clxxvi. teenage woes
Sometimes, Harriet thought time had a way of moving too fast and too slow at the same time.
It dripped like heavy syrup, oozing, then pooling in thick layers until it couldn't be displaced. It gathered unseen in all the places she failed to look, then another week passed, and Harriet barely realized a day had come and gone. In the same breath, it felt like one of the longest weeks of her life.
Her resolution to speak with Professor Slytherin wavered from hour to hour, minute to minute. She spent her lessons in a haze of indecision, hashing a Colovaria spell so badly in Transfiguration, McGonagall set her lines during her free period, and she had to apologize to Susan Bones for turning her hair magenta for three days. She blackened her own eye in Herbology with a Bouncing Bulb, and then lost her Streeler in the weeds during Care of Magical Creatures. She kept her head so low in Defense, it barely cleared the desk.
No matter what she'd told Elara, Professor Slytherin terrified Harriet. It was the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes cut and lingered like the edge of a blade braced against skin. Even if he hadn't been her professor, even if she'd never been cursed by him before, Harriet would have seen the bloke in a corridor and given him a wide berth.
There was a part of Harriet she didn't much care to examine that envied Slytherin's frightening mien. It envied him his confidence, his invulnerability, and that part wanted to learn the kind of magic he had bobbing around his head. It wanted to know the spells that could intimidate wizards as strong as Dumbledore or Voldemort himself, no matter the price.
Mostly, though, Harriet didn't want anything to do with Slytherin. She wanted to go to school and learn fascinating magic and be—normal, whatever that meant, though normality had never been an option for her. Voldemort stole that away when he decided to take her parents' lives and make a hash of killing her too.
She'd have to give Slytherin her answer soon. She worried about disappointing Professor Dumbledore or landing herself in a terrible situation. Still, she waffled.
Coward.
Harriet sighed as she continued along the wide steps, scuffing her shoes against the pitted slabs. Livi lifted his invisible head from under the front flap of her cloak, and Harriet felt his nose against her ear. He flicked his tongue, and Harriet flinched, giggling.
"Stop it."
"Misstresss isss quiet," he complained, the brief ripple of black scales gleaming in the warm sunshine before the serpent hid himself again. "Her mind lossst in thought."
"I have a lot to consider," she argued.
"What mussst ssshe consssider?"
"Human things."
An unhappy noise rose from Livi, and Harriet felt his coils pinch against her side as he tightened them. She ignored him for the moment and continued on, crossing the lawn, grass whisking against her ankles as she stepped onto the gravel path by the greenhouses. She kept walking and listening to the magical plants in their enclosures, Professor Sprout humming somewhere in the distance, the laughter of students coming from farther off still, down by the shores of the lake. Finally, Harriet reached the end, where the garden wall didn't rise quite so high, and she stepped over it.
It was quiet there where the woods met the gentle slope of spotty grass beyond the wall, though it wasn't a place people often visited given its general proximity to the compost pile Sprout and Hagrid maintained. That same compost pile provided an excellent hunting area for Livi because of the rodents and pests it attracted. Tasty rats and gnomes lived in the short, bristly shrubbery of the woods.
Harriet dragged herself out of one arm of her cloak, sweating a bit, and started disentangling the heavy snake from her body. Livi made himself visible and leveled a hard, impatient look in her direction.
"I have a choice to make," she confessed to him. "About whether I want to learn magic from a bad wizard or not. He could hurt me if I choose to be his apprentice. But in the long run, I might be hurt more if I choose not to."
It was the kind of higher reasoning Livi didn't fully grasp. "Misstresss will not be hurt," he asserted. "I will bitesss the bad wizard."
"Unfortunately, all my problems won't disappear if you chomp them. And I don't think chomping Professor Slytherin would do anything at all."
Livius clearly disagreed and made an effusive remark to that effect while Harriet lowered him to the ground. She found herself a nice, flat rock to sit on while he went off in search of something to eat, and she watched the last flicker of his spiked tail whisper through the grass. She amused herself with the image of him sneaking up on a gnome colony like a giant monster out of a bad Muggle film.
Muffled complaints rose from her cloak pocket.
"Calm down, calm down," Harriet mumbled, sticking her hand into the wriggling cloth folds. As expected, tiny fangs sank into her skin, and Harriet grunted as she entangled the golem snakes in her fingers and lifted them out.
"Kevin bitesss!"
"Kevin gets left behind next time if he doesn't let go."
The tiny green snake looked up at Harriet, and finally realized he was not attacking a terrible monster. He unlatched his jaw with a pleased hiss, inspecting his new handiwork, plus the minor white scars around her knuckle. She released the golems, and Howard immediately curled himself into a comfortable puddle of yellow coils while Rick attacked a bit of dowdy clover. He bemoaned the bitter flavor.
"Bunch of numpties," Harriet giggled, three curious snouts turning in her direction. She hunched lower and withdrew a single piece of Honeydukes' chocolate, unwrapping the foil to crumble part of it into bits. The chocolate smudged her skin. "Here."
Rick and Kevin jockeyed for position to get their snack first while Howard waited, though Harriet didn't know if that was patience or if Howard simply didn't have a good grasp on what was going on. Either way, she fed him his piece and stroked his scales with a pleased hum.
Harriet slipped the last bite into her own mouth and savored the sweetness melting against her tongue. Her thoughts swirled around one another, worries about Slytherin meshed with upcoming school assignments. She had a project for Ancient Runes, and her less than stellar showing in Transfiguration might result in detention if she didn't pull herself together. The strangeness between her and Snape persisted, even if it'd become more bearable and less tense. She found herself remembering the Dark Mark marring his forearm at odd moments.
Harriet propped her chin on her folded knee and splayed one hand in the grass, Howard coming to rest across her fingers while Kevin reared up and hissed at her thumb. She pretended to attack, wiggling the digit, and he retreated into a patch of dandelions.
"It's just my thumb, dummy. Don't be afraid."
"Kevin isss not afraid! Kevin will…?" Flustered, he poked his nose out from the dense green leaves.
"Kevin will bite?"
"Kevin will bitesss!"
Harriet snorted. "Thought so."
Suddenly, a shadow's cool, amorphous weight fell over her, and Harriet blinked, lifting her head to peer at the black, transparent shape giving her shade.
"Thanks," she said after a pause, feeling the curious pressure of Set's presence buzz against her awareness.
It had been a while since she'd seen Set as anything more than a passing flutter on a wall, or a slight flicker underfoot. It seemed the more Harriet surrounded herself with others, the less space the creature found for himself and the less he appeared. She didn't know if she was happy or sad about that.
Set had been a constant in her childhood, the only friend to a friendless little girl who'd known very little kindness in her life. He'd been good to her, and also cruel—exacting. There was no arguing with an incorporeal shadow creature, and though he'd often acted in Harriet's best interest, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he pushed her in ways she didn't want to go, dragged her bodily if she refused. Sometimes Harriet felt an odd stirring, little bursts of fear like a lighter struggling to ignite in the hollow of her gut. Sometimes Set scared her.
She'd done passive research on what he might be in the past, but with friends like Elara and Hermione, Harriet found it challenging to discover new information without piquing their curiosity. Besides, she'd unearthed very little, and even that minuscule amount had pointed her in less than desirable avenues of thought.
Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, Harriet mused. Never tickle a sleeping dragon. She let the issue lie.
In the present, Harriet dropped her chin back to her knee and chewed on her lower lip, the shadow steady and unmoving overhead. "What should I do?" she asked aloud, though she knew better than to expect an audible response. "Should I give Professor Slytherin my name or not?"
Set didn't answer. He disappeared, the sun returning to shine full bore on her bent neck, and Harriet exhaled through her nose, petting Howard's head. His tongue flicked against her fingertip, quizzical. Kevin and Rick argued in the weeds, the fluffy dandelions nibbled into nothing.
Laughter and the clomp of footsteps startled Harriet, and she looked up in time to catch a glimpse of blonde hair and tanned skin before a trio of older girls came sneaking over the garden wall, freezing when they spotted Harriet. For an awkward second, they all stared at each other as if waiting to see who'd speak first.
"Oh," said the one with long curly blonde hair as she relaxed. "It's just that weird Slytherin fourth-year."
The other two girls laughed in relief, and Harriet bristled. She had to scour her memory to remember the blonde girl was Petunia Squabs, and the shorter witch with brown hair and pink eye shadow was Ursula Hinde, the both of them Hufflepuffs in their seventh year. The third girl with her black hair tied back in a smooth ponytail was Sorrel Fogs, a Ravenclaw in the same year.
"What was your name again?" Squabs asked with a snap of her fingers. Shiny lemon-colored lacquer painted her nails. One of the trio smelled like patchouli and lavender. "Potter, wasn't it?"
"…Yeah." Harriet wondered what in the world they meant by coming to this random hidden location—and then she spotted the rumpled packet poking out of Hinde's jumper pocket. Hinde noticed and stiffened, then smirked as she took the packet out.
"What's the matter, Potter? You want one?"
Harriet scowled at the Muggle cigarettes, then at Hinde. "No."
"Are you sure you don't want to try?" Squabs jeered. Harriet had never liked her simply because her name was Petunia, but she hadn't wanted to throw dirt in her face as much as she wanted to now.
"No, I don't."
"Then get lost." Squabs made a shooing motion and Fogs giggled. "And don't be a nark if you know what's good for you."
"I was here first," Harriet argued. "You go away."
Squabs scoffed. "What are you even doing out here?"
"Probably playing in the dirt," Hinde said as she leaned on the garden wall, fidgeting with the cigarettes. "Filthy cow that she is."
"Seriously, Potter, you've got mud all over your face. Have you ever heard of bathing?"
Harriet glared as they fell into their stupid, breathy laughter again, swiping her sleeve against her cheek. She didn't know when that had happened. She must have touched her cheek after eating the chocolate.
"And look at her hair." Fogs reached out and lightly tugged on a strand, Harriet swatting her hand away. "Do you ever brush it? Or use any kind of product? It's so tangled and dull!"
Harriet's face grew more red as they went on, much to the older witches' amusement. "Leave off," she snapped.
"Not until you go back to your dungeon, little girl." Squabs smiled—an ugly thing that would have made Professor Slytherin proud for all its implied meanness. "Isn't it getting close to curfew for you?"
It wasn't; it was the middle of the afternoon yet, on the weekend, no less. If not for Livius, Harriet would have grabbed her golems and gone on her way to avoid these three bints. Instead, she needed to wait for the Horned Serpent to come back, and the seventh-years needed to be gone by then.
"Are you sure she's a fourth-year, Pet?" Hinde asked. "She's so small; she looks like a firstie." The witch made a gesture with her hand to indicate a flat chest, and Harriet bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet.
"Yes, she hangs out with that Black girl and the buck-toothed cow who's always in the library."
Fogs groaned. "Merlin, I hate her. She's always shushing everyone!"
"At least the pair of them look like they know the right end of a scrub-brush. Or how to use a razor."
Harriet felt the urge to cover what bit of her legs was visible between her socks and the hem of her skirt. With everything on her mind, she hadn't given much thought to shaving or keeping her hair tidy.
"Doesn't your mum teach you anything, Potter? Or is she as manky as you are?"
A tight, painful sting stabbed into Harriet's chest, heat pricking at the back of her eyes. She kept her jaw clenched so tightly it wobbled.
It was Fogs whose pretty face lost its bright, gloating grin first, and her brow furrowed. "Oh, shit," she hissed. "Didn't the Potter family—you know?"
"What?"
Fogs mimicked a half-arsed choking motion and drew her finger across her throat. "During the war?"
An uncomfortable expression crossed Squabs' face, and Harriet thought they might have buggered off right then, scolded by their own faux pas—if Squabs hadn't looked down and seen the snakes coiling about Harriet's ankles. She shrieked and jumped backward.
"Holy Helga! That is so disgusting! Potter, you're such a freak!"
"Ew, are those real?!"
"Are there more around?!"
As the three seventh-years drew back closer to the wall, Harriet crouched and gathered the golems together, hiding them in her cupped hands. "If you don't fuck off," she snarled, voice threadier than she wanted it to be. "I'm going to go find Sprout and tell on you."
Squabs stopped her pointless shrieking and stared Harriet down. It wasn't difficult, considering she had considerable height on the younger witch. "You wouldn't dare. Don't be such a baby."
"She's right over there." Harriet jerked her chin in the direction of the wall and the visible tops of the greenhouses beyond. "I'll tell her you've got contraband."
Hinde seemed to remember the packet of cigarettes in her hand and shoved it out of sight. "Merlin, just let the weird little bitch have the spot," she grumbled. "I am not getting another letter home because she tattled to Sprout."
Put out, the three witches boosted themselves back over the low spot on the garden wall, tossing a few final nasty words for Harriet as they went. Harriet waited until she couldn't hear them anymore before sitting again, the snakes in her hands demanding to be put down so they could play. Harriet did so, but kept her arms folded on her knees.
Once or twice, she rubbed her sleeve against her cheek.
Livi returned ten minutes later, sated and full, oblivious to his mistress' poor mood as he allowed her to gather him up over her shoulders again and tucked himself beneath her loose blouse. As she fixed her cloak in place, Harriet could feel the lazy creature settling in for a nap, and she sighed.
Harriet started back toward the castle, going over the wall, along the gravel path, and across the lawn. She kept her eyes fixed ahead of her all the while, her gait stilted and stiff. She felt keenly aware of her lumpy cloak, the dirt on the hem, scuffs on her shoes, dust on her white socks from clamoring about a dusty castle.
Potter, you're such a freak!
She'd heard it before. She'd heard it more than her own name as a child—so why did it bother her to hear it again?
It doesn't matter. It doesn't.
Stepping inside the castle brought relief from the heat outside, Harriet sidestepping around students lingering in the entrance hall as she headed for the dungeons. She wanted to get out of her extra layers and so rushed toward the dormitories, but had to pass by Snape's office on the way. Unfortunately, the towering berk stood outside the door arguing with Auror Moody, crowding the whole bloody corridor.
"I don't see how it could possibly be pertinent for you to search my office or quarters," Snape sneered, one arm outstretched and resting on the wall as if to bar the gnarled wizard passage. "I've been a respected member of Hogwarts' staff for fourteen years. You have no reason to toss my cell, as it were, Moody."
"I'll be the judge of that," the Auror grunted. "Gotta make sure you're not keeping up old habits, eh, Snape?"
Harriet drew level with the pair and tried to slip past. Moody's hand shot out and startled a squeak from her when he grabbed her shoulder.
"Dumbledore know you've got that snake, girl?"
Shocked, Harriet gawked at the wizard and found his mismatched gaze fixed on her torso. Harriet looked down to see if Livi had revealed himself but saw only the clasps of her black cloak buttoned up to her throat. None of the golems had wriggled out of their pocket.
Snape looked at Harriet as well, annoyed by the intrusion—and then his expression darkened, black eyes sparking like struck flint in the hard angles of his face. He grabbed Harriet by the scruff of her robes.
"Hey—!"
He yanked her behind himself and stepped between her and Moody, Harriet nearly tripping on the long hem of his robes as they eddied around her legs. "Go to your dorm," the Potions Master ordered, jabbing one impatient finger in the direction Harriet had intended to go all along.
"I—."
"Go."
"Yes, sir."
She scuttled without further argument and didn't even pause to look back. Harriet cleared the far corner and missed seeing Snape slam the growling Auror into the wall.
A/N:
Harriet: "I got picked on."
Elara, sharpening a knife: "Show me who."
It wouldn't be a school without a couple of mean older girls to apply some peer pressure.
Also, from Canon: "Nice socks, Potter," Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry's robes.
Listen Moody, Snape is about to throw hands.