clxv. perilous day trips

The clay shingles clicked and complained under Harriet's weight as she stretched toward the block wall, radio clasped in her sweaty hands.

"Harriet, be careful," Hermione called from below, fussing when one of the old shingles snapped at the edge and fell into the bushes.

"I'm fine," Harriet told her, rolling her eyes where the other witch couldn't see. Elara barked, and Harriet would have thrown a wad of the leaves decaying in clumps up there if her hands hadn't been full. Instead, she stretched over the slim gap between the shed and the wall, reached up, and settled the radio on the cinderblock pillar. She poked the switch, and static warbled in the air.

During an afternoon of exploration in the cluttered storage spaces of the old Blacks, the trio of Slytherin witches came across a stash of Muggle things Sirius confessed to squirreling away in his school days. Among the collection of odds and ends was an old radio.

Usually, Muggle electronics didn't work around magic—but the radio had been sitting in a Wizarding house for so long, like a bag of tea leaves steeping in hot water, that some of the magic stuck. It still didn't worth a damn inside the wards, but there was one spot Harriet had found where the wards met the property line in a wibbly mess, and if she put the radio just an inch or so on the other side of the line….

After another nudge, the static turned into Muggle music.

Grinning, Harriet slid along the tiles and leaves and shoved off the edge of the roof, hopping down from the shed to join her friends.

"I still can't believe you found this spot," Hermione huffed, sitting on a cracked stone bench, picking at the dried-out moss. "What were you doing on the shed's roof in the first place?"

Harriet pretended she didn't hear her, finding her own seat on the ground. The earth already soaked in the morning sun, the heat drowsy and delightful, though not too humid or hot—at least not yet. Harriet had grass stains on her trousers. Hermione had tied her hair back in a frizzy, but comfortable bun.

Elara, lounging as an Animagus, growled at Livius when the Horned Serpent flicked his tongue in her direction. He hissed—as did the three little golems following him, inspecting the tangled weeds. Elara huffed and rose on all four paws, padding over to Hermione and jumping onto the available space on the bench.

Music filtered across the garden, interrupted by an ad for a summer sale.

Hermione had a far-off, thoughtful expression on her face as she listened to the radio's chatter. "I miss the Muggle world sometimes," she commented. "There are so many lovely things that don't translate well into magical society or don't have the same utility. Oh, and the anonymity. It seems most every witch or wizard knows one another—or at least knows someone who knows somebody else. I miss being able to go out and having no risk of popping in on someone familiar."

"Don't expect that anonymity around here," Harriet said with a small grin. "Everyone at the local Sainsbury's recognizes us, especially Sirius. He makes getting groceries a bit of a, err…."

Elara shifted forms, appearing perched on the bench next to Hermione, the picture of elegant ease. "A spectacle. He makes everything a spectacle."

Well, Harriet couldn't argue with that, nor did she blame Sirius. She'd spent most of her life ignorant of the magical world, yet she still spotted sights in Muggle London that she'd never seen before. It wasn't his fault he didn't remember that tower of stacked tuna tins didn't have a Stabilizing Charm on it.

"Harriet," Elara said.

"Hmm?"

"Have you been practicing?"

"Practicing—? Oh."

A defeated breath escaped her as Harriet sprawled onto the grass, staring up at the blue sky above. "Yes," she admitted. "'Amato animo animato animagus,' every morning and every night."

"Are you clearing your mind?"

"…yes."

"You're lying."

"Oi!"

Sighing, Hermione crossed one leg over the other, shoe popping loose from her heel as her foot bobbed. "Professor McGonagall's going to murder you, you know."

It was a distinct possibility and a risk Harriet was willing to take.

"If you tattle on me, I'll tell her you made the potion."

Hermione gasped. "I would never!"

Humming, Elara said, "I think she was considering tattling to get a better deal, Harriet!"

"No!"

Harriet sat up and nodded several times. "Yes, she was definitely considering it."

Hermione finally caught on to their teasing and crossed her arms. "You two are terrible. I would never."

"Well, if it's any comfort, I'll already be murdered before I get the chance to say who made the potion. Elara still has nightmares of the lecture she got."

Hermione giggled as Elara shivered. "I thought it entirely possible she might turn me into a flobberworm."

"You would probably both deserve it for trying—and succeeding, in Elara's case—to become Animagi behind her back."

"We still can't convince you to try it, Hermione?"

"No, I prefer all my limbs exactly as they are, thank you." Hermione studied her fingers as if making sure they were still in the right shape. "The horrible stories the books tell about all the witches and wizards who've gotten stuck halfway between forms are horrendous."

Harriet didn't want to hear the stories again; the one about the bloke who ended up with fins for hands was enough for her. "Well, what's that thing the Gryffindors always say?"

Elara frowned. "…No risk, no reward?"

"There you go."

Hermione snorted. "Professor Slytherin would be appalled to hear you say that."

"He's always appalled."

"You mean appalling."

They laughed and changed the conversation to something less grim, chatting about the weather or how annoying Elara found Snape's holiday assignment. Hermione kicked off both her shoes and stretched her legs, mindful of her socks in the grass, while Livi eventually found his way over to Harriet and curled against her side.

Halfway through Elara's rather convincing argument on why Snape should be banned from assigning six feet on epithelial potions over summer, the back door clattered open.

"Girls!" Remus called. "We're almost ready to leave for Diagon Alley!" He paused. "Why is there music playing?"

"No reason!" Harriet popped to her feet and scaled the shed again. Livi watched her as if considering what she was doing. Going by the running commentary, he thought her very foolish unless something tasty waited up there.

Elara collected the golems—cursing Kevin and his propensity for biting—while Hermione put her shoes back on. Remus came outside to see what kept them.

"Harriet, what on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing!" She reached, turned off the radio, and picked it up, almost overbalanced by the heavy weight. With a grunt, she brought it back into her chest and pinned it there with her arm before sliding her way back down the roof's short pitch.

"It doesn't appear to be nothing," Remus remarked as Harriet landed on her feet. He raised a brow at the radio but didn't say anything. Harriet tucked it under her arm and shot him her best smile, the one she reserved for her professors when she knew she was out of bounds.

"So, Diagon Alley? Excellent!"

The corner of Remus' mouth quirked as he took out his wand and spelled the knees of Harriet's trousers clean.

"Thanks, Pro—Remus!"

"Think nothing of it. What about the rest of you? Any spots need removing?"

Elara and Hermione shook their heads, and Remus ushered them back inside. He plucked the radio out of Harriet's hands as she passed him. "You can have it back when you promise to stop climbing buildings."

"It's not that tall!"

"It is still a building, however."

"Barely," Harriet grumbled.

"Go on. We'll be leaving in a few minutes."

The reminder perked Harriet up. She collected Livi and let him twist over her shoulders and around her middle, which gave Harriet a decidedly lumpy look, not that she minded much. Kevin, Rick, and Howard got transferred from Elara's pocket to hers—and Harriet pretended she didn't see Hermione's disapproving glance at Livi's invisible coils.

"C'mon, Hermione. It's my birthday."

She shook her head. "That doesn't give you a free pass to carry a deadly wizard-killer in public."

"It should."

Sirius was waiting for them in the kitchen, sliding his arms into a pair of new summer robes that clashed with the dated Muggle t-shirt underneath. "Hey, you lot. Ready to go?" He grinned at Harriet. "Ready to get out of the house for a bit?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah, me too." He looked to Remus, who appeared last, having stashed the radio somewhere. Harriet would have to find out where later. "Who're we meeting there?"

"Mad-Eye and his trainee are supposed to be scouting the area ahead of us and will send word if it is needed."

"What about Snivellus?"

"According to Albus, he won't be available until later this afternoon."

"Worthless cu—." Sirius cleared his throat, Remus arching a reprimanding brow. "All right." He said instead, plucking the dish of Floo Powder from the mantel. "I'll go first, then."

Sirius disappeared through the flames, followed by Harriet, then Hermione, and Elara and Remus last of all, the former chewing on a slice of pickled ginger to counter her nausea. A large crowd gathered in The Leaky Cauldron, witches and wizards descending for an early lunch in loud, chattering groups. Harriet almost got shoved right back into the fire when she appeared.

They got out of the pub with a bit of maneuvering and judicial application of elbows. Harriet didn't care if it was crowded; she relished any chance to escape Grimmauld Place that didn't involve trying to stop Sirius from causing miniature disasters in the grocery store. She knew her friends felt the same.

Birthdays had always been a source of contention for Harriet. Even years after leaving Privet Drive, the date filled her with nervous anticipation, as if waiting for it all to be a joke. As if her entire life would disappear in the blink of an eye.

Rationally, Harriet knew she was being silly; she had so many people in her life who cared about her, the breakfast table piled with enough gifts to make Dudley envious, but the doubt remained. Like a tiny, incessant weed, it poked its head through the dirt every so often, no matter how many times Harriet pulled it out.

Elara linked her arm through hers, and Harriet blinked, brushing off uncertain thoughts. "So you don't get lost again," Elara said, the corner of her lips hitching in a half-smirk. "Like you did before when you wound up in Knockturn Alley and got led back by Slytherin."

"Merlin, don't remind me. I thought I was going to be harvested for fingernails that day."

They wandered the quarter without a specific destination in mind, though they did stop by Florean Fortescue's for ice cream, and Hermione dragged them to the stationary shop to peruse the inks. They spent two and half hours in Flourish and Blotts, then a further hour in Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment looking for a special "magical embolizing" cauldron Hermione insisted they needed to improve the Atlas.

The bloke behind the counter at Potage's Cauldron Shop took one look at them and snapped that what they wanted was only available to journeymen and above.

Rude, Harriet thought when they got shown the door.

Then Hermione suggested they "borrow" the necessary equipment from Snape, and Elara turned white as a ghost on Christmas. They spent forty-five minutes talking the bushy-haired witch out of her latest bout of madness.

"It would prevent magical bleeds and make the Atlas far more difficult to detect!" she insisted with a huff. "Someone's got to have one somewhere."

Afterward, they meandered toward the north end of the alley, the crowd thicker than ever, and Sirius drew Harriet aside.

"Listen," he said, one hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch Livi's heavy coils. They stood by the shadowed entrance of Eeylops Owl Emporium, watched the bright, luminous eyes of a dozen owls perched behind the windows. "I, err, bought you something—for your birthday."

Harriet brightened. "Oh?" Honestly, she hadn't thought of who didn't get her a gift this morning, only making herself a note on those she needed to send thank you letters to tonight.

"Remus told me you were upset when that arsehole teacher of yours kicked you off the Quidditch team. Which is bloody criminal—I saw you play, once, at your last game. Did you know that? Amazing Seeker, even with the—ah—Dementors." Sirius stuck his hands in the pockets of his robes and shuffled his feet. "It's not fair to you."

"Well, there's not much I can do about it. Unless Slytherin changes his mind." Harriet wouldn't hold her breath for that. He seemed content on his decision—if only because it made Harriet unhappy.

"Playing at Hogwarts isn't your only option."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean I signed you up for a summer league if you're interested." He removed a hand from his pocket, bringing with it a bit of folded parchment he gave to Harriet. "I had a hell of a time convincing Dumbledore, but he agreed it's not right keeping you lot locked inside all the time."

Harriet unfolded the parchment and found that it was an acknowledgment for Harriet's enrollment in one of the local junior leagues as a Seeker. She hadn't known those existed.

"This is great!" she exclaimed, smiling. Then, a thought occurred to her, and the smile faltered. "Do they have spare brooms for their team? I—the broom I used before was ruined, and even then, it wasn't mine."

"That was part of your present, actually." Sirius gestured at the letter, which Harriet finished unfolding, catching a smaller slip of parchment tucked into the bottom. It was a receipt from Quality Quidditch Supplies, and when Harriet saw what Sirius had bought, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"I—that's—it's too much! I—."

Sirius scratched the back of his head. "I had to make up for thirteen missed birthdays, right? And you could probably blame me for you crashing your broom in the first place and getting kicked off the team."

"Flint and Slytherin were looking for an excuse anyway," Harriet replied without thought, her mind still stuck on the item listed on the slip. Sirius had torn the total off, but Harriet had gone into the store to ask the price before and knew it hadn't changed.

A Firebolt. He'd bought her a Firebolt.

"I—thank you, Sirius. Thank you."

Before she could second guess herself, Harriet hugged him tight around the middle, Livi wriggling in protest against her shoulders when Sirius returned the gesture. He ruffled her hair when she let go—which Harriet knew probably made her fringe stick straight up.

"Come on, they assured me it'd be ready to pick up today…."

Inside the Quality Quidditch Supplies, the manager all but bent over backwards to help Sirius—which Harriet figured was because her godfather had dropped a sizable fortune on buying a bloody broom there. He had the broom wrapped and shrunken before bringing it out of the backroom per Sirius' request, not wanting to cause a stir. It wasn't every day someone bought a Firebolt.

As Sirius flicked through some paperwork in need of his signature, Harriet glanced at Elara and Hermione, who wore bemused expressions, standing off to the side. Elara caught her gaze and smiled, her lips closed, the skin about her eyes tight with unspoken tension.

A sudden wriggle of guilt bloomed in Harriet's middle.

Up until recently, the money in the Black vaults had been under Elara's purview—and Harriet knew she'd watched it carefully. Elara had exchanged letters with Gringotts at least once a week as she learned about interest and family investments and taxes, sitting at her carrel reading thick books about finances that often put her straight to sleep. Elara had been responsible for every Galleon in the vaults, and Sirius had gone ahead and spent a massive chunk in one day.

Merlin, Harriet hoped her godfather had at least mentioned it to his daughter beforehand.

They left the shop with Harriet's new, shrunken broom safely tucked into the pocket occupied by Howard, and their group decided on meandering back toward the Leaky Cauldron for an early supper. They had just passed under the swinging sign for Slug and Jiggers' when the spectral form of an eagle swept down upon them, circling Sirius' head.

"Danger," the eagle croaked in a familiar, gravely voice. "Guardians on the move."

Sirius and Remus stiffened.

"What's that mean?" Harriet asked as the eagle Patronus dispersed into a shower of glittering dust. "I got the danger bit, but—."

The crowd ahead of them thinned enough for the pub's entrance to be visible from where they stood, and the man dressed in maroon robes stationed by the door couldn't be mistaken for anything other than an Auror. Another Auror harried the groups of people trying to pass him by, searching faces.

"Oh, shit," Sirius cursed under his breath, forcibly turning himself and Harriet away. "Bastards never take a holiday, do they? Never mind supper. Let's get you lot home."

They started toward the opposite side of the alley, walking fast, keeping to the peripheries to avoid the main crush. Suddenly, Sirius came to a sudden halt and pressed them back into a recessed alcove cluttered with empty crates.

Where the wide, shallow steps merged the northern end of the quarter to the south side, two more Aurors strode below the ragged shadows cast by Charmed bunting, their eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight. The taller of the pair pointed in one direction, and he went in another.

Golden pins flared against their chests.

"Guardians of the Magical Right," Remus muttered from behind, keeping a hand on Elara and Hermione's arms. "We should Apparate, Sirius."

They tried, both Sirius and Remus taking half-steps to their right, twisting, but neither went anywhere at all. Sirius swore again, and Remus grimaced.

"Anti-Disapparition Jinx," he explained to the three witches.

"They can't have covered the whole alley," Sirius argued, tugging on the hood of Harriet's robes until it came free of the collar and he could yank it over her head. Unfortunately, given the robes had been designed with summer in mind, the fabric provided little disguise.

"What do they want?" Harriet asked, her heart beating an uncomfortable stitch in her chest. "We haven't done anything wrong. They have no reason to bother us, right?"

Remus shook his head. "They don't need a particular reason to question a witch or wizard if there's probable suspicion of a past or imminent crime"

"But there's no—."

"It is no matter if there is or isn't suspicion or a real crime, Harriet. Yes, they would have to release Sirius, Elara, and myself, and Hermione would go back to her guardian, Sirius—but you, as an untended minor—."

Harriet's blood ran cold. "They'd take me away," she said, voice hoarse. "Because neither of you is my proper guardian, and there's no bloody way they'd contact the Dursleys. They're Muggles. So that means—it means they're trying to separate us."

"Yes."

Livi, sensing the sudden spike in Harriet's fear, shifted and hissed in her ear. "Misstresss?"

"Stay hidden," she told him, then adding, "Bite the bad wizards if they try to take me away." If Gaunt got his hands on her, Harriet didn't think she'd ever be found again.

Sirius' hand clenched tighter on her shoulder, thumb pressing down into her bones. "We can—."

One of the Aurors spotted them and started forward, pushing through the throngs of people.

A few summers past, Harriet had spent a great deal of time familiarizing herself with the British Wizarding quarter's layout, so she knew to quickly grab the back of Remus and Sirius' cloaks and pull them back, darting to the door of Whizz Hard Books. The haggard old woman at the front barely had a chance to raise her head before the five of them squeezed through the cluttered aisles and burst out the back door.

Harriet led them down the empty lane, running, listening for pursuit until she spotted another door opening, an employee coming out to throw rubbish in the tip—.

"There—!"

The heavy odor inside the Tobacconist rolled over them in a sickly cloud, Elara wheezing into her sleeve. The mustachioed proprietor sputtered and shouted at Sirius and Remus to get the minors out of his shop. They obliged him, spilling over the front threshold into the humid heat of Horizont Alley.

When another attempt to Disapparate failed them, Harriet brought them to Flimflam's Lanterns, and they disappeared into the steep, narrow passage connecting Horizont to Carkitt Market. A few more Aurors haunted the Market, but the open space surrounding the central fountain had attracted more visitors than Diagon and Horizont combined. Children screamed and splashed in the water, and people coming out of Dr. Filibuster's kept setting off various Charmed fireworks.

The mob made it more difficult for them to be spotted—and more difficult to stay together.

No sooner had they attempted to cross the plaza than a group of teenagers older than Harriet and her friends ran by, and Harriet stumbled. One misstep, and Sirius' hand slipped from her shoulder, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, tugging hard before falling off. She heard his voice, but turned and cursed when the crowd surged, and Harriet lost sight of her group.

She didn't shout Sirius' name. She didn't think she'd be heard—and if she was, there was a chance the person who'd answer wasn't someone she wanted to find her. Instead, Harriet shoved at the people around her, earning several yelps of protest, and searched for someone she knew.

She thought she heard her name called from somewhere on her left, where Remus and the others had vanished, and Harriet forced her way closer. No one was there.

One minute turned to two—to three, then ten. The bodies around her kept moving, and Harriet's heart kept racing, and she couldn't—.

Don't panic, she told herself, throat tight, sweat dripping along the nape of her neck. Her hand shook as she tucked it under the collar of her blouse and pulled on the leather strap hidden underneath, feeling Hugh's skull and—more importantly—the Atlas drag against her sternum.

If she got it out, she could find the others on it, and then—.

A cold hand gripped her wrist, and Harriet gasped. She looked up and saw the maroon cloak, the unfamiliar face, and a black wand pointed at her neck.

Harriet reacted on instinct, baring her teeth. "Livius!"

The Horned Serpent curled against her throat, invisible head rising from her collar with a heinous hissing—.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harriet expected her body to stiffen, for her legs to snap together and her arms to fall to her side—but it was Livi who went limp against her shoulder.

How did he see—?

"I'm in no mood to deal with your bloody snake, Potter!"

"Wh—?!" Harriet yanked hard against the hand still holding her wrist, but the fingers tightened, refusing to let go.

"In your second year, you and your reprobate friends stole from me in order to brew illegal Polyjuice Potion," the man said. "I assume you used it to transform into Aurora Sinistra for your ill-conceived spying efforts."

Harriet stared aghast at the bloke, mouth moving without sound for several moments until his words clicked in her brain. Polyjuice. "…Snape?"

He said nothing further, only turning around and hexing the closest group out of his path. Harriet had to run to keep pace with the wizard as they crossed the plaza. He led her under a brick archway at the far edge of the Market, and they stepped out from the Wizarding quarter into Muggle London, into a sheltered, hedged-in byway somewhere in Holborn.

Another of Gaunt's Aurors waited there, his robes Transfigured into a lopsided coat. He glanced at Harriet and her impromptu savior and had to look again, surprised. He fumbled for his wand.

Snape's spell caught him across the face and slammed the poor blighter into the brick wall at his back. Something crunched.

Before the Auror could fully slide to the asphalt, Snape locked his arm around Harriet's middle and twisted—.

The abrupt Apparition flipped Harriet's already upset stomach and bile burned in her throat. She would have tripped on her face if not for Snape's grip, his bony fingers digging into her side. He kept her upright, and they marched across the road into the shadow of Number Twelve.

"Trust Black to fuck up a simple day trip," Snape mocked, finally letting Harriet go. She sunk onto the porch step, her knees weak, palms coated in anxious sweat. It was eerie to hear Snape's words come out of a stranger's mouth in the stranger's high, grating voice.

As an afterthought, Harriet shook off her daze and canceled the spell on Livi. He tightened on instinct about her neck, and she choked, pulling at his coils as the serpent's head whipped toward Snape. The Potions Master kept a wary eye on the creature even as Harriet wrapped a hand about his head to hold him back.

"I will eatsss him!"

"He'd probably taste like bitter tea leaves," Harriet muttered, wrestling Livi into her arms. "Stop. It's Professor Snape. He's not one of the bad wizards."

Livi paused, and his purple tongue furiously tasted the air until he discovered something Harriet couldn't smell. He hissed low and menacing but still settled onto Harriet's lap, letting her stroke his scales to calm him down.

The bright, vivid form of Snape's Patronus burst into view, the pulsating phoenix saturating the grim little stoop in its beautiful, soft light as it hovered in the air.

"I have the girl," he intoned to the bird. "At the house."

With those simple words, Snape flicked his wand, and the phoenix flapped its wings, then vanished. The cool, euphoric feeling went with it, replaced by the dull, wet summer heat. Harriet blinked the starlight from her eyes and focused on Snape.

"It wasn't Sirius' fault," she argued. "We got separated by the crowd."

"How convenient."

"I'm not—tall. Or very big. So you can't blame Sirius for—."

"I can, and I can blame you as well, you daft numbskull," he snapped, eyes fixed upon her own. Harriet noticed the left was black—black as his usual color, and she guessed it hadn't changed with the Polyjuice. She couldn't fathom how he'd kept that same funny eye when he transformed.

Or, well, she could, but all conclusions were far too gruesome for her to consider in depth.

"You need to be more assertive."

"What, just start hexing people in the ankles as you do?"

"Yes," Snape retorted. The light brown roots of his hair began to darken and lengthen. "I don't care what you have to do to get those fools out of your way. Do not allow yourself to be separated from your bumbling guardians! If Gaunt gets his hands on you—."

Snape cut himself off, jaw snapping closed like a steel trap, mouth forming a thin, dangerous line.

"How'd you even know I was in trouble? Remus said you weren't gonna be around today."

"I don't report my schedule to you, Potter." He sounded more tired than reprimanding, wincing as the bones in his hands shifted and popped. "And the less those two half-wits know, the better—."

A crimson streak barreled toward the wizard, and he had an instant to form a protective shield, nearly trampling Harriet when the speed of the assault forced him back a step. Another curse sailed in his direction, and Snape flicked it aside.

"Get out of the road before the Muggles see, you addle-brained pillock!" he shouted.

"Who the fuck—?!"

"Padfoot!"

The rapid patter of footsteps preceded the appearance of Sirius, Remus, Elara, and Hermione from around the dowdy bushes lining the adjacent park, Harriet's friends paying little heed to the unfamiliar figure in red as they dashed toward Number Twelve.

"Harriet!" Hermione cried as she reached her, nearly clipping Snape in her haste. "Harriet, what on earth happened? You were right there, and then—."

"Why didn't you use your Atlas?" Elara demanded, glowering at Snape, then at Harriet. "The whole point of us creating it was to use in situations like this!"

"I was going to, but—."

Sirius, following after the witches, pointed his wand at Snape and demanded, "Who are you?"

"Seeing as I'm standing inside the property's wards, who do you think?"

"I said—!"

"Lupin, do call off your mutt before he gets himself hurt."

Either Remus had already guessed Snape's identity, or he presented a calmer front than Sirius, who appeared no happier having learned the truth.

"I thought you were out licking boots today, Snivellus? Your master give you a good kick in your crooked teeth?"

Snape didn't respond. His body started to grow and broaden, so he countered the Transfiguration on his robes, fitted maroon fabric giving way to billowing black cloth. He yanked Gaunt's pin—the eye with the golden serpent surrounding it—from his lapel and stuck it in his pocket as his skin lightened and his face resumed its usual shape.

"For Godric's sake, Sirius," Remus sighed as he crossed the yard, ignoring the two wizards. He set his hand on Harriet's head and brushed back her fringe. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she shrugged. "Just the crowds, you know? I can't move in them."

"We'll have to be more careful in the future."

"See that you are," Snape said, voice cold, brow furrowed. "I haven't time to go collecting children every time you lose them, dog."

"No one fucking asked you!" Sirius yelled. "No one needs you hanging about, Snape!"

The muscles in Snape's jaw flexed and tightened, his brow furrowing as his wand turned toward Sirius' head. At the last second, Harriet's godfather realized the danger and lifted his own wand, his eyes widening, and Harriet grabbed the hands of both of her friends in preparation of ducking for cover.

The door to Number Twelve popped open.

"Gentlemen," Professor Dumbledore greeted in his usual bright disposition, blue eyes taking in the scene. "Perhaps it would be better to postpone this conversation for a better time? Oh, I love a good row on the front step as much as the next wizard, but the wards are not, unfortunately, entirely soundproof."

Begrudgingly, Sirius and Snape lowered their wands, arms moving as if doing so caused physical pain.

"Severus, a word?"

Whatever Dumbledore wished to say to the Potions Master would have to wait because, with a single cutting glance in his direction, Snape shoved his wand into his sleeve, sneered, and Disapparated. The resounding snap echoed in the empty street, and the Headmaster frowned.

"Well, I guess he's not staying for pudding…."

Later, after they'd been pulled into the house and the unfortunate end of an otherwise splendid day had been swept under the rug, Harriet sat at the table eating cake with the dozen or so people who'd come to celebrate her birthday—and she couldn't help but think of the haunted look in Snape's heavy gaze.

He hadn't answered her when she'd asked how he'd known she was in danger. Harriet didn't think he ever would.

A/N:

Remus: "Oh no, we lost Harriet!"

Elara, clearing her throat: "Neville Longbottom is the greatest wizard ever!"

Harriet, in the distance: "LONGBOTTOM IS A TOSSER!"

Remus: "Nevermind."