More canon business/dialogue, yadda yadda.

I keep forgetting to thank you all for leaving such lovely comments, spurring me on and being excited. This is because when I read them, I dash off and start feverishly writing. Consider the quick continuation of this fic my truest thanks to you - if it weren't for you, I'd never get it done.


Harriet sat up so fast that if she wasn't so short, she'd have bashed her head on the top bunk. Padfoot wasn't a real dog, he was Sirius—he wouldn't bark at something stupid.

Hermione grabbed her arm, stopping her as she tried to climb out of bed. Just the strength of her grip made Harriet look at her in alarm.

"Listen," Hermione whispered. When a burst of firework lit the canvas behind her, Harriet saw that her face was tight with fear.

And Harriet heard it: the singing outside had turned to screaming. Another burst of light whited out the canvas, showing a mass of shadows streaming from right to left without any order, just shoving, stampeding, to get away.

She and Hermione scrambled out of bed, groping for their dressing-gowns. Harriet left Hermione to shake Ginny awake while she dashed to the tent flap and ducked outside.

Padfoot was planted right in front of the entrance to the Girl Tent, barking and snarling. People were tearing, panicked, past their camp and down the hill, headed toward the woods. She looked in the direction they were running from, but it wasn't clear—something was moving, some dark mass in the night, emitting odd crackles of light and noises that cracked across the screaming like gunfire.

But something in the air above them was moving. Harriet squinted—

"Oh my God," Hermione said from behind her in a sickened voice, as Mr Weasley burst out of the Boy tent, his Muggle golfing jumper pulled over his pajamas, his hair in disarray, but his wand in his hand. Fred and George clambered out after him, also still in their nightclothes, looking bewildered but awake.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked in a shaking voice.

"Is that—is that the campsite manager?" Hermione's voice wasn't much steadier, and the hand she pointed at the four figures struggling in midair was trembling badly enough that Harriet could see it even in the patchy light.

It was Mr Rogers. One of the tents had caught fire, and Harriet could see his face clearly as it passed, upside down, over the light. He looked bewildered and terrified, and as he was flipped upward, she saw him looking toward the other Muggles who were floating and spinning alongside him.

His wife and children? Harriet thought with a flare of anger that echoed the bang of spell-fire from the group, the group of wizards, that was marching below the Rogers family, twirling them through the air.

"That is sick," Ron said as one of the wizards started spinning the smaller Muggle child as fast as a top. "That is really sick. . ."

Padfoot snarled.

Bill, Charlie and Percy ducked out of their tent, fully dressed and with wands drawn. That must have been what Mr Weasley was waiting for, because he turned to Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Harriet, and shouted, for the noise only kept rising, "We're going to help the Ministry! You lot get into the woods and stick together! I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie and Percy were already running down the hill toward the marching group, which seemed to be amassing followers as it churned across the campsite. A few people, whom Harriet could only assume were Ministry wizards, came sprinting from every direction toward the trouble, but were having to fight against the stream of terrified people running the other way.

"Come on, Harriet!" Hermione cried as she ran after the Weasleys. Padfoot barked—

And Harriet realized she hadn't seen Remus. She dashed over to his tent and shouted, "Remus?" but it was dark, and before she even shoved the flap aside she knew he wasn't in there. Had he already gone to help the Roberts family down?

Padfoot was pulling on her sleeve with his teeth and growling. Well, Remus was a grown wizard, and he'd taught Defense; he would be all right, surely. She looked round for Hermione and Ron—

But she didn't see them. The frantic crowd around her was full of strangers. They must not have seen her stopping. . .

Someone slammed into her shoulder, spinning her around. She stumbled, and someone's elbow caught her in the cheek. She'd have fallen to the ground and maybe even have been trampled if someone hadn't grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her to her feet.

She glanced up—at Remus' friend. Padfoot barked and snarled at him.

"Where are the others?" he demanded as he started herding her down the hill.

"Mr Weasley went to help the Ministry—I was supposed to go to the woods, but I don't know where Hermione and the others are—"

"It was foolish to let yourself get separated," he snapped.

She bristled. "It's your business, I don't think."

"Of course not," he said with heavy sarcasm, making her want to kick him. "You were clearly quite safe on your own."

Padfoot growled again and chopped at his ankles. Remus' friend glared down at him.

"You ought to teach your mutt some manners," he said. His tone almost suggested Padfoot could understand he was being insulted.

"Would you know manners if they bit you?" Harriet retorted.

"Very good, Miss Potter," he said as he pushed her into the trees. "That was almost clever."

Once again, Harriet found herself reminded (bothersomely) of Snape. For one thing, she'd never met anyone else so insufferable. For another, the way he was bossing her around, finding fault, and chivvying her through the woods was distinctly Snape-like. But (although she'd never tell him, not in a katrillion years) she was glad someone was there and she didn't have to blunder through the wood alone, not when it was like this.

Her original plan of shouting for Ron and Hermione would have done no good: the wood was so full of people yelling for Johnny and Deirdre and Shernaz and a hundred thousand other names that you'd only have success finding someone if you bellowed right in their ear as they stumbled past you in the dark. The colored lanterns that had lit the path hours ago had vanished or gone out, though that didn't stop everyone from running pellmell through the wood. Their only light came from the fire and spell-blasts from the camp, but it was no comfort; all it did was reveal odd patches of strained faces and wide eyes. Harriet was pushed to and fro by faceless bodies milling around in a panic, and would have been knocked off her feet again if it weren't for Remus' friend. He shoved at the shadows who blundered into hem (even kicked and hexed a few, judging by the yelps) as Harriet clutched his jacket and used him as a shield. Padfoot tried to stay near her, but with all the chaos he kept having to weave about or get kneed in the ribs.

Finally they'd kicked, hexed, and shoved their way far enough into the wood that the crowd they waded into was calmer, if not thinner. Families stood clumped together, their necks swiveling to glance behind them so often it looked as if they'd been the victims of some not-so-funny hex. Harriet thought of the Muggle child spinning and shivered. Padfoot pressed against her side and whined.

A loud bang like too-close thunder made her jump, and she didn't object when Remus' friend wanted to keep walking. He didn't say anything to her; he didn't even look at her, but when Harriet tried to withdraw her hand from his jacket, he said sharply, "Leave it," without sparing a glance for her.

He had his wand out. Thinking she'd feel better for having hers, she reached into her dressing-gown. . . only she hadn't brought it. She swore.

"What?" He looked around then, as sharp-eyed as Snape.

"I didn't bring my wand. . . well, I didn't know!" she said defensively when his default glare switched to incredulous. "I heard Padfoot barking and came out of the tent to see what was going on, and I never had a chance to go back in. It's not like I sleep with my wand in my pocket."

"Don't you dare get separated from me. Or your bloody dog." He steered her next to him and started walking again.

Harriet wondered how deep into the woods they were going. The sounds of panic had faded until they were just more nighttime sounds. Were they headed somewhere in particular? She knew she was safe because Padfoot was there and he wasn't still trying to attack Remus' friend (although he didn't seem to like him very much), but where were they going?

Well, she couldn't read minds.

"Where are we going?"

"I want to be able to see the camp without being anywhere near it," he said without stopping.

They passed a group of goblins standing over an enormous sack of gold. They were speaking in low, flowing guttural sounds like an underground stream, looking so sharp-eyed and clever it was almost menacing. The trouble at the camp didn't seem to disturb them at all, although it was so distant now, anyway.

Although, wait. . . someone was shouting nearby—several voices, it sounded like—

Through a netting of branches up ahead, a silvery glow was growing brighter; as if the moon had also been so alarmed by the chaos in the camp that it had dropped down to hide in the trees. Remus' friend stopped; Harriet stopped with him—and then he swore (using a much worse word than she had) and stuffed his fingers in his ears as three Veela gleamed into view.

If Harriet had thought their beauty was eerie at the game, she thought doubly so when they were up close. Seeing them through the Omnioculars wasn't the same. Their skin was the same moonlight-white, their hair still rippled as if from a breeze that touched only them, and they glided as if their feet were made of smoke and not bone; but there was something a bit unnerving about them. Maybe it was because she'd seen their faces transforming into raptors'. . . but Harriet didn't quite think so. She thought it was more like she could see the predator still under all that unearthly beauty.

The Veela were being trailed by a group of young wizards with slack, awestruck faces who were shouting at the Veela in an effort to get their attention. The Veela did not seem at all fazed by this—but one of them was looking straight at Remus' friend, and now so were the other two. . .

He dove off the path into the trees and stumbled out of sight. Branches crashed and snapped in the dark, like he was running with a hundred trees in his way. Go figure.

Harriet picked up the skirts of her nightdress and dressing-gown and hared off after him, Padfoot with her. It wasn't the easiest thing ever, running in the dark, and she almost sprained her ankle about sixteen times, but at least Remus' friend had broken a path of sorts for her. He did not run very far, but the sound of the Veela-drunk wizards' shouting had faded completely by the time Harriet caught up with him.

He was leaning against a tree, breathing like he'd run twice the distance, his fingers still stuffed in his ears and his eyes screwed shut. Harriet tugged on his sleeve and he opened his eyes, and when she mimed pulling her fingers out of her ears he dropped his hands. There was an even more Snape-like expression than usual on his face as he straightened up.

"Are they really that bad?" Harriet asked.

"What do you think?" he practically snarled.

Harriet took a step back, but not at his tone. He seemed to be transforming, like a Veela—his face was twisting up, his nose curving and lengthening—

Swearing again, he pressed a hand over it, as if he wanted to hide it—a pale, long-fingered hand that looked very familiar—

"Good going, Sniv," said Sirius' sarcastic voice behind her. Harriet's heart nearly exploded in her chest from panic.

"What are you—" she started to shout, but the words froze in her throat as with a final, soft pop! Remus' friend changed completely into Snape.

Harriet gaped. Snape kept his hand over his nose as if she wouldn't recognize him with his nose covered, and then he pulled his hand down with his fiercest glare.

"You!" she uttered. It would have been "you sneaking bastard" except her throat had locked up. Then she turned her glare on Sirius, who looked both sardonic and amused. "And you! And Remus!" she added, as this triple treachery unveiled itself.

"Blew our whole cover, Snape," Sirius said, like he was enjoying being able to rib him.

Snape told Sirius to do something that from his tone and expression was really foul, though Harriet didn't know what it meant. She vowed to find out.

"It was those fucking Veela," he snarled.

"They can reverse Polyjuice?" Sirius said with a mocking, innocent air.

"Fuck off and die, Black, they distracted me—"

Sirius snorted.

"And what's your bloody excuse?" Snape spat at him. "Get back to a dog before someone fucking sees you!"

"He's right, Sirius, what were you thinking?"

Sirius actually looked almost hurt—maybe that she was siding with Snape? She tried to make her voice less accusing. "I don't want someone seeing you. Nothing's going to happen to Sn—Professor Snape if somebody sees him."

It was Snape's turn to snort (maybe because she'd almost called him by his surname).

"All the same," he said sardonically, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask she'd seen him drinking from in the stadium. "I'd rather not pique anyone's interest."

But as he raised it to drink, he stopped. An odd expression came over his face; an unsettling kind of stillness. Harriet realized she could see him better than a few moments ago. . . because the wood had filled with thin, greenish light.

Out of the darkness, the screaming started again, like the frightened people inside the wood were even more terrified than before. Harriet's heart started pounding like running footsteps. Green light?

She looked from Snape, whose green-tinted face was wearing an expression too complicated for her to fathom, his eyes glittering like moonlight on a black lake, to Sirius, who was staring up through the canopy overhead with an expression so like Snape's, they looked, in that moment and on some deep level, almost identical.

Harriet looked up, too, but she couldn't see anything through the trees except for that film of green the color of a dying neon sign.

Sirius breathed out. "Too late, then."

"Too fucking late," Snape said in disgust.

Then he swallowed the Polyjuice. His skin rippled; his nose straightened out and shortened; his long, greasy hair paled from black to brown and twined into short curls; his fingers shortened and his hands grew wider. Only the eyes were the same: black and fiercely intent. Harriet wondered if he'd picked the man's hair for that reason.

But Sirius did not transform with him. Instead, he put his arm around Harriet, pulling her against his side.

"If anyone sees us," Snape said coldly in his own voice, without the Northern accent he'd been putting on, "I'm hexing you and turning you in on charges of attacking Harriet Potter."

Sirius only snorted again. "Come on," he said. "I want to see it."

"What is it?" Harriet asked, now less frightened and more bewildered. Snape's and Sirius' expressions had scared her—and the screaming of the crowd—but now the two of them seemed to have got control of themselves. And if it were a. . . a murder, she couldn't see Sirius saying he wanted to see it so calmly as that.

And what were they too late for?

Snape didn't answer, only started walking. She and Sirius followed after him, Harriet stumbling in the dark and hoping she hadn't ruined her new nightdress, which kept snagging on prickly things.

They emerged from the trees where the wood met the moor. Polyjuiced Snape stood in the shadow of the trees—only there wouldn't have been enough light to cast a shadow if that thing hadn't been hovering in the sky.

It reminded her of the Hogwarts' ghosts, the way they seemed to be made of mist. . . only the ghosts had skin, if only a ghostly memory of it. This was a skull. It was green, the color of the spell that killed her mum in her memories; green mist, staining all the clouds around it, the earth, the inside of her brain. Everything was green, everything. . .

"What is that?" Harriet asked. Her voice seemed too quiet, like all the power had been sucked out of it.

"Voldemort's sign," Sirius said, staring up at the sky. He had that look on his face again, the one from earlier, and something else, something much more grim.

"The Dark Mark," said Snape. He, too, was staring at the sky.

"Voldemort and the Death Eaters used to toss it into the sky whenever they killed," Sirius said. His tone of voice was as complicated as his expression, but she could pick out disgust and a banked, menacing sort of anger. "Their way of gloating."

Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Sounds like a rock band, Harriet thought, rather hysterically.

"Wh-what's a Death Eater?"

"That's what his bloody followers called themselves," Sirius said, the disgust now quite pronounced.

"Why's it there?" Harriet's heart had started that thundering beat again. She'd had a dream about Voldemort, Voldemort and Wormtail. . . and Remus had thought this was significant. . . and her scar had hurt. . . and now here was this thing, this sign of Voldemort's. . .

And why did she feel like she'd seen it before? Not the image, but this, green and monstrous, hanging in the night sky like the smoke from a bomb. . .

"We don't know," Sirius said.

Harriet looked from him and to Snape, who'd turned his back on the Dark Mark and stood with his arms folded. She had an odd, fleeting wish that he wasn't wearing a stranger's face. The sight of Snape glaring was so regular it might have been comforting.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" she asked them. Some discovery seemed to be hovering on the edge of her vision, like the Dark Mark now that she wasn't looking at it. Too late, then, too bloody late. "Is this why you all came and had this, this subtor—subtarn—"

"Subterfuge," said Snape, the stranger's face looking sardonic.

"Yeah," said Sirius, a lot more kindly. "We did. Or at any rate, we thought it might. . ."

"We need to get back to the camp," Snape said sharply.

"Why, Sirius?" Harriet asked pointedly, glaring at Snape.

"Get moving," Snape snapped, and stalked off along the edge of the wood.

"Well," Sirius said, falling into step with Harriet. "You know that time-spell—"

"Turn back into a dog, you—" Snape seemed to restrain himself with Herculean difficulty from calling Sirius something foul and educational. "—tit!"

"I will, Snivellus, if I can trust you to mind your fucking manners around my goddaughter—"

Harriet wondered if they could stand out there insulting each other until the sun rose without breaking a sweat. Probably.

"Sirius, please, I don't want someone seeing you."

He made the same hand gesture towards Snape that the leprechauns had formed at the Cup, and in the next moment his form blurred and he was a dog again.

"Eloquent," Snape sneered. "What an economy with words."

"I think you like being mean to each other," Harriet said. She would not have quite dared say it to him at school, but there was something about seeing him and Sirius squabbling that made her feel as if she was the only moderately mature one of the three.

"Keep walking," was all Snape said.

Harriet hurried to catch up to him properly, Padfoot jogging along beside her.

"Why are you here?"

"Temporary insanity," Snape said without looking down at her.

"Why are you here with Remus and Sirius?"

"I shan't repeat myself."

Harriet couldn't decide whether this was funny or very bloody aggravating. Suddenly she felt exhausted. This was the third night in a row where she'd had almost no sleep—actually, this night she had had no sleep. She'd at least sneaked a few hours on the two nights before. Now that the fear had worn off, she could have lain down on the edge of this moor and passed out.

At least, she hoped she could. Something unpleasant kept coiling and uncoiling in her belly, like the misty snake overhead.

"What?" Snape said. Harriet looked up to find him frowning at her.

"What?" she repeated.

"No impertinent rejoinder?"

"I'm tired, is all." Another thought, as unpleasant as anything this night, twisted into her head. "I hope Ron and Hermione are okay. And all the Weasleys—and Remus. Where is Remus?"

"He went to help the Ministry while I came to find you."

Harriet wasn't sure whether to feel pleased or not. Although. . . she did feel pleased. There was a little burst of something like happiness among the snakes of anxiety. But it hung there uncertainly inside her, not knowing whether to evaporate because Snape was only set on protecting her in memory of her mum, or to stay because Snape was. . . was what? He still didn't really care about her. She was in danger again, that was all, and he had some sort of duty.

Severus is the least dutiful man I know, Dumbledore's voice echoed in her memory. She paused, uncertain. . . but then she shook it away. What did that mean, anyway? What did it matter.

Sounds of the camp welled over the trees. They'd come around the woods in such a way that they had to wade across a large portion of the camp to find the Weasleys' plot. Harriet stared at all the tents torn down and trampled, the broken glass everywhere (which Snape scoured away with his wand as they walked), the rivers of muddy water that flowed through all the trash. The air was hazy and smelled like burning. The faces they passed were tearful, frightened, soot-streaked, muddied, angry. Harriet rested her hand on Padfoot's ruff, digging her fingers in. Snape was grim and silent.

Finally she made out the three tents at the top of the hill, none of them looking singed or trampled (though the boys' was listing a bit). Remus was pacing back and forth in front of the Boy Tent, all alone. When he turned and saw them climbing the hill toward them, he actually ran down to meet them, kicking up a stream of mud that splattered Harriet's nightdress.

"Thank God," he uttered, and grabbed her in a hug.

Harriet was gobsmacked. It wasn't a slight hug, either: it was strong, almost desperate with fear that she could feel turning to relief as he hugged her, the strung-so-tight tension melting out of him. When it had melted completely away, he pulled back and put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked. There were dirty streaks across his forehead and a spell-graze on his cheek. "You're not hurt?"

Harriet shook her head. She realized she was happy: really, fully happy, without having to wonder if she ought to be. She smiled. Remus smiled back, and kissed the top of her head.

"Come inside," he said. Then he looked around at Padfoot (who licked his hand) and at Snape (who was staring at them incredulously). "Where are Ron and Hermione and Arthur?"

Worry elbowed Harriet's happiness aside. "They're not here?"

"Oh thank Merlin, there they are," Remus said, his voice heavy with gratitude as he looked over Harriet's shoulder. She turned quickly to see Mr Weasley fighting his way through a crowd of frightened-looking people who all seemed to be pelting him with questions.

"Of course it's not him," she heard him saying. "We don't know who it was, it looks like they've Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed—"

Hermione had spotted Harriet. She scrambled up the hill and threw herself on Harriet, rather like Remus had done.

"Blimey," Ron said, catching up with them. His freckles stood out starkly on his white face. "You all right, Harry?"

"We lost you!" Hermione said tearfully. "When the Dark Mark came up, we thought—" She gulped, like she was swallowing the words she couldn't bear to say.

"Everyone else is here," Remus was saying to Mr Weasley as Charlie poked his head out of the tent.

"Thank Merlin, there you all are," he said. "We've got Fred and George and Ginny, Dad."

They all ducked into the tent, even Snape and Padfoot (who kept glaring at each other whenever the crowd of Weasleys forced them to sidle within five feet of each other). Bill was sitting at the kitchen table holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding in a long gash too big for a tea towel. Percy resembled Viktor Krum after the Bludger had hit him, and Charlie's shirt was ripped from his left shoulder down to his right rib, as if he'd only just dodged a slashing curse. Fred, George and Ginny didn't seem to be hurt, but they looked shaken. Ginny was clutching a throw pillow with both her arms wound tightly around it.

"Did you get them, Dad?" Bill asked sharply. "The person who conjured the Dark Mark?"

"No. We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harriet's wand—"

"What?" said Harriet and Remus.

"Harriet's wand?" said Fred.

"Mr Crouch's elf?" Percy uttered.

"—but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark," Mr Weasley finished.

"We got separated from everyone," Hermione said in a shaking voice. "Here, Harriet, your wand—we were with Fred, George and Ginny when we got into the wood, but then Ron tripped—"

"And that bloody git Malfoy was there," Ron said angrily, "leaning up against a tree like he owned the whole ruddy forest, enjoying the view—"

Harriet couldn't help glancing at Snape just then. As if he felt her looking at him, his eyes flicked from Ron to her, but they didn't linger, and she couldn't read his expression.

"And I realized," Hermione said in a slightly firmer voice, as if trying to get Ron back on track, "that Harriet wasn't with us—but I thought maybe you'd gone on with Ginny and the others and just not noticed us falling back—"

"So we kept going until we were in the woods with nobody else around," Ron said, "and we heard this deep, creepy voice. . ."

Mr Weasley took over the story from there. When he'd finished, Percy, who'd been swelling like an indignant bullfrog, burst out:

"Well, Mr Crouch was quite right to get rid of an elf like that! Running away when he expressly told her not to, embarrassing him in front of the Ministry—how would it have looked if she'd been had up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of—"

"She didn't do anything!" Hermione said, even more indignantly and with even greater swelling. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

Percy drew back a little, blinking behind his smudged glasses. Bill and Charlie exchanged a silent look, and Remus frowned.

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" said Percy.

"She didn't run amok!" Hermione was almost shouting. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

"House-elves don't need wands anyway," Harriet said when Percy drew his eyebrows down and opened his mouth. "They've got their own magic that's loads easier to use. What happened to the Muggles?" she said quickly, because Hermione and Percy both still resembled a pair of bad-tempered bullfrogs. "Did you get them down?"

"Not so much for our efforts," said Bill, and Harriet was almost too tired to feel embarrassed that he was talking directly to her. "When the Dark Mark showed up, it scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, at least. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Those were Death Eaters?" Harriet asked, taken aback. She noticed that no one else asked what a Death Eater was and was glad she'd already asked Sirius, who wouldn't think she was stupid. "But I thought the Dark Mark was done by a Death Eater?"

"It had to have been," said Mr Weasley, sounding even more tired than Harriet felt. "No one else would know how to cast that spell."

"But why'd they run, then?" asked Ron, voicing Harriet's next question. "Wouldn't they be pleased to see it?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill (making Harriet very glad she hadn't been the one to ask). "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep out of Azkaban thirteen years ago—told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost power, and went back to their daily lives. . . I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

Harriet wondered how fair it was (or wasn't) for someone so good-looking to be so clever. Or for someone so clever to be so good-locking.

"So," she said slowly, "whoever conjured the Dark Mark. . . were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Harriet," said Mr Weasley tiredly. "Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours' sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

Harriet left the Boy Tent with Hermione and Ginny, who was shivering; Remus, Snape, and Padfoot ducked out after them. Harriet glanced at the men (and dog) and said to Hermione, "You go on. I'll be in a bit."

Hermione slid a glance at Remus and Padfoot, then nodded and ducked into the tent after Ginny (who'd gone in straightaway, as if she didn't want to be outside).

The Dark Mark had been blown apart on the wind, but its ugly haze still hung over the camp, which looked shrunken and forlorn, as if all the happiness had been sucked out of it. She supposed it had.

"It's almost three in the morning," Remus said gently to her. "You should really try to get some sleep."

"I don't think I'll sleep much." It was true: she felt exhausted and heavy-headed, but thoughts were flickering madly inside her head like a lightning storm. "I've got too many questions." She couldn't resist adding: "Like what's Snape doing here."

Remus' eyebrows flew into his sweat-streaked hair, and he shot an alarmed look at Snape.

"The Polyjuice wore off while we were in the wood," Snape grit out, the stranger's face looking thunderous, and he stalked into the tent, shoving the flap out of his way so roughly the whole tent swayed.

"Oh dear," Remus muttered. He beckoned Harriet after him, and Padfoot followed, blurring upward into Sirius as soon as he was inside.

"Padfoot!" Remus said sharply, pointing his wand at the tent flap so that the canvas whipped down and the ropes twined together, tying it shut.

"No one's around," Sirius said irritably, running a hand through his hair, which was growing long and shaggy.

"That was his excuse for transforming in the wood, too," Snape said.

"Shut it, Snivellus," Sirius snarled, making Harriet wince, "it's your fucking fault we missed being there when whoever it was fucking threw the fucking Mark into the fucking sky—"

"You transformed?" Remus demanded, breaking in on this stream of profanity. "Are you insane?"

Sirius looked mutinous. It wasn't the way Ron looked mutinous when Hermione nagged him or the twins when their mum was scolding them about Ton Tongue Toffees; it was a far more grown-up expression, almost. . . dark.

"I can make my own bloody fucking choices, Remus."

Remus stared at him. Sirius stared back, that shadow still in his face.

Harriet fretted, wondering what she should do. Should she try to stop them before this became a real row?

Snape was snapping his fingers together almost soundlessly, trying to get her attention. When she blinked at him, he shook his head once, a small gesture but unmistakable: Leave it. She hesitated. Snape hated Remus and Sirius. . . he might be saying it because he wanted them to row. . .

But then the tension left, as if Remus had packed it away. He turned back to the table, his expression so calm it was hardly believable. Sirius glowered off to the side and slouched down in his chair.

"I don't suppose any of you saw anything, then," Remus said. It wasn't a real question, though, so Harriet guessed he already knew the answer.

"Nope, because Snape got distracted by the fucking Veela while we were on our way," Sirius said. Snape's glare was like a poison arrowhead. Harriet almost groaned.

"Well, so does everyone," she said loudly before Snape could try to tear a hole in Sirius' windpipe. "I mean, all the blokes do. You were a dog, Sirius."

"That's one explanation," Snape said in a distinctly nasty tone.

Harriet knew Snape had said something significant when Remus had such a non-reaction that it was its own reaction and Sirius' face darkened again; but she decided that anything that lined Snape's face with vindictive satisfaction, shut Remus down, and ruffled Sirius' hackles was something she ought not to inquire about. Not in front of all three of them, at any rate. Remus and Sirius might tell her later once Snape was gone, if she asked right.

"What I want to know is what you're all doing here," she said, much more boldly than she really felt. "You had to have been planning to come for a while, not just after I had my dream, because the tickets would've been all sold out."

"Is that a bad thing?" Remus asked. "Our planning to come?"

"No, but—why didn't you tell me?" She frowned. Was he evading the question? "And why be in disguise? It makes it seem like you're. . . up to something."

Was it her imagination, or were Remus and Sirius trying not to smile? Snape, well, he probably didn't now how to smile. Harriet glowered at them, but this only appeared to increase their difficulty. Sirius made a snorting noise like a muffled snigger.

"Well?" she said, trying to sound dignified. To her own ears she sounded like she had a bit of a head cold.

Remus pulled something out of his pocket: a much-folded piece of parchment. For a moment she thought it was the Marauder's Map, even though she knew it should be in her trunk at the Burrow.

Snape muttered something under his breath as Remus held the parchment out to her. Harriet unfolded the square in a way that she hoped looked extra defiant.

The parchment was covered from side to side and end to end with somewhat familiar writing. There were a few tea-ring stains on it, and the edges were tattered, the creases so well-folded they'd made a few tiny holes at the corners. But as she read down the page, her confusion only grew.

"I don't understand."

"When you had your time-accident," Remus said, "and you were raving—you actually weren't raving, you were predicting the future."

Harriet stared at him.

"At the bottom," Snape said coldly.

She read the final line: but those blokes in masks, they fled when the Dark Mark showed up in the sky.

She'd said that?

"Is this. . . is this why you were saying you were too late?" she said, staring at that line. This had only happened tonight, but this parchment was so well-read it had to be weeks, maybe even months, old.

"We were trying to find out who was responsible for the chaos tonight," Remus said, his voice heavy and his lined face wearier than usual. "I failed, too, with the group attacking the Muggles. Even with foreknowledge, there was nothing we were able to do."

Snape's and Sirius' faces were both equally grim, as if they'd come to this conclusion, too. Sirius glared at the tabletop, his expression both frustrated and menacing, while Snape kept drumming his fingers on his knee, apparently restless.

She wasn't sure whether to be angry they'd kept this from her or—or what. All she felt right now was a kind of blankness as she started at the top and read about the Grangers, the Weasleys, the World Cup . . things that had happened a long time after this piece of parchment had been stained with tea for the first time. . . and a few things that hadn't. There was nothing about staying at Hogwarts for half the summer, but the pink foofy dress was in there (though the Malfoys were missing).

It was all so . . surreal.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you," Remus said. "We didn't want to worry you."

"Is there. . . is there more of it?"

"I'm afraid not. You were talking backwards the whole time, you see, so what's at the bottom of the page is the last thing we know. By the time Severus figured out what was going on, you were predicting the events of tonight."

Snape? Harriet slid a glance at him. His expression was aloof, displeased, and frosty, as if he didn't think Remus should be telling her this. (So why was he letting him, then? She'd have thought Snape would fight Remus tooth and nail, for no better reason than it was Remus.) And he was still Polyjuiced as the Muggle. He must have sneaked another drink while she wasn't looking.

If he'd copied this down from her own words. . . that meant he'd been with her while she was ill. For a moment, she was confused all over again. Dumbledore's words drifted back to her. . . but she'd been in danger then, hadn't she? Danger of losing her mind, but danger all the same. Snape always came round when there was danger. He just wasn't around when there wasn't.

"That still doesn't explain the disguise, you know."

"I have taught every single one of those bloody Weasleys," Snape said with his lip curling slightly, surprising her that he'd speak at all. "I don't want them knowing I'm here."

Harriet supposed she could believe that. The twins would certainly have tried to slip something into his tea. She was sure Mrs Weasley hadn't managed to confiscate all of their contraband.

"Is that enough to be going on with?" Remus asked her, though he was smiling and his tone was understanding. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

"I suppose." She glanced down at the parchment. "Can I keep this?"

"By all means, if you'd like," Remus said. "We have other copies. We'll see you in a couple of hours," he promised as she stood to leave.

Sirius gave her a rough, one-armed hug, while Snape did not even watch her go.

Outside, the air felt vast and empty. A few people were still moving round the camp, some even packing up to leave in the night, but most seemed to have retreated into their tents. Maybe like Ginny, they didn't want to be outside.

The Girl Tent was dark inside, but Hermione whispered, "Everything all right?" as Harriet made to climb up to her bunk.

"Yeah," she whispered back. Honestly, she wasn't sure.

She lay staring up at the blank, shadowed canvas that no longer flickered and listened to the muted noise in the night. Her thoughts wouldn't lie still. They paced like Remus outside the tent, crackled like the spell-light during the trouble, and came apart like the green mist of the Dark Mark. When she finally slipped into sleep, she dreamed of monsters: a giant snake with Voldemort's nose-less face and red eyes; the beautiful Veela with their leathery wings and beaks; and Snape turning into stranger after stranger, only his glaring eyes remaining the same.

When Mr Weasley woke them up to leave just before morning, she felt like she hadn't slept at all.