds, and you're my ticket out of here."
And then the world was rocking gently, and Harriet, face turned to that grass and oil smell, shut her eyes. A nap sounded nice—if she died while she was sleeping than she wouldn't even have to be scared.
"Rotate that slowly now," Madame Pomfrey said. "Alright, and now back again. Any numbness, tingling, pain in your fingers?"
"No," Harriet said, gasping. "But it aches!"
"You may have a pain potion once I determine whether or not that foolish boy has given you nerve damage. Now, I want you to make a tight fist, and open your fingers one by one."
Grimacing, Harriet did as she was told.
"Good," Madame Pomfrey said soothingly. "Well, Mister Derrick, it appears you haven't significantly damaged her."
The figure on the other side of the curtains grunted. "I am impressed," she went on. "Should you serve your detention adequately, I would not be opposed to granting you volunteer hours. You may leave now, and return on Monday after your classes."
The figure shifted. "…bloody won't," it said.
Madame Pomfrey, who had been pouring several vials into a cup, paused. "Miss Tonks needs rest," she said. "If you wish to visit with her, you may come back later, just like the rest of her friends."
Harriet was alarmed by this implication. "You're not going to keep me here?" she demanded. "I'm fine! Not even wobbly!"
"You fell several hundred feet, severely bruised your soft palate and throat, and dislocated your arm in your first Quidditch match," Madame Pomfrey said. "Miss Tonks, if I could chain you to this bed, I would."
"They've having a party right now!" Harriet cried. "I just know it." Tears sprang to her eyes and she dashed at them angrily.
Madame Pomfrey softened a little. "Take your potion," she said and handed Harriet the cup. "If your pain has gone down in ten minutes and you aren't dizzy, then I suppose you may leave."
She stepped back and pushed open the curtains. The Slytherin who had caught Harriet and carried her to the Hospital Wing was standing there, his arms crossed, looking grumpy.
"And I suppose you may stay for now," Madame Pomfrey told him.
"Thanks," he said sourly. Madame Pomfrey didn't seem disturbed; she put up a nicely ticking timer in bright blue with a Tempus spell, and bustled back towards her office, the low heels on her shoes clicking.
The boy stared at Harriet. He was very tall and very broad, and looked very displeased. "Should stop bloody dying," he told her, and tossed something through the air. Harriet raised her good arm and caught it with a snatch; the Snitch unfurled its wings inquisitively. One of them was bent slightly, and it only managed a low hover over the palm of her hand.
"Should I have this?" Harriet asked, and closed her hand around it. It obligingly curled back up into a smooth ball.
The boy stared at her flatly. "Well, thanks," she said, and shoved it into her pocket. "And, and for catching me."
"Hooch should have done it," he said. "Bloody Reservi jinx don't work for shit unless you're powerful as Merlin."
"What's a Reservi jinx?" Harriet asked. She'd never heard of it before.
"Makes things stop moving," he said. "Bet Hooch wasn't the only teacher to try it—they warded the whole pitch against its use in '71 when a bunch of first years used it to make the practicing classes go arse over head when they were learning."
"Well, well, well!" Professor Flitwick cried from the infirmary doors. "An obscure bit of knowledge, but a useful one. Five points to Slytherin!"
"Professor!" Harriet cried, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
"No, no, stay where you are," he said, and trotted over. "I've come to deliver some news and to wish you well. Ah, the Hospital Wing is so dreary, I hope you shan't be staying for long."
"If I don't get dizzy, I can leave," Harriet said. "Madame Pomfrey put up a timer."
Professor Flitwick scrutinized the timer, and nodded approvingly. "She was always very talented with those," he said. "Now, my dear, are we hoping for a short stay?"
"Yes!" Harriet said at once.
"Then I shall only have a short visit," he told her, and tapped a finger against his lips. "Flowers are traditional in the Muggle world, are they not?" he asked. "The Magical World differs less than you think." And with several exaggerated waves of his wand, burst a bouquet with barely any stems at all into the air above the table beside Harriet's bed. "Short flowers," he told her. "It seems to be a theme." He winked.
Harriet giggled.
The Slytherin boy was watching this grumpily. Professor Flitwick included him in his wide beam, and said cheerfully, "I have also brought glad tidings! There is nothing wrong with your actual broomstick, after we fetched it down post-haste, and you may have it back as soon as you see Miss Granger. She was entrusted with it."
"Oh, thank you," Harriet said, beaming.
"Don't look so bloody happy," the Slytherin boy snapped. "That's worse. Anyone could have been jinxing you now."
Harriet frowned, confused.
"I am sorry to say, this does not narrow the possibilities down," Professor Flitwick agreed. "Anyone who could see you could have cast a jinx like that, and as high as you were flying, you would have been visible both from the grounds and from the Forbidden Forest, as well as the stands. And your unfortunate fall was not the only bit of mischief—the professors' stand was set afire shortly before you fell."
"I saw the smoke," Harriet said, her eyes narrowed as she remembered.
"Yes, it was a rather large blaze, but we are all quite skilled with wands," Professor Flitwick said. "No one was severely hurt, only wounded and only in our pride. It is clearly been past time to renew the fire-retardant spells on the stands."
"However, that is a problem for us professors, not one you should worry about, and I dare say it will be done before the next match. As for catching the culprit, the Headmaster has decided that this matter should be referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It's a very serious situation indeed."
Harriet swallowed down the bubbling excitement. "Do you know who they're going to send?" she asked breathlessly.
"Aurors," Professor Flitwick told her, "but beyond that, I do not know."
The timer rang in a sweet and chiming tone. Madame Pomfrey came out of the office, nodding her head to Professor Flitwick when she noticed him. "Madame Pomfrey," he said cheerfully, and bowed.
"Well, Miss Tonks?" she asked Harriet.
"I haven't been dizzy at all, and my arm hurts a whole lot less."
"Hmm," she said. "Get up and walk for me please, just down to the end of the hall and back."
Harriet accomplished this easily.
"Very well," Madame Pomfrey said. "You may go. Come back if there is any burning or numbness, or if you're more than sore tomorrow."
"Yes, Madame," Harriet said.
"I shall bid you adieu," Professor Flitwick told her, and bowed again. "Don't forget your flowers when you leave."
"Thank you, sir," Harriet said, and hurried out. The Slytherin boy held the door for her, and she heard something as she slipped through that made her linger, ear to the crack.
"Ah, no, I had another reason as well," Professor Flitwick was saying. "Our dear Pomona was a bit too overzealous when checking to see if our mousetrap had been sprung."
"Is it—? The stone—?" Madame Pomfrey gasped.
"No, Poppy, don't look so alarmed—it's still there. But poor Pomona did get bitten in the process, and is waiting in the Staff Room to be attended to. She didn't want to alarm any of the students."
Harriet, ear pressed nearly to the crack of the door, glared at the lingering Slytherin boy. He snorted, and shook his head at her, and left. But then Professor Flitwick was leaving, and Madame Pomfrey, too, and she had to scramble away and around the corner.
Her heart was beating fast—she put a hand to her chest. So it wasn't just Dumbledore that knew what was hidden, it was the other teachers, too! And they were trying to trap something. Whatever was hidden was bait!
She waited until the grown-ups had disappeared towards the staff room, and took off at a slow jog towards the Tower. She had to tell Hermione, and Millicent, and Sally-Anne. But coming up the corridor towards the tipsy Fat Lady, a low surge of noise made her grin. Thoughts about secret plots evaporated as soon as she climbed through the portrait hole.
The party was in full swing—people were shouting and laughing and splashing hastily-transfigured mugs around. When Harriet came in a loud cheer went up, and she got scooped up by Fred and George to perch on their shoulders while they paraded her around the room several times.
Finally, she was let down and plied with drinks—Butterbeer, something that flamed gently in a cup, tall and unlabeled glass bottles of cherry cordial—and food, and she went poking around the room for Hermione. Ron took note, he came over to vigorously shake her hand and told her, "She's up in your dorm. Lavender and Parvati said she wouldn't come down."
"Thanks," Harriet said, and made quick work snatching up two bottles of Butterbeer. She took them upstairs, where the noise faded the further she went, until she reached the seventh floor, which was preciously silent.
"Hermione?" she called as she opened the door.
The dorm was silent, except for the heavy snuffle of someone trying not to cry. "Oh no," Harriet said and put down the bottles.
Hermione's bed curtains were half-drawn. Harriet slipped in through them, and lay down next to Hermione, who threw herself at Harriet immediately. Awkwardly, Harriet patted her back.
"I th-th-though you were g-g-going to die!" she sobbed. "A-a-and I couldn't d-d-do anything!"
Harriet shushed her, and rubbed her back. She was pants when people cried—Hermione always seemed to be able to make feel better, fussing in her firm, bossy way. "You did!" she said. "You told me it was a jinx, so I knew to stay put while someone sorted it. I wouldn't have held on half as hard if you didn't—I thought that ruddy broom might explode next! And I didn't die. That boy caught me."
"Oh, Harriet!" she said, and wept harder.
"Shh," Harriet tried. "They're going to send Aurors, they'll catch whoever jinxed me and tried to burn down the professors."
Hermione said wetly, "Millicent did."
"Millicent jinxed me?"
"No, she set fire to the professor's stand." Hermione sat up a little, and wiped at her streaming eyes. "She found me afterwards, when everyone was trying to get your broom down. She said, she…oh Harriet, it's awful." Her voice dropped into a whisper. "She said Professor Snape was jinxing you."
Harriet stilled. Professor Snape was the nastiest towards her. He always gave her awful grades on her essays, and said her potions were swill, even when they came out better than Draco's. Even when they came out better than Hermione's. And he had told Professor Dumbledore about her, and gave points to people saying horrible things about her. And every time he looked at her, he seemed so hateful. Once, even, at the very start of the year, he's caught her eye and her scar had hurt…
"My mum said that he hated my James-dad," she said in a very small voice. "If he was going to hurt me, wouldn't Dumbledore send him away?"
Hermione was grey in the dim light. "Millicent said she was going to do something nasty to him," she whispered. "But I told her not to, to wait. Because we didn't know yet. But she says he was staring at you, right after your broom went mad, and she could see him whispering. She started a fire to make him stop staring, I didn't know about the eye contact—I knew I should have studied more in Defense. Just because the class is easy doesn't mean I should have slacked!"
"It's alright," Harriet said soothingly. "Millicent's a pureblood, she knows loads of things we don't. And you did help, really, Hermione."
She hugged her, and after a moment Hermione hugged back.
"We can talk to Millicent later," Harriet said. "And Sally-Anne. We'll figure out what to do. But, can't we go down and enjoy the party right now? I mean, we did win my first match."
Hermione laughed and rubbed at her eyes. "You're the luckiest person in the world," she said. "I was so scared when you grabbed your throat, I can't believe you nearly swallowed the Snitch."
Harriet laughed, too. "Just watch," she said jokingly. "I've used up all my luck now. I'll be breaking mirrors and walking under ladders for months after this."
"Oh, don't joke about that," Hermione said, but she let Harriet pull her off the bed and downstairs. Someone had dragged out a gramophone and a bunch of barefoot girls were dancing around it. A raucous Vibes Twins song was playing. Someone had torn down the tapestries and hung up the bedsheet banners on the walls. Someone had charmed the cartoon of Harriet to move—it waved and blew kisses—shockingly red lipstick imprints. The roaring lion made real noise now.
The room was stiflingly hot. Lavender and Parvati were waiting anxiously when they came down, and kissed Harriet's cheeks for luck. "That was amazing flying!" Lavender cried. "The team's over here, look—"
They dragged her and Hermione to where the couches were. The Quidditch team was piled on them, draped with glittering tinsel strings, rudely-shaped balloon hats, and specks of confetti.
Oliver was swaying near the fireplace. Someone had dragged over a table and set him on top of it.
"Toast! Toast! Toast!" everyone was crying. Harriet had nothing to toast with—George obligingly shoved a cup in her hand and a bottle in Hermione's.
Oliver hiccupped, and held up a cup. The noise barely died down, but he roared so loudly it didn't matter, "TO THE BEST DAMN QUIDDITCH TEAM IN THIS SCHOOL!"
Everyone cheered, and drank. Harriet choked and sputtered on her drink; it raced in burning trails down her throat. He'd given her Firewhiskey!
Fred was climbing up on the table now, bracketing Oliver as he shouted, "TO THE BEST DAMN SEEKER!"
More screams and foot stamping! Fred slung an arm over Oliver's shoulder. His face was the same color as his hair. "TO PEREGRINE DERRICK!" he shouted. "A PARAGON FOR FLIERS EVERYWHERE!"
It was possibly the only time a Slytherin had ever been cheered in Gryffindor Tower. The noise seemed to shake the very room. Drinks dripped down everyone's faces, wet the stone floor, soaked the carpets through until everything smelled like sugar and fire.
George, who had snagged Alicia onto his lap, snickered loudly. "A right falcon, he is," he said. "A paragon falcon!" He dissolved into laughter.
Harriet had put her Firewhiskey down, and was sharing Hermione's Butterbeer. Someone had found, or made, or conjured? A massive cake, and was passing out slices. There were no forks; Harriet, laughing and grinning, ate it with her fingers. Her elbow kept brushing against Hermione's and they shared a mad look, happiness stuck down in their very bones. Harriet wanted to feel like this always, electrified; she thought this was possibly the very best day of her life.
Harriet and Hermione and Sally-Anne and Millicent met in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom the day after the Quidditch match. Bundled in coats and scarves, they pushed open one of the windows and settled on the floor.
"It's not Snape," Millicent said once they were sitting. "I was so sure of him I set his damn robes on fire, and it's not even him!"
Sally-Anne looked deeply disturbed by this. "You said it was him yesterday!" she hissed.
"Well, that was before I went to his office and threatened him at wand point!"
"No," Harriet said, stunned.
"Yes," Millicent said. "I wasn't going to wait around and let him have another bloody go at one of my friends!"
Hermione was pale. "What, what happened?" she demanded.
Millicent sucked in a deep breath, and said very quickly and all at once:
"Well, I went to his office, he always has student hours after dinner, and anyways the Common Room was a miserable place to be. Everyone was drunk and sad. So I went into his office, and pointed my wand at him, and said, 'Give it up, Snape. Admit to your dastardly deeds and I won't curse your pants off.' But he didn't seem scared or nothing, and told me to put my wand away before he gave me detention, and I said, 'I lit you on fire once and I ain't afraid to do it again! I'm not just going to stand here like an idiot while you're trying to kill Harriet.'"
"And then he said, 'What do you mean, kill Miss Tonks?' So I said, 'Well, everyone knows you hate her, and I saw you at the Quidditch match, you were staring right at her without blinking and muttering something.'"
"And then he said, 'Miss Bulstrode, you are well aware that I can cast silent magic as per my demonstration at the start of the year, and you should be aware as well that a counter-jinx must be stronger than the jinx itself.' And then he did that thing with his eyebrows where he's feeling superior and also disappointed in you?"
"And then he said I was a dunderhead and a fool and he would put me in tutors for Defense because I couldn't recognize a counter-jinx, and that I was lucky he wasn't sending my da a bill for his robes. And then he told me he was going to have to cover it up when the Aurors came and that if there was another fire I would be his immediate suspect. He honestly seemed more mad at me admitting to the fire than accusing him."
Millicent panted, a little out of breath from rushing it out. Hermione put her head in her hands and groaned. "But if he didn't do it, then we don't even have a suspect!" she cried.
"What, we're just going to believe him?" Sally-Anne cried back.
"Can he really cast silent magic?" Harriet demanded.
Millicent nodded. "He lit up all the candles in the Common Room after the feast, and a bunch of other stuff. Mostly so we would mind him better, I think. But he can definitely do it."
"Then we're going to have to believe him," Harriet said. "If he was jinxing me, then he would have done it silently. He's too clever to do it out loud."
Sally-Anne was very pale. "But what if he did cast it out loud, like a double blind?" she demanded. "So everyone would think it was the counter-jinx?"
"Oh, this isn't The Princess Bride," Hermione said.
Millicent had her eyebrows drawn up. "Why do you want it to be Snape so badly?" she demanded.
Sally-Anne hissed. "Because he hates Harriet, and he's awful, and he acts evil, and on Halloween he had a huge bite on his leg, like maybe he was trying to get past that horrible dog while everyone else was distracted!"
Harriet realized she had completely forgotten, how it had all blurred into the rest. "He did," she said. "I saw it, too, only so much happened that I didn't really remember. But, look, Sally-Anne, I heard something in the hospital wing yesterday." She hurriedly told them about what Professor Flitwick said about jinxes and Professor Sprout being bitten.
"So we can't really tell that it's one of the teachers," Hermione aid afterwards frowning. "Not if they all know what's there."
"Well," Sally-Anne admitted, "I still don't like Professor Snape. Something's not right about him, and just because he's a teacher here doesn't mean he should get to bully people."
"You don't have to like him, just don't go around pulling your wand on him," Millicent told her. "He was only so nice to me because I'm a Slytherin. If a Hufflepuff tried to hold him at wand-point, he'd have an apoplexy."
Everyone agreed the best course of action would be to avoid Snape for as long as possible. "He'll hold a grudge, I just know he will," Harriet moaned. "All my grades are going to go down to Troll!"
"We'll just spend more time in the library," Hermione said. "He never goes in there. And we've got to put together that list of things it could be."
"Oh!" Harriet said, remembering. "Madame Pomfrey, she was really upset. She asked if the stone was still there."
"The stone?" Hermione demanded. "What, like a gemstone?"
"A magic one, probably," Harriet said. "Think the library will have anything about that?"
Millicent groaned. "I wish every answer didn't involve the library. Madame Pince caught me chewing Bubble-and-Squeak gum the other day while I was reading and she's got to be ready to spit fire if she sees me again."
At Hermione's disbelieving look, she said, "I wasn't even blowing bubbles with it! But apparently even chewing it is too loud."
"You're awful," Hermione said. "Come on, we had better start looking now. And all of you should bring your homework, too—in case someone asks what we're doing. And because I know none of you have done it yet."
"Well, I was a bit busy not dying," Harriet sniffed.
"You drank so much Butterbeer you were sick. The only thing you might have died from was Excessive Celebration Syndrome."
They all stood up, except Sally-Anne, who lingered discontentedly.
"Oh, but isn't there anything we can do to trying and figure out who is after it?" Sally-Anne asked, eyes wet.
"We can wait," Harriet said soothingly. "And keep our eyes open. They'll have to try again, and every time they try, we've learned something new about them. We know they're powerful, and we know they're smart—they broke into Gringotts and got away, remember?—and we know they're strong enough to wrangle a troll."
Millicent snorted. "Some strong, genius giant then?" she asked. "Shouldn't be too hard to spot."
Sally-Anne fidgeted. "Really," Harriet told her. "It'll be alright. And Hermione's right, we've got to work with what we have. We don't know what's hidden yet, but at least now that'll be easier to find out than who's trying to take it."
"Well, alright," Sally-Anne said, getting to her feet. "But I don't like it."
In late November, the lake froze solid. According to everyone, this was a rare occurrence, and some of the Professors went down to see if the merpeople were alright. A big group of them were out there as Harriet and Hermione plowed their way back from the green houses through the high drifts of snow. They stopped to watch as the professors argued fiercely with a group of sixth and seventh years, who were trying to levitating huge piles of snow off the lake and shine the ice to a glassy polish.
"I bet they're going to go skating," Harriet said wistfully. She felt like she hadn't had fresh air in forever, never mind walking to her classes or circling the snow-covered pitch under Oliver's watchful eye. Between classes and practice and putting together presents and research, there hadn't been any extra time.
You'd think, Harriet herself thought, that there would only be a small number of famous magical gems and stones. But even two weeks later, they were still paging through books on the subject. Harriet knew far more than she had ever wanted about dragon stones, for one.
The students had won the argument—they were going back to flinging away the snow. A very short figure, almost as round as it was tall from all the winter clothes, stayed to help them. The wide, flat expanse of the lake beckoned tantalizingly as it was revealed.
Hermione was watching the lake with longing, too. "We've been working so hard," she said. "I think, oh I think I'll write to my parents and ask them to send my skates!"
Harriet kicked at a clump of greying snow. There hadn't been another letter since after Halloween, not even when the papers had posted blaring titles about the state of security at Hogwarts. She knew she ought to be pleased—no letter meant her mum trusted Harriet to take care of it herself, but it had been very disheartening.
"I left mine at home," she said glumly. "And I don't think Professor Dumbledore is going to let me send for them."
Hermione squeezed her arm. "That's alright," she said. "My feet are hardly bigger than yours. We can take turns."
"You can use mine," Ron said from behind them, and they jumped and shrieked.
"Don't do that!" Harriet demanded, gasping.
"Sorry," he said and grinned at them crookedly. "Couldn't help but overhear you."
Seamus, looking harried, shoved his way past. His eyebrows were gone again, Harriet noticed. "This is a public path!" he shouted over his shoulder. They obligingly shuffled to the side.
"So," Ron said, and tuck his hands in his pockets. "Skates? We can pad the toes out."
Harriet considered. "You aren't going skating?" she asked.
"Not all the time," he told her easily. "We can share. And anyways, I brought mine already—they're just upstairs in the Tower."
Harriet squinted towards the lake. "Well," she said.
"C'mon," Ron told her and bounced on his heels. "I'm trying to be a good friend, remember?"
It was very tempting. She sucked at her teeth. "Alright," she said. "Thanks!"
"You're welcome," Ron said and grinned. "Look, George's dug out a quoits set from somewhere. They're playing with Lee tonight, but we could have a round afterwards if you want."
Harriet glanced at Hermione, who seemed smugly pleased. "Are we gonna wager?" Harriet asked.
Ron's grin got bigger. "I've got some chocolate frogs still," he said. "About five of them."
Harriet considered. "I've got a set of the Chudley Cannons player cards."
"Full set?"
"I'm missing the Seeker."
"It's a deal," Ron said, and they shook.
"Well," Hermione said to him, pleased. "I'm glad you managed to turn a new leaf."
Ron flushed a little, but smiled bravely.
Somewhere behind them, something exploded with a tinkle of shattering glass. Harriet pushed herself out of the snow bank she had thrown herself into, and looked back. The greenhouse they had been in was smoking faintly. One of the windows was gone.
"Seamus," she groaned. "Hermione, we'd better get out of here."
"See you later," Ron said companionably as they left. Harriet stuck her tongue out at him, and she and Hermione tromped their way through the rest of the snow. In the hall, leaving wet footprints behind them, Harriet pulled Hermione to the side.
"I want to try something," she said, and sat down to pull her boots off. "Here, I'll do yours, too."
She tugged her wand out of her pocket and thought very carefully about the page she'd read, picturing it in her mind as she squinted. "Taweh-owb," she whispered, picturing the underlined letters.
Gold light gusted out of the end of her wand, and blew across her boots, disappearing the water drops and clinging snow. The boots shivered, stamped themselves, and stood up straighter.
"Brilliant," Harriet said, and hugged herself. "Here, give me yours."
Hermione was staring. "That wasn't in our Charms book," she said.
Harriet grinned madly. "No, my-a friend told me," she said, and shivered herself, pleasantly.
Hermione relinquished her boots, and Harriet was just finishing with them, when Professor McGonagall came down the hall towards them. "Miss Granger, Miss Tonks," she said.
"Hello, Professor," Harriet said, unembarrassed about being on the floor. Hermione, red-faced, was scrambling into her boots.
"I will refrain from asking whatever it was you were doing," Professor McGonagall said. "I am sure it was an innovative Muggle technique, and not magic in the corridors, which is strictly forbidden."
She paused, significantly, and looked away while Harriet shoved her wand in her pocket.
"Did you need something, ma'am?" Hermione asked earnestly as Harriet stood up.
"Miss Tonks has a visitor from the Ministry," the professor told them. "We will be taking tea in my office. If you are ready, Miss Tonks?"
Harriet made a face at Hermione, but followed Professor McGonagall up to the Transfiguration Corridor. "Is it Mister Taylor?" she asked nervously, and bite at her lip.
Professor McGonagall stopped at the far end of the hallway, and after a look around, straightened Harriet's collar and tugged her robes into place. It was a rather brisk fussing, and Harriet endured it.
"Yes," Professor McGonagall said shortly as she considered Harriet's hair. "Thankfully he is alone, and not with that woman—Umbridge."
Harriet gagged dramatically, and took the light smack to the back of her head with a shock. "You hit me!" she squeaked. Professor McGonagall was casting something on her hair now.
"It was barely a tap," the professor said, so crisply there was no use pursuing it. Harriet was reminded very strongly of being scolded by the Colonel. And then, "I should have brought some gel."
"It doesn't work," Harriet groaned. "Nothing does. Even braids—Hermione has to keep redoing them at lunch."
"Your father was much the same," Professor McGonagall said. "You've gotten it from his side of the family. Now, be polite." She cast an eye at Harriet.
"Yes, Professor," Harriet said meekly.
They marched to the door. Professor McGonagall paused a moment, and sucked in a deep breath, and then she swung open the door.
Harriet had never been to Professor McGonagall's office before, and looked around with interest. There was a tall desk with several enormous stacks of parchment on it, and two tartan-patterned tins. There were chairs on the other side, where Mister Taylor. And there were loads of things on the walls—pictures and diplomas and trophies.
Harriet wanted to go look at all of them, but Professor McGonagall steered her towards the desk and said, "You may have a seat, Miss Tonks, while I call for tea."
Harriet sank down next to Mister Taylor and gave him a smile.
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was pouring tea. "Sugar, Mister Taylor?" she asked crisply.
"Just milk, please," he said, and shook Harriet's hand. "Miss Tonks, that you for seeing me on such short notice."
"You're welcome, sir," Harriet said, feeling very grown up. She sat down at the edge of her chair, like her mum did when someone important came to the house, and folded her hands.
Professor McGonagall was passing out teacups and saucers now. "How was your trip here?" the professor asked Mister Taylor politely. "I understand you walked in from Hogsmeade?"
"It was bracing," Mister Taylor said dryly. "But don't trouble yourself making small talk. I'm not offended in the least to get down to business. Miss Tonks?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I understand you had some trouble recently, regarding your Quidditch match."
Harriet shot an alarmed look at Professor McGonagall, but she didn't say anything. "Er, yes," Harriet said. "I fell off my broom."
Mister Taylor nodded. He had the same listening quality that Professor Flitwick had. Harriet swallowed. "But I wasn't hurt," she said desperately. "And my parents weren't even there!"
Mister Taylor looked taken aback. He put his teacup down and said, firmly, "I know they were not there, Miss Tonks. No need to look so alarmed—this isn't a test. No, I am merely assuring myself that you are well here, as I must by law."
Harriet looked at Professor McGonagall again. She stared back evenly. "Um," Harriet said. "You aren't going to take me away from Hogwarts, are you, sir?"
He sighed. "No, Miss Tonks. I have no intention of removing you from Hogwarts. However, if the matter has not been dealt with—?"
"Aurors will be coming during the break to perform a thorough investigation," Professor McGonagall said. "The Ministry has assured me, this is the soonest they can be spared."
"Then I must be satisfied in the Ministry's response," Mister Taylor said, sounding annoyed. "Certainly, they are convinced they know best."
"As for other matters, I regret to inform you that you will have to stay here during the holidays, Miss Tonks. I am sure others will invite you into their homes, but I must ask you to decline. You are technically a ward of the Ministry, and there is concern that whoever hosts you during the holidays will be seen as a potential foster family."
Harriet thought this was magnificently stupid, but nodded just because Mister Taylor seemed so put out by the possibility, too. "Can I write my parents, at least?" she asked. "Just, just a card?"
He offered her another smile. "I will ensure your Christmas presents are passed along, and anything you wish to send your family, you may address to me instead and I will do likewise with those. It's not the merriest of solutions, but this was all I could get my superiors to agree to."
He sighed, and told Professor McGonagall, "They had to be shamed at length to even allow this. The nerve of them!"
Harriet had tried very hard not to hope, and she swallowed bravely and rubbed at her eyes. Mister Taylor's sad smile blurred.
"Have a biscuit, Miss Tonks," Professor McGonagall said. Harriet took one—it was gingery and hot in her mouth.
"I believe that the last time you were here, you mentioned there would be interviews, Mister Taylor?" Professor McGonagall asked as Harriet chewed. "Do you have a schedule in mind for there?"
"Miss Tonks is a very low priority case," Mister Taylor said. "There are other cases I am in charge of that might have much more…eclectic outcomes. As it stands, I will have the time and attention necessary to interview Miss Tonks in the spring. Perhaps around February. Will this suit?"
"I wouldn't push it any further," Professor McGonagall said shortly. "Exams."
"Ahh," Mister Taylor said, and nodded. "February then. Miss Tonks, any objections to this?"
"Please not on a Quidditch day," Harriet said, wiping crumbs off her fingertips. "The Gryffindor Captain would go spare."
"I believe I can manage that," Mister Taylor said. "Miss Tonks, I understand that this will not be the holly-est and jolliest of holiday seasons you've had, but Hogwarts at Christmas is, well, an experience. I hope you don't find it a hardship to remain here."
He'd said it with such a straight face and mild tone that Harriet couldn't help but giggle. "It's alright, sir," she said. "And thank you for sending things to my parents."
"It is the very least I could do," he told her. "Now, I have co-opted your afternoon long enough. There's no more business for today, Miss Tonks."
Harriet looked at Professor McGonagall. "Professor?"
She fixed Harriet with a look. "You may go, Miss Tonks," she said. "I am sure your friends are anxiously awaiting your arrival in the library."
Her eyes glinted, just a little. One eyelid lowered just for a second, in what might have been a knowing wink. Harriet felt her own eyes rounding—she stood up and scrambled for her things. "Bye, Mister Taylor!" she cried, and left in a flurry.