ccxxxiii. for bravery

The sun beat against Harriet's legs where they stuck out beneath the shade of the rangy, umbrella-like shrubbery.

She laid on her back on the warm earth, her hair spilling across the dry grass, hearing the insects buzz in the undergrowth. She wore a T-shirt and a pair of short trousers, her feet bare and warm in the direct light. Movement stirred beneath her neck as Kevin and Rick debated among themselves the best way to lure and catch the noisy little bugs, and the occasional ripple of water broke the monotony as Livius shifted in the fountain, breaching the surface to sun himself upon the stones.

Harriet turned another page in the old book she read. She squinted at the yellowing paper.

"—the netting, as described in this chapter, may be created with as few or as many runes as the creator wishes to utilize. The weaving is anchored to the golem's construct and will react when given the proper inertia [See CH. TWO, SECT EIGHT "Defining inertia", CH. FOUR, SECT TWO, "Keying inertia"]. The concision or complexity of the runes used to form the netting directly relate to the simplicity of the active golem and its set behaviors. Furthermore, the various runes will have different reactions to different materials, and pairing runes [See CH. EIGHT, "The language of rune crafting"] deepens the range of delineation and how variables can be interpreted—."

A soft hum left Harriet's mouth as she passed her lower lip through her teeth and nibbled at the dry skin. Considering what she'd read, she set the open book down against her chest and reached up behind her neck, retrieving Rick.

"Releassse me, releassse!" Rick complained as he wriggled in her hand.

"Calm down," Harriet sighed as she gently stretched him between her fingers, holding him up so she could see his paler belly. Her mum's wand was tucked beneath her thigh, and she grabbed it, pointing it at Rick. "Revelio."

A thin sparkle of magic trickled over the red snake. Tiny runes appeared, glowing through his dusky scales. There weren't many, but what was there—ehwaz, for movement, kennaz for vitality, ansuz for…communication?—were joined by a different rune Harriet had to look for in the book.

"Ger or Ior," she read. "In the futhorc, symbolizes the year, generous harvest, or the world serpent or other snakes." She scratched her head, wondering why someone would mix the permutations of runes and what that changed. Maybe it was like English in that it often borrowed words from other languages to capture a meaning. Brow furrowed, Harriet let go of Rick—shooing him before he could escape into the open sleeve of her shirt—and instead picked up Kevin, holding him as she had Rick. Repeating the spell revealed the runes on his pale, lime-colored belly, and they were all the same—aside from the addition of tiwaz.

Harriet flipped through the book. "Tiwaz—the rune of Tyr. For bravery," she read aloud. She eyed the little green snake attacking her finger for her manhandling. "Huh."

She didn't want to admit it, but she found studying this information fascinating. It was like a big puzzle she couldn't make heads or tails of until she figured out enough of the pieces, and her brain filled in the missing parts. Harriet hated thinking anything Slytherin assigned her was interesting. She wanted anything he considered worthy of pursuit to be boring or horrible, thereby associating what Slytherin taught as boring or horrible too—but the truth was Harriet enjoyed the reading insofar as anyone enjoyed lengthy, complex textbooks.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

Slow, unhurried footsteps crunching through the dry grass turned Harriet's head. She grimaced, thinking it might be Sirius or Remus coming to check on her again; the pair of them had turned into right ninnies, looking at her like she might bloody explode or break or—Harriet didn't know. She just wanted to be left alone. She peered beneath the branches, prepared to hide, but it was only Ron.

He had a tatty old Quaffle in his hands and looked as if he'd been tossing it up in the air when he'd spotted Livius swimming in the fountain. He gave Livi a wide, cautious berth, which brought him closer to the shrubberies—and Harriet's legs sticking out from underneath.

"Potter?" he said, quickening his pace. "Potter! You all right?"

"I'm fine."

He blinked, staring. "Er—what're you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Weasley?"

"I—dunno?"

Sighing, Harriet grumbled, "I'm hoping the weeds will accept me as one of their own," but Weasley didn't find humor in what she'd said. "I'm reading."

"Oh." Weasley shuffled from one foot to the other. "Want to pass the Quaffle around?"

Really, Harriet had nothing better to do aside from study Slytherin's books and exist in existential dread over her approaching trial, so she got up and swiped the grass from her short trousers, leaving the snakes with her things. She and Ron found a suitable place in the garden, and he tossed the Quaffle to her, Harriet returning it with a lazy overhand throw.

"Why aren't you out here with Longbottom?" she asked him after a couple of minutes. "Does his fat head not fit through the garden door?"

Instead of coming to Neville's defense, Ron gave his shoulders an uncomfortable shrug.

Harriet had noticed Longbottom and Weasley didn't seem as close as they used to, and that it'd been a long time since she'd last seen the pair together without the buffer of Finnigan or Thomas or one of his brothers between them. "Are you still brassed off over that Tournament shite?"

"I'm not brassed off at anyone," he argued.

"So you're just what? Not talking?"

He didn't reply immediately. Harriet didn't think he'd reply at all, given his mulish expression and flushed cheeks, but the topic must have been weighing heavily on his mind, because he burst out, "We just don't get on like we used to."

"Find out he's a prat, did you?"

"No, Neville's great." He threw the Quaffle with more force, and Harriet let out an "Oof!" when she caught it. "He just—he doesn't need me around, does he? He's got the whole 'Boy Who Lived' legend, and that's all anyone really cares about, innit? I'm his sidekick, and I wouldn't care so much if Nev didn't bloody believe it too."

"He doesn't."

"He does, though. He thinks he's at the center of everything, and he doesn't get why it might bother a bloke to be considered his hanger-on."

"That's rubbish," Harriet told him. "The only people who care about Longbottom supposedly being the Boy Who Lived are Longbottom and a bunch of arse-kissers not worth your time anyway."

Ron's expression turned puzzled, and Harriet wondered what that was about—until she realized she'd called Longbottom supposedly the Boy Who Lived. Bugger.

"What d'you mean by that?"

Harriet rushed to correct herself. "I mean that he has a fat head and I've always said that. Why do you care what I mean anyway? I'm just a Slytherin."

Ron laughed. It was loud and self-effacing, almost nervous. "Some of you lot are all right. Some."

"Most of us are more than just all right," Harriet retorted with a superior sort of look, fighting a smirk. "Except for Lestrange. He can go get bent."

"And Vuharith."

"Vuharith."

"And Malfoy."

"Nah. Malfoy's a big-headed prat like Longbottom, but he means well most of the time. He just runs his mouth."

They chatted for a time until they grew bored of the Quaffle and Harriet went to retrieve her things and Slytherin's book. Merlin forbid it got ruined; he'd probably murder her and make it look like an accident. She also scooped up Kevin, Rick, and a sleepy Howard, though Livi wasn't inclined to return indoors yet. He hissed at her to leave him be, and Harriet huffed, wishing it was so easy for her to do the same when he was in one of his clingy moods.

Ron saw her coming toward the door with her hands full and grimaced. "Why d'you have so many snakes, Potter?"

"No particular reason. Does it matter?"

"I guess not. It's just—creepy."

An old hurt prickled in Harriet's chest, and she suddenly felt smaller, conscious of her ill-fitting clothes stained by the grass, her limbs too skinny, heavy black circles under her dull eyes. Heat poured into her face. "Yeah, I know I'm creepy and weird."

"What? No, that's not what I—!"

Harriet pushed by Ron and entered the house, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness inside Grimmauld. She heard him clamor after her, not that she turned to look. She took the stairs, intent on going back to her room and sealing herself inside—but when she reached the upper landing, she ran into a cluster of bodies. The twins and Longbottom stood at the railing, whispering, which wouldn't be that odd—but Elara, Hermione, and Ginny were there as well.

"Ah, there's our illustrious patron!" George said, grinning widely as Harriet climbed the stairs. He gestured her closer—though Fred's expression tightened when she saw the snakes in her hands. Harriet had long come to suspect he had a fear of them. She felt rather contrary at the moment, but Harriet still gently tucked her golems away in a pocket and approached.

"What are you lot up to?" she asked as George dragged her to the front of the group, jostling Neville aside. Ron joined them, elbowing his sister to find space, and Elara leaned forward to rest her chin on the top of Harriet's head so she could see what George held. "What's that?"

"This, Potter, is one of our newest inventions. We're calling it the Extendable Ear!"

He handed over the pink, fleshy thing—and Harriet almost dropped it when she turned the object around and saw the ear. It looked and felt quite real except for the long tube-like structure attached to the back, held at the end by George. "Did you have to make it feel real, too? Urgh."

The twins chuckled, and Longbottom told her not to be a baby.

"Whatever. What's it for? What're you doing with it?"

"It's for listening! And the fleshy feel helps it hold the Charm, watch—."

George took the ear from her and tossed it down the stairwell below, still holding the other end. She noticed the tube stretched, and he had to give it a hard swing to knock the ear toward the steps into the basement. He twisted a green dial on the ear's other end, and the whole ear faded under a shoddy Disillusionment Charm.

"There we are. We're still working on how to get the listening part to wriggle where we want it to go, but—here!" He offered her the end of the tube. "We've been having a bit of a listen to what the Order's on about in the dining room."

Harriet side-eyed the Extendable Ear before taking hold of it. "You know what they say about eavesdroppers."

"They hear all the best gossip?"

"Hardly." Harriet went to put the end in her own ear when Hermione stopped her.

"Here, clean it first! George just had that in—."

"Ugh! I don't want to share ear wax, Weasley—!"

"Picky, picky."

Elara sent a Scourgify at the thing, and Harriet inserted the tube into her ear. A sudden dizziness overcame her as the noise adjusted, but it passed in a moment, and the echoing ring coming from the other side turned into the scuff and chime of dishes, joined by voices.

"—cycling through pins again," someone said. Snape, she thought, recognizing that deep, drawling baritone anywhere. "Which isn't entirely unexpected, though he has been springing these new circulations on his followers more frequently. It's increasingly difficult for me to find suitable candidates to Polyjuice as to gather information from his camp…."

"That is just as well," Professor Dumbledore replied, sounding thoughtful. "We will need to concentrate our efforts on securing another agent for the Minister's cabinet—."

Static interrupted, and Harriet winced. Someone must have walked by the door, their footsteps like massive drum beats booming in her head.

"—concerns in the guard rotation—."

"—his interest should be focused on the election, but in these last weeks, those around him can only report a sudden obsession with the Department of Myst—."

"Fucking hell," Harriet grumbled when the person passed by the door again, and she pulled the tube out, rubbing at her ear. "Someone's pacing down there, and it's like getting punched in the head."

Fred took the end and began fussing with it. "Yeah, it's just a prototype still with a few kinks we need to hammer out. But me and Georgie have some great things to show you later!"

"It's not those sick boxes, is it?" Hermione demanded. "I'm of half a mind to report you to Professor McGonagall for those!"

"They're just sweets, Granger. Lay off…"

"Sweets that make you ill! You have those, those Vomit Pears or whatever they are! Fever Fungus!"

"Fever Fudge, thank you very much. Don't think Fever Fungus would sell would it, George?"

"Not at all, Fred."

"Maybe a Muddling Mushroom?"

"Toasty Toadstools?"

"Silly Psilocybin," Longbottom put in, grinning.

"Doubt anyone would know what to do with that," George laughed.

"What's psilocybin?" a puzzled Ginny asked.

"Look what you've done, Nev. You're corrupting the youth—."

Movement stirred downstairs, the old floorboards shifting and groaning as bodies started moving in the basement.

"Oh, shite—!"

Fred frantically started reeling the Extendable Ear in. A shadow surged out of the kitchen, and their group quickly leaned away from the railing. Unfortunately, they didn't move before Harriet spied familiar billowing black robes and suspicious face. The stairs creaked.

"Merlin's arse—! Go!"

The others scattered farther up the steps, but Harriet remained where she was, leaning her elbow on the balustrade in a bid to appear casual. She didn't know how successful she was, but when Snape climbed the last step, he found her standing there alone, her friends long gone.

The Potions Master slowed, his eyes narrowed as he studied Harriet. His gaze flicked once toward the next level of stairs, but he seemingly had no interest in chasing the others. "What are you up to, girl?"

"Nothing," she replied, the picture of innocence. "I live here, can't I stand wherever I want?"

Below, she could hear the Order members exiting the basement at a more sedate pace. Most would probably head for the front door, though some would stay for Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking. Harriet didn't have much of an appetite these days, but she could appreciate the smell wafting up from the kitchen.

Snape noted the book tucked under her arm. "Have you finished that yet?"

"No, not quite."

She studied his reaction, but it was easier to read tea leaves than it was Snape's expression. Stoic git. "He'll be expecting a letter from you soon."

Harriet knew that, and she muttered exactly where she thought Professor Slytherin could shove his bloody letter. Snape either didn't hear or pretended he didn't, opting instead to come a few steps closer to Harriet. She frowned, having to crane her neck to look up in the looming wizard's face. The furrow between Snape's brows deepened as he stared at her, his black eyes flat and steely, letting in none of the light thrown by the gas lamps.

Snape blinked, then swept to one side. "Go have your lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"Go eat anyway."

Harriet rolled her eyes, though she didn't protest further, too tired to fight the direction. She shoved off the railing and went to pass Snape, when his hand flashed out and caught her loosely by the wrist, stilling her movement. Harriet looked up at him, confused.

Snape let her go as if burned, clearing his throat. "Give me those wretched snakes before you give Mrs. Weasley a heart-attack."

Harriet scoffed. "She raised Fred and George. I don't think a few snakes would faze her." Nonetheless, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her motley nest of false serpents, and unlike Fred or most of her friends, Snape showed no hesitation in accepting them. He didn't even flinch when Kevin sank his teeth into his pale skin.

The snakes disappeared into one of his voluminous pockets. Harriet knew she'd get them back after practice later.

"Go."

Harriet tromped back down the stairs, leaving Snape on the landing to silently watch her as she left. She didn't see him frown, worry shadowing the severe man's sallow complexion like a delicate veil. She didn't see his fists clench—and she didn't see the Confringo that reduced one fleshy ear on a string into ashes.