xlix. dumbledore's decision

Harriet had no words. Her mouth moved, and yet she couldn't make a sound come out.

The Potions Master stepped fully from the hearth and his robes settled about his lanky frame, the grim man fitting well with Grimmauld's less than chipper decor. Harriet couldn't begin to guess what Professor Snape did over his summers, but it certainly wasn't sunbathing; he was paler than ever and exhausted, black smudges marring his eyelids, oily hair windblown and sporting a few bits of leaves. The expression he wore was caught somewhere between vindicated and furious—which did not bode well for Harriet.

In an instant, Elara came to her side, dripping suds and water from her wet sleeves, a spoon held in her hand instead of her wand. "How did you get through the Floo?" she demanded.

Snape didn't answer. He sneered and took two steps to the side. Harriet wondered what he was doing—and then the fire sputtered again, flaring bright green, and a second wizard stepped past the grate as they swept into the kitchen.

Headmaster Dumbledore made for a far more impressive, if less terrifying, figure than Professor Snape.

"Ah, Harriet. There you are," the older wizard said with gentle smile. "You gave us quite a fright, my dear."

Harriet continued to gawk like a gormless fool. Elara came to her senses first.

"Excuse me, H-Headmaster? But how did you—?" Elara gestured at the fireplace with her spoon, then dropped the wet utensil on the table, cheeks turning pink.

"Of course. Pardon our intrusion, Miss Black, and rest assured, your home's formidable wards are still perfectly intact. You see, we suspected Miss Potter might be here and, worried about her safety, I asked a favor of a dear friend and old pupil working in the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry." Dumbledore gave a mild shrug after his explanation—which Harriet took to mean he asked a former student to help him and Snape do a little secret breaking and entering through Elara's protected Floo. Harriet, shocked and still a touch hysterical from her eventful night, choked on a laugh.

Snape glared.

"Forgive me for saying, Headmaster," Snape spoke in his most oily tone, the one he always used before verbally eviscerating Longbottom's worst potions. "But I believe Misses Black and Potter can overlook our intrusion, considering a man is dead and Potter here might well be guilty of his murder."

Both Harriet and Elara gaped. How does he know?! "I—I didn't!" Harriet cried, all thoughts of claiming ignorance escaping her head like bubbles popping one by one. Standing in front of her headmaster and professor, Harriet felt very much like a criminal about to be charged with the most heinous of crimes.

"No, it was that snake you insist on strutting about with! Wrapped around your insolent little neck—!"

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said, lifting a hand. Professor Snape cut off abruptly and lowered his head, dark hair falling forward around his stiff face. "I believe our dear Potions Master is simply concerned for you, Harriet—." Elara stifled a snort. "You see, when we learned of a threat made against your person, Professor Snape went to check on you at home. He was surprised to learn that, not only were you not there, but you hadn't been seen by your relatives since last summer."

All eyes fell upon Harriet and she felt her face heat, the disapproval clear in Dumbledore's voice. "So?" she retorted. "That's not—. It doesn't—. You said someone threatened me?"

The quick misdirection didn't fool either wizard, but the Headmaster was content to answer her. "Yes. Indirectly, really."

"It didn't feel indirectly when he tried to curse me!"

Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. "And were you cursed, Harriet? Are you hurt anywhere?"

She flushed a bit more, eyes dancing between the two wizards. "He—I think he used the same spell Quirrell did in the dungeons. A red one. It—it grazed my arm a bit and I felt breathless and…dazed."

The older wizard nodded his head as if he'd expected as much. "Your attacker used a Stunning Spell, if I am not mistaken. We don't teach the incantation until your fourth year at Hogwarts."

"What's going to happen to me now, Professor? Am I…am I in trouble?"

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed and glanced about Elara's drab kitchen. "I believe we should have a seat and share a nice cup of tea before we have our conversation. So long as Miss Black doesn't mind our imposition?"

"Harriet's not imposing," Elara said with the faintest trace of 'but you are' lingering in her tone. Harriet didn't have a sliver of the kind of nerve it must take to stare down her nose at Albus Dumbledore like Elara could. "She lives here."

"Does she now?" Snape cut in, watching her with a derisive eye. "As far as the school records are concerned, Potter lives at Number Four, Privet Drive, in Surrey—or was it a tent in the middle of the woods? Forgive me if I have things…confused."

"Severus, would you see to making that tea?" Dumbledore said, and even Harriet heard the reprimand in that softly voiced order. Snape narrowed his eyes, but he jerked his head in a short nod and swept past the girls deeper into the kitchen. Elara looked somewhat alarmed by the Potions Master's presence as he started rifling through her cabinets, yet she said nothing to stop him.

Dumbledore ushered Harriet over to one of the chairs and she sat, Dumbledore taking a spot across from her, Elara sliding into the seat at Harriet's side. Snape was still making the tea—like a Muggle, which Harriet thought was the weirdest thing she'd seen today.

"You're not in trouble, Harriet," the Headmaster began. "The matter has been taken care of already, and you won't be hearing an inquiry from the Ministry. I would, however, ask that you not speak of what happened with anyone outside of this room—though, I will amend that request to include Miss Granger as an allowable confidante." He smiled as Snape set a cup before him, thanking the dour wizard. Snape gave Harriet a cup as well—dropped it, really, flecking the table with dark tea—and she ignored it. Ever since Quirrell dosed her cuppa, she hadn't much liked tea not prepared by herself or someone she trusted implicitly, like Elara. "If someone were to bring up the topic with you, please feign ignorance and find either myself or Professor Snape. Is that understood?"

Harriet nodded. Elara was looking at her own tea as if Snape had spat in it, and the Potions Master had neglected to take a seat, opting to stand behind Dumbledore like a looming bailiff waiting for the order to drag Harriet off to the dungeons. "Yes, professor."

"Good. I must also express some concern about your familiar." Noting Harriet's instant alarm and opened mouth, Dumbledore lifted his hand—much as he had with Snape some minutes prior—and she fell silent. "Your Horned Serpent isn't in trouble either, but in light of these events, I worry your familiar may pose a danger to you or your classmates."

"Livi would never," Harriet argued, though a queasy feeling had started building in her middle. "He—he was only protecting me!"

"And what would happen should he feel you were threatened by a fellow student? If you, perhaps, became frightened by misplaced bullying? Your familiar, clever and loyal as I am sure he is, is still an animal, Harriet. Animals are a wonderful source of companionship, but they are wild at heart and we must remember for our protection and theirs that they are not human and not capable of discerning what we think is right and what is wrong. That is not their natural state of being. In a moment of stress, your Livi would act to protect you the only way he understands how, and we would be unable to help his victim. I doubt you'd want a classmate dead over what might be a schoolyard feud, and I wouldn't wish such a burden upon you, my girl."

She slouched, tired eyes coming to rest on the table and the full cup sitting there. "What am I supposed to do?" Harriet asked in a quiet, defeated voice. She could find no fault in the Headmaster's logic; Livi often did what Livi wanted with little regard to Harriet's wishes, though they usually could come to some kind of concession. Picturing a scenario wherein she might be in a fight with another student proved difficult, and yet Harriet knew Livi wouldn't hesitate to bite someone attacking her, even if their assault ended up being benign.

"You will need to order him not to attack a student under any circumstance, and I will ask you to leave your familiar in your dormitory from now on. I'm certain we can arrange supervised time with Hagrid, our game keeper, so you and Livi may venture out onto the grounds for fresh air from time to time."

Harriet didn't like it, but Dumbledore could have given worse ultimatums. She simply nodded, still staring at her tea.

The Headmaster took a sip from his own cup before setting it down again with a soft clink. "Why did you not return to the Dursleys this summer?"

The bespectacled witch stiffened and jerked her head just high enough to look at Dumbledore's beard, but she didn't meet his eyes. Instead of answering, she said, "I won't go back." She wanted to sound strong and mature, like a young woman who knew her own mind and had a rational point to make—but Harriet just sounded like a frightened little girl. "I won't!"

"Now, Harriet—."

"I won't!" She stood, knees wobbly as a newborn colt's, face gone ghastly pale in the kitchen's wan lighting. She kept thinking about the cupboard of all things, and Harriet wasn't sure why; the Dursleys had been wretched for her entire life, giving her plenty of more unpleasant experiences to draw upon, and yet the cupboard haunted her.

"She doesn't have to," Elara said, sounding far more sure of herself than Harriet did, though Harriet noticed how pale her friend had gone, her eyes not quite meeting the Headmaster's either. "She can stay here, if she wants. I'm technically Head of my family, so she can stay with me."

"Technically you're nothing, Black," Snape said. "By law, your father—." Here he gnashed his teeth and looked somewhat mutinous, though Harriet couldn't say why. "—remains Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and you, merely the proxy."

"My father's going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life," Elara retorted. "So the 'proxy' bit hardly matters at all, does it? Sir? And I'm emancipated."

Dumbledore interrupted them. "While I applaud your initiative in securing your independence, Miss Black, your emancipation does not extend to Harriet."

"Can I get emancipated?" Harriet asked, perking up.

A resounding 'no' came from all three corners, and Harriet looked at her best friend as if she'd grievously betrayed her. Elara shifted in her chair and explained in an undertone, "What Cygnus did wasn't all strictly…legal. Or repeatable."

"Oh."

"Which brings us back to the main topic of conversation." Dumbledore leveled a serious look in Harriet's direction and she stiffened her spine, chin up. "Returning to the Dursleys."

Before Harriet could say anything, Snape bent forward far enough to mutter, "Headmaster," and Dumbledore turned to meet his Potions Master's open stare. They continued to look silently at one another for a good minute or so while Elara and Harriet watched and waited, both befuddled. What are they doing?

Finally, Dumbledore broke away, face harder than before, his thoughts inscrutable in that mysterious way of his.

"Don't make me go back," Harriet softly pleaded. She wouldn't stay if he did, and she didn't want to deceive the Headmaster, not like that, but she wouldn't stay with the Dursleys. "Please, Headmaster."

Dumbledore didn't respond. He gazed at the table instead and stroked fingers through his beard as he turned thoughts through his formidable brain. Snape fidgeted—actually fidgeted—behind the man, flicking leaves from his oily hair. "Miss Black," the older wizard said at last, raising his eyes to Elara's level. "How earnest you are in your hopes of housing Harriet here?"

"Very," she responded, though the surreptitious tugging of her sleeves gave away her nervousness.

The Headmaster let out a sigh, then nodded. "Usually, if one of our esteemed professors discovers a guardian is incapable of caring for their charge, we reach out to the Ministry's Department of Welfare, and they either seek a relative better suited for child care or find a family willing to accept a new ward. However, your case is not…usual, Harriet."

Her mind flashed back to the last time she'd sat in the Headmaster's office, Quirrell's body covered in a white sheet, her scar still burning and itching despite Madam Pomfrey's topical cream on her skin, Dumbledore sad and remorseful as he told her just what really happened that Hallowe'en almost eleven years ago.

"Because…because you think staying with Muggles, with the Dursleys, makes me safer."

"Yes," he replied, watching her. Harriet had yet to retake her seat. "Forgive me, my girl; I expressed my wishes to your aunt and uncle that night you lost your parents and asked them to raise you as their own, providing them a stipend and explaining you would, no matter their arguments, be coming to Hogwarts when you turned eleven. The fault for your treatment at Number Four lies with me; I should have checked on your situation myself, or sent someone in my confidence. For that, I apologize."

Harriet stared at her shoes and awkwardly shuffled. She wanted to be angry at Professor Dumbledore, wanted to be furious that he'd sent her to live with the Dursleys, but she couldn't muster the feeling. Maybe she'd be able to if he decided she had to go back there, especially if he knew what happened, but truly she reserved that kind of emotion for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. It was their fault, not Dumbledore's.

"Your mother's sacrifice placed very powerful wards upon your blood, so long as you could call a place of your mother's family home. It is very complicated and esoteric magic—and by that I mean it is really only ever understood by those who devote their lives to its study. We spoke of it before, briefly, but I digress; Voldemort and his compatriots may not be able to reach you so long as you remain with your aunt and uncle, but I cannot accept their treatment of you, and I cannot ask that you return to a place where you are not safe and cared for."

Harriet was so relieved she started to tremble and probably would have ended up flat on the floor if Elara hadn't tugged her back into her seat. No more Dursleys, she thought. No more cupboard.

Dumbledore suddenly smiled. "Besides, I don't want you to lie to me, Harriet, and I understand ordering you to return and stay with your relatives would force you to do so. I have found in my long acquaintance with Slytherins, that the very best way to ensure a Slytherin tells the truth is to ask of them only things they do not the feel the need to lie about."

Snape, who'd gone eerily silent while Dumbledore spoke, snorted.

"For your safety, Harriet, we cannot go to the Ministry and ask for them to find you a suitable home. It would be best if only a select few were aware of your situation and knew of your whereabouts. So, again, I turn my attention to you, Miss Black. You are very gracious in offering your home to Harriet and I am sure she is immensely grateful; however, Harriet—and you, my dear, regardless of your emancipation—are children, and I cannot in good conscience abandon you to your own devices."

Harriet and Elara exchanged uneasy glances.

"Harriet may stay here for the summer if you accept a few of my conditions. If you cannot accept, we will have to come up with another solution."

"Headmaster," Snape drawled. "Do you think appropriate for her to stay in…this house?"

Harriet didn't know what the man meant by that, though maybe Elara did, because her cheeks flushed with color and Dumbledore ignored Snape yet again. "I would ask that you allow for a guardian of my choosing to room here in order to protect and watch over you both. I would also ask that you allow for certain objects in your home to be rendered inert or removed; you may be surprised to learn I have visited Grimmauld Place in the past, and I've known some of your family to collect harmful Dark objects not suitable to a house with children in residence. I would promise that only trusted individuals would be allowed access to or given knowledge of your home."

Uncomfortable, Harriet fought the sudden urge to bite her nails or fidget with the cold teacup. He was asking too much of Elara—way too much, considering she'd already said Harriet could stay here, that she'd opened the door when Harriet showed up in the dead of night, nattering on about wizards out to get her—.

"Okay, sir," Elara said, cutting off Harriet's wayward thoughts. She actually looked a bit relieved, then Harriet remembered the biting shoes and decided Elara would be pleased to have someone with a usable wand who could take care of nonsense like that. "That'll be fine."

"Excellent." Dumbledore gently smacked the palm of his hand against the table instead of clapping in approval. "I do believe that is all we have to discuss at the present, unless you have any questions?"

Harriet and Elara shook their heads.

"Very well, then." The Headmaster rose and straightened his robes. He turned with deliberate effort to the face the Potions Master, who froze when Dumbledore's blue eyes fell upon him. "I do hope you enjoy your stay, Severus."

"What?!" the three of them exclaimed at once—though not as loudly as Snape, who looked very near having some sort of fit. "Really now, Albus—."

"I can think of no one better suited."

"Albus—."

Elara's expression made it seem as if she'd swallowed a whole lemon and Harriet wondered if they'd survive the month until the train came to take them back to school. Snape was going to murder them both.

"You deserve a holiday, my boy." The words should've been pleasant enough, but something in the Headmaster's tone and his gimlet eye brought the three of them up short, Snape pressing his mouth into a firm, furious line as Professor Dumbledore stared him down. Harriet didn't know what Snape had done, but she didn't fancy being in his shoes at the moment. "Enjoy it."

He stepped up to the Floo, took a pinch of silvery powder from the dish on the mantel, and tossed it into the grate. Dumbledore said, "I'll be in touch," as the flames rose as green as writhing Slytherin curtains, and he called out, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office."

In a flash, Professor Dumbledore was gone.

A/N: brnicholas asked a good question: "Shouldn't the trace have been removed from [Elara's] wand when she was emancipated?" Imo, or in my head canon, the Trace is a bit like drinking, or smoking. You can be emancipated and in control of your own affairs, but you still can't stroll into a pub and purchase a pint at twelve. Emancipation isn't an answer for everything.

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