Certain Dark Things || Book Five

xix. deorc wendan

Saying goodbye to her friends almost proved too much for Harriet.

She didn't cry because she told herself it wasn't worth wasting the tears over. It frightened her to think of what Slytherin might do without the presence of other students or the Headmaster, but Harriet respected Professor Dumbledore enough to believe when he said Slytherin wouldn't hurt her—or, at least, not hurt her excessively. So Harriet didn't cry when she told her friends and family she had to leave, though it was a very near thing.

Snape didn't speak as they left Grimmauld. He had no scathing comment for her watery eyes or unhappy pout as they passed through the front door and descended the steps, the night hot and humid and miserable around them. They crossed the road in the dark, the streetlights closer to the house all dim and busted, leaving a definite shadow through which they could walk without being readily observed. They reached the park, and Snape encircled her upper arm with his large hand before tugging her into Apparition. Harriet leaned into the feeling and held her breath until she felt solid ground beneath her feet again.

Hogwarts waited beyond the boar-flanked gates, looking glassy and stately, as if a fresh rain shower had given its stone walls a quick wash. Harriet's nerves settled as she looked over the familiar setting, and she didn't hesitate to follow Snape as he opened the locked gates to allow them passage. The crunch of their footsteps was loud over the humming insects and the distant slosh of water against the lakeshore.

"Am I just spending the rest of summer at Hogwarts, then?" Harriet asked, her eyes fixed on the back of Snape's black cloak as he walked ahead of her. She wondered if he ever got hot in that. Cooling Charms only went so far in the height of summer. "You could have said something."

Snape didn't answer her. The locks to the school's main doors thumped like falling hammers as they fell back from their chambers and released the wards, allowing the pair to pass into the foyer. Irked by the Potions Master's silence, Harriet grumbled, "I wouldn't have thrown such a fit if I'd known."

Snape stopped, cloak falling flat against his legs. "Potter," he said, looking ahead. "Mind your impudent tongue."

"What? I was only saying—."

"Not with me. With Slytherin. Do not be disrespectful. Do as he says, then make yourself scarce."

He kept walking, and their path continued to the dungeons, Harriet's lightened trunk thumping on the steps behind her. Well, spending the last month of holiday at Hogwarts meant staying out of Slytherin's way would be easy. He'd probably set her to more bloody studying, and that could be done easily enough anywhere in the castle. Maybe she could visit Hagrid tomorrow or go down to the lake. She wondered if it was warm enough to swim in during the summer, though she couldn't really do more than an awkward paddle.

Snape muttered the password to the common room door, and the wall opened to reveal the entrance. He stepped back to extend his arm, gesturing Harriet to walk ahead of him, and she sighed as she went, bracing herself for what waited inside.

Slytherin sat in his preferred place by the main hearth, the common room dark and desolate aside from the grim, guttering flames ensconced therein. He was writing in a bound leather journal, the pages tipped ever so slightly toward the light, but when they entered, he snapped the journal closed and tucked it inside his robes.

Harriet scratched her neck.

He watched her and Snape with his unyielding red eyes until they stopped by one of the sofas facing his chair, at which point his gaze roved away as if bored and uninterested. "Good evening, Miss Potter."

"Er—hello, Professor."

"Master," he corrected, the word flung sharp as a whip crack, startling Harriet. His head snapped around again to fix her with a glare. "That is my proper form of address."