liii. when opportunity knocks
The following days set a precedence for what Harriet and Elara expected for the rest of their summer. In the morning, they woke to a warm breakfast served by Rikkety, a house-elf whom Kreacher hated on principle and whom also doted on Harriet with a worried, frantic energy neither witch could properly guess the source of. After breakfast, they cleared their dishes, then waited to see who would be stepping through the Floo.
On the second day, they met Emmeline Vance, a stately looking Ravenclaw in her mid-fifties with an emerald shawl draped over her shoulders, and rather than staying in the house to clean, the witch snuck them out to watch a professional Quidditch game at the hidden arena in the Northumberland forests. Harriet didn't think Elara had much interest in Quidditch at all, but Harriet was enthralled, watching the players soar like hawks overhead, cheering on the Warwick Warriors against the Appleby Arrows for the sport of it.
Professor McGonagall came through the Floo on the third day, which made Harriet and Elara both uneasy at first. While the Transfiguration professor wasn't partisan like Professor Snape, she was more distantly polite with Slytherins than she was with other Houses, and the severe witch herself didn't seem to know what to make of them when she entered Grimmauld Place. Harriet doubted she'd ever been asked to babysit Slytherins before.
She thawed over the day's course, finding an easy camaraderie with Elara, who excelled in Transfiguration and had dozens upon dozens of questions about Animagi, while Harriet, with her general lack of off-putting Slytherin guile, earned softer affection from the stern professor. Harriet wondered if McGonagall had liked her parents, both Gryffindors, and if that residual fondness made it easier for her to like Harriet, too. Sometimes the bespectacled witch remembered the Hat had almost placed her in the House of Lions, and sometimes she wondered how her life would have turned out if it had.
They got Snape on the fourth day—or, rather, Snape was in the house on the fourth day, clearing out the potions lab in the basement, the one connected to the kitchen through the scorched, battered door, and he told them to leave him be unless they were poisoned, bleeding, on fire, or otherwise incapacitated. So, Harriet and Elara played chess and poked about the library, looking for tomes Elara might wish to hide away or anything Hermione would be interested in reading. Harriet found a book of jinxes she wished she could try on Pansy or Longbottom.
The fifth day saw them out in the magically enlarged yard with genial Professor Sprout, tackling the wild and—frankly—lethal foliage that had grown unchecked over the decades, the stone fountain choked with algae, the shed consumed by crawlers, the greenhouse bursting with the kinds of plants one needed a machete to tame. True to form, Elara killed half of what she touched, and Professor Sprout set her to pulling weeds, tutting all the while.
Headmaster Dumbledore came the next day and didn't stay for the entirety of the afternoon, only through lunch. Elara muttered about him probably wanting to comb through the house himself, but the venerated wizard expressed little interest in exploring and instead returned the kitchen to its pristine state with a flourish of his wand, inviting both girls to sit down for tea. He inquired after their time at Grimmauld and questioned Harriet further about the Dursleys, which she answered begrudgingly, and about the woods, the memory of which still terrified her. He asked to meet Livi, and on the way upstairs to find the irascible serpent, the portrait of Elara's grandmother started screaming filth at the Headmaster when they passed her landing. Elara flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, but Dumbledore simply shrugged and conjured a pair curtains over her frame.
On the seventh day, both witches woke and tromped down the stairs together, wondering who they might meet or see today.
"D'you think it'll be another professor?" Harriet asked as they sat at the table and Rikkety came bobbing out of the kitchen, bowls of porridge and fresh fruit balanced on her head. They took their meals with quiet "thank you"s, which sent Rikkety into delighted squeals that didn't taper off until she disappeared.
"I would assume they're too busy to watch us," Elara replied after swallowing the first bite. "Term will begin in just a few weeks, and they need to prepare just like we do."
"Maybe Madam Vance will come back." Harriet perked up, remembering the match and the general excitement of being among so many other witches and wizards. "She was nice."
Elara smirked. "You just want to watch more Quidditch."
Grumbling, Harriet spooned porridge into her mouth, though she didn't deny the claim. She'd also be pleased if Andromeda and Tonks came back, since she thought stories from Tonks' job at the Ministry were exciting. "As long as it's not Snape again. It's not our fault that old cauldron attacked him. He knows most everything's bloody cursed in the house." Said cauldron left a livid welt on the man's jaw when the iron lid apparently flung itself at him like a discus. Snape had been absolutely foul throughout dinner.
"It might be Dumbledore again."
"Really? I thought he'd be more busy than anyone else."
"No one has touched the library yet. I know he wants to; where else would you find Dark magic if not in books about Dark magic?"
"You mean like that little green book with the snake on it that you hide in your journal? The one with the Ignis Monstrum spell in it?"
Elara glared. "Don't tell anyone about that."
"I'm not going to," Harriet replied as she raised her hands in surrender. "But seriously, that spells looks like it could burn down the bloody house."
"We're not allowed to do magic. You know that."
"Doesn't stop it from being dangerous, though."
Whatever comment Elara had in response to that would have to wait, because Kreacher came stumping into the kitchen with a bewildered raven tucked under his arm. He let go of the rumpled black bird and it soared over to Harriet, both witches staring mutely at the strange creature as it stuck out a leg and hopped closer.
"Harriet Potter," it croaked.
"It talked!" Harriet exclaimed, almost upending her breakfast when she jumped in her chair.
"Ravens are capable of mimicking speech," Elara informed her. For a second, she reminded Harriet of Hermione. "You can speak to snakes, but you're shocked by this?"
"Oh, ha ha," Harriet told her. She noticed the scrap of parchment attached to the raven's leg, and once she pulled it loose, the parchment resized itself into a proper letter and a thin, worn book. The raven vanished in a sudden puff of smoke. "…you're not going to tell me ravens can disappear into thin air on a whim, are you?"
"No, I can't say I am." Elara frowned at the letter in Harriet's hands. "I've never seen a raven deliver post."
"Me neither."
"Perhaps you should wait to open it—?"
Harriet pried the seal free, raising an eyebrow at Elara's miffed expression. "You said there's half a dozen wards on the house screening what gets sent here."
"Yes. Screening owls. Not ravens that are obviously Charmed or cursed or hexed to vanish when they've finished their deliveries."
Harriet hummed in acknowledgment as she peeled back the missive's top flap and began to read.
Chère Mlle. Potter,
I found myself surprised, yet delighted, to receive your letter this summer. The incident that occurred in regards to a certain object of my possession was an unfortunate event, and I cannot accept your apologies for its loss. I have been made aware of the particulars concerning the attempted theft, and must instead extend my own earnest regrets for what harm you came to whilst my possession was kept at Poudlard. Your defense of its acquisition is admirable, and I am humbled by the concern you have extended on my behalf. You need not worry for myself, or my Perenelle. All will be well.
Albus tells me you are a witch with a particular talent for Defense. Please, accept my apologies and the book I have enclosed with this letter. It proved invaluable to me in my boyhood, so many years ago.
Respectueusement,
Nicholas Flamel
Gran. Sorc., Prix de Flamel; Première Classe, Alch. Ma., Def. Ma.
"It's from Mr. Flamel," Harriet said, turning the book over so she could study the wrinkled spine.
"Nicholas Flamel?"
"Mhm." Harriet extended her arm across the table and handed the letter over. "I asked Professor Dumbledore if I could write to him so I could apologize about the Stone, and though the headmaster said I didn't need to, I still sent him a letter at the end of term."
"And it took him this long to get back to you?"
Harriet shrugged. "I didn't think he'd reply at all. When you're six hundred something years old, I bet you move a bit slower, right?"
Shaking her head, Elara perused the missive from Flamel while Harriet opened the book and carefully pulled apart the papery vellum. "Un Guide…Sur la Connaissance des…Ténèbres. It's in French!" Harriet despaired, flipping through a few more pages, finding them all written in the same flowery, foreign language.
Elara wrinkled her nose in thought. "It's a 'Guide on….' Something. 'Understanding the Dark?' Maybe? I think."
"I didn't know you knew French."
"I don't. 'Ténèbres' is a common enough word in the old library books that I looked it up, and 'Connaissance' has a Latin root."
"You know Latin?!"
"Yes. I had to learn it at—. At the place I was, before. Professor McGonagall told us learning the basic forms becomes mandatory this year in Transfiguration. Latin really is imperative to understanding spells."
"God, you sound like Hermione," Harriet groused, slumping her shoulders as she set aside the book so she could concentrate on her breakfast. She felt more than a little stupid; the Nicholas Flamel had sent her a nice letter and a book—but she couldn't read it.
Elara considered the younger witch as she carefully refolded the letter and handed it back. "Hermione knows French," she said slowly. "She'd be delighted to translate it with you."
Glum, Harriet tucked the letter away and shoved a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. Elara was right, of course. Hermione would love to translate an old book that used to belong to Nicholas Flamel, but that didn't stop Harriet from thinking herself helpless and a bit dimwitted. Both Elara and Hermione had helped her study last term to achieve her good marks, and Harriet wished she was more capable on her own.
The Floo flared green, putting an end to her pitying thoughts.
"Two Galleons says it's someone new," Harriet muttered as she pushed her chair back and stood.
"I'm not betting, Harriet."
"Aw, you're no fun."
The fire rose, a sudden gasp of flames transposing from one Floo to the other, and suddenly a slender, unfamiliar witch in bespoke robes appeared before their hearth.
Elara jumped to her feet. "Absolutely not!" she said, brows furrowed. "I did not agree to—!"
"Do not be tiresome," the witch tutted in a posh tone Harriet had come to expect from pure-bloods and their children. "I've been told you're to accept any minder you're assigned, and Severus has asked me here as a favor. My time is limited, and you will be on your best behavior."
Elara stiffened, color flaring in her pale cheeks. "I won't go back with you."
"I have not asked you to, impertinent child," the woman snapped. Confused, Harriet looked between the two and almost jumped when the witch rounded on her. The woman was tall and fair, her blond hair light as could be and perfectly coiffed, emeralds dangling on silver clasps from her lobes, gray eyes hard and calculating. Studying the elegant woman, Harriet thought she looked quite like—.
"Malfoy," she sputtered, causing the woman's eyes to narrow farther. "I, um, mean you're Mrs. Malfoy, right? You look like your son."
"Yes, quite." She proffered one dainty hand and Harriet, utterly at a loss for what else to do, took it in her own and shook with the woman. "I am Narcissa Malfoy, and I have been asked to teach you and Miss Black—." She cut a look to a still fuming Elara. "—etiquette. You are?"
"H-Harriet Potter, ma'am."
"Potter?" She lifted a perfectly groomed brow, though her face remained otherwise passive. "Oh, Severus is always so careful with his wording…very well. Miss Potter, is this how you dress to greet guests?"
Harriet glanced down at herself, taking in the rumpled school shirt and skirt, having dressed in them today after finding she had little else clean in her trunk. One sleeve was rolled to the elbow, the other left flat and unbuttoned, a bit of porridge on the sleeve, her hair its usual tangle of uncombed locks. "…yes?"
That was not the answer Narcissa Malfoy apparently wanted, and only two flicks of her wand later, Harriet's shirt was tucked in, buttoned correctly, and her wild hair tightly bound in a single plait. "Ow, hey—!"
"Sit down, Miss Potter."
Harriet didn't wish to sit down but she did so anyway, because pissing off a woman who referred to Professor Snape by his first name would only bring the unholy terror of a furious Potions Master down upon their poor heads. Obeying didn't mean Harriet didn't sulk, however.
"I don't need etiquette lessons," Elara snapped, arms crossed over her middle. "I don't want them."
"Don't want them? What a silly thing to say, Miss Black." Mrs. Malfoy smiled and it almost looked genuine. "I'm assured you need the lessons, as your greeting shows a distinct lack of manners, and I had come to expect better of you, cousin. As for wanting, what is the alternative? You don't want to know Wizarding etiquette? You would rather you—and Miss Potter, by default—both remained unsophisticated apes posing as the Heads of old families?" She lowered herself into one of the empty chair with considerable grace, crossing one leg over the other, soothing the skirt of her silk robes. "A good Slytherin knows to take advantage of the opportunities presented to them. Surely my father taught you that."
The muscles in Elara's jaw jumped, and Harriet thought she'd argue with Draco's mum, tell her to bugger off and get them in heaps of trouble with Snape—but then Elara reluctantly nodded and directed her sullen stare at the table as she sank into her own seat.
Again, Mrs. Malfoy smiled, all her teeth perfectly white and straight, her eyes the same gray as Elara's. "Wonderful. I do so love the chance to spend time with family. Now, for your first lesson…."
A/N: I haven't seen the new FB film, which I'm told has Nicholas Flamel in it? I have my own characterization of him in my head that probably won't mesh with the film. That's more important later on. "Prix de Flamel; Première Classe" is my approximation of a French Order of Merlin, and then "Alch. Ma.," for Alchemy Master, "Def. Ma.," for Defense Master.