Certain Dark Things || Book Five

xxviii. summer's end

Summer waned with predictability, though every day crept by like a Thestral with a broken leg for Harriet.

Slytherin allowed for minimal downtime at the Tor. What time she did get to herself, Harriet spent trapped in her room, having had one too many close calls with the other resentful residents. Mirthcut and Bonespell had formed an alliance or come to an agreement, and both were keen to either make her look like a fool, discredit her in front of her Master, or see her fall into a very deep ditch. When not in her room, Harriet was with Slytherin studying or listening to him drone on like a particularly dull documentary—a documentary that wouldn't hesitate to cuff her about the ears if he thought she needed the reminder to listen. He taught her about runes and the fundamentals of magic, taking full advantage of the Tor and the equipment of its master runecrafter. The Sangforts hovered in the background all the while, strangers in their own home.

Every minute in the house sank into Harriet like teeth biting harder and harder, fangs grating against her spine, piercing her neck. She couldn't relax. Hugh struggled with breaching the wards, so letters between her and her friends were sparse. Livi and the golems provided a measure of company, but she worried Slytherin would overhear her speaking Parseltongue and investigate. Harriet refused to talk with Snape or appear friendly, conscious of the eyes that followed her wherever she went. She tried concentrating on her work, and it left her stressed and annoyed more often than not.

Slytherin didn't allow Harrie to see him casting very often. He pushed her into a mock duel two or three times, always without warning and always in the dead of night. The duels never lasted long, only long enough for Slytherin to see if Harriet had grasped the material—though Harriet did everything she could remember every second spent at the end of his wand. That was why she was there, after all. She would learn Slytherin's weaknesses, and she was determined to figure out something before summer ended.

Unfortunately, Harriet didn't find anything of value. She did, however, have a great deal of information about runes shoved into her skull, and she applied them in her everyday spellcraft, suddenly conscious of how different strokes of the wand invoked different symbols, how incorrect motions damaged the intent or slowed how the magic flowed. She'd sit at her desk in her borrowed room when she couldn't sleep and start experimenting with new ways to cast spells and how matching the wand's motion to a certain rune changed it. Once or twice, a fire resulted from her midnight experimentation, but nothing else of note went wrong.

She hated when Slytherin taught her something useful or clever. It made her feel bad for using it.

Her Master said nothing about Hogwarts the closer September crept, ignoring her tentative inquiries about school supplies or going bloody home. Harriet's nerves twisted with every brush off until she felt like an absolute wreck, worried he'd keep her there indefinitely and she'd die buried under a mountain of dusty, dry books on bloody runes. However, on the morning before September first, Snape woke Harriet at dawn and told her to pack. Slytherin had finally released her and hadn't had the patience or good manners to come tell her himself.

Harriet didn't care. She could have jumped for joy as they set off from the Tor, and its eerie, menacing silhouette fell at their backs, Snape sweeping along the path at her side. It vanished into the morning mist, and they continued alone through the forest, Harriet's shoulders loosening for the first time in a month as she dragged her floating trunk behind her.

"I'll be returning you to your merry band of misfits in Diagon Alley," Snape told her, breaking the quiet. "I assume Slytherin will inform you of your intended schedule after the Welcoming Feast, but don't put it past him to do so that evening. His hours are unpredictable."

"Yeah, I know." She'd spent more than one night trapped at a desk while Slytherin lectured by moonlight, the night hours ticking by.

"Don't forget the apprenticeship cords with your uniform tomorrow. He will take it as an insult if you do."