Certain Dark Things || Book Three

xl. 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.