After rubbing the soot out of her eyes, Ariadne was startled to see a frazzled older woman standing in front of her, one hand on her hip and the other holding tightly onto a raised frying pan. She watched Ariadne with narrow eyes, her cold and suspicious expression looking distinctly out of place when paired with her tattered, ankle-length nightgown.
Ariadne jerked her leg as she felt something small and soft at her foot, looking down to find a white cat pawing at her leg, with a tabby following close behind. There must be more nearby, she deduced, spotting four separate feeding trays in the corner. A large scratching post stood next to it, and photos of a vast variety of cats from seemingly different eras covered the walls. Ariadne tried not to shudder. She really did not care for cats.
"Hello," Ariadne said as politely as she possibly could while also coughing up leftover floo residue and attempting to hold back a grimace at the distinct scent in the air. Cats and… cabbage, maybe? "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt like this. Are you Mrs. Dursley?"
"Mrs. Dursley?" the old woman asked incredulously, though she dropped the arm with the frying pan back down to her side. She looked Ariadne up and down, taking her in now that the shock of her arrival had worn off. She must have looked particularly young, or perhaps particularly frightened, because the woman softened as she pieced Ariadne's presence together. "Are you looking for the Potter boy?"
"Yes!" Ariadne exclaimed, relieved that the woman at least knew who she was talking about. She'd been so stupid to have Flooed like that, without fully knowing where to go and in as much as a rush as she'd been in. Narcissa had taught her long ago that the first rule of Flooing was to be patient and precise. And she'd been neither.
But she could scold herself at a later time. She'd arrived in one piece, at a place where the person at least seemed to know Harry, and she'd not only escaped the wrath of Lucius Malfoy but the efforts of a team of Aurors. That deserved a pat on the back, at least, and she was truly so pleased to just be out of the Manor that anywhere else was a nice change of pace.
"Yes," Ariadne confirmed again, and she began moving towards the woman's front door. The cats followed. "I was trying to find Harry Potter. If you could just point me in his direction, I'll be out of your hair in a moment. Again, I'm terribly sorry – I had a bit of trouble at home, so I thought I'd try and reach Harry, but–"
"Hold on a moment," the woman said haltingly, and Ariadne froze where she stood. "Where do you think you're going? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Well, Ariadne didn't really. It had been almost nighttime when Madame Bones first arrived, but she'd no idea how long that visit had even lasted. She shook her head slowly, and the old woman scoffed.
"Of course you don't!" She nodded her head towards a small couch in front of a square television, indicating for Ariadne to sit, but Ariadne remained standing.
"I'm not going to kill you, girl," the woman said, batting her hand in the air in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner. "You look dead on your feet. I'll make us some tea and you can explain to me why you were trying to find Harry Potter. Call me Mrs. Figg, by the way. Mr. Tibbles, Snowy, come." The two cats left Ariadne's feet to follow the old woman into the kitchen where she put the kettle on the stove before moving out of sight. Begrudgingly impressed by the cats' ability to recognize their own names, Ariadne walked over to the couch and sat primly, placing her hands onto her knees.
"My name is Ariadne," she called back in return, deliberately keeping off her last name. She didn't want to give this poor woman any more reason to distrust her, besides breaking into her home and claiming to know Harry Potter.
Mrs. Figg returned with tea, and was followed by two new cats this time, one gray and the other a ruddy brown. Ariadne was careful not to settle too much into the couch. It was a really lovely couch though, the worn-in kind meant for sitting in front of the telly for far too long before lulling yourself into a nap.
"Are there many witches and wizards in this neighborhood?" Ariadne asked, making polite conversation as Mrs. Figg began to pour the tea. Narcissa would have died at the sight of the mismatched teacups, but Ariadne thought it was nice. It fit Mrs. Figg, at least, batty as she seemed.
"No," Mrs. Figg responded, settling into her armchair with a satisfying thunk. "Harry's the only one, as far as I know. Not that I'm saying Harry lives here," she added on as an afterthought, as though remembering not to trust Ariadne's intentions.
The only one? Ariadne was too polite to press further, as she'd already gone far enough by quite literally breaking into this woman's home, but Mrs. Figg caught onto her confusion anyway.
"I'm a squib," she explained. "You're lucky that I've got a Floo network for my sister's family to visit, or you'd have ended up in a chimney god knows where. What address did you even give in the Floo?"
"Four Privet Drive," Ariadne said. "Or at least I thought that I did."
"Must have stuttered," Mrs. Figg said matter-of-factly, though she seemed distinctly less wary now. She eyed Ariadne with interest. "This is Forty-Four Privet Drive. You're a little ways down. Not many Harry Potter fans know his address, though. Rarely get this far."
"I'm not a fan!" Ariadne exclaimed indignantly before her cheeks flushed as she realized what she said. Mrs. Figg observed her knowingly, patting on the smushed face of her cat as she did. "I mean, I am, of course. A fan. But not like that! Harry– Harry's my best friend, I guess. I was trying to visit him, but I was in a bit of a rush." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as she explained, worried she was sounding increasingly unhinged.
But Mrs. Figg didn't seem to think so. "I'm glad," she said, something gleaming in her tired eyes in a way that made Ariadne shift in her seat. "I'm glad to hear that– the boy's okay, at school? Adjusting well?"
"Harry?" Ariadne clarified. "Oh, yes. He's got great friends – not that I'm calling myself great, but he's got two other best friends who really are quite lovely. And everyone likes Harry – except for the people that hate him, of course, but he doesn't seem to mind. And he's a brilliant Quidditch player–"
"Alright, girl, enough gushing," Mrs. Figg cut her off, though there was a distinctly teasing lilt to her voice and a fond look in her eye. Ariadne blushed anyway, snapping her mouth shut. "You'll see your boy in the morning, alright? Now get some rest," she said, indicating towards an old quilt lying on the arm of the couch.
"Oh, Mrs. Figg, I couldn't possibly," Ariadne protested. "I'll–"
"You'll what? Wander about the neighborhood until the police are called? Go to the park at this hour and get yourself murdered? No," Mrs. Figg admonished, shaking her head. "Stay here, rest, and visit the boy at reasonable hour. I'll hear nothing else. Besides," she added. "I can't very well send you off looking like that, now can I?"
Ariadne spotted her reflection in the screen of the telly. She really did look dreadful, with ash highlighting her cheeks and her hair in a nest. And she really was very tired, having been lulled into complacency by the warmth of the tea and of Mrs. Figg's sofa, adrenaline from her escape having left her body in a rush. She could already feel herself settling into the cushion with a yawn.
"Alright," she nodded. "But if I'm any bother at all–"
"Yes, yes, can't you already tell I wouldn't hesitate to kick you out?" Mrs. Figg said impatiently, but she was pleased at Ariadne's assent. She walked over, flicking the quilt on the armrest over Ariadne in a surprisingly maternal gesture from such a sufficiently odd woman. Ariadne murmured her thanks, already nodding off.
"Wash up in the morning," Mrs. Figg commanded. "And don't wake me when you leave. You've already interrupted my sleep enough tonight, I should think."
But Ariadne was already asleep, and Mrs. Figg observed her for a moment with a fond smile. She shook her head before whispering for Mr. Paws to follow and Tufty to stay at Ariadne's side and keep watch, shuffling back to bed in her old, tartan slippers.
Ariadne left Mrs. Figg's quietly in the mid-morning, gently folding up the quilt and placing it back on the sofa where she'd originally found it. She left a note of thanks and placed it on Mrs. Figg's kitchen counter, and even patted Tufty in appreciation where he sat on the floor, having stayed by her side the whole night. She still wasn't a cat person, but Tufty wasn't all too bad. Setting off down the block to Four Privet Drive, Ariadne found a non-descript home a few houses down from Mrs. Figg's that looked nearly identical to its neighbors. The lawn was impeccably trimmed. This must be it.
Ariadne knocked once, a short and sharp rap on the white door.
A tall woman with somewhat equine looking features and wispy blonde hair answered with a scowl, adjusting her pearl necklace and wiping her hands on her apron before she spoke.
"We don't want whatever it is– oh, hello!" The woman said, forcing a smile onto her face when she caught sight of the cashmere of Ariadne's sweater and the tailoring of her skirt. She'd managed to wipe off most of the soot, at least. "Are you here for Dudders? How exciting!"
"Dudders? No, I– this is Harry's house, isn't it? Harry Potter?" With the door open, Ariadne could see into the foyer of the home, with a portrait of its residents directly in her eyeline. It was a studio one, awkwardly done, but what confused Ariadne was that it only contained three subjects: a large man, the thin woman, and an oversized, sullen toddler. No Harry in sight. But the portrait was of humans and not cats, so she was at least on the right track.
The woman's thin lips fell out of their smile and into a deep frown almost as instantly as Ariadne said the name.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" the woman hissed, beginning to shoo at Ariadne with her hands. "How did you find us? Get out of here before I call the police. Out, out!"
"Excuse me!" Ariadne yelped indignantly, just barely avoiding the woman's bony swat. Her exclamation caught the attention of the Dursley's right-side neighbor, who poked a pale face through her hedges to observe the commotion. As soon as she caught sight of their audience, panic flooded the woman's watery blue eyes and the hands that had just been pushing Ariadne away instead abruptly pulled her into a one-sided hug. Ariadne tried to wiggle her way out, but the woman's grip was surprisingly strong.
"Petunia? Is everything alright?"
"Good morning, Judith!" Petunia called nervously. "One of Dudley's little admirers," she explained, forcing out a chuckle. She then pulled Ariadne inside and out of sight, dropping the smile once more as soon as the door closed behind them. Merlin, she's good at that.
"Well, you must be pleased with yourself," Petunia glared, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't very well allow you back outside with Judith Gardiner waiting for you. She's been looking for any excuse to take my spot at the Little Whinging Women's Luncheon."
Ariadne had no idea what that meant and didn't care enough to find out. It had already been an impossibly long morning. "So, is Harry in his room then?" she asked instead.
Petunia scowled. "The boy's in the kitchen. But if you so much as even look at my Dudders, or use your freaky little spells on him…" she trailed off threateningly.
"Sure, Mrs. Dursley," Ariadne nodded politely. "I'll stay away from your… Dudders. The kitchen's that way?" Ariadne asked, though she had already begun walking down the hall after spotting a shock of black hair through the open archway. But Ariadne paused by the time that she reached the entrance, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. What was she doing here? Why would it be okay to just show up at someone's home like this?
Well, she'd already come this far.
The kitchen was quaint, with dated, flowery wallpaper and a round table at the center. Harry sat with his back to her, so that she could only identify him by his messy black hair, but it was enough. He was dwarfed by his cousin and uncle on either side of him, each eating bacon so ravenously that Ariadne worried briefly that they might bite their own fingers off.
Ariadne focused her eyes on the back of Harry's neck, his own head leaning down as he ate toast silently. His uncle and cousin's eyes were trained on the television across from Harry, which was currently showing a commercial for some sort of cereal. Ariadne took a deep breath.
It's only Harry, she reminded herself, and it was that thought encouraged her to finally speak.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Ariadne called, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear nervously.
Harry was on his feet in a second, toast scattering to the table in his hurry. He turned to face her with his mouth hung open incredulously. "Aria?"
"Hello!" she greeted. Purely on impulse, and ignoring his large cousin's overt gawping, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, though he returned the hug. She pulled back to look at him, and though he didn't seem cross, she felt the need to explain herself anyways.
"I'm so sorry!" she rushed out. "I don't know what I was thinking exactly– I've just run away, you see, and your address was the first that popped into my head. I don't even have a gift for you, for Merlin's sake. It's just– I thought that things might be better if I came to find you and–"
"Aria," Harry interjected. "I'm glad you came to find me. I'm just surprised, is all. Why'd you run away? Did Mr. Malfoy do something?" Harry's eyes narrowed.
"No," Ariadne responded, feeling a surge of gratefulness at his concern. "Not really. I just– that."
Ariadne didn't know how to explain herself, but luckily, she didn't have to. She pointed at the television, and Harry followed the direction of her index finger, observing the dirty face of her crazed and skeletal father on the screen. "That's why I ran away."
"Black is said to be armed and extremely dangerous," the newscaster warned, looking into the camera very seriously. He cleared his throat as he shuffled papers on the desk in front of him. "Any sighting of Black should be reported immediately–"
Harry turned back to Ariadne, worry clear on his face. "That's your–"
"Yes," she confirmed grimly. "Escaped. The head of the DMLE came to see me last night, to see if he's tried to contact me. What?" Ariadne asked when Harry only nodded in response. "You're not going to ask if he has?"
"Not any of my business," Harry replied before taking on a confident grin. "Besides, you'd have told me if he had."
Ariadne laughed, but she did not dispute what they both knew to be true.
The sight of Harry laughing had evidently proved to be too much for both Mr. Dursley and Dudley, who had up until that point been watching him and Ariadne interact with a sort of shocked fascination.
"Alright, who in God's name are you?" Mr. Dursley finally demanded, thick moustache quivering on each syllable.
"I'm Ariadne," she said politely, holding her hand out for him to shake. "You have a lovely home."
Mr. Dursley did not take her hand, looking at the proffered limb with a marked aversion. Dudley, on the other hand, had no such qualms. He got up from his seat with great difficulty and grabbed at her hand just before she dropped it, raising it to his mouth in what Ariadne supposed was supposed to be an attempt at chivalry. All he succeeded in was getting bacon grease on her palm.
"M' name's Dudley," he shoved out awkwardly. Ariadne held back her grimace with significant effort as she smiled at him politely, leaving Dudley looking very satisfied. Meanwhile, Harry had to hide his face in the neck of his t-shirt to muffle his laughter while she wiped the back of her hand on her skirt.
"I'm glad you're having fun," Ariadne muttered to him under her breath, only making him laugh harder.
"We'll be going to my room and staying silent," he intervened finally, voice flat and sarcastic when he addressed the Dursleys.
Petunia, who had by now entered the doorway of the kitchen, looked aghast. "Keep the door open," she demanded. "And I shall not stand for any funny business in this house."
Funny business?
Petunia continued. "If I see either one of you doing…" she gestured wildly at the tip of Ariadne's wand peeking out from the band of her skirt.
Oh.
"No magic," agreed Harry flatly. He grabbed Ariadne by the arm and pulled her out of the room, though she was all too glad to leave. Ariadne heard nothing but whispers emanating from the kitchen in their wake until she reached the middle of the stairs, trailing only slightly behind Harry.
"Come back here right now, Dudders," Ariadne heard Petunia hiss urgently from behind her. "Now!"
Turning on the stairs, Ariadne watched as Dudley stood in the center of the living room, looking back and forth between herself and his beckoning had followed her, it seemed, and was now caught between whether or not he should continue.
Ariadne looked away quickly so as to avoid encouraging Dudley any further, but it was too late. Petunia caught sight of her and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"What have you done to my baby?" she accused, thin neck straining in agitation. "He's never wanted to spend any time with the boy before."
"Er –" Ariadne looked to where Harry was standing at the top of the stairs for help.
"I don't think it's me that Dudders wants to spend time with, Aunt Petunia." He called with a smirk. "Big D's growing up!"
Petunia gasped, clutching her hand to her chest as if to calm an out-of-control heart. Ignoring the red spots appearing on Dudley's large cheeks and Harry's loud laughter, Ariadne shuffled upstairs and pushed past Harry before realizing she didn't know which room was his. Marching back towards him, she poked a finger to his chest with a sharp jab.
"I'll let that slide because it's your birthday and because I've just surprised you in your home. But I want no part in the Dudley and Ariadne story, alright? That's too…" she shuddered, "ugh to think about."
Harry grabbed her index finger and removed it from his sweater, green eyes dancing as he looked at her.
"Fair enough," he conceded, dropping her hand. A smile appeared on his face. "But I'll be sure to remember you said that when I'm giving the toast at your wedding."
And with that, he walked past her and into his room, leaving her standing there in the hallway, calling his name with indignation.
"I'm so jealous of Ron and Ginny," Ariadne mused, staring up at the ceiling from where she was lying flat on her back on Harry's bed. "Exploring the pyramids and stuff. Would I make a good curse breaker, do you reckon?"
Harry, meanwhile, was sat on the floor and digging around under his desk. He had dropped one of his books, an odd sort of thing with fur and teeth, and it had taken to hiding beneath his desk and snapping at his fingers in an attempt to escape.
Ariadne huffed, rolling over onto her stomach. "Yes, Aria, you'd make a fantastic curse breaker because you're excellent in everything that you set out to do," she mimicked, lowering her voice to match his.
Harry responded with a hum of absent-minded agreement. "Aha!" He cried, throwing himself forward and clasping onto the book with both hands.
"I'm thinking of finally telling Ron that I have a crush on him," Ariadne tried.
Harry nodded, still working on belting the book closed, when his head snapped towards her so suddenly that Ariadne worried he might get whiplash.
"You what?"
"It's about time," she giggled. "What do you want to do when you're older, anyways?"
"I'm not sure," Harry replied thoughtfully, after a moment of silent contemplation. "I've never thought about it, I guess. About leaving Hogwarts. Quidditch, maybe, if that's an option. It's what I'm good at. What about you?"
Ariadne lifted herself into a sitting position, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed. "I really don't know what's out there. Maybe I can get away with doing nothing. That's what Narcissa seems to do, and her life doesn't seem too bad."
Harry made a face, but before he could say anything else, Petunia appeared in his doorway. She looked tense, glaring at Harry as she spoke.
"Get out," Petunia hissed. "Get the girl out of here. Through the kitchen, the gate in the backyard. Your Aunt Marge is here, and I don't want her asking any questions."
"Can't she just stay in my room?" Harry asked.
"Marge will be staying in your room tonight, boy. You will be on the couch. Get her out of here. Now!" Petunia demanded. She brushed off imaginary lint from her skirt and forced a frightening smile on her face as she scuttled off downstairs and prepared to meet her sister-in-law.
Harry stood up and reached for Ariadne's arm, pulling her to her feet.
"Wait for me," he said urgently. "In the park, a few blocks down on Magnolia. I have to go to dinner– it's the only way my uncle will sign my Hogsmeade form. But I'll come get you and, er, we'll figure something out. You're not going back to the Malfoys, alright? We'll figure something out."
Ariadne nodded. "Alright."
Harry led Ariadne as they crept down the stairs. He looked back once as she startled at the boom of his Aunt's greeting to Dudley, raising his index finger to his lips. When they finally made it to the door leading from the kitchen to the back, Ariadne reached out and–
"Who's the twig?"
Cringing at the sound, Harry turned himself and Ariadne around to face his aunt. She was a large woman, ruddy-faced and mean with a growling bulldog at her side. In fact, Marge looked so much like her brother in a wig and a skirt that Ariadne thought for just a moment that it might have been him.
"Who's the girl?" she repeated again, looking at Ariadne with disdain but addressing Petunia, who had scurried to her side in a panic.
"She was just leaving!" Petunia interjected, voice high-pitched and nervous. Ariadne nodded in emphatic agreement, and she could feel Harry beside her doing the same.
"She was not!" declared Dudley, arriving in the kitchen and joining Ariadne's side with great purpose. "She's here for me, from St. Agatha's. The sister-school to Smeltings. She's my friend and I told the freak not to bother her," he added, glaring at Harry (who glared right back). "Aria's staying for dinner."
"Dudley, are you sure–" Petunia began, raising her voice (speaking over Aria's indignant "you can call me Ariadne, thanks"), but Dudley only crossed his arms and stamped a foot. It was a petulance that looked better on Draco, Ariadne thought.
"Aria is staying. And she'll be sitting next to me."
And so Ariadne found herself seated at the Dursley's round dining table, Harry on one side and Dudley on the other. She had been poking at her potatoes and shielding insults from Marge the entire night, sharing a smirk with Harry when someone said something particularly distasteful. Until Marge, full of enough brandy to put down a horse, began to talk about Harry's family.
"Your sister couldn't hold a candle to you, Petunia." Marge complimented, patting Petunia's narrow shoulder with her baseball mitt of a hand. Ariadne snorted meanly, which she tried to cover with a cough, but Petunia's smile fell at the sound nonetheless. Even while disparaging her to Ariadne, Narcissa had admitted that Harry's mother had been beautiful. Narcissa would likely not say the same about Petunia Dursley.
Marge soldiered on, however. "A bad egg, certainly. Then she ran off with that wastrel and the result is right here in front of us. Look at him and Dudley," she said, indicating towards Harry, who was staring at his plate, and Dudley, who had covered himself with mashed potatoes. "One from good breeding– a solid, well-to-do family, and the other from sinful teenage rowdiness."
Ariadne, reminded of a much more horrible Madame Burke, was shocked by Marge's words. Harry's parents were in love. And married, at that! She was primarily concerned, however, with Harry, who had his fists clenched in his lap and was turning rather red. Ariadne gently placed a hand on his under the table, and Harry sent her a weak grin in return. He was still shaking somewhat, though his jaw had unclenched.
But Marge continued.
"This Potter. What was it that he did, exactly?"
Vernon was nervous now, his weak laughter at his sister's insults having finally subsided. He shot Petunia a tense look before glancing over at Harry as well. Ariadne glared at him, but he answered his inebriated sister with their appearances in mind.
"He–didn't work. Unemployed."
"I should've known! A worthless, lazy–"
"I'm sorry," Ariadne cut in quietly, tilting up the tip of her nose and narrowing her eyes like she had seen Narcissa do so many times when faced with a particularly distasteful interaction. Ariadne knew these kinds of people, had met them at her fancy private muggle school and in the Malfoys' circles of snobbery. You could even find them at Hogwarts if you knew where to look. She squeezed Harry's hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture and, elected to play dumb, keeping her voice as imperious and condescending as she possibly could.
"You haven't been referring to Lily and James Potter, have you?"
"I have!" Marge roared, head shifting up from under the table where she had been feeding a piece of pie to her dog. "What's it to you, girl?"
"Nothing!" Ariadne said brightly. "I'm just a tad confused is all. You might be correct that Harry's father didn't work–"
"Ha! Just as I was say–"
"–but it would only be because he didn't need to," Ariadne did not allow Marge to interrupt her, still retaining an air of confusion. "He was a Lord, didn't you know? With a trust that size, there isn't really any point, is there?"
Marge shut her large mouth with an audible snap and Vernon whipped his head towards Harry, greed filling his piggish little eyes. Harry, in turn, was looking at Ariadne with an expression that she couldn't quite read, but he certainly looked less angry than he'd been a minute before. He looked close enough to amused, in fact, that Ariadne allowed herself to continue. She was having quite a bit of fun playing the part of the pureblood princess she'd been trained to be over the summer but didn't wanted to risk Harry thinking that this snobbery was her usual self.
"Not that you could get your grubby hands on any of it," she directed to Vernon. "Harry's parents ensured that it would be protected from mu..– uh…"
"Commoners," Harry mouthed next to her, and she was urged on by the fact that he was playing along.
"From commoners such as yourselves! No," she mused, addressing Marge once more. "The breeding doesn't get much better than that. Except mine, of course. You have heard of Sirius Black, haven't you? From the telly this morning?"
Marge nodded mutely.
"My father," Ariadne claimed proudly, shaking her head. She tried not to grit her teeth at the thought of him, forcing a fond smile instead. "The best breeding of them all. Loads of money and quite a name! And hates commoners," Ariadne looked right at Petunia and Vernon as she said the word, making sure that they knew what she really meant, "so much that he killed twelve of them! Can you believe it?" She let out a nearly hysterical laugh that she almost ruined with an actual giggle when Harry began to smile, but she managed.
It felt good to laugh. Her father's crimes weren't funny, not at all, but they were the kind that would have been utterly admired by his family. Her family. If she didn't laugh, she'd have to cry – and she'd done enough of that over him It just felt good to think about the man without feeling the weight of a terrible shame hanging on her shoulders, to pretend even just for a moment that she was somebody else, even if she couldn't be somebody else's daughter.
Ariadne stood up from the table and pulled Harry along with her. Marge had been stunned into silence.
"Now, Petunia, that was a lovely dinner, but Harry and I are excusing ourselves. Goodbye." Petunia could only nod mutely, part frightened of Ariadne and part relieved that the situation was defused peacefully. Ariadne waited for Harry to turn first, leading her towards the stairs, but a voice slurred loudly after them before they could even move three steps.
"Still went and got themselves killed in a car crash, didn't they, boy?" Ariadne cringed at the sound. Merlin, this woman has a death wish.
Harry whirled around, and this time Ariadne's presence brought him no comfort. "What did you say?"
"You heard me, boy," Marge continued, waving her brandy in the air so aggressively that she spilled some on poor Ripper. "All that money couldn't save them from their drunken selves, leaving a baby behind to live on as a burden to their hardworking relatives!" She began to laugh, an unruly boom that echoed through the dining room and turned Vernon and Petunia's faces sheet white.
"Go to your room!" Vernon insisted, some sort of self-preservation finally kicking in, but it was too late.
"THEY DIDN'T DIE IN A CAR CRASH!" Harry yelled. Marge was laughing still until suddenly she wasn't, mouth stretched too tightly for noise to come out. Her already swollen face had begun to expand rapidly, bulging and rounding until her eyes seemed to shrink into her oversized head. The buttons from her jacket burst off and crashed into Dudley's ice cream bowl with such force that it shattered as he was eating from it, spoon entering his mouth even as his eyes remained trained on his aunt in shock.
Marge wasn't just growing. Ariadne stood and watched in morbid fascination as she began to float, inflating like some sort of balloon, blimp, now a foot from the ground and rising higher toward the ceiling. Vernon grabbed her by the leg to pull her down, but even his own enormous weight was not enough to counteract the effects of Harry's magic.
Harry collected himself first, moving into action and directing Ariadne with a rapidity that could only have come with his years of outsmarting the Dursleys. He was already halfway up the stairs by the time Ariadne understood his directions.
"Grab my trunk from the cupboard under the stairs! I've got to get my books!"
Ariadne ran to the cupboard under the stairs and wrenched at the door, but it did not budge. Locked. Ariadne didn't know how to pick a lock, but she quickly looked back to see Vernon shaking Ripper from his leg and preparing to gain on her. Sod it. She pulled out her wand.
"Alohomora!" she cried, and the door burst open. Ariadne crawled inside and pulled out Harry's trunk, but when she crawled back out again, Vernon Dursley had grabbed her from behind and lifted her in the air.
"Set her right! You fix her back!" he said, manic desperation tinging his words. She began kicking out at nothing, fighting to get out of his enormous embrace.
"Put her down," Harry ordered from the foot of the stairs. He was breathing very fast, from anger or from running Ariadne could not tell. His books were in one hand and his wand was in the other, which he had pointed at Vernon. Vernon stared at the wand and dropped Ariadne with a thud. On the floor once more, she backed away from Vernon with her wand held out as well, dragging Harry's trunk along with her until she rejoined his side.
"She deserved what she got. We're going," Harry said roughly, opening the door behind his back. Ariadne kept her wand trained on Mr. Dursley, but her eyes remained on Harry. "I've had enough."
Harry backed out of the door and Ariadne followed, hefting the trunk over the entrance stairs with considerable effort. "Thank you for your hospitality!" she called out behind her, before rushing to catch up with Harry who had already begun to storm down the block.
They had made it several streets without speaking a word before Ariadne finally gave up, sagging against a nearby lamp post and panting with the effort of dragging Harry's trunk.
"Can we sit for a minute?" she called out after Harry, who had not stopped walking, too blinded by his fervent anger. "It's not exactly light, you know." She nodded her chin towards the trunk.
Harry was far too polite and too independent of a boy to have ever allowed her to carry his trunk for so long, and it was only the haze of the encounter with Marge and the Dursleys that had prevented him from noticing. Manners quickly overtook his frustration, and Harry jogged back to Ariadne sheepishly, scrambling to take the trunk from her hand.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't even thinking."
"I know," Ariadne responded. "Let's just sit for a moment now. And think." Ariadne was hoping that if she kept her voice collected, she herself would begin to feel so. But as Harry slid down to the ground next to her, she could feel nothing but panic.
There was only one rule outside of Hogwarts: no magic. And certainly no magic in front of muggles. Harry had blown up his aunt, sure, but that had been accidental. Ariadne used a spell in front of Vernon Dursley– pulled out her wand and everything. She was going to be expelled, at the very least. Who knows what kind of other punishments the Ministry has in store?
A very small, very hidden part of her brain suddenly echoed Draco's words from the prior summer, when he had used magic while they were sitting on the lawn. We can do things others can't, he had promised, so certain of his words that she didn't dare doubt him. Like it was a fact of life.
"Well," Harry said finally, and she was grateful for the escape from her thoughts. "I'm doomed anyway. I've got my broomstick and the cloak. Just need to use the feather-light charm on the trunk and we can make a run for London. What can it hurt?"
Ariadne opened her mouth to respond, watching as he opened his trunk and began rooting around. Right as she was about to speak, however, her ears pricked up from a noise in front of her. She sensed it more than she could see it, but she knew that something was there.
"Wait," she said, and Harry stopped his movements. She stood up and listened hard, and Harry stood up behind her. He reached for his wand, but Ariadne placed a hand on his arm to stop him, reaching for her own instead. "Let me. I–I've already used magic tonight, too. W–with my wand." She bit her lip as Harry furrowed his brows, surprised at the revelation. "What can it hurt, right?" Ariadne attempted to joke.
"Aria, yo–"
Ariadne shushed him, straining her ears at a rustling sound in front of her. "Lumos," she cast, and a light appeared at the end of her wand.
She held it forward, holding her hand out towards the narrow gap between the garage and the fence. The shining light revealed the outline of… something. Something hulking, with dark black fur and wide, gleaming eyes. Ariadne gasped in fear, and Harry grabbed her by the arm and jerked her backwards. He stepped in front of her, but Ariadne lost her footing in the process, tripping over a crevice in the sidewalk. Her wand flew up in the air, blinding her with its light as Harry held out an arm to break her fall. She landed on the ground with a bang, pulling Harry down with her. Whatever creature had been there took the opportunity to run away as Ariadne pulled herself to sitting position and applied pressure to her wounded knee.
"What was that? Was that a bear?" she asked as she did, before wincing as she pressed on a particularly sore spot.
"Let me look at that," Harry said, pulling her hand away from her cut gently. He began to inspect the injury when a deafening honking noise startled her once more. She stood, pulling Harry up with her, and ignored the pain shooting up her leg as she stepped her foot onto the ground.
A purple uniformed conductor stuck his head out of the matching triple-decker bus that had appeared suddenly in front of them. "Welcome to th' Knight Bus, 'mergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. I'm Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor this evening."
Ariadne looked at Harry dumbfounded, and he ran a hand through his hair in utter confusion. Though the motion was familiar to Ariadne, it struck Stan Shunpike dumb.
"What's tha' on your 'ead?" The conductor asked, indicating towards his own spotted forehead. Having realized his mistake, Harry flattened his hair over his scar and hoped that the reveal had been brief.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Just fell right now."
Stan wasn't convinced. "Woss your name? Both of youse."
"Neville Longbottom," Harry said quickly. He looked at Ariadne with a shrug before stepping onto the bus, as if to say well, what do we have to lose? Ariadne followed only a step behind.
"Hannah Abbott," she introduced once inside, the first name into her head. "How much to get to London? To Diagon Alley?" she asked, though she didn't have any money either way. Perhaps when she got to Diagon Alley, she could withdraw some from her account to give to Stan.
"Eleven sickles," Stan responded. Ariadne opened her mouth to plead her case, but Harry dropped two galleons in Stan's hand before she got the chance. Stan looked down at the money and back up at Harry in wonderment.
"That should cover it," Harry said. "Now come on, Aria. You should sit." The bus had no seats, only beds, making it look more like a summer camp cabin than an automobile. Magic, she supposed.
"'Ave these ones," Stan said after helping Harry put Hedwig and his trunk up. He was pointing to two beds, directly behind the elderly driver and himself. Harry moved to sit when Ariadne stopped him.
"No, thank you. Neville here gets quite ill during rides like these, so we'll be better off in the back."
Stan shrugged. "Suit chooselves."
Harry and Ariadne made themselves comfortable on two beds in the back, one removed from a sleeping wizard wearing a pointed nightcap. Ariadne waved her hand in front of his face to make sure he really was asleep before settling back and addressing Harry.
"Are you okay?" She decided straightforward was the best approach.
"I'm fine," Harry responded, but Ariadne could tell that he was still frustrated by the way he ruffled his already untidy hair. The habit, though unconscious, was one that Ariadne had always privately admired. "I'm just sorry that you had to be there for that."
"I'm glad I was." She wanted to push him to say more but thought against it. "You've got bloody awful relatives, you know," she said instead.
Harry hummed in agreement. "How about you?" he asked. "What's going on with– er, your dad?"
Just as Ariadne opened her mouth to reply, the bus gave a horrific lurch as it finally began to move. Thrown backward by its speed, Ariadne landed on flat on her back and laid there a moment to adjust to the force and recalibrate. A newspaper, shaken loose from the bins overhead, landed in her lap with a soft thwack. She pulled herself up, grabbing the paper and holding it up to her face in the process.
"Speak of the devil," she said.
"I can certainly see the family resemblance," Harry teased. Ariadne stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh, but she did not deny it. Harry wasn't entirely lying, after all.
On the front cover of the Daily Prophet was her father blinking slowly back at her, dark, matted hair sticking to his sunken face. It was the same mugshot Amelia Bones had shown her earlier.
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Ariadne unfurled the paper to read the full article, but another mugshot caught her eye. This one was smaller, tucked in the bottom right-hand corner of the page. The wizard in it was young and almost inhumanly handsome, with high cheekbones and striking gray eyes staring back at her. She would have never recognized him to be her father if it wasn't for the placard that he was holding and for his undeniable resemblance to herself. Her hair was several shades lighter, somewhere between her mother's blonde and his black, and her eyes were just a tad bluer. But the cheekbones, the fine jaw, the slope of the nose? That was all him, though Ariadne was decidedly more youthfully feminine. Sirius Black on the night of his arrest, c. 1981. Ariadne was so lost in the photo that she startled at Harry's voice above her.
"He looks familiar," he said thoughtfully from over Ariadne's shoulder, where he had been reading the article himself. Ariadne froze. How could she have been so bloody stupid? The night of his arrest – the night that he betrayed Harry's parents. She crumpled up the paper immediately, chucking it under the seat.
"Ha, ha," Ariadne fake laughed, hoping that it didn't sound too forced. "I get it, he looks like me." But her voice sounded strained even to herself, and she could hardly bring herself to look Harry in the eye.
But she forced herself, gray meeting green as she steeled her resolve. She owed Harry that, at least.
"Harry," she began nervously, fighting the urge to stare down at the hem of her skirt. She scooted to the edge of her bed, as close as she could be to Harry without sitting on his own. Harry looked back at her expectantly. "Listen, I– my dad didn't just kill twelve muggles. I don't know how t– remember when Phineas Black said that our dads had been friends?" Harry nodded. "M-my dad, I think he was also Voldemort's–"
"Are you insane?" The small man with the nightcap, who had been sleeping peacefully moments before, had launched himself forwards to jab his index finger into Ariadne's face. He was white as a sheet. "Why would you say that name?"
Ariadne apologized. "I forgot, I'm sorry."
"Forgot?" The man was incredulous. "Forgot not to say You-Know-Who's name? You startled me out of my sleep!" He was still jabbing a finger in her face, which Harry batted away.
"She forgot, alright? Leave her alone."
The man drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't very much. Before he could say anything further, however, the bus stopped with a screeching of the brakes and he toppled over onto the floor.
"Diagon Alley!" Stan Shunpike called from up front.
Ariadne stepped over the man on the floor quickly, moving to the front and beginning to gather Harry's things.
"Hold on a minute, Aria," Harry called after her. "What were you saying?"
Ariadne looked around, meeting the curious gazes of Stan and the driver.
"Nothing. I'll, er, I'll tell you later, okay?"
Harry nodded, grabbing Hedwig and his trunk from Ariadne before stepping out of the bus and in front of the Leaky Cauldron, a shabby pub to which he'd been once before with Hagrid. Ariadne followed behind. She'd never been – the Malfoys would never be caught dead in a place like this, making it all the better to hide from them in. Before stepping through the shadowy entrance, however, a voice spoke from behind them.
"There you are, Harry, Ariadne. You've caused quite a ruckus, haven't you?"
Ariadne and Harry had met Cornelius Fudge before, back at Hagrid's hut when he was taken to Azkaban, but Fudge had never met them. Ariadne was surprised, then, with the familiarity with which he treated them. He put a large hand on each of their shoulders, pushing them through the pub and into a small, private parlor.
"I'll admit that I'm rather surprised to find you here, Ariadne. This is quite the unexpected friendship." He looked between her and Harry with a peculiar gaze, and Ariadne fidgeted in her seat. Did he know? The truth of what her father had done? "I'm curious to know how you escaped the Manor with half of the Auror department in front of you."
Ariadne shrugged.
"And Harry! Running away from your aunt and uncle's house, with a Black no less?" Harry scowled, though Ariadne kept her face cold as ice. Fudge noticed neither. "We started to think… well, you're safe, that's all that matters."
"Now, about the unfortunate blowing up of Miss Marjorie Dursley…"
"It was me!" Ariadne cut in, worried for Harry. If he was expelled from Hogwarts, there's no way that the Dursleys would let him come home. He'd have nowhere to go. "I did all the magic, not Harry."
"I'm the one that blew her up!" Harry yelled indignantly. It would have been funny if she weren't so panicked for their future, the way he claimed responsibility for blowing up his aunt like a prize.
"Fine," she conceded. "But all of Harry's was accidental. So if you're going to punish one of us, punish me."
Fudge looked utterly taken aback. He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, the Accidental Magic Reversal Department has already punctured Miss Dursley and her memory has been modified. It was an accident! We hardly have the time to punish every single person who blows up their aunt! So, no harm done."
"But I got a warning, last year, when a house-elf smashed pudding in my Uncle's house!"
"And my magic wasn't accidental!" Ariadne blurted, and then immediately cursed herself for exposing herself. She really did need to work on that.
Fudge suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable, taking off his hat and placing it on the table. "In this present climate, well… circumstances change. And I'm acquainted with your uncle, Miss Black, if you didn't know. It'll be our little secret, alright?"
I'm a Malfoy. You're a Black. We can do things others can't. Ariadne wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. If this life was the life of a Black, well, she didn't want it. She'd trade her wand, trade her privilege, for a normal father any day.
"Well, like I said, no harm done. Only, Harry, I've spoken with your aunt and uncle, and it seems best if you don't return home until the following summer. Now, I know it seems a bit harsh–"
Harry snorted derisively. "I'd be better off not going back." Ariadne laid her hand on his shoulder.
Fudge pretended not to hear him, though he did allow his eyes to linger on Ariadne's hand for a moment too long. She removed it, uncomfortable. Fudge shook his head quickly, as if to recollect himself.
"Now all that remains is sorting out your last two weeks of summer. I've arranged for you to stay here at the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom will keep an eye on you. Ariadne, I will escort you back to your home. I've been meaning to speak with Lucius."
"Can't I stay with Harry?" Ariadne had not meant to whine, but her voice came out high and desperate anyway. She really did not want to return to the manor.
Fudge began to choke on a crumpet. "That would be highly improper!" he spluttered. "What would Luc– no! I will be taking you home, and that is that!"
Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Okay, Madame Burke," she said under her breath. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself, sir," she scolded with a huff.
Fudge reddened at the reminder. "Yes, well. We'd better leave now. I'm sure Lucius and Narcissa are worried sick." Ariadne doubted that very much but before she could voice those concerns, the Minister shoved at her shoulder, pushing her towards the door before grabbing his own coat and bowler hat.
Ariadne looked back at Harry, who was now sitting alone at the table and looking utterly unsure of what to do with himself. She hated the thought of leaving Harry alone for two weeks, especially after the day he'd had. Ariadne shook Fudge's hand off, running away from the door and back towards Harry. She almost pulled him into a hug before stopping herself. How could she, after the conversation that they almost had earlier. What she almost told him. What she couldn't tell him. "I'll be back before the end of summer. They can't lock me up forever, right?" she joked instead. He smiled weakly back at her.
"Right."
Happy Holidays! I've already got a lot written for the next couple of chapters, so I should update again soon. As always, please let me know what you think!