the storm comes

Harriet twisted the silver ring around and around her middle finger.

"What if no one shows up?" she wondered aloud, chewing on her bottom lip. It felt as if she'd paced from one end of the Aerie to the other, but she hadn't left that room. Hermione and Elara sat at one of the tables, the latter flicking through the Daily Prophet, the former resting her eyes. It was Krum, slouched into one of the low lounge chairs with extra cushioning, that answered her.

"You vorry too much," he grumbled, sounding half asleep, dawn only having passed an hour or so before. "They vill come."

"But what if they don't?" Harriet reiterated. "They're late, and no one's here."

She'd wondered if people would want to continue their lessons with the Coven once classes went back to normal. Without Umbridge present to breathe down their professors' necks, the usual lesson plans had been resumed. Harriet had thought she'd welcome the change—but now she felt anxious and adrift. She hadn't realized how much she looked forward to the Coven meetings.

"You vere tutoring long before there vas the Coven," Krum reminded her, shifting in his seat. "I have a feeling you vill be tutoring long after there is not a Coven."

Harriet turned to frown at the older wizard. He still made her somewhat uneasy, but usually only when she spotted him in unexpected places. Her nerves always jumped before she forced herself to relax. "What does that mean?"

Krum didn't explain himself—and Harriet didn't have time to pester him into answering. The first students finally came trotting into the hall, out of breath and panting, one holding a stitch in her side.

"The Inquisitorial Squad hasn't disbanded," Hestia Carrow informed her. "They've made a rotation to stake out the Moon Mirrors and chase anybody off from using them."

Harriet's brow furrowed.

From the table, Hermione voiced a question they'd all been wondering. "Why on earth haven't they disbanded? There's no reason for them to continue meeting without that horrid woman in the castle."

More students started to arrive with similar stories of how they had to run from the Inquisitors or dash to reach empty Mirrors. None of this sat well with Harriet, but what could she do? Now that study groups weren't banned, perhaps a word with the Heads of Houses or even the Headmaster could call the Inquisitorial Squad off from harassing suspected coveners. Otherwise, she didn't have the authority to tell off other students for having their own group, even if she disagreed with them.

But what are they after? What are they planning?

Harriet put the issue from her mind for the moment and started the lesson, welcoming everyone back before they delved into a review for last term. Everything went swimmingly, aside from Esther Gamp accidentally setting Andrew Saxby ablaze. Harriet was quick with a water Charm, and Hermione kept a jar of burn creme on hand, so Harriet still counted that as a win.

Then, it was time for their session to come to an end, as classes would be beginning soon, and the professors were bound to notice such a large chunk of students missing from breakfast. Harriet and her friends bowed their heads over their Atlases to inspect the castle's outer corridors.

"We need to go through these ones here," Hermione said, which earned a round of groans. "I know, I know they're out of the way, but they're not being watched…."

Harriet tuned out the complaining, her gaze fixed on her Atlas. She stared at the dot labeled 'Accipto Lestrange' as it wandered a corridor on the fifth floor. Harriet wouldn't have found that extraordinary, except for the fact that there were no mirrors in that area. No Moon Mirrors, no other Inquisitorial twats, and she knew Lestrange had Herbology for his next class.

What is he doing?

So, while the others headed off for class, Harriet went to find a free Mirror closest to that area of the castle—armed with her Atlas and her wand at the ready. She didn't run into trouble, not now that most everyone had to be somewhere, but she remained cautious as she approached the corridor Lestrange had been lingering in. She waited, watching the Atlas, until he rounded the far corner. Harriet pressed herself against the wall and peeked into the corridor.

Nothing out of the ordinary waited there—a few shelves and cabinets, a gallery of rather plain portraits, a collection of bland, mundane mirrors, and a dented suit of armor. Harriet walked forward, her footsteps cushioned by a drab carpet, her eyes darting this way and that to inspect her surroundings. Sunlight came through the windows, and torches sprung to life, providing ample illumination. She opened a door, found a broom closet, then opened another, exposing an empty classroom.

He had to have been in this corridor for thirty minutes. Why…?

"Oi," she said, prodding one of the portraits. The old man in it snorted, coming awake. "Did any of you lot notice what that boy was doing here?"

"Boy?" he echoed, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, a boy. Older than me. Wears a headband over his fat forehead."

"Mmm, can't say I've seen anybody matching tha' description," the portrait replied, still sounding half asleep. "Mind, little lass like you shouldn't be out chasin' boys. Quite unseemly, tha'."

Harriet rolled her eyes and turned away, stumped. She studied the Atlas again and saw Lestrange now moving quickly toward the greenhouses.

Strange, she thought, but Harriet couldn't fathom a reason for loitering there. Maybe he just wanted somewhere quiet. Still….

She cast a final, lingering look around the corridor, her mouth pulled into a suspicious frown, then left.

xXx

"Look at the ruddy price on these!" Harriet gasped, holding aloft a brightly wrapped package of fudge. "Merlin's arse! Four Galleons?!"

"Will you knock it off?" Elara complained as she jerked Harriet's arm down. "You're raining crumbs on me."

"Aw, but it's balancing out your saltiness."

"I will hex you, Harriet Potter."

Honeydukes was packed with students who'd had the same idea as Harriet and her friends. The first available trip to the village after the holiday ended usually meant finding excellent discounts on most everything in Hogsmeade—but this trip, Harriet discovered the opposite to be true.

Hermione tugged on her scarf, studying a row of price tags glued to various jars of humming gumballs. "These prices are rather steep," she remarked. "It was the same in Scrivenshaft's and Tomes and Scrolls. Half their shelves were bare."

A hand landed on Harriet's head, and she startled, dropping the fudge. "Bloody hell…."

"Mind yourself there, Potter," Fred Weasley said with a grin, ruffling her hair. George crouched to help her clean up the mess before the shop owner noticed and kicked them out. "We heard you lovely ladies talking about the prices."

Hermione's mouth formed a thin, disapproving line, and she shrugged off George's arm when he rose to lean on her. "Yes, and?" she said. "You shouldn't be eavesdropping, but surely you've noticed it as well."

"'Course we noticed. It's the price of material, Granger. It's been getting scarcer and scarcer and more and more expensive."

George nodded along with his brother. Harriet stared at the split package in her hands and wondered if it was still edible. "We've been feeling the pinch, too. We've cut back on our experiments. Can't exactly afford to keep wasting products if we want to open our shop after graduation."

Elara rolled her eyes. "Exactly what the world needs. Yet another joke shop."

"There's the spirit, Black!"

Hermione looked between the twins, then back to the shelves. "Surely with Bones in office now, prices will adjust? She means to open more avenues for international trade and to extend our access to Muggle goods."

"Mmm, in theory, yeah," Fred told her. "But Dad's saying that kind of stuff takes time. There are a lot of bans on individual items, then bans on trades, then bans on possession, and Dad said it all has to be repealed through voting. They can't swoop in and do a total overhaul in one go."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, so Harriet diverted her attention away from the subject. "Nice day in the village, innit?" she said, voice raised to drown out any protests. "I was worried there'd be another blizzard and we'd all be stuck inside again."

"I'm surprised they let you out at all," George commented, grinning. "They're not worried you'll get snatched off the streets again like a lost kitten?"

"Don't say again—it was a platform in London, not Hogsmeade," Harriet huffed. Her cheeks warmed. "And don't put that thought out there, Merlin. It'll manifest or something. I think McGonagall considered giving me a detention so I'd have to stay in, and I really needed to come to the shops today."

"What's the urgency for?"

"She needs to buy a Yule gift for Slytherin," Elara answered before Harriet could, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smug smirk. "I told you to do so before. Now he's unhappy."

Harriet's face scrunched in disgust. "I don't want to get him anything. But he's been—pouting, I guess you'd call it."

"'Pouting'?" Fred and George echoed. "Slytherin?"

"Yeah. He gets passive-aggressive and mentions how good apprentices pay homage to their masters and all that rot." Harriet sighed. "He's just a mooch. I'll buy him something pricey and he'll shut up."

Their group moved out of Honeydukes, Harriet paying for the dropped fudge, deciding it was fine even if some had touched the floor. Hermione looked disgusted.

"Hey, Potter?" George asked as they walked onto the main street, careful of the ice slicking the pavement.

"Yeah?"

"What's he like in private? Slytherin?"

"Uh…." They stepped off the kerb onto the cobbled lane, passing another group of students on their way to the Three Broomsticks. Cengor Pendarves walked with his date, seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect Lubena Zinovac, up the other side of the street, and Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson stood outside Spintwiches, admiring the window display. "He's not all the different than he is public, I guess."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He tries to be—I dunno how to say it. Nice? But it's not really nice at all." Harriet reflected on her private meetings with Professor Slytherin, concentrating on those times between lectures and lessons when he wasn't trying to force knowledge into her skull. "He's cold. He pretends, but it's obvious he doesn't care about anybody but himself, and he can be…cruel. Very cruel. If I didn't have something he wanted, he wouldn't know I existed."

George peered down at her, brushing snow from his hair. "What does he want from you, then?"

"I don't know."

They had only just reached the door of Gladrags Wizardwear when the screaming shouted.

Harriet whipped around, eyes wide, ignoring the cold air that cut across her face and how Elara's gloved hand suddenly gripped her forearm. All along the street, students and village residents alike stopped what they were doing to look toward the square, the place where the screaming echoed from. It didn't take long for people to start running, and Harriet finally caught a glimpse of black robes rippling against a sudden gout of flame. It was definitely produced from a wand.

"Wh—what is that? What's happening?" Hermione stuttered, dropping her paper shopping satchel. "Harriet—?"

Harriet grabbed a hold of George's arm, shaking him from his startled staring. "Go to the castle," she snapped at him, his brow jumping. "Apparate to the gates, and run for the castle. Get the Headmaster."

"Potter—."

"Go, George!"

He didn't hesitate for any longer, and already Harriet had moved on to Fred. One of the roofs across the way smoked under a hailstorm of spitting embers. "Grab Pendarves and Zinovac!" she told him, jabbing a finger toward the other pair across the lane. They had the sense to have taken out their wands, but appeared confused on what to do. "Find younger students and get them to the Floo in the Three Broomsticks! Stay out of sight!"

He jerked a hasty nod and darted across the street. Harriet didn't wait to see how Pendarves or Zinovac reacted, hoping they'd been to enough of the Coven meetings to trust Harriet's judgment. She grabbed Hermione and Elara and yanked them toward the closest alley.

"Harriet, what are you doing?" Elara demanded.

They paused on the next street, a narrower lane with less popular shops and a few houses. Harriet flicked her wrist, grabbing her wand as it slipped from her brace.

"Dervish and Banges is this way," she explained, swallowing the sudden dryness in her mouth. "Most of the third-years hang out there on the village trips."

"No," Elara argued, grabbing her arm again. Harriet pulled herself free. "No. We need to get you to the Three Broomsticks!"

"We don't know what's happening," Harriet argued. "We don't know if this is an attack or how many there are. We have to warn them."

"Damn it all, Harriet. What if they're here for you?!"

"Not everything is about me!" she shouted. "We have to do something! Hurry!"

Elara didn't argue more, whether because she agreed or because she knew she'd never get Harriet to follow her, it didn't matter. The taller witch turned into her Animagus form, and the trio rushed up the street—unfortunately needing to run closer to where the echoing booms and shouts emanated from. Harriet thought she heard laughter.

They passed a witch in maroon robes, half-buried in the snow, her throat split in a dark, crimson line. Tears tracked down Hermione's face as Harriet forced her to keep running.

She saw Dervish and Banges ahead of them, a narrow two-up, two-down with tall, garishly lit windows in the front that had many small, curious faces pressed to the glass. Harriet was the first to crash through the door, and she snarled, "Get away from the windows!" at the line of little twits.

They gasped, but they didn't need further prompting to retreat, their eyes wide and frightened. Harriet spotted Gabriel Flourish and Walt Murton among their number, plus several other Coven members like Hardik Tandel, Rose Zeller, and a terrified Astoria Greengrass. The little blonde girl grasped onto the hand of her older sister like it was a lifeline.

"Daphne," Harriet said, out of breath. "Get them back, behind the shelves, out of sight."

The shop owner approached them—an older wizard with graying sideburns and a color-changing tie. "What is happening?" he asked in a dry, cracking voice. "We heard explosions and thought they must be fireworks going off at old Zonko's place, but then the smoke appeared, and there were folks running…."

"There's been an attack," Elara informed him, having resumed her normal shape. Hermione helped Daphne urge the younger students farther from the entrance. Harriet stared out the door, easing it closed until it offered only a narrow vantage of the street beyond. "We don't know by who, but someone's been sent to notify the Headmaster."

The man seemed mollified by the mention of Dumbledore. "But there's Aurors posted all over the village!"

"I think they've been killed," Harriet told him, and he gasped, pressing a wizened hand to his chest. "I don't think it's safe to take this lot all the way back to the Three Broomsticks. Do you have an open Floo?"

"Not here, no."

Harriet didn't curse, but it was a near thing. Her palms felt sweaty, and her pulse raced with fear. Over fifteen people stood in that shop, their eyes on her, waiting to be told what to do. What if she was wrong? What if she didn't do the right thing? She couldn't be responsible for this many people—.

Movement on the street caught her eye.

A tall, burly wizard in flowing black robes sauntered by the shop from the direction of the square. Though she didn't know what to make of him, Harriet gestured for her friends and the shop owner to step back out of sight. The owner doused the lights with a wave of his wand.

"Quiet," she muttered, and the scant whispering shared between the younger students fell silent. Harriet all but held her breath as she pressed closer to the cracked open door, watching the street beyond.

The wizard kept walking, moving at a leisurely pace, his body angled in such a way that his face stayed hidden. He wore his hood and black gloves—but that wasn't terribly unusual at this time of year. It wasn't until he lifted his wand to fire a Blasting Curse at a woodshed that Harriet realized he wasn't some poor bloke caught out on his afternoon stroll. He passed by the shop—.

Harriet kicked open the door.

"What are you—?!"

She flicked her wand, putting power behind the motion. "Stupefy!"

The spell caught the wizard unawares, and he fell in a heap onto the cobblestones. His wand slipped from his fingers and rolled toward the gutter.

Everyone in the shop held their breaths.

Her hands buzzed with nervous, anxious energy as Harriet eased the door open wider. She let out a slow, hazy gust of air through her nose as she stepped out of Dervish and Banges, glancing up and down the street. It was empty.

"Harriet…?"

She tightened her grip on her wand as she took another step forward, her gaze fixed on the wizard. She entered the uncovered lane.

"Harriet!"

Hermione's frightened voice barely rose above the patter of falling snowflakes and the distant sound of spellfire crashing through the tightly packed buildings. Harriet held her wand ready as she reached the wizard's side, and she delivered a hard kick to his arm, rolling him to his back so she could see his face.

The visage of a bone-white mask greeted her, and a terrified chill chased itself up Harriet's spine.

It was a Death Eater.

xXx

Slytherin found them twenty minutes later.

He cast one bored, indolent look over the Death Eater crumpled in the snow and waved his hand, conjuring ropes to bind him. Aurors crawled over the village like a troop of fire-ants, appearing at the mouth of every alley in their maroon robes, searching for more Dark Wizards. Slytherin turned to watch them as he stood on the front step of Dervish and Banges. He didn't look around when Harriet eased the door open again.

"There's been an attack," he said, voice cold and unamused. Two Aurors rushed over to apprehend the unconscious Death Eater.

"Err, yeah?" Harriet replied, wondering why Slytherin was stating the obvious. He didn't usually do that.

His narrowed eyes cut toward her, a sliver of red glaring through his thick lashes. "Not here, dear apprentice," he drawled in answer. His wand twirled through his pale, bony fingers. Harriet's heart stuttered in her chest. "There's been an attack on Azkaban prison. The prisoners have been freed."

A/N:

Harriet: "I got you a gift, Master."

Slytherin: *accepts package* "Oh?"

Harriet: "It's definitely not floor fudge."

Slytherin: "…"