Certain Dark Things || Book Three

lvii. with avarice

April slipped into May, and May dwindled into June, and before anyone knew any better, exams had been proctored, and it was time again to say goodbye to Hogwarts.

For Harriet, it was the quietest spring term yet, and she liked it just fine. The Dementors departed at last, and the constant fugue that had hung over the school like a funerary shroud dissolved into the morning mist, laughter returning to the halls, flowers blooming on the grounds, small birds taking refuge in the eaves and cozy crevices of the castle. Without the threat of murderous godfathers or worrying about rat-men sneaking into her dormitory, Harriet and her friends could concentrate on their studies, and they did surprisingly well in their classes, considering the distractions.

An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries had appeared and took Hermione's Time-Turner not two days after the incident with Fenrir Greyback. She didn't get in trouble; the experiment had taken possible misuse into account, but she was forced to give up several of her overlapping electives.

"Not that it matters," Hermione had said when she told them over breakfast. "I still have the classes that matter the most to me, and keeping up with all those curriculums was getting tiring."

Harriet did well overall, but she only scraped by with an 'Acceptable' in Astronomy and Divinations. She dithered on whether or not she wanted to continue the latter, having accepted she had no natural inclination for the study. Professor McGonagall had taken her aside to say her 'Exceeds Expectations' in Transfiguration had been earned by the thinnest of margins. She'd need further tutoring in the subject over the summer to stay afloat in future lessons.

Speaking of McGonagall, someone had let slip to the professor that Elara had become an Animagus, and she'd dragged the girl into her office by the ear, giving Elara the tongue lashing of a lifetime. A few favors were called from old pupils and friends in the Ministry, and Elara was registered—discreetly—to avoid possible legal repercussions in the future. McGonagall swore Harriet and Hermione off from attempting anything "half as stupid," and Harriet kept her fingers crossed through the entire lecture.

She hadn't spoken a word to Snape for the whole term.

Harriet didn't know what to say to him, if she should say anything at all, and the Potions Master avoided her like she had a meter stick jammed into his ribs. After finishing the practical, she'd been shocked to see the 'Outstanding' on her exam, and she wondered if Snape had even looked hers over. He spent as much time as possible with his head turned away from Harriet, like she was something unsightly and unspeakable.

Severus Snape was a Death Eater. That was a fact as indelible as the red mark either burned or inked into his pale skin, the mark that Harriet sometimes saw behind her eyelids when she closed them. He'd forced her to look at it, and now the image persisted like the bubblegum Dudley once stuck in her hair; no matter how she tore or picked or yanked at it, it lingered in tacky little pieces.

Severus Snape was a Death Eater.

Harriet pushed the thought away, trying to block it out along with the memory of his gaunt, furious face and glassy eyes. She wasn't stupid; Harriet knew what guilt sounded like, and she knew the person responsible for killing her parents was Voldemort—but to what extent was Snape culpable in that? What was she supposed to feel?

When asked—without mentioning Snape's name—Mr. Flamel told her, "Sometimes you must judge a person by their current actions, not by what they did before. Every man has a past he must live with the best way he can."

But what did that mean for Harriet? Or Snape? The feeling of hurt and betrayal wouldn't leave all these weeks later, nor would the memory of black wool abrading her cheek, the weight of a solid arm, a presence between herself the open maw of a ravening werewolf.