Harriet Potter Year 2: The Dreams of Yesterday
"The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion."
~Albert Einstein
Harriet Potter, History of Magic Classroom-September 2, 1992
Harriet shot Ron a glare that clearly stated, "I hate you. This is all your fault."
Ron pretended to ignore it, but Harriet knew that he had seen it when the tips of his ears began to turn red. She scowled at him and went back to her own parchment, scribbling yet another line down.
"I will never worry my parents like that again. I will never endanger my life with such a ridiculous stunt again."
Both lines. One hundred times each. She really was going to kill Ron, she decided. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had several other kids, she rationalized, as she dotted her i's with particular vigor. They might not even notice he's gone.
Harriet almost cheered once she was finished. Deciding that Remus might not appreciate it, however, decided not to. Instead, she settled for an enthusiastic, "Done!"
"Me, too!" agreed Ron. Remus looked up from the lesson plan he was writing and levitated the parchment over to him. He scanned them and Harriet held her breath, waiting for some sign that she wouldn't have to redo them all.
Finally, Remus nodded. "Alright. Good work."
Harriet and Ron laughed with relief and hopped up from their seats, gathering their things. Remus raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully this time you'll think twice about doing something like that."
"You mean flying a car into a tree?" Ron snorted.
Harriet frowned. "Honestly, Remus, you're worried for nothing. Where in the world are we going to get another flying car?"
"Very funny," he chuckled. "Now, get out of here, the both of you."
Ron shrugged and headed for the door, on his way back to the common room. Harriet hesitated. There had been something nagging at her that she really wanted to discuss with Remus. Now might be a good time.
"Go ahead, Ron, I'll only be a minute," she instructed. Ron looked a bit unsure, but, after searching her gaze for a moment, he relented. Remus looked up from his work.
"Is there something worrying you, Harriet?"
"Actually, yea," she admitted. She moved to sit on the edge of the desk. "It has to do with the dementors."
"What about them?" He gave her a sharp nudge off of the desk. She almost fell, but caught herself, as he knew she would. She straightened her robes and instead went to pick up a chair, tugging it forward a bit closer to the desk. She sat down.
"I was just wondering about what the Dementors did to me," she explained after a moment. "Dementors make you relive your worst memory, so how does that explain the screaming that I heard?"
Remus looked down for a minute. When he looked back up at her, he was reluctant. "Can you not think about which memory the Dementors might force you to re-live? Think very carefully. It might not even be a memory you remember having."
Harriet gave Remus an odd look. "Right, because that makes sense." Remus waited patiently, so she thought for a moment. She had never before heard those two people screaming, but they obviously knew her. But who- That was the moment that Harriet realized what Remus had meant.
"My grandparents?" She asked, her throat suddenly dry. "On the night that they died?"
"I'm sorry, Harriet," Remus said softly. He got up from behind the desk and moved to comfort her, wrapping her in a tight hug. She snuggled into it and took a deep breath. For a moment, neither one of them said anything. Then, Harriet let go of him, making sure to look him squarely in the eye.
Breaking the silence, she said, "I want you to teach me."
"As your History of Magic professor," Remus said after a moment, "that's my job."
"I want you to teach me how to defend myself against dementors," Harriet clarified, sitting up a bit. "There has to be a way."
"There is," Remus said hesitantly. Harriet could sense a 'but' coming. "But, Harriet, the charm is very advanced. Far above the Ordinary Wizarding Levels."
"I don't care!" Harriet argued, jutting her chin out in the raw determination that only a young child could posses. "I don't want to keep hearing their voices every time a dementor gets near me!"
"No more dementors are coming near you, Prongslette," Remus soothed. Harriet crossed her arms.
"You don't know that for sure, Uncle Moony." Remus didn't say anything, so she knew she had him on that point.
"We can take it slowly," she cajoled. "If I get tired, we can stop."
Remus eyed her warily.
"I'll talk to your parents about it," he said finally. Harriet smiled and threw her arms around his neck.
"Thanks, Uncle Moony," she said sincerely.
"We might have to wait a bit," Remus warned. "The full moon is coming up and I'll need to rest."
Harriet nodded, then remembered another question that she had been wanting to ask her Uncle. "Uncle Moony, how did you tell my father and Padfoot that you were a werewolf?"
Remus looked surprised at the change in subject. "I didn't," he said after a moment. "They found out and cornered me in the library one day. Why do you ask?
Harriet bit her lip. "It's just, Ron and Hermione don't know about me- I mean, I haven't told them that I can-"
"You haven't told them that you're a parselmouth?" Remus asked gently. Harriet nodded.
"Harriet, I don't know what to tell you," Remus sighed. "It's up to you when you want to tell them, if you want to tell them at all-"
"I do want to!" Harriet argued. "I just don't know what they'll say."
"Do you honestly think that Ron and Hermione would stop being your friends just because you can talk to snakes?"
Harriet shook her head vehemently. "No! Of course not! But-"
"But it's still scary," Remus finished, nodding in agreement. He rubbed her back for a moment. "I'm sorry I can't help you more."
"It's alright," Harriet sighed, untangling herself from his hug. She picked up her bag and flashed him a genuine smile. "I should probably go."
"It's getting late," Remus confirmed. She dashed up to him and gave him one last peck on the cheek.
Harriet dashed out the door, leaving Remus to finish his work.
Harriet Potter, Quidditch Pitch, October 30, 1992
That afternoon, about two months after the new term had begun, Harriet found herself half asleep as she wandered the halls of Hogwarts, broom in hand. Isaura had woken her up with a tight squeeze to wrist about half an hour ago, hissing something about Oliver, Quidditch, and unhealthy obsessions, before falling back into a deep sleep.
After listening to Wood go on for hours about their new Quidditch strategy, Harriet was ready to actually get out onto the pitch and practice. Harriet struggled to keep up with the others, small as she was.
"What's this?" Wood said sharply. Harriet craned her neck to try and see over the tops of everybody else's heads, but couldn't quite manage it. "I've booked the pitch for Gryffindor today, Flint."
Marcus Flint. Slytherin Quidditch team captain. Harriet jumped up to try and get a look. She got a brief glance at dark green robes, but that was it.
"I've got a note," Flint said. She didn't have to see his face to know he wore a smirk. Growling in frustration, Harriet launched herself at the legs standing between her and the scene playing out. She crawled on the floor, trying to fight her way through. Nobody seemed to take any notice of her though, and didn't make it any easier for her.
"You need to train your new Seeker?" Wood asked doubtfully after a moment. "What new Seeker?"
Harriet finally broke through the crowd and toppled onto the grass, landing flat on her back. She found herself staring straight into the disbelieving face of Draco Malfoy. She scowled and spat out a mouthful of grass. He made a disgusted noise and pulled away to avoid it.
"Watch it, Potter!" Malfoy snapped. Harriet didn't dignify this with an answer. Instead, she hopped up from the ground and began to dust herself off.
"You're the new Seeker?" Ron demanded, having arrived only a few seconds ago with Hermione. Draco shot him a scathing look.
"Not that it's any of your business, Weasleby" he sneered, "but yes, I am."
"And that's not the only new addition to the Slytherin team," Flint boasted. That's when Harriet realized that all of the Slytherins carried brand new brooms. Sleek, dark, and obviously fast, they made Harriet's own top-of-the-line Nimbus look like nothing more than a twig.
"New Nimbus 2001's," Ron breathed, awestruck. "Where did you get those?"
Hermione gave him a swift kick in the shins, annoyed that he had shown any admiration for any Slytherin anywhere.
"A gift," Draco said smoothly, "from my father."
Hermione scoffed. "At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in."
"That's right," agreed Ron, nodding, eager to get back on her good side. "They got in on pure talent."
"Nobody asked for your opinions!" Malfoy retorted, stepping forward, away from the group. "Filthy blood traitor and your mudblood girlfriend!"
Harriet didn't hesitate. Ignoring all of the hissing and shouting from behind her, she threw herself at Malfoy in a full body tackle, yelling insults the whole way through.
"Shut up, Malfoy! You git! Don't you go saying things like that about my best friends! you'll never have friends as great as they do, and that's why you're so-"
The rest of Harriet's little speech was drowned out as Oliver yanked her up hard with his arms wrapped firmly around her middle, knocking the wind out of her.
Malfoy sat up, eyes wide, "You're crazy, Potter!"
Harriet glared and struggled violently against Wood.
"Harriet!" protested Hermione, obviously baffled at everybody's reactions, "Stop! He isn't worth it!"
"What is going on here?" demanded McGonagall, crossing the pitch hurriedly. Remus and Lockhart both followed. Wood dropped Harriet as soon as he saw Remus narrow his eyes in their direction, although she doubted it had anything to do with their close proximity and that she had gotten into trouble so soon after her last stunt.
"Potter just attacked me!" Malfoy said quickly, darting up off of the ground, and thrusting his jaw forward, revealing a nicely forming bruise.
Ron tried his hardest to hide a smirk.
"That's not true!" Harriet denied.
"So you didn't attack Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.
Harriet shifted her weight back and forth. "No," she admitted, "I did. But-"
"No 'buts,'" McGonagall interrupted. She grabbed Harriet by her collar and began to tug her away, ignoring the protests of her classmates. "There are no excuses for violence at Hogwarts-"
"He called Ron a blood traitor!" Harriet argued, yanking herself free and glaring at McGonagall in the dim light of the Hogwarts corridor.
"And he called Hermione a- a mudblood," Harriet stuttered. McGonagall gasped and Remus nodded acceptingly. Even Lockhart looked scandalized.
Harriet tried to catch Remus's eye. She knew that he was disappointed in her for fighting, but she couldn't help it. Besides the fact that Malfoy had insulted her two best friends, those two particular insults had hit her far too close to home, bringing up images of both her mother and her beloved godfather.
"I understand your anger, Miss Potter," McGonagall said after she had composed herself, "but that does not change the fact that violence is not permitted at Hogwarts."
"Yes, Professor," Harriet sighed.
McGonagall smiled slightly through her frown. Until that moment, Harriet hadn't even known that was possible. "Perhaps another detention with Professor Lupin-"
"Actually, Professor," Moony interrupted, looking a bit disappointed, "I'll be otherwise occupied these next few days."
"Ah, yes, of course," McGonagall hurried to save herself. "Then I suppose-"
"I'd be more than happy to take Miss Potter under my wing," Lockhart interrupted smiling in what he probably believed was a winning manner.
"Actually," Harriet squeaked, "I was thinking that perhaps Professor Snape would be a better choice."
Lockhart went to argue, so Harriet quickly finished with, "I might enjoy my detention with you too much, Professor. It'd hardly be a fitting punishment."
He looked taken aback, but then he laughed heartily. "Harriet, Harriet, Harriet, I assure you, as a Hogwarts professor, I will be the judge of whether or not the punishment is fitting and I personally believe that a few hours of helping me with some work will be the perfect punishment!."
"No," Harriet denied, "no, it isn't!"
"Actually, I think Professor Lockhart might be on to something," Remus put in mildly. Harriet shot him a withering look, which he answered with a smile.
She was going to kill him.
"I guess it's settled, then," McGonagall said firmly. "Miss Potter, you are to report for detention with Lockhart tomorrow evening."
Harriet tried to think of a way out of it, but there was nothing. She nodded weakly, the thought of her impending night making her just a bit queasy.
Later, though, when she saw Malfoy sitting in the Great Hall with a plaster on his nose, she decided that it was completely worth it.
Harriet Potter, Hell... Ah, Detention with Lockhart- October 31, 1992
Harriet paused to stretch out her now stiff hand. After four hours of detention with Lockhart, she was about ready to snap.
Apparently Lockhart's idea of an appropriate detention was helping him sign his fan-mail. When Harriet had arrived at his classroom, he had pulled her aside and begun to lecture her.
"Harriet, Harriet, Harriet," he had told her, "I'm so glad that I have this opportunity to talk to you alone."
"Why?" Harriet asked had unsurely.
"When I first heard about your little stunt with the car, I thought to myself, 'Well, that's not like her, at all!'"
"How would you know?" Harriet demanded. He barely knew her, after all.
"Then, after your little fight with Mr. Malfoy, I realized!" Lockhart chuckled softly to himself. "I could have kicked myself! Oh, Harriet, if you wish to get noticed, crashing cars and starting fights is not the way to go about it!"
"Get noticed." Harriet deadpanned.
Lockhart had raised an eyebrow. "I understand, Harriet, really, I do. You look at somebody as famous as I and think 'Why can't I be like that?' But, Harriet! I was like you, once. A nobody. Actually, you might have a bit of a head start, what with that whole You-Know-Who business-" his eyes darted to her scar and he seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment.
"Still, this is not the time for you to be trying to get noticed. This is the time for studying, Harriet. Do you think I ever got where I am today without studying, hm? There will be plenty of time for fame and glory, later. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Harriet said through clenched teeth.
"I don't think you do," denied Lockhart. He shrugged it off. "No matter. That's why I've devised the perfect detention! It will show you exactly what the pitfalls of fame are!"
"And what exactly is this perfect detention?"
"You'll be helping me sign my fan-mail!" He had exclaimed extravagantly.
That was the start of Harriet's own personal nightmare.
Several hours later, and at least a hundred letters, Harriet had had enough. She took a deep breath and resisted the urge to scream.
Rip, tear, kill. Blood. I smell BLOOD!
Harriet did scream.
"Harriet, my dear girl! What's wrong?" demanded Lockhart. Harriet had drawn her wand and was looking around suspiciously.
Ignoring the nickname, Harriet asked him urgently, "Didn't you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Lockhart asked, looking lost.
"The voice!" Harriet demanded, straining to hear more.
Lockhart shook his head slowly. "I didn't hear a thing, but- Goodness gracious! Look at the time! We've been here for four hours, now! No wonder you've been hearing voices! You must be exhausted!"
"But, Professor-" Harriet went to deny anything of the sort, but Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Now, now, Harriet," he said, shooing her out of the room, "I know you've been enjoying yourself, but there is such thing as 'too much of a good thing!' Now run along and get to bed! Long day, tomorrow, I'm sure!"
Harriet sputtered as he all but shoved her out of the room. When the door closed behind her, she stopped moving, stopped breathing even, just waiting for the raspy voice to return.
Silence.
Satisfied for the time being, she began to make her way back to her dormitories. She was hungry, sure, but her exhaustion outweighed her need for food and this wouldn't have been the first time she'd gone to bed without dinner.
She had almost made it to the staircases when she heard it again.
Rip. Tear. Kill. KILL.
It was moving, she realized. She pressed her ear to the wall of the corridor and heard it more clearly. It was in the walls and it was moving.
She ran, trying to keep up with it. Whatever it was, it had to be either very large or very quick for her to have trouble keeping up.
Her lungs were burning as she rounded a corner.
"Ah!" She screeched, just a bit more high-pitched than she would admit. Ron and Hermione screamed, too.
"Harriet," her red-haired friend gasped, clutching his chest, "what in blazes was that about?"
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, taking a relaxing breath of her own. "You didn't come to dinner and we were worried."
"I-I was in detention with Lockhart," Harriet said, casting aside the sympathetic glances they now wore. "Did you hear that? The voice?"
"What voice?"
"The one in the walls," Harriet explained, placing her ear against the wall again.
"Oh, right," Ron said sarcastically, "that voice."
"I'm not being funny!" Harriet snapped, just a bit on edge.
Hermione soothed her.
"Nobody said you were. Now, tell us a bit more about the voice."
"I heard it for the first time in detention with Lockhart, but he didn't seem to hear it." Harriet explained. "I heard it again on my way back to my dorm. I was just following it when I ran into you two."
"We didn't hear any voice, Harriet," Hermione said hesitantly.
Ron added quickly, "But maybe we weren't close enough, mate."
Rip. Tear. Thirsty. So thirsty.
"There it is again!" Harriet announced suddenly.
Hermione and Ron both looked at her worriedly. Harriet knew without either of them saying so that they couldn't hear a thing. But the voice was real, she assured herself, it was as real as she was.
Blood. I SMELL BLOOD. Rip, tear, KILL!
"I think it want's to kill somebody!" Harriet announced, before running after it. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and then dashed after her.
"Hang on!" Ron protested. "If it wants to kill somebody, why are we running after it?"
Harriet stopped short, forcing Ron and Hermione to bump into her.
Ron straightened himself up and grinned proudly. "Finally listening to Ron, hm? Decided that he actually makes sense sometimes?"
"Sorry to disappoint, mate, but that's not why I stopped," Harriet denied.
Hermione whimpered and turned to bury her face in Ron's shoulder. In shock himself, he wrapped an arm around her and Harriet gave her a firm hug.
Mrs. Noris, Flich's cat, was levitated in the middle of the hallway, stock still.
Harriet let go of Hermione and bravely took a step forward. She felt Hermione reach for her and try to pull her back, but she ignored it. She took another step and frowned at the odd 'squelch' her feet made.
Harriet wrinkled her nose and pulled her foot up from the puddle. Glancing around, she realized that most of the hallway had been flooded. Deciding that there was no way for her to avoid getting wet, she took another firm step, trying to ignore how the edge of her trouser legs now felt as they were weighed down by water.
"Mrs. Noris?" she said hesitantly. She wasn't too sure what she was expecting (it's not as though she could talk), but the cat made no sign that she had heard her. Harriet reached a hand forward and gently prodded the animal. It bobbed a bit, as though it were hanging on the end of a string, and drifted in response to her touch.
Harriet gasped as it movement forced her to focus on the wall behind it. She hadn't noticed it before, but behind that cat, a message had been scrawled out.
"The Chamber of Secrets has Been Opened." Hermione read softly. "Enemies of the Heir, Beware."'
"Please tell me that's ketchup," Ron pleaded. Harriet brought a finger up and touched the lettering on the wall. The bright red liquid was still warm. She rubbed it between two of her fingers.
"It's blood," she said sagely.
"We shouldn't be here," Ron decided. "We really shouldn't."
"We can't just leave Mrs. Norris!" Harriet defended, eying the floating cat warily.
"Oh, what has she ever done for us?" Ron demanded. "If the roles were reversed, she would just leave us here!"
"She's a cat, Ron," Harriet said after a moment, as though it explained everything. Ron didn't have an answer to that, but that didn't mean he was ready to let the matter drop. Before he had a chance to defend herself, though, a large crowd of students, obviously just back from dinner.
They stopped short and grew silent. Harriet understood how it must look to them: Harriet standing in the center of the hallway, Ron and Hermione watching horrified; Mrs. Norris floating, apparently dead, Harriet's wand drawn; the message scrawled on the wall, Harriet's hand covered in blood; the hallway flooded, Harriet's trousers soaking wet.
She jumped backwards, rubbing her hand clean on her robe and moving to stand next to Ron and Hermione, both of whom tried to protect her from the eyes of the crowd.
"'Enemies of the Heir, Beware?'" came a slow, drawling voice from somewhere in the center of the crowd. Harriet almost groaned aloud. Malfoy was the last person she wanted to think about right now.
"You'll be next, mudbloods!"
"What's going on here? What's going on?"
Scratch that. Filch was the last person she wanted to think about right now.
He elbowed his way through the crowd, ignoring the squeals and annoyed grunts of the students. When he broke through the crowd, his face paled at the sight of Mrs. Norris.
He clutched at his chest in shock and stumbled backwards.
"My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris? Tell me!"
Then, his eyes landed on Harriet and her two friends, and he drew the same conclusion as the other did. "
"You!" he cried. Harriet jumped in surprise."You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"
"Argus!"
Harriet breathed a sigh of relief as Dumbledore's firm voice cut through the chatter. The students silenced as he, along with a few other teachers, cut through the crowd with a lot less hassle than Filch. He ignored Harriet , Ron, and Hermione and headed straight for Mrs. Norris. In a second, he had flicked his wand and undone the spell that held her floating. I
"Come with me Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"
Harriet would never admit it, but Lockhart had a point. That's why she felt no surprise when Dumbledore agreed.
It did little to dampen her displeasure, though.
"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. The crowd gave them little trouble. She, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Lockhart, McGonagall and Snape managed to make their way through the dark halls and into Lockhart's room.
Harriet was almost expecting to see Remus there, but then realized that it was his "time of the month."
Under any other circumstances, Harriet and Ron both would have laughed when they saw Lockhart's portraits. Covered in pajamas and hair-rollers, they were desperate to remain out of sight of prying eyes. Hermione shushed them both disapprovingly.
The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back.
Dumbledore gingerly set Mrs. Norris down on the desk and the other professors all crowded around.
Harriet gnawed worriedly on her lip and sat down into one of the chairs in the corner. Dumbledore's glasses were perched at the end of his long, crooked nose, allowing him to examine Mrs. Norris more closely.
He poked and prodded it gently. McGonagall was hunched over next to him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.
As for Snape, he looked as though he were having a difficult time trying not to laugh or smile, his lips twitching upward almost imperceptibly.
At first, Harriet didn't understand why Mrs. Norris's death would be something amusing- well, she wouldn't deny that she did get a small amount of vindictive pleasure from it. That cat had been the bane of students everywhere.
Snape was a professor, though. He wouldn't have found that much pleasure from it.
Unless...
He was!
Harriet almost smirked gleefully. He was laughing at Lockhart!
The idiot was bumbling around, babbling complete nonsense about curses and cures and how it was completely awful that he hadn't been there.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her ..."
Filch let out a huge sob at this.
Harriet couldn't help but feel a tad sorry for the man. She never liked Filch or Mrs. Norris, but she was the only family he had. Harriet could remember quite clearly the time when Isaura was the only family she had and Harriet hated to think about what she would have done without her friend.
Still, Harriet couldn't help but watch the procedure on tender-hooks. Harriet had barely escaped expulsion earlier this year.
If Dumbledore believed Filch, Harriet doubted she would escape it again.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange words in a language Harriet didn't understand. Harriet also didn't understand what the aged wizard was expecting to happen. Mrs. Norris was dead and no amount of tapping with her wand was going to bring her back, right?
"... I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once ..."
That's when Dumbledore said something that surprised her, if not everybody else, too.
"She's not dead, Argus."
Lockhart stopped short and looked faintly disappointed that his various counter-curses would have no use here.
"Not dead?" Filch gasped.
"No," Dumbledore said gently. "She's been petrified."
"Ah!" Lockhart nodded sagely. "I thought so!"
"How it has happened, however, I cannot say," admitted Dumbledore.
"She did it!" Filch screeched, pointing a bony, calloused finger at Harriet. She shook her head rapidly.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" she defended.
"Liar!" Filch argued back.
"No second-year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly."It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"
"And who better to know Dark Magic then 'er?" Filch demanded, face reddening. "What with that godfather of hers and his family-"
"Enough!" Dumbledore said, drawing himself up to his full height. Harriet was almost sputtering in disbelief. Both Hermione and Ron had stood up, ready to defend their friend's family.
There was no need.
"Sirius Black has been cleared of all charges against him," Dumbledore warned. "All people in this room would be more than willing to vouch for his innocence-"
Snape's sneer proved that he might have been that exception.
"-not to mention his invaluable effort during the war."
Dumbledore fixed Filch with a stern, albeit understanding, glare. "I understand you're distress, Argus, honestly, I do. However, there is no need to be hurtling pointless accusation towards Miss Potter or her relatives."
"But, but-" Filch stammered.
"I assure you, the culprit will be caught."
"Why was she there, though?" Filch demanded. Dumbledore frowned, obviously puzzled about this fact himself.
"If I might speak," Snape interrupted smoothly.
Harriet let out a deep breath, even though she could feel her two friends tensing next to her. Harriet wasn't worried. Although Snape might have had to play the enemy, he wouldn't say anything that could get her into serious trouble, especially if he knew (as she was sure he knew now) that she was innocent.
"Potter and her friends might have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although," and here Harriet could see that Snape wasn't acting, "it is rather suspicious. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why not at the feast?"
"Ah, that would be my fault professor," Lockhart said. Harriet had never been more grateful for him. "We were signing my fan-mail."
Harriet groaned.
"Yes, yes, Harriet it was fun!" Lockhart agreed, misinterpreting her noise of annoyance. "As I'm sure you can understand, time got away from us."
"We had just gone looking for Harriet, Professor," Hermione offered. "She hadn't shown up to dinner and we were starting to get worried. We had just found her when she said- she, well, she said that-"
"Go on," hissed Snape.
"I said that I wasn't very hungry." Harriet interrupted, shooting Hermione a pointed look. She had a feeling that hearing voices probably wasn't the best thing for others to know about.
She turned back to Snape and met his gaze.
"Not hungry?" he questioned.
Harriet nodded. "That's right, sir. We were just headed back to the common room when we found Mrs. Norris."
Snape obviously didn't believe her.
"I suggest, Headmaster," he smirked, "that Potter is leaving not telling us the entire story. being entirely truthfully," he said. "Perhaps it would be best if she were deprived of privileges until she is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feels he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until she is ready to be honest."
"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the girl playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore said after a moment.
He searched Harriet's gaze for a moment. She felt as though she was being x-rayed. She felt a wash of misplaced indignation wash over her. He should trust her! She stopped Quirrell last year! The least the old coot could do was-
No.
Of course Dumbledore didn't trust her. She was always getting into mischief. It didn't make him any less fond of her.
"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch protested, when it became clear that Harriet was getting off unpunished. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We'll be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore with is never ending patience. "In fact, unless I am mistaken, Madam Sprout's class is in the process of repotting Mandrakes. As soon as they are fully grown, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I could do it in my sleep, I'm sure!"
Harriet felt a burst of annoyance.
"Professor Snape is the potions master at Hogwarts!" she defended, unable to help herself. Hermione and Ron looked at her in disbelief, and Snape raised an eyebrow.
"I am perfectly capable defending myself, Potter," he sneered. Then he nodded icily in Lockhart's direction. "Although she is correct. I will make it."
"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron and Hermione.
Harriet and her two friends did not hesitate. They left as fast as they quickly could. As soon as they were out of sight, they ran, taking the stairs two at a time, until they were eventually a floor up.
They ducked into an empty classroom.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" Harriet squinted through the darkness of the classroom. Their faces were illuminated by the silvery light of the full moon beaming through the window.
"No," said Ron, not even thinking.
"Even in the wizarding world," Hermione agreed, "hearing voices is never a good sign."
A portrait on the wall nodded in agreement. "She's right, you know."
Harriet shook off the reply and turned back to her own friends.
"You do believe me, don't you?" She asked. She was afraid of the answer, but asked anyways.
"Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But - you must admit it's weird ..."
"No need to state the obvious, Ron," Harriet sighed. "The whole thing is weird. What was that writing on the wall? The Chamber has been opened... What's the Chamber of Secrets?"
A clock chimed somewhere, making the three of them jump.
"Midnight," said Ron. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
Harriet Potter, Gryffindor Tower, Girl's Dorm Room- October 31, 1992
Harriet sunk gratefully into bed that evening. After being accused by Mr. Filch of having kill his cat (and right on the heels of detention with Lockhart, too!), she was exhausted. She desperately wanted to rest. In fact, she would have, but she need to do her Potions reading for the night.
She grabbed her tattered book and stroked Isaura softly, who hissed in pleasure. "Now would probably be a bad time to get on Snape's bad side, hm?"
Isaura hissed in agreement and curled herself near Harriet's side, taking advantage of the warmth underneath the covers.
Harriet flipped open the book to the simple sleeping draught they were learning. She now understood why the text was for older students. While the potions were essentially the same, the instructions were much more detailed to ensure a more effective brew. In fact, if it hadn't been for those one-on-one sessions with Snape over the past few years, she would have been completely lost.
There was also the matter of the book's legibility. All of the original text was there, but it had been crossed out and marked up to a point where Harriet couldn't tell where the book ended and the notes began.
She gave up on trying to ignore the notes and instead began to read them as diligently as the text. Harriet had no way of telling whether or not the tips noted by the Prince (as she had taken to calling him) were any good, but she resolved to try them out during her next Potions class.
...instead of peeling the root, use the handle of the blade to crush it, thus extracting more juice.
"Harriet?" Hermione peered around the curtain in her room.
Harriet jumped in surprise and looked at her.
"Yea?"
"It's time for bed," Hermione informed her primly.
"Oh, alright, just a minute," Harriet differed, going back to some of the notes in her book.
Hermione looked reluctant, but didn't argue.
"Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight, Hermione," Harriet offered half-heartedly.
"Ah, Hermione," Harriet called back after a moment. Hermione popped back around the curtain expectedly.
"Have you ever heard of a spell called Muffliato?"
Hermione slowly shook her head in the negative. "No, what does it do?"
The text, Harriet had realized, was also filled with a surprising number of spells Harriet had never heard of. Scrawled into the top corner of the page was the aforementioned charm, along with a brief note.
"I don't know," Harriet lied, "I just heard about it somewhere and was wondering."
"Oh, alright." Hermione disappeared again and Harriet tried to ignore her guilty conscience. She did know what the spell did, it was written in the book. Apparently, it filled the ears of whoever was nearby with a faint, buzzing sound.
Harriet wasn't sure why she didn't tell Hermione. Maybe it was because, for once, she knew something that the clever witch didn't. This charm, assuming it worked, was between her and the Half-Blood Prince.
For reasons beyond her own knowledge, she didn't want Hermione butting in on it.
She placed the book rather reluctantly on her bedside table and settled in for a good night's sleep. After the events of the night, she was looking forward to getting in a few good hours.
That night, though, she dreamt.
Harriet was walking down a hallway. Hogwarts, she recognized, but not Hogwarts as she had ever known it. She was heading to Headmaster Dippet's office-no, that's not right.
Dumbledore was headmaster.
Dumbledore taught transfiguration. Dippet was headmaster.
Harriet's legs carried her down the hall much faster than she was used to. This matter was urgent. It was important.
Harriet reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office and recited the password.
Caput Draconis.
When had the password changed?
It's been like this for months.
Why wasn't it a candy? The password was always candy.
No it wasn't. Dippet would never do something that idiotic.
Dumbledore was headmaster.
No, he isn't.
"Enter," called an old wizard in a wheezing voice. Harriet entered the room. The entire office was clean, if not clinical, and the curtains were drawn, revealing the ruby-red sky. Gone were the various trinkets and maps and books. There were no papers thrown haphazardly around the desk.
But those things had never been there, had they? The office had looked like this since she had first started at Hogwarts.
"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.
No, she wasn't Riddle. She was Harriet, Harriet Potter. Just Harriet. Prongslette.
But she wasn't, was she?
No, she was Riddle, sixth year at Hogwarts and she didn't want to go home. She desperately didn't want to go home.
"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" she asked, his-her-their voice not betraying how nervous they were.
"Sit down," Dippet said gently. They didn't move. "I've just been reading your letter."
I never sent a letter.
Yes, we did.
"Oh," they sat down finally. they gripped their hands together very tightly.
I resisted the urge to fiddle with my hair, like I usually did.
No, we didn't. We never had that habit.
"My dear boy," Dippet began, it wasn't going to be good. It never was when people started their sentences like that. Dippet, Lockhart-
Lockhart? I don't know a Lockhart.
Yes, I do.
No, we don't.
That's right, we don't.
"I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"
No, we can't go back there. Not to the orphanage.
Not the orphanage, the Dursleys, I can't go back to the Dursleys.
We don't live with the Dursleys.
My parents took me away.
Our parents are dead.
No they aren't! They're waiting for you! Go home, go home, I want to go home.
"No," they said at once. "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that — to that —"
"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" prodded Dippet, curious, but not judgmental.
I live with my parents.
We live at the orphanage. Our parents are dead.
"Yes, sir," they , reddening slightly.
"You are Muggle-born?"
Half-blood.
"Half-blood, sir," they said.
Muggle-born mother, pure-blood father.
No.
"Muggle father, witch mother."
"And are both your parents —?"
They're both alive.
No, they aren't. They died and left me to rot.
"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me — Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."
My name is Harriet.
You're Tom Marvolo Riddle.
No, I am not.
Yes, we are.
That's right, we are.
Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.
"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…"
What circumstances?
"You mean all these attacks, sir?" they said.
Attacks?
Attacks.
Like the one on Mrs. Norris?
On students.
No students have been attacked.
Yes, they have.
"Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl…"
What little girl?
The little girl in the bathroom.
"You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the — er — source of all this unpleasantness…"
Their eyes grew wider.
We know the source of these attacks.
No, I don't.
We do. Of course we do.
We know.
Of course we know.
Who?
She's our friend.
"Sir — if the person was caught — if it all stopped —"
"What do you mean?" demanded Dippet, his vice growing higher. He sat up in his chair so quickly that he almost fell off.
"Riddle, do you know something about these attacks?"
Yes.
"No, sir," they lied quickly.
Dippet sighed, disappointed.
Tell him the truth.
No.
"You may go, Tom…"
They slipped quietly out of the room.
They moved silently down the spiral staircase and when they got out, they paused in the middle of the hallway.
We can't go back to the orphanage.
Tell them what you know!
We can't!
Why not?
We can't!
There must be something you can do!
There isn't.
Are you sure!
Yes, we can't- No, wait!
What?
There is something we can do!
They rushed off down the corridor, almost running.
They reached the entrance hall-
They're was nobody around.
They rounded past the marble staircase-
They were going to make it!
"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?" Albus Dumbledore called.
He looked younger, by at least fifty-years.
No, he didn't.
Right, of course he didn't. He looked exactly the same as when we last saw him.
Yes.
"I had to see the headmaster, sir," they said.
Dippet is headmaster, not Dumbledore.
Yes.
"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, looking at them with those sharp eyes of his.
"Best not to roam the corridors these days. Especially not since the Chamber of Secrets has been opened."
Harriet woke up drenched in sweat and tangled in her blanket. She reached up and touched her scar.
It was burning.
AN: Ta-da! Chapter 18! Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think about how the story is progressing so far!
Somebody mentioned that Lockhart was in Slytherin. Was he? I wasn't sure and couldn't find the information, so I just guessed. Personally, Lockhart always seemed too...loud to be in Slytherin. People there are usually a bit more subtle. Anyways, sorry for the error. I'll go back and fix it once I have a chance.
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