cxxix. winter friends

Hogwarts was beautiful during the winter holidays. Though very few students remained behind once break began, the professors went to great lengths to ensure the castle was festive and welcoming for those who still lingered. Suits of armor belted out choruses of Auld Lang Syne whenever someone passed by and bunches of mistletoe threatened to follow the unawares from hall to hall. Harriet saw Snape setting more than one sprig alight—and she also saw McGonagall discreetly Charming more to sprout over his head, snickering all the while.

Despite the levity, a sense of melancholy remained around the castle, and Harriet sensed it whenever she found herself alone or when she gazed off into the distance, and the silence echoed in her ears. It was in the moments like that when Harriet remembered how old Hogwarts was, how it would have crumbled to ruins centuries ago if not for the people who continued to inhabit its wandering halls—and it made Harriet think of the Dementors surrounding them like a wreath of dark portents. It made her feel trapped—and scared.

On Christmas morning—which the wizards just called Yule morning, despite the solstice having passed days before—Harriet and Elara woke to sizable gift piles cluttering the ends of their beds. Most proved to be the expected gifts from the pure-blood families, things like parchment and quills and candy assortments, but there were also more personal presents from each other and the people they knew.

"Did Mr. Flamel send you something?" Elara asked.

"Mhm!" Harriet answered, holding up a wooden box filled with practice runes. The little tiles clattered together and emitted a soft glow. "D'you get something too?"

"Yes." The other witch unearthed a strange ball of clay from under a new cloak sent by Narcissa Malfoy.

"What's that?"

"A Transfiguration medium. It's made for practicing elemental transmutation."

"Oh, neat." Harriet popped another Chocolate Cauldron into her mouth, savoring the tangy, warming flavor as she peeled the brown parchment paper off a plain gift. She jumped when the golden Snitch inside unfurled its metal wings and took flight, but instead of winging off, it chose to fly slow circles around Harriet's head. She reached up to catch it, and it settled in her palm before flying again.

"Who sent you that?"

"I…dunno." Harriet flipped the paper over, looking for a card or a signature of some sort, but she couldn't find anything. "If it's real, specialty Snitches cost a fair bit. Maybe the card fell off."

"Harriet, there's a mass-murderer out there who—."

"And he's going to be sending me presents, is he?" Elara raised a brow, frowning, and Harriet exhaled. "All right, all right. What would you have me do?"

"At least put it up until I can check my Gringotts account. If he bought something, he'd have to get the Galleons from the Black estate."

"How would he manage that?"

"Goblins have their own sovereignty from wizards. Gringotts serves as a foreign embassy of sorts, meaning Black could very well walk right in if he wanted, and as Head of the House, he has final control over the vault's assets."

"That's dumb." Harriet popped another Chocolate Cauldron into her mouth and hiccuped. "I already touched it and stuff, though, and isn't the post supposed to be screened?"

Elara exhaled, muttering on the worthlessness of post-screening spells—and then paused, eying Harriet before setting aside another gift. "…Harriet."

"Mmm?"

"Are you feeling well?"

Harriet blinked, confused. "Um. Yeah, why?"

"You're flushed."

"I'm what?"

Elara stood, tossing her blankets, and touched the back of her hand to Harriet's forehead and cheeks. "You're warm and red."

"Wait, really—hic!"

Elara glared at the flying Snitch with suspicion, then shuffled through the papers and torn wrappings on Harriet's bed, finding the nearly depleted sweets box. "What are these?"

"Chocolate Cauldrons? I got 'em from—? What's his name, that numpty—Lockhart."

Elara broke off a piece, exposing the filling, and popped it inside her mouth. She grunted, wrinkling her nose. "Harriet!"

"What?!" Harriet yelped, surprised by the outburst. She picked up the broken Chocolate Cauldron and gave it a sniff. "Is there something wrong with it? Oh, Merlin—did that idiot poison me?!"

"In a manner of speaking," Elara retorted, finding a handkerchief in her nightstand to wipe her lips. "Chocolate Cauldrons have Firewhiskey in them!"

Harriet sputtered as her friend quickly grabbed the package and tossed it in the bin. "What!"

"You're absolutely sloshed, you tiny drunkard."

"I'm not! I only had—." Harriet did a quick count—and then did it again, swaying. She did feel awful warm. "Eight."

"Eight. Only."

"Yesh."

Elara sighed, shaking her head. "Come on, up you get."

"Why? Where're we goin'?"

"To Madam Pomfrey, of course."

"What! I'm be in trouble then!"

"It's better to be in trouble than sick as a dog. Come along."

Elara hooked her arm under Harriet's and hoisted her out of bed, grabbing their robes and shoes on their way. It took two tries to get Harriet into her shoes and dressing gown, and then she started to giggle.

"Elara, if you're sick, does that mean you're sick as a dog? Because of, y'know—."

"Merlin spare me. What was that fool thinking, sending you Chocolate Cauldrons? He's a menace to polite society."

"I thought they were like Cauldron Cakes!"

"Read the label before stuffing your face next time."

Elara dragged her into the entrance hall—and they came stumbling to a halt, confronted with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore having a conversation by the Great Hall's doors. In their rush from the dorms, they'd forgotten the Snitch, and it now flew circles around their heads. Harriet had her shoes on the wrong feet.

"Good morning, Miss Black, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall greeted, crossing her hands before herself as she studied the two younger witches. Sprigs of holly had been threaded into the band of her black hat. "You're both up early."

Harriet did her best to straighten and almost burst into laughter again, because in light of how miserable and dangerous her entire year had been, getting caught out for being a bit too squiffy seemed a ridiculous consequence, and Harriet was going to write Lockhart a scathing note when the walls stopped moving about.

Bloody idiot can't think about anyone but himself for more than a minute, Harriet grumbled in her head, clutching Elara's arm to stop her from swaying.

Professor Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes flicking toward the Snitch coming to settle in the mussed riot of Harriet's unbrushed hair. She really hoped it wasn't cursed, seeing as she'd touched it half a dozen times now. "You've been into your presents this morning. Excellent! I still find it my favorite part of every Yule. Did you get everything you wished for?"

"We, erm, haven't had a chance to open everything yet, Headmaster," Elara replied, clearing her throat. "Harriet overate Yule chocolate and is feeling sick."

"Oh, dear."

"You shouldn't be eating sweets before breakfast, Miss Potter," McGonagall chastised. Harriet hiccuped, and McGonagall's brow rose.

"Yes, ma'am." She didn't even have to pretend she felt queasy.

"Go on and bring her to Madam Pomfrey before Poppy leaves to come down to the Great Hall, Miss Black."

They gave their agreement and scuttled off before McGonagall's keen eyes could suss out any misbehavior. They only made it into the next corridor before Harriet asked to sit, and Elara lowered her onto a convenient window seat. The frozen stone and wind rattling at her back helped cleared Harriet's head, and she shivered as she yawned and wiped at her eyes. Huffing, Elara crossed her arms against the chill and sat next to her.

"Lockhart's an idiot," she grumbled. Harriet snorted.

"I'm going to send him an entire box of Dungbombs for this."

"Why would he even send you Chocolate Cauldrons?"

"Because he's a numpty, Elara, and doesn't think before he does anything—hic. I'm surprised the post made it through." Harriet took a deep breath to settle her wriggling stomach and released, giggling. "It's silly though, innit?"

"What is?"

"I mean, it's something a normal student would do—get sick from eating Firewhiskey sweets, almost get caught by the Deputy Headmistress. It's—I wish stuff like this happened more often, y'know? Not that I wanna be in detention or anything. I just wish that maybe I had guardians who'd actually give a shite if the school wrote to them, and that I didn't have to always worry about someone trying to murder me."

Elara's eyes cut in her direction and then flicked away, something like guilt swirling in their depths. Betrayal still stung Harriet's heart, but the idea of Elara being hurt stung worse, so Harriet pushed those lingering dregs of resentment away, refusing them, nudging her friend's foot and smiling up at her. Elara and Hermione were her family. She wouldn't allow hurt feelings to pull them apart.

Elara's mouth twitched in return, but she didn't smile. In the somber light of dawn leaking through the snow-bound window, she looked tired and older than she should, carrying a weight that pressed upon her shoulders—and Harriet's. "I'd kill him if he tried to hurt you," Elara said. "If he tried to hurt you or Hermione. I would not hesitate."

Harriet scoffed and shivered again, though not from the cold. "But then you'd be a murderer."

"Sometimes, I wonder if that's inevitable." Elara tightened her hands into fists, her skin as pale as bone, pink scars emerging from the end of her dressing gown's sleeve. "I wonder if any of us will emerge from this path as innocent or as clean as we entered it."

Harriet knew she was right and acknowledged in her heart the probability of her own young, imminent death—not by Black's hand, but by Voldemort's, because the Headmaster had told her years ago he would return and she'd lived in silent terror for that day ever since. Harriet was an untrained, middling witch, and the Dark Lord was the Dark Lord. She worried what would happen to Elara and Hermione and worried for herself, but Harriet was only thirteen and simply wanted to be a child a little while longer, if she'd ever been a child in the first place.

"I didn't give you your Yule gift yet."

Elara reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a bit of parchment folded into an impromptu envelope, holding it out for Harriet to take. Shaken from her grim thoughts, Harriet accepted the envelope and folded back the flap.

"Leaves?" she asked, plucking one from the bunch, letting her fingertip run over the spiked edges. She hiccuped again. "Or—wait. Are these Mandrake leaves?"

Nodding, Elara explained, "I went into the greenhouse and sneaked a few. No more than would be missed, but you'll need multiples. It took me three tries before I managed to keep one under my tongue for an entire month."

Harriet gave the leaf a sniff and grimaced.

"Exactly my sentiment."

"Thank you for these." Harriet gently tucked the leaves away in her own pocket. "I still don't know if I'll be able to manage it. I don't have the talent you do."

"You'll do brilliant. I've every confidence."

Her heart warmed, a warmth that defied the cold and had nothing to do with the lingering taste of Firewhiskey. Smiling, Harriet bumped her arm into Elara's and said with a mischievous lilt, "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Harriet."

x X x

That night, a flash of red light woke Harriet from dreadful dreams.

She didn't realize it at first; she thought it'd been part of the nightmare, and after peeling open her eyelids, Harriet lingered in that space between sleep and reality, registering the world in small pieces—the feel of her blankets with a Warming Charm applied to the sheets, the dim glow of the silver lantern above her, the water lapping at the dormitory's outer walls. She blinked—and a shadow moved against the bed curtains, a figure Harriet contributed to her night terrors, a short, stooped body with a hand reaching out. The curtain's rings dragged on the rod.

Sharp, skeletal fingers stabbed into Harriet's side, and she gasped, sitting up. A second later, Elara screamed.

The curtains rippled, and—hearing the noise—the shadow moved, then suddenly vanished, the lantern flaring to full light, Elara scrambling out of her bed.

"There's someone in here!"

"What!" Harriet cried, falling from her mattress, her leg caught and tangled in the sheet. She had her wand in hand already, pointed at nothing in particular—because the dormitory was utterly empty aside from them. A dream, Harriet told herself. It had to have been a dream, but how did Elara—?!

The other witch shook so hard, she couldn't hold her wand straight, but she still walked to the washroom and checked it from the doorway, breathing hard. Wincing, Harriet touched her side, and her fingers came away from the dark fabric of her nightgown tinged pink with blood. Set hurt me.

Something was amiss—and not because she'd woken from a nightmare into a nightmarish reality, or because of the pain in her ribs and banged up knees. "Livius," she whispered, yanking up the bed's skirt, reaching into the dark below. "Livi? Liv—." The thick coils under her hand didn't move. "Livius! Elara, oh God, he's not moving—!"

Elara rushed to her side and dropped to her knees, helping Harriet drag the limp snake out from under the bed. Her hair spilled in long, limp curls around her pale face, tangling in the buttons of her nightgown, and she stroked Livi's side. "He's going to be okay."

"He isn't moving, Elara!"

"I think he's been Stunned—see look, he's still breathing, here." Elara pulled Harriet's trembling hand over Livi's nose and a small puff and air touched her clammy skin. "I don't know the spell to reverse it, but—Harriet, we need to get out of here." Her voice rose and cracked. "He was here, he was in here! We need to go!"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know! He could still be here!"

Harriet's breath came in ragged, scared gasps, and every shadow seemed sinister, hiding a killer who had someone broken into their dormitory—a killer who'd known about Livi and had thought to hurt him. Elara's hand on her arm felt slick with sweat. Gathering Livi, Harriet doubled her grip on her wand, and they ran for their lives.

A/N:

Elara: "What smells like a pub?"

Harriet, elbow-deep in a box of Chocolate Cauldrons: "I dunno."

Chapter title from the GRR Martin quote: "Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever."