Life at Flamel Cottage was never dull, between Professor Snape skulking in corners, ready to catch Dudley committing any small misdeed and Dumbledore's insistence that she explore her interests. This meant she got to see her willful cousin punished by a strict taskmaster, something she had never experienced before, and that she got to spend the warm summer days flying above the beaches near to the cottage and reading books Dumbledore (Albus, she had to remind herself) personally recommended. He seemed to be of the mind that her interests, intellectual and otherwise, had been neglected for far too long and had taken to spoiling her with books and kind words. He would still reign her in when she went too far (she recalled a notorious incident in which Professor Snape caught her performing yet another Wronski Feint over the ocean), but for the most part was an easy-going, genial guardian, more grandfather than father.
Dudley, for his part, was not adjusting well. Albus had purchased him books about the magical world, specially written for Squibs trying to find a place in the fascinating magical world they were unable to fully participate in. The books sat untouched—Dudley much preferred sulking in his room or throwing rocks into the ocean. Albus gave Dudley his fair share of attention, wanting to hear about his days and his interests and what the modern Muggle world was like. Flamel Cottage had since gained a telly and a Nintendo in an effort to make Dudley feel more at home. Albus had even played Mario with Dudley—Hazel couldn't deny that the headmaster had a sense of whimsy.
Even for Hazel, living in a magical house was an adjustment. She was used to the magic of students in a school, not the everyday sort of magic one found in a magical home. Mirrors talked, teapots sang, books whispered, and doorknobs warned against entry into locked rooms. She was used to the grandeur of Hogwarts, not the whimsical touches of a home owned by Albus Dumbledore. But she found she loved it here, and not just because of the magic.
Albus cared about her. For the first time in her life, there was an adult she truly, fully had in her corner, one whose care she did not have to worry about losing. Even with Professor Snape last year, she had always felt as though she was on thin ice, that one wrong move could damage any hidden fondness he might have for her. It was different with Albus—he seemed to care for her unconditionally. He would be disappointed when she did wrong, but he would never speak cruelly in haste, as Professor Snape had last year. While he was not the imagined guardian she had pictured as a child, she found herself liking him better than any figure she could have created.
Today, Hazel was especially excited—she had planned to meet Hermione and Daphne in Diagon Alley. Albus was taking her and Dudley to do some shopping—as it happened, one set of nice robes was not enough to keep her from having to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs, something the big boy found endless amusement in. Albus also hoped that interacting with magical children his own age would help Dudley settle down and see that magic was not something to be despised.
Hazel sat down at the table, again wearing her fine green robes. She wasn't about to go into the magical world dressed in Dudley's rags if she could help it. She looked at the blond boy and said, "Good morning, Dudley."
"Good morning," Dudley said, glancing at Professor Snape, who was scowling at him. He had long since abandoned the epithet of freak, knowing that the professors simply wouldn't stand for it. He would be sent to his room with only books he wasn't interested in for company. Dudley may not be the brightest, but even he could recognize the futility in persisting in insulting her in the presence of the professors.
After they finished their breakfast, Dumbledore instructed them to go to the fireplace. Hazel did as he asked without complaint, but Dudley whined, "I don't want to go to any place where freaks go."
"Dudley," Albus said, his voice calm and firm. "You will go through the fireplace with your cousin. Wait for me just outside the fireplace."
"Why can't I go through by myself?"
Hazel wondered that too.
"You must hold onto Hazel's hand tightly, lest you be lost in between grates. Only a magical person can use the floo."
Hazel wondered why Mrs. Figg had her house connected to the floo, then, if she couldn't use it. She opened her mouth to ask the question, but one look from Albus told her that now was not the moment for questions. She was quickly learning that Albus was not the most forthcoming of guardians—he only told her what he wanted her to know and would never reveal anything beyond that, no matter how much she pressed.
"Come on, Dud," Hazel said, reaching her hand out to him, walking into the fireplace, handful of floo powder in hand.
Just as she dropped the powder and began to call out "The Leaky Cauldron!", Dudley elbowed her hard in the ribs. She sputtered and coughed, dropping the powder, but still holding onto Dudley's hand tightly. She didn't like him much, but she didn't know how dangerous being lost in the floo could be—she wasn't about to take responsibility for losing Dudley somewhere in the magical world.
It felt as if she were being sucked down a giant drain. Both Hazel and the world around her spun. She tried to keep her eyes open, but the whirling green flames were too bright—they nearly sent her into a panic, as she remembered the flash of another green light, a high, cold laugh—
And then it was over, and she was falling to the ground, the cold stone floor bruising her knees.
"Ow," Dudley said.
Hazel pushed herself up, furious. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking? I don't have any idea where we are!"
"What do you mean you don't know where we are? You're magic, this stupid thing works for you!"
"That's right—and it would have, if you hadn't been so bloody stupid and hit me! We'll just have to wait on Albus or Professor Snape to find us."
Hazel huffed and looked around. They appeared to be in a shop, which was cluttered with an assortment of artifacts. A withered hand on a cushion. A pack of yellowed cards. A glass eye whose pupil followed her as she paced across the room. Human bones. Instruments that looked as if they could only be used for tortures she could not imagine. She peered out the dusty window to see a dark, narrow street that was definitely not part of Diagon Alley.
She had the impression that being found here would be a distinctly bad thing, despite the innocence of their arrival.
Then Hazel saw someone she most certainly did not want to see while she was covered in soot and lost with her Muggle cousin: Draco Malfoy.
She grabbed Dudley's hand and pulled him into a large black cabinet. She pulled the door closed behind them, leaving only a small crack through which they could watch Mafloy.
"They could help us find our way back," Dudley whispered.
"They won't."
And then the door open and a bell clanged.
Just behind Draco was a man who could only be his father. They had the same face, pointed and pale, and the same cold, grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy strode around the shop, glancing at the various items on display. An air of disdain hung around him as he moved around lazily. He rang a bell on the counter and said, "Touch nothing, Draco."
"You said you were going to buy me a present."
"I said I would buy you a racing broom," he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. Whoever the shopkeeper was, he certainly was not very attentive—she and Dudley had made quite the noise coming in and Mr. Malfoy had rang the bell for service.
"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" Malfoy whined. "I want to be Seeker, but that's Hazel Potter's position. She always gets all the glory. She's not even that good, she's just on the team because she's famous. Everyone thinks she's so smart and wonderful and—"
"You have told me this at least a dozen times already. It is not prudent to appear less than fond of the Girl Who Lived, nor is it becoming of a gentleman to bully a girl, as your mother as instructed you."
Malfoy looked as if he was about to complain some more, to Hazel's delight, but just then a stooping man appeared behind the counter.
"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," he said, voice as oily as his hair.
"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling. The Ministry, of course, has been conducting raids and I have some items I would rather not be found with."
"The Ministry would not presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"
"I have not been visited yet. Though money and power do not command the control they once did, the name of Malfoy still means something. Yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. Now, if you could look at these poisons for me…"
Hazel and Dudley listened to the two men haggle, ear pressed to the door. Draco interrupted once, wanting something called a Hand of Glory. Hazel also learned that Hermione had beat Draco in every exam and Draco came by his prejudices honestly—his father believed in the importance of wizarding blood. More importantly, she discovered that the Malfoys had more items hidden in their manor that were likely illegal. Maybe Dumbledore would be able to do something about that—she would love to see those nasty blood purists get their due.
After Mr. Borgin disappeared into his back room, Hazel pushed the door open. Dudley followed her out and reached for a beautiful opal necklace. Hazel slapped his hand away.
"Can't you read?" she hissed. "It's killed Nineteen Muggles, you idiot!"
"Muggles?"
"If you'd listen to Albus, you'd know that that's what you are! Now follow me!"
They walked out the door as quietly as they could, into the dingy alleyway full of shops that seemed devoted to the Dark Arts. She twisted her neck to get a better look at the shop they had just exited—Borgin and Burkes. It seemed to be the largest. There was a display of shrunken heads in the shop across the street and gigantic spiders in cages a few shops down. Two wizards in worn robes looked at her and Dudley and muttered. Hazel tightened her grip on Dudley's hand and set off, hoping to find a way out of this place.
An old wooden sign hanging over the alleyway marked this place as Knockturn Alley. Hazel had never heard of it.
"Lost, are you, my dears?" asked an aged old witch holding a tray of what looked like human fingernails. She leered at them with mossy teeth, causing Dudley to shrink back behind Hazel.
"We're fine, thanks. We're just—ALBUS!"
At just that moment, Hazel spotted their guardian, looking terribly out of place in this dingy alley in his resplendent robes of magenta. All the residents of the alley stopped to stare at him, backing away. Hazel had the distinct impression that this was a place no one wanted to be seen in, least of all by Albus Dumbledore. Dudley's relief at seeing the familiar figure was palpable, as was her own. Behind him was Professor Snape, looking furious as ever.
Professor Snape stormed forward, grabbing Dudley by the wrist, just as he had Hazel after the Remembrall incident. "What were you thinking, idiot boy? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you in this place?"
Dudley whimpered.
"I'm taking him back to the cottage, Albus," he said.
"You will do no such thing, Severus. As I have said, the boy has been cooped up far too long and needs companions of his own age. I will deal with his punishment when we return home."
Professor Snape scowled and dropped Dudley's wrist, much to the boy's relief. He glanced at Albus and then said, "If you can handle it from here, Albus, I have more important business to attend to than babysitting."
"I do believe we shall be fine, Severus," Albus said, eyes twinkling. He turned around and set off in the direction from which he came. Dudley and Hazel scrambled to keep up with him—for a man of more than one hundred, Albus certainly moved fast.
*HP*
Why Lucius wanted to meet here of all places, Severus did not know. Perhaps he was simply blasé about being seen with former Azkaban inmates, as so many of his associates had been prisoners in the wretched place. It was a wonder to him how so many viewed Lucius as an upstanding member of society. He supposed money talked, and most people didn't want to look to closely as long as the money went to what they thought were good causes.
Severus walked into the café, checking his battered pocket watch. He was just on time. It wouldn't do to be late—as a busy man, Lucius expected punctuality. He looked around the dark room and spotted two heads of silver-blond hair. Draco was looking most displeased to be attending this meeting, while his father waited with that quiet manner of aristocratic impatience that he had long ago perfected.
"Ah, Severus," Lucius said, extending his hand in greeting to his old friend. Severus took his hand and shook it, though he loathed touching other people. He watched as Lucius cast a quick muffliato.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lucius?" Severus asked as he sat down. He took a sip of the tea waiting for him, his favorite brew.
A wicked smile crossed Lucius's face. "I have news."
Severus only just refrained from rolling his eyes. Lucius had news. "What will it be this time? Some scandalous bit of gossip? One of your old paramour's pregnancy, again? Or perhaps something less mundane, a juicy tidbit on an old murder I do not care to know the details of. Some of us have more important things to do than listen to the inane prattling of society wives."
"My, my, Severus. Jealous, are we?"
Draco sniggered.
Severus felt his face burn, but he quickly clamped down on the emotion with Occlumency. Lucius knew his relative poverty was a sore point, and it was one he had never been able to escape, not when Lucius remembered his days as a ragamuffin first year. He detested this charade of friendship, but it was a necessary game. One day the Dark Lord would return, and he would them to be the fast friends they had been before.
"What do you want, Lucius?"
"I have two pieces of news that will interest you. The first, I have news of the Dark Lord's movements. He is in Albania. I was thinking of dispatching one of the old crowd to search for him."
Severus raised a brow, pretending to be intrigued. Whatever Lucius was up to, it was a smokescreen for something else. The Dark Lord's presence in Albania was common knowledge amongst both the Death Eaters and the Order. No one had bothered to search for him, as those who had eluded Azkaban were not eager to have their loyalties questioned once more—going to the Dark Lord's rumored hiding place as a suspected Death Eater was guaranteed to call one's already blemished character into question.
"And just who were you planning on sending? Nott, who couldn't find his own arse with a map? Crabbe or Goyle, who can barely string two words together? Or MacNair, the respectable Ministry man?"
"You, my friend. You."
"Me?"
"Yes. As Dumbledore's lapdog, you are above suspicion, despite your…dubious past."
"Dumbledore would never give me permission to leave my post, as you well know. He likes to keep an eye on me. And the Dark Lord will be most displeased if he learns his spy left his post to go on your fool's errand!"
"Think, Severus! What if we are the ones to return him to his former glory? We would be honored above all others!"
"No, Lucius. I refuse your request. I will be staying precisely where the Dark Lord instructed me to be."
"Are you a coward, Severus?" Draco sneered.
"I believe the correct form of address is 'Professor Snape,' Mr. Malfoy. Failing that, you may call me sir."
"Don't you want to see the Dark Lord returned to his former glory?"
Severus's eyes narrowed. Here was a boy who had been in nappies when the Dark Lord was last in power, telling him what he ought to think about that monster's return. He didn't know what it was like. He had only his father's grand tales—he knew nothing of the Dark Lord's brutality, even towards his own followers. Severus had more scars than he could count from the attentions he had received from the Dark Lord and his other Death Eaters when he failed to deliver on a task he had been assigned, usually the creation of a new dark potion. He was the dirty half-blood tolerated for his talent. But that was not to say that purebloods were always spared—even Lucius had faced the Dark Lord's displeasure from time to time.
But he could tell none of this to the boy in front of him. He could appear nothing less than gleeful at the prospect of the Dark Lord's return.
"This is not a conversation to be had in such a public place," he said. "Nor with children."
Lucius smirked. "We both know that spell of yours will keep curious ears away. Now, Severus, tell me why you fear the Dark Lord's return?"
"I do not fear it, Lucius, unless I abandon my post, which I patently refuse to do. Go find someone else to do your dirty work—I for one will be exactly where the Dark Lord commanded me to be."
"So be it. You may find you regret your choice in the coming months."
Severus furrowed his brow. What did that mean? Was Lucius planning something at Hogwarts, something he wanted him out of the way for? There was no way of knowing, but he would certainly be keeping a closer eye on Draco in the coming turn. Perhaps Albus would have an idea.
Lucius smirked. "I also come bearing news of your family."
"I have no family," Severus spat.
"On the contrary, Severus. Your father—"
"Is dead to me. As is my mother. I care nothing for your news, Lucius. Now allow me to take my leave."
Severus pushed the chair back and stood up, leaving his tea half drunk. He didn't want to hear news of his father. If the man was dead, the world was better off. And if the man was looking for him, he knew where to find him, and Severus would be ready to face him.
*HP*
"I can't believe Mr. Weasley punched Mr. Malfoy!" Hazel said, following Daphne and Hermione out the door.
"In front of Professor Dumbledore, no less!" Hermione said. "Oh, what Professor Lockhart must have thought!"
"He's a nutter, Hermione. Didn't you see how uncomfortable he made Hazel? He didn't even care what she wanted, he just wants publicity. And it's not like any of us associate with the Weasleys or the Malfoys."
They passed the crowd of Weasleys on the way out. They, of course, knew most of the Weasley brood from school, seeing Percy, Fred, George, and Ron every day at Hogwarts, and hearing about the Head Boy Bill and Quidditch star Charlie from older students. They had never met Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, nor the girl with them, presumably their youngest and only daughter.
Hazel smiled shyly and said, "Hello, Ron."
Both Ron and the girl turned as red as their hair. There was a moment of awkward silence before one of the twins broke it. "We never understood why our git of a brother decided not to be friends with you."
"Real idiot," the other twin agreed.
"Always has been."
"Could have had you pretend to be another Weasley with hair like yours."
The girl giggled. Hazel grinned, while Dudley stood behind them looking puzzled.
"I'm Hazel Potter," she said, offering a hand to the girl. She blushed again but shook hands, withdrawing quickly.
"Ginny Weasley," she mumbled.
Hazel considered the red-headed girl, who was quite flustered. Her cheeks were tinged pink under the dusting of freckles, and she refused to meet her eyes. Hazel smiled at her, and the girl looked away, her blush deepening. Hazel supposed Ginny was just shy.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, taking her husband's hand. "But we really must be off."
Hazel nodded and bid her farewell, watching as the brood of Weasleys made their way down the narrow, crowded street of Diagon Alley.
"I love those twins," Daphne said. "Another Weasley—Ron could have passed you off as his sister! No sense of fun, especially for a Gryffindor."
Hermione snorted. "You don't have to live with Fred and George. You would feel differently about them the first time they hexed one of your books to sing bawdy songs!"
"No," Daphne laughed. "I don't think I would."
"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Dudley said. "Gryffindunk? Weasels?"
"Gryffindor and the Weasleys, Dudley. Honestly, were you even listening?" Hermione scolded. "Gryffindor is one of the four houses I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has told you about, and the Weasleys are the red-headed family we just met."
"Yeah," Hazel said. "Quit being such a moron and listen."
Moments later, Albus appeared behind them, Gilderoy Lockhart babbling away beside him. Albus had adopted an air of polite interest that Hazel suspected could only be an act. No one was that interested in Lockhart's most recent award—Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile. But unfortunately Lockhart didn't seem to be taking the hint. Daphne rolled her eyes, but Hermione looked at the new professor with wide, enraptured eyes. Hazel elbowed her friend in the ribs, causing Hermione to look away from Lockhart and scowl.
"What?"
"Just making sure you weren't drooling," Hazel said, grinning.
Hermione turned red.
"Thank you for that charming recounting, Gilderoy," Albus said. He put a hand on Dudley's shoulder. "However, I promised the children a trip to Florean's and we really must be going."
"Perhaps I could come with you?" he said. "Gilderoy Lockhart and Hazel Potter, what a duo we make!"
It was nearly nine o'clock before they finally escaped Lockhart, who insisted on following them wherever they went. She had never met someone so empty-headed. She supposed it went with the stereotypes of the very handsome and very vain. What Hermione saw in the man, she certainly didn't know. If the man had done half of what he claimed to, she was a kneazle.
When they arrived at Flamel Cottage, finally Lockhart free, Hazel knocked on the door to Professor Snape's room. "Enter," he called. Hazel poked her head through the door. Professor Snape was sitting at a tiny desk, leaning over a piece of parchment. He looked up from his work, a faint look of shock playing across his features.
"Miss Potter, I believe it is time for you to go to bed."
"I just have a quick question," she said. "Why did Albus hire Lockhart? He doesn't seem to know very much about Defense."
Professor Snape snorted. "Far be it from me to criticize my colleagues to a student, but as you have surely deduced, the working of Albus's mind is known only to him."
"So you don't know."
"I cannot fathom why Albus hired that man." Hazel heard the implied "over me." It was, of course, well known that Professor Snape wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
"For what it's worth, professor, I think you would make a great Defense professor."
His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. "Good night, Miss Potter."