She was an idiot, a naïve little brat, a bumbling fool with a fucking death wish... or something.
Why the fuck else would she agree to help a cold-blooded murderer? For Merlin's sake! At no point during their acquaintance had Tommie ever given her any reason to think she was an upstanding citizen. So...
What if there were more equally horrific things that Tommie had neglected to tell her about? (Though she should have expected this... Anyone who even entertained Pureblood supremacy wasn't going to be entirely decent.) Why hadn't she asked that, among a host of other clarifying questions?
(But she enjoyed her company, and the way she would catch Tommie looking at her sometimes... That sort of fond, all-consuming desire''')
"Fuck everything," she snapped at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she spat out the last of her disgusting Spearmint toothpaste. Being a nonmagical mirror, her reflection didn't give her an unwelcome, pithy retort.
Sleeping in the same room had been... well, not all that bad. Tommie pretended to be asleep, her back diligently turned to Harriet, head tucked under a paw. Harriet, meanwhile, spent most of the night in a half-wakeful daze, the answers she'd prepared for the likeliest long-form essays on the History of Magic exam taking on the shapes of eldritch monsters and galivanting about her head, leaving large swaths of ash and swamp slime in their wake. Tommie's too-even breathing accompanied their progress all the while.
Okay, on second thought, it was one hell of a night. Made her want a drink or a hit of that hybrid magical marijuana Neville was rumored to be breeding to forget it. Except she probably shouldn't do either of those things, with Riddle skulking in her life.
A headache throbbed above her right eye. Harriet stumped out to the kitchen, riffling through the disorganized drawer in which they kept a jumbled mix of Muggle medicine and potions. She considered a Pepper-Up Potion, then put it back with a grimace. Steam pouring out her ears would be an awful start to the day. Triumphantly, she found an unopen bottle of painkillers and swallowed two with a handful of water from the tap.
Why didn't they have a Headache-Relieving Potion, anyway?
"Good morning," Hermione said through a jaw-cracking yawn, traipsing into the kitchen in her slippers and dressing gown.
"Morning," Harriet mumbled.
"Happy birthday!" Hermione added, putting on the kettle and bending to scratch Crookshanks behind the ears as he wound between her ankles, purr rumbling in his chest loudly enough for Harriet to hear it from across the room.
"Thanks," Harriet said, buttering a slice of toast with uneven jabs.
"You don't look well. Are you feeling all right?" Hermione asked a couple moments later, pouring the boiled water into two mismatched mugs and adding teabags, then sliding one in front of Harriet's spot at the table.
"Didn't sleep well," Harriet sighed, sitting down gratefully and taking a bite of her toast. Her stomach roiled as she swallowed. She endeavored to ignore it.
"Nerves?" Hermione sat across from her, tentatively taking a sip from her teacup and hissing in pain.
Harriet rolled her eyes at Hermione's ritualistic impatience. "Probably." She took a sip of her own tea in the hope that it would help her nausea (it did, sort of).
The next few minutes were filled with Harriet's crunching and rustling pages as Hermione read both the Times and the Daily Prophet.
"Have you heard back about your internship yet?" Harriet asked to fill the silence.
Hermione shook her head. "I only sent the application in two days ago."
"Did they say when you should hear back by?"
"Two weeks at most." Hermione fiddled with a corner of her newspaper. "I won't get it, Harriet. I should just go to university, forget a career in the magical world. Most Muggle-borns do that, if they want to survive."
"You'll get it," Harriet said firmly. "You've got great references, and they say Madam Bones is pretty egalitarian."
"That may not matter, if she's having to bow to Lucius Malfoy's whims and endless streams of galleons," Hermione reminded her sourly.
"I know." Harriet checked her watch. It was ten to nine. "I need to go." She downed the last of her tea and rubbed the tender spot above her eye. The headache had mostly faded, but she still felt out of sorts.
"Good luck," Hermione called as she picked up her wand and stepped out the front door.
"Thank you," she called over her shoulder.
The Ministry was unusually busy today—far more crowded than it had been the rest of the week. Harriet scanned the atrium for someone to ask what the hell was happening. She abruptly changed her mind, however, when she spotted Rita Skeeter lurking in the crowd, her coiffed golden hair and green handbag unmistakable, with what looked suspiciously like a brand-new Quick Quotes Quill clutched tightly in her hand. Well, Harriet thought savagely, at least she'd never use that thing to write about her again.
The balding wizard at the wand registration desk—Eric, or something of the sort—just rolled his eyes when she approached him. "Press conference later," he said. "Fudge and Bones—the usual suspects. Not really sure what it's about. They all packed in here right when the fireplaces opened. Gotta get good standing spots, I guess."
"That sounds awful," she said fervently.
"You have no idea, kid. I'm all for transparency and whatnot, but..." He handed back her wand and took refuge behind his rumpled newspaper. Not the Prophet, she noted with interest. The Semiweekly Seer, a low-budget knockoff that cared for facts only slightly more than The Quibbler did. ... Still massively better than the Prophet.
She hurried to the lift, hitting the button with more force than necessary. When the doors clanged open, she squeezed inside with half a dozen others, none of whom paid her any mind, much to her relief.
The Potions practical was surprisingly simple: she was asked only to brew a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria, paired with making an antidote to an unknown, undetectable poison.
Brewing—without Snape's stream of criticisms and invectives about her father—was relaxing. Harriet would never achieve Hermione's efficiency, but she was a far sight better than average. Thoroughness was key, she'd discovered, even if she lacked true instinctive knowledge of plant properties. Snape would have laughed, she was certain. He maintained that none of her NEWT-LEVEL classmates had any actual skill "for such a subtle art." (Tommie was likely brilliant with potions... but she avoided that thought assiduously.) With a nostalgic grimace, she bottled the last of her antidote and turned it in to the examiner, who appeared half-asleep.
The History of Magic test began easily. The first three quarters consisted of questions with factual answers—no arguing or inconvenient opining necessary. The last question, though...
Her hand ached. The sand in the hourglass dripped inexorably into its base.
"Ten more minutes, Miss Potter," the ancient, silver-haired examiner announced, squinting at the hourglass peevishly.
The question was about the goblin rebellion of 1752. "What could have been done to quash the rebellion sooner and save the careers of Ministers Boot and Flack? How could such procedures be used in the future?"
Could they be any more blatant? If she answered the way she wanted, then her final score would be somewhere in the vast gray area between an A and a P. The proper course, as she saw it, was for Boot or Flack to have given the goblins and the werewolves that eventually joined them everything they'd asked for—the right to wands and seats on the Wizengamot—and then some. Their careers were rightfully cut short. As for the future... With a sigh, she scrawled a final paragraph: "One rebellion was put down, but nothing meaningful has changed since. The same will happen again, and the futures of other 'gifted, deserving' wizards will follow suit."
She dropped her quill, shook out her hand, and watched the final grains reach the bottom.
"All right, you may go."
"Thank Merlin," she said and scarpered, not sparing him a final glance.
Leaving the Ministry was as difficult as she'd feared. The press conference was in full swing in the atrium, so the public could see the prettiest part of the building and the reporters could see as little as possible of what went on. Since it was in the middle of the afternoon, few employees were affected—heaven forbid the cogs of the bureaucracy suffer interruptions. Harriet, though, had to attempt to skirt around it. Being who she was, she failed.
"Potter! Potter!" No, fucking hell no...
"Let the girl be," Madam Bones barked from where she stood at a podium, not a hair out of place, her navy dress robes perfectly pressed. In jeans and with fly-away hair, Harriet felt scruffy and underdressed in comparison.
"One question, Potter?" a reporter from Magical Investors UK—a dry, little read American export—pleaded.
She wondered briefly what they'd say if she ran. But she wanted this, didn't she? To be known? To be taken seriously, so that when she spoke, people would hear?
She nodded, the fingers of her right hand tapping against her thigh.
"What are your plans now?" the same forward reporter called.
The cameras were flashing. She couldn't think— couldn't stay— She didn't really know (she did know, but couldn't remember), only that she wanted everything to be better. What a fool she was. "To work quietly and talk when I must," she said—hacked out like Crookshanks did hairballs, to unimpressed stares.
She wanted to cry, could feel her heart pounding in her temples.
Madam Bones threw out her arm. "After your performance, any field—any job here, no doubt—is open to you," she said kindly. Appreciative applause followed.
"My best friend is brilliant, potentially much better at Ministry work," Harriet croaked, meaning it, not thinking about anything but getting away as quickly as she could.
"Of course. Hermione Granger?" Bones asked.
"Yes." Later, she would remember this exchange and fear she'd ruined Hermione's chances.
Bones smiled tightly. "You are modest. Off with you, then. The world awaits."
She left gratefully, edging into the nearest fireplace and sweeping away.
She Disapparated as soon as she could and ran up the stairs, panting. She pushed through the door to find Hermione and Crookshanks standing in the hallway, Crookshanks straining to get out of Hermione's arms and to Harriet's room.
"Is everything okay?" Harriet asked, feeling a muted sense of foreboding.
"Yes," Hermione replied shortly and came out to meet her, letting Crookshanks go as she did so. "How did your last steps to fully-qualified witch-hood go?"
Crookshanks meowed loudly and scampered back down the hall to stand with tail elect outside Harriet's door.
"Good. Fine. Whatever." Harriet was wrung out. Hermione was acting suspiciously, the press would say she was an idiot, and T-Riddle was—
"You went into my room, didn't you?" She sounded ambivalent; she felt nothing.
Hermione fiddled with a miniscule piece of lint on the hem of her shirt and didn't bother to attempt eye contact—which would have failed, anyway. Harriet didn't usually go for such things, especially on the verge of an implosion the way she was now. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice quavering.
"Look, I'm too tired to be mad," Harriet sighed. "Things went to shit after I finished, so I really don't care at the moment."
"Then yes, I did break your locking charms," Hermione snapped. "Happy?"
"Are you?" Harriet parried.
"Crookshanks certainly seems to be," Hermione replied. "Acted like she was his hero... or best friend."
Harriet nodded jerkily. "Did he cuddle?"
"He tried," Hermione muttered. "Didn't give him enough time to get comfortable. You don't seem surprised."
"Don't have it in me to be surprised." Harriet knew she should be livid, or anxious about tonight. But right now, she just needed to be left alone. Everything was too loud and too bright... and she needed to hide from it.
She pushed past Hermione and opened her door with a brisk tap of her wand. Riddle looked up eagerly at her entrance, then dropped her head between her paws and swished her tail in a wide arc.
"You're sulking?" Harriet asked. What right did she have to sulk? God!
"No."
"Have you eaten?" Harriet glanced over at the box she'd painstakingly charmed to keep its contents cold, which had been a necessity in order to hide Riddle's food from Hermione.
"Would my answer interest you?" Riddle retorted. "No matter. Of course I have. I'm not stupid."
"No, just bloodthirsty," Harriet snapped.
Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? You're not, oh I don't know, going to help me see why murder is wrong, etc. etc.?"
"You don't regret killing them, just that you felt you had to tell me." Harriet threw herself face down on her bed and raised her hands to cover her ears. "I still don't understand why you bothered," she said into her pillow, breathing in the comforting scent of her own hair.
"The curse compelled it, perhaps," Riddle mused quietly. Harriet lowered her hands to catch her muffled words. "Or I could no longer bare to deceive you. Perhaps both at once."
Somehow, neither of these possibilities were reassuring. Harriet covered her ears again and closed her eyes.
An hour later found Harriet and Hermione finishing last-minute preparations for the evening's festivities. Hermione conjured green streamers. Harriet put Silencing Charms up around the walls and floors to prevent complaints from angry neighbors.
"The only things we're providing are plates and cups, right?" Harriet clarified, dubiously eyeing their mismatched selection of plastic and paper.
"You said Remus was bringing Ab's food and booze, and everyone else has desserts." Hermione smirked slightly. "Luna's bringing the cake. It should be entertaining."
Harriet had little doubt she was right. "I'll probably regret this after an hour," she admitted. "We should have gone somewhere else, too. This place isn't exactly huge."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Extension Charms are fine in a pinch, and you've invited fewer than ten people—"
"Who don't all necessarily like each other," Harriet groaned.
"Your party," Hermione reminded her lightly, pulling a streamer out of Crookshanks's mouth. "I do have one question, though."
"What's that?"
"Why didn't you have Remus over sooner?" A slight furrow appeared between her brows.
Oh, fuck.
"It wouldn't be because you wanted other people's scents to disguise the sphinx's, would it?"
Of course, she was going to make the connection eventually. Harriet didn't answer, except to nod minutely.
"Damn, I should have figured this out ages ago," Hermione said bitterly. "I wish you'd told me. Maybe we could have broken her curse by now."
"I don't care what happens to her," Harriet said, restacking the plates to occupy her hands. "The longer it takes, the better for everyone." But then she'd be stuck with Riddle and feel guilt and regret in equal measure.
"What did she say to you? When I—" Hermione stopped and looked sheepish. "When I talked to her earlier, she seemed rather... rueful, I suppose. Quite certain you wouldn't help her anymore."
"It doesn't matter," Harriet said hollowly. "I'm far too naive to make good life choices."
"Hmm." Hermione finished the streamers with a final flick of her wand, Crookshanks leaping up in savage excitement to bat the last additions in greeting. "Down, kitty," she reprimanded.
Harriet laughed. Watching Crookshanks was one of the best parts of her day.
#
The first to arrive were the Weasleys: the twins, Ron, and Ginny, several misshapen packages in tow. "Additional decorations and party favors," Fred explained with a grin that Harriet deeply mistrusted.
Millicent Bulstrode—with whom Harriet had shared both classes and misanthropy—arrived next. When she caught sight of the gaggle of redheads, she groaned and eyed the door she'd just come through. "This is going to be a long night, isn't it?"
"I doubt it," Harriet reassured her. "Everyone else I invited hates parties as much as you do."
"Good." Bulstrode perched on the now magically extended couch and watched the proceedings with affected disinterest.
Neville, Luna, and Blaise came next. "Oh, thank Merlin," Bulstrode murmured on seeing them. "You weren't kidding."
"I never kid," Harriet protested, putting a hand over her heart in mock offense.
Luna tipped her head to the side when Harriet approached her. "You've lost something, haven't you?"
"My mind, maybe. Other than that, I don't know," Harriet sighed.
Luna patted her lightly on the hand. "Wait until you try my cake. Cakes always answer questions for me."
When the cake was uncovered in its place of honor at the center of the table, Harriet smiled. It was a perfectly boring, rich, decadent chocolate one. Yes, it would undoubtedly answer some questions, such as whether life was worth living (yes, indeed). Hermione facepalmed.
Remus arrived fifteen minutes later—laden with bottles and containers—to wild cheers. He accepted them with a gracious nod. "I'm glad to see you all remember me fondly."
"I forgot everything," George stage-whispered. "But the butter beer and fire whiskey you have there are promising new memories as we speak."
"I second that," Fred said heartily.
The twins' party favors consisted of canary creams (Crookshanks pounced on Neville when he sampled one, and they were immediately put away) and grape soda that caused large purple bubbles to emerge from the nose (Ron mixed his with fire whiskey and immediately went to throw up).
"Better luck next time," Ginny said consolingly. She kept steeling glances at Harriet from the corner of her eye. "Let's try this Exploding Snap with Extra Explosions." It turned out to be Extraneous Explosions: some accompanied with strains of heavy metal music, some by sirens. Harriet merely watched the game—played in teams of Gryffindors versus Luna and the Slytherins, her arms crossed over her chest.
"How have you been, sweetheart?" Remus asked, sitting beside her. He didn't seem remotely suspicious, so her precautions had borne fruit.
"Fine," she replied. "Good party. Long day."
He nodded sagely. "They're here for you. I don't think they'd mind if you took a break from them."
"They would." She studied her shoes—a bit scuffed but her favorites nonetheless. "Anything new with you?" she asked to shift the conversation away from her.
He smiled. "Ever heard of Sirius Black? He came in with Ludo Bagman one day a couple weeks ago to straighten out a bet—on you winning the Tournament, I believe. Bagman blew him off. He and I got to talking. He's been dropping in to say hello... rather a lot since."
"The head of the family, isn't he?"
"Yes. He was in Slytherin when we were in school together, but he's really quite reasonable now. You'd like him, I think." Remus was radiant.
"Congratulations, then," she said.
"We'll see about that, but I'm hopeful." His excitement dimmed a little. "Dumbledore's been stopping by quite a bit as well. Keeps asking about you. I have no idea why. Ab is rather annoyed by it, as you can no doubt imagine."
Harriet grimaced. "That's odd," she said. "Dumbledore's never paid any attention to me before."
Remus blinked lazily at her, seeming to sense something off with her response. Shaking his head, he pulled out a book and began to read.
Harriet had been right. She did regret having a party like this. With profuse apologies and vague promises of her return, she hurried to her room. They would think her rude, she told herself, but the day had been interminable, and she couldn't take anymore.
There were footsteps behind her; she started, turned around. "Harriet," Ginny said quietly. "Can we talk?"
Well, fuck. Ginny had been waiting for this all night, probably. But Riddle was lurking in her room like the remnants of a bad dream. It would look very odd indeed if she directed Ginny elsewhere now after so awkward a departure, so what was she to do?
"Er, I guess so." Harriet said this loudly enough that Tommie would hear through the blessedly still-shut door and make herself scarce. "Come on in."
"Cool," Ginny followed eagerly as Harriet stepped hesitantly over the threshold. Harriet sighed in relief. Riddle was nowhere to be seen.
Ginny immediately took her hand. "You look like shit," she said. "Is everything all right?"
The question of the evening. "Could be worse," Harriet replied shortly. "What did you want to talk about?" As if she didn't know.
Ginny looked disappointed. "I just... If you wanted, we could try..."
Yesterday, Harriet would have dismissed her out of hand. But that was before Riddle's confession—the betrayal that shouldn't have been as unexpected as it was. Instead of doing the wise thing and sending Ginny away, she listened quietly.
Ginny rallied. "I know you don't want a long-term relationship, but it wouldn't have to be traditional or exclusive or even all that serious. I won't push you this time." She widened her chocolate-brown eyes, desperately hopeful.
"I—" Harriet was at a loss. Ginny was pretty, fun, great at Quidditch, and had never killed anyone in cold blood. A plethora of pluses, if she was being honest with herself.
While Harriet sat lost in thought, Ginny leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. She smelled of summer flowers and tasted like fire whiskey and peppermint. Harriet gave a faint hmm of pleasure, deepening the kiss. She had no reason not to, other than absent good sense. Cho was years past now, and Riddle was never even a consideration. Never, dammit!
Harriet wrapped an arm around Ginny's back, drawing her close.
There was a rustle, a low snarl, and a displacement of air.
Harriet pushed Ginny away reflexively as Riddle pounced. Her wand was in her hand before she fully understood what was happening. A Stunning Spell went flying. She aimed for Riddle, but Riddle was lithe and quick and dodged it easily. In the bedroom's tight quarters, it hit Ginny instead, who fell to the floor with a surprised gasp.
"No!" Harriet cried. "Stop, stop! Please!"
Riddle clawed at the carpet, her sides heaving, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Did you really think I'd appreciate you snogging with such disgusting abandon in front of me?"
With the truly murderous look she was giving Ginny's unconscious body, Harriet doubted that the kissing itself was the only problem. "I didn't know she was going to do that. And for your information, I don't owe you any sort of respect."
Riddle hissed. "Obliviate her and get her out of here. She saw me. No one must know."
For a moment, Harriet was tempted to comply. She could make Ginny forget far more than Riddle... The kiss they'd shared could be gone, and they would never need to discuss it. But—
"She's a friend. She doesn't deserve that." Harriet resolutely put away her wand.
"What are you, a Hufflepuff?" Riddle spat, fur bristling along her spine. "When you wake her up, she will run out there and shout about the sphinx she's seen. Do you really want to deal with the fallout?"
Harriet gritted her teeth, her eyes pricking with tears of frustration. "You've asked enough of me! I don't know how to Obliviate, and even if I did, I wouldn't do it to... anyone! It's reprehensible."
"You stupid, stupid girl," Riddle growled. Her head drooped. She sounded utterly defeated. "Get her out of here, then. I don't care how." She disappeared into the closet.
Harriet crouched next to Ginny's head. "Enervate!" she muttered unenthusiastically. Ginny stirred and sat up, shaking her tangled hair back in confusion.
"What happened?" she croaked. "I was kissing you, and then..." She passed a hand in front of her face. "Was there a large cat?"
"You're a bit drunk," Harriet told her quickly—it wasn't untrue, after all. "You passed out for a second."
"Oh," Ginny muttered. "Sorry." She flushed and stumbled to her feet. "Are we... anything?"
"I'm sorry," Harriet said. "Things just won't work between us."
"It's okay," Ginny replied, although it didn't sound okay in the least. "Thought it would be worth one more shot, you know?"
"Right," Harriet said. "You should go back out. Tell them I'll be there in a bit."
"Sure," Ginny said and hurried through the door. Harriet closed it behind her.
"See?" she snapped in Riddle's direction. "No harm done."
"So it would seem." Riddle padded to the center of the room and settled onto her haunches. "You are very unhappy about the way that conversation went."
"Brilliant observation."
"Are you unhappy for her or for yourself?" Riddle leaned forward earnestly. Harriet was certain it was an act, or worse yet, just a mark of Riddle's creepy attachment.
"Both," she answered anyway.
Riddle nodded. "But you believe she will find happiness more easily with someone else."
"I know she will. I can only imagine us as casual acquaintances. She deserves someone who returns her feelings and shares her relationship ideals."
"You deserve happiness as much as she does." Riddle was matter-of-fact.
"Oh?" Harriet had no idea where this conversation was going.
"Yes, and I would do anything to make it so."
Harriet's mouth dropped open. Something was shifting, a strange electricity at the edge of her senses. Riddle seemed suddenly frozen and began to speak again, her eyes losing their intensity.
"I caused the destruction of Troy, the worst of tragedies and numerous maladies, yet I am chaste, desired, and ever fought for. What am I?"
This was it, then: The riddle they'd been searching for. It mirrored their first meeting, except Harriet could see no path forward. The answer came easily, though, as if, like the riddle itself, it had been waiting, fully-formed. "Love," Harriet said, disbelieving the word as she said it. "The answer is... love."
"Love," Riddle repeated, seeming to emerge from whatever trance that had paralyzed her.
The moment hung suspended, the tension putting Harriet's teeth on edge. It would be crystallized in her memory forever.
"Love," Tommie said once more, the shape of the word seemingly unfamiliar in her mouth. And then—
The world exploded.
A/N: The riddle isn't mine. I just changed the tenses and wording slightly.