cxxxv. tracks in the snow
The sound of running water echoed beneath the cold planks of the covered bridge, and Harriet leaned against the railing to look below.
Ice clinging to the cliffs clogged much of the inlet, but a measure of dark water still fed into the lake, and Harriet lifted her head, gaze trailing the hard, glinting surface toward the horizon, where the frozen lake disappeared into the fog and trees and mountains. The world was quiet but for that distant gurgle below; even the wind died down, the sky thick with clouds yet otherwise still, thick swathes of gray and black limned in violet like a bruise.
Kevin and Rick shifted inside her collar, Rick slithering out and over the edge, hissing that Kevin was insufferable for his poor choice of favorite snacks. Seeing as she knew both of their favorite snacks changed daily, if not hourly, Harriet thought Rick was being rather rude and finicky. He poked about her hat's flap over her ear, and she nudged him back down.
"Quit it," she hissed.
She continued across the bridge, the cold air sharp in her lungs and against her face, her nose bright red. In one of her mitten-clad hands, the glass lens hummed and sparkled, warm to the touch but not, thankfully, bursting into flames. Blue lights played through the glass, there and gone, chasing circles about the brass lip.
The grass surrounding the Sundial Garden squished under her shoes as Harriet climbed the hill, gasping, feeling warm under two jumpers, her robes, and her cloak. Though lunch loomed just an hour or so away, the sky hadn't brightened much from its pre-dawn gloom, and Harriet glanced toward the castle at her back, the stone seeming much darker than usual with the white snow resting on the grounds, huddled against the foundations in fat, lumpy mounds. Hermione and Elara were both in Arithmancy, and much of the school remained quiet and undisturbed, everyone in class or tucked away in their common rooms—not bandying about in the snow.
Harriet snorted as she perched on one of the stones, wincing at the cold seeping into her trousers, and removed a lopsided roll from her pocket, tearing off a piece to stuff in her mouth. Chewing, she surveyed the land and the castle, the sharp cut of the cliffs and the choppier hills rolling down across the school's flank, the Whomping Willow swaying far off in the distance. She set the lens on her knee, and it continued to hum, waiting, while Harriet let her mind wander and consider different things.
Mably had taken to smothering Elara in that oddly endearing house-elf way of hers. She never showed herself—which Hermione called an abhorrently cruel learned behavior—but food and convenient cups of tea kept appearing around Elara. The tea was made exactly to her liking—way too bitter and strong for human consumption, and other Slytherins snickered whenever Elara looked down at an inexplicable pastry like it might grow legs and attack her face. Her shoes were always clean, her blankets warmed, her study carrel tidy, her favorite soaps and products kept fresh and full in their washroom. Elara grew increasingly flustered, unable to rebuff the house-elf, and Hermione kept huffing and muttering under her breath.
Harriet tried questioning Mably about the 'rat-man,' but she either didn't know the man's name or had such an abhorrence for it, she couldn't say it. Harriet had discovered the fastest way to get a hundred house-elves to scream was to utter the name "Voldemort" on accident, so she assumed the 'rat-man' had become an unkind sobriquet Mably used to lessen her own trauma and fear of the person she believed responsible for Marlene McKinnon's death. She wouldn't speak much on Sirius Black, mood darkening when Harriet asked about him, but despite her distaste, Mably still addressed him as "Mr. Sirius."
Does that mean the 'rat-man' is different from Livi's 'rat one'? Harriet pondered, sighing. The man in the dormitory had to be Sirius Black. No one else would have any reason to bother me or Elara—unless it was some kind of random bloody pervert. Hell. She wrinkled her nose and reached her free hand up into her collar, touching one of the snakes. But if the man in the dorm was Sirius Black, then he wasn't the man Mably spoke of—and yet everyone seems to believe Black had something to do with the McKinnon fire. This is confusing.
The magic humming in the lens began to calm, and Harriet redirected her attention, using her teeth to remove one mitten so she could hold the device in her bare hand. The brass had become so cold it stung her fingers, but the glass itself remained pleasantly warm to the touch. Holding the lens up closer to her eye, she gave it a light tap with her wand, saying, "Show me," as clearly as she could around a mouthful of cotton.
Blue light again swirled in the glass, expanding outward, seeming to catch and gleam on the distant silhouette of the castle. Harriet's careful print appeared in blue, a straight line connecting the words 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' to the largest turret. Harriet gave the lens another tap, and the magic shivered, glittering, 'Hogwarts' disappearing in place of more lines connecting labels like 'West Tower,' 'Astronomy Tower,' and 'Herbology Courtyard.' She noted that some of the lines weren't coming through as they should; the one over the Whomping Willow kept flickering, and when Harriet concentrated on it, a series of nervous question marks percolated over its top. Harriet intoned a low, thoughtful sound.
It'll be dead useful when it's finished and working properly, she thought, lowering the lens again. It had taken considerable effort on all their parts to get it to this point; Harriet original initiative of making the Moon Mirror map had piqued Hermione's curiosity, and Professor Dumbledore's subsequent delivery of The Proteus Indices and The Jargogle Jargon of Charms had sparked a greater creation and interest in cartography and magical indexing. Hermione took one glimpse at the finicky magic inlaid in the Marauder's Map and fell in love—but it remained to be said that the Marauder's Map wasn't theirs, and it lacked depth after Harriet's research and exploration had uncovered so much more of the school.
The device began as a desire to understand or mimic the Marauder's Map, to find, field, and display information for their convenience, and Harriet's purchase of the lenses and special vellum in Verre de Verid proved a fortunate find. Information written on the vellum displayed itself on the glass, and a proper application of a circumdo ward upon the lens—joined with a Homonculous Charm—recorded information from the area the lens passed through to be printed on the vellum. Binding Proteus Memoro and Proteus Imito Alterius kept the information orderly and quiet until it was called for while also mimicking gathered knowledge from one lens to the other two. Specific runes—like laguz and inguz—changed the porosity of the cirmundo ward so it could, as Hermione explained it, absorb information as if through magical osmosis. Harriet had spent weeks redrawing her Moon Map, the Marauder's Map, and Hogwarts' original architectural blueprints onto the replicating vellum sheets securely hidden the Aerie's depths. Elara and Hermione checked and rechecked how the Charms relayed into one another, testing their ideas on paper before moving to glass. They copied their school notes onto pieces of the spelled vellum, and that information, too, hid somewhere in the deceptively simple glass.
Dozens of other smaller Charms went into the creation, things meant to recognize shapes, Elara's dubious research on blood magic helping link their own perception and recognition to the lens' knowledge. Harriet hadn't much like the idea of that first, but Elara had pointed out how the Diadem—before Tom Riddle somehow defiled it—had worked on a similar concept, and further conversation with Rowena Ravenclaw had allayed her fears. Hermione itched to get her hands on the Sorting Hat to figure out how it read minds and if that magic could further their efforts in their own creation.
"The Hat must be an absolute trove of lost magical knowledge. It was made by Godric Gryffindor himself!"
"Yeah, and nicking the Hat could get us expelled, y'know."
"Just think of the possibilities, though."
"Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"
The lens wasn't perfect, as evidenced by the panicked question marks over the Whomping Willow, and other areas of the grounds remained murky and undefined. Harriet struggled with the runes still, Mr. Flamel and Professor Babbling both answering her list of questions with thick books she'd yet to slog through. Elara's addition of blood magic had incurred an odd reaction somewhere in their magic, resulting in mysterious languages and thoughts written in indecipherable characters blooming on the glass for no reason, then dwindling away. Hermione had warned them against accessing the map feature itself, saying her own attempt to do so had set her bed curtains on fire. Pansy complained about the smell for days.
"Is it because I haven't gotten closer than a few dozen meters to it?" Harriet wondered aloud, lowering the lens, mitten still caught between her teeth. "Or because we haven't studied Whomping Willows yet in Herbology?"
She looked out over the lake, and again, the magic picked up only the vaguest landmarks, absolutely nothing beyond the bounds of Hogwarts' wards displaying itself. The permeable nature of the circumdo ward meant it could mingle with the school's wards to an extent, and Hermione worried the lens' efficacy would diminish when they returned to London and could no longer augment their scope to such a degree. Only time—and a spot of experimentation—would tell.
Twisting on her seat, Harriet turned the lens toward the towering, aged stones at her back, and the title "Sundial Garden" came through just fine, joined by a brief addendum on Hermione's notes concerning the history of the spot. Harriet concentrated so hard on the magic before her, she didn't notice the eyes watching her from the trees until the creature stepped forward.
Startled, Harriet spat the mitten from her mouth and rose to her feet, her wand coming into her hand almost faster than she could consider it. A dog had come out of the underbrush—or, at least, Harriet thought it a dog. It stood nearly to her chest in height, black fur matted and tangled, two silver eyes like glinting Sickles focused on her face. She grimaced. Truth be told, Harriet didn't care overly much for dogs; Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, had had a vicious bulldog named Ripper who would chase Harriet relentlessly, sinking his teeth into her ankles whenever he could. This dog made no move toward her, but she didn't lower her wand.
"Erm, hullo?" she said, hesitating before giving the creature a look through the glass lens. All she received were more confused blue question marks, so Harriet grunted and stowed the lens away in her pocket. "…good boy?"
The dog's tail wagged and it—he—woofed at her, edging closer. He didn't seem aggressive, having none of that trembling, irritated energy Ripper used to exude, so Harriet lowered her wand but kept it out, letting the dog closer. He was bigger than she thought, his paws as large as her hands, his long fur a wild tangle of muck, leaves, and spots of snow.
"Where'd you come from?" she asked, extending one cautious, mitten-covered hand for his inspection. Elated, the dog butted his nose under her fingers, encouraging Harriet to pet his head. "Well, you're certainly friendly, and given how bloody wretched the weather has been, you must have an owner somewhere." She smoothed her fingers over his piqued ear and against the fur of his neck, searching for a collar. A musty odor filled her nose. "Oof, bloody hell, you're smelly."
The dog whined.
"Don't look at me! You're the numpty who's run off from home." Was he from the village? Harriet didn't know if any of the creatures dwelling in the forest kept dogs, but Hogsmeade was a long way off, on the other side of the lake and grounds. Had he gotten lost? His ribs shone through his patchy fur, and Harriet scratched behind his ears, frowning. Poor thing. She knew what it was like to be that skinny and hungry.
After some thought, Harriet decided to take him to Hagrid, who'd most likely know if one of the villagers had lost their pet or could care for him. Maybe Fang could use a friend. "Come along, then."
The dog peered at her and didn't move, content to be petted and have his head itched.
"Oh—here." Harriet stuck her hand into her pocket, finding the extra roll she'd nibbled on. "Have this."
He snatched up the bread, Harriet stepping back from his sudden voracity. "I don't think I have anything else," she muttered when the dog finished the roll in three seconds, looking at her with beseeching eyes. "I'm sorry. I just have sweets. Hermione says I have a fast metabolism, so I carry extra snacks for when I get hungry, else I get headaches. She reckons it has something to do with my magic. Why am I telling you this?" She rubbed her face. "Spending too much bloody time talking to my snakes…."
Harriet started off toward the bridge, waiting to see if the dog would follow or if he'd run off on his own again. He hesitated—and instead of coming right after her, he first lumbered over the stone she'd been perched on and picked up her forgotten mitten. "Thanks," Harriet said as she accepted it, covering up her cold hand again. "You're awfully well-trained. Someone has got to be missing you."
Again, the dog whined, head hung low as he bumped against her side. Harriet gave him another consoling pat, then headed toward the covered bridge.
Initially, the dog was reluctant to follow, hedging about a few meters behind her, tense and sniffing the air, though Harriet's persistence in pausing to wait seemed to win him over. He strolled at her side, butting his head against her arm until she rested her hand against his back. She shivered when the breeze began to rise.
"Must be nice to have a fur coat. It's freezing out here."
The dog barked, tail thumping against her back. She led them along the path bordering the outer cliff, crossing near the Whomping Willow as the trail wended down toward the route linking the Quidditch pitch and the castle's main courtyard. Harriet stopped to survey the Willow through her lens, trying to get a better read on it, and the dog watched her, head tipped as if curious. Harriet returned the lens to her pocket, and they continued on.
"I guess a fur coat isn't everything, though. If I were a dog, I'd much rather be at home, eating my supper. Or maybe sleeping in front of a nice fire." A thought occurred to her. "Maybe that's why Elara always passes out by the hearth in the Aerie—."
Under her hand, the dog's body tensed, and he stopped walking. Harriet withdrew, worried he'd changed his mind and had decided to take a bite out of her after all, but the dog didn't growl or bark or make any move at all. He stared at Harriet with those wide, colorless eyes reflecting the gray sky above them, the Willow's looming shape overhead almost too close for comfort. Harriet stared at him in turn, fingering the wand tucked into her pocket. Familiarity prickled through her the more she studied the creature, and Harriet realized Elara's Animagus form resembled him somewhat, if better groomed and considerably smaller, with a patch of white on her chest. This dog must be the same breed—a black Kugsha, Hermione had said after researching it, or perhaps a variation of wolf. But the dog couldn't be a wolf; there were no wolves in Scotland.
"Miss Potter!"
Harriet blinked and turned her eyes toward the sound. The grass rustled, bending under shifting weight, and when Harriet glanced down, she saw nothing but paw prints trailing her steps through the snow.
"Miss Potter?" Professor Sprout finished descending the sloped hill, huffing a bit from the exertion, her face concerned. "What on earth are you doing out here?"
"There was—." She turned in place, scouring the landscape from the bare trail ahead to the roots of the swaying Willow, but there was nothing to be seen. "…a dog."
"A dog?" Sprout asked, puzzled.
"Yeah. He was right here, but I guess he ran off again. He looked terribly hungry."
"Poor fellow. I'll have a word with Hagrid to keep an eye out for him. But goodness me, you silly girl, what are you up to? It's a miracle you haven't fallen into a drift and frozen yourself solid."
Harriet scowled, her cold cheeks flushing, and Professor Spout covered her mouth to hide her laughter. "I'm not that short, Professor."
"Of course not, dear. All the same, it'd be best to get you back inside. It's not safe to go wandering about on your own."
"I was being safe. I didn't go far."
"Even so." Professor Sprout patted her arm. "Back to the castle with you. It'll be lunch soon."
The grip on her shoulder ushered Harriet toward the school once more, falling into step beside the Head of Hufflepuff, and yet she couldn't help but glance behind herself one last time, searching, finding no sign of the mysterious canine. The Whomping Willow continued to sway, branches waving back and forth, but whether in greeting or goodbye, Harriet didn't know.
A/N: A rather short, transitional chapter. I know some people were hoping Mably would have more information to give, but I find house-elves are terribly imprecise or unclear sometimes, especially if they're holding on to their master's wishes/commands. For instance, in canon, I don't think Dobby ever called Hermione by name, and he referred to Ron as Harry's "Wheezy." And it may even be that Marlene never told her Peter's name; maybe she only referenced him or her mistrust in him. Even if she had the name, I don't know if she'd be able to properly convey the idea of him being an Animagus to the girls, especially considering when we say "That person's a rat," we don't literally mean it. Anyway….
Headline: Sirius almost gets added to Harriet's menagerie, three tiny witches invent bootleg Google, Elara accidentally creates window into the thoughts of Old Gods, and Hermione conspires to kidnap the Sorting Hat.