By the time her crush on Ron resolved itself back into the easygoing rhythm of friendship, Harriet figured she had a thing for tall people.
That would actually make a lot of sense. Harriet had already accepted that she would always be petite (short, Hermione would scoff. Really short), so she would need someone taller to balance the whole thing. Ron had looked at her with large shocked eyes when she had shyly kissed him on the cheek near the lake and stammered something along the lines of you're like my sister, that would be sort of wrong.
Hermione had found Harriet curled up in her bed in the sixth-year girl's dorm, scowling at the soft hangings of the four-poster.
"Move over," she'd ordered and when Harriet didn't move, she'd used her bare foot and shoved hard at Harriet's hip to make space.
"He's a git," Harriet said and rubbed at her eyes underneath her glasses as Hermione curled into her side. The scar on her forehead showed only briefly as she brushed her hands through dark waves. "I mean. I really like him."
"He's a good friend, Harri," Hermione admonished. "He'd never be with you for your name. He just wants to protect you. Not like those...others."
Harriet had glared at her. There weren't a lot of others. Just tall ones, like Seamus, who didn't know how to keep his damned mouth shut. Ginny had had to hex him when they'd broken up and he'd gone around telling people that the Girl-Who-Lived also gave fantastic head. Harriet loved her for that, so very much. Katie Bell, on the other hand, knew how to keep everything under lock and key and it would have worked out very nicely--if she hadn't kept spoiling the whole mood with hasty whispers of you won't tell anyone about this? and oh, god, that shouldn't feel so good. Katie was slender and felt so nice under Harriet's fingers, but she was too nervous and that usually made Harriet grumpy.
"I'm a marked woman," she'd declared to Hermione, who huffed. "No-one will want me for me."
"Stop acting so melodramatic," Hermione had said. "You know I hate it when you do that. You sound like Malfoy during Arithmancy."
She'd gotten over it, because that was just how Harriet Potter was. She was everyone's little heroine and she had long resigned herself to her fate. It hurt only a little to go to classes and Quidditch practice with Ron and have him throw her a crooked, awkward smile; but resilience was her middle name (it was actually Lilliane) and after she had smiled back at him easily and chattered with him about strategy, it had been more relaxed between them after that.
He'd even been so pleased with their victory over Slytherin in the second game of the school-year, that he'd picked her up and spun her around in a circle as soon as she landed, just like he used to before she'd tried a move. Harriet still had the Snitch struggling in her fist and her broom clutched in her other hand; she shrieked when Ron twirled her, the round frames of her glasses pressing against her face.
"Ron! I'm sweaty!"
"Oh man, that bitch Malfoy!" Ron roared, ignoring Harriet's protests. "I'm sure she nearly knocked you off your broom on that last pass! That was a foul, Harri, she used her knees and you know it--"
"It wasn't a foul," a cool voice came from behind them, carrying clearly over the celebratory shouts of Gryffindors. "That was a fair play and how dare you call me that, you bottom-feeder."
Harriet peeked over Ron's shoulder into Malfoy's slim haughty face. It was really a pity Malfoy was a bitch and a Slytherin. She was tall, with legs that went on forever; not to mention that hair.
"Not many people can pronounce DrahomÃra, dear," Harriet said with sugary contempt as Ron released her to face Malfoy. "So we'll just have to stick with bitch."
"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy said with freezing grace. "You wouldn't understand the delicacy of a name like mine, so kindly keep it out of your cock-sucking mouth." She spun on her heel, snapping at the rest of her team, leaving Harriet to splutter in outrage. Ron shook his head.
"Merlin, seriously, she's hot. But as a bitch extraordinaire, she'd take my balls off," he remarked and Harriet had to laugh at his bemused expression.
Harriet thought that with all the grief Malfoy gave her (Why, Potter, did you wake up ugly this morning?), she'd be happy to be rid of the Slytherin Ice Queen. As it was, when she went missing near the end of the school year, during a leisurely walk to Hogsmeade, Harriet was deeply rattled. There was something comforting about having Malfoy around to nettle and be nettled. Now, as she watched the Slytherins poke listlessly at their breakfasts, she was forcibly reminded that she had a duty. Everyone was depending on her.
"Do you think she went to join Him?" Hermione muttered under the constant clinking of the forks against the white plates that had the Hogwart's crest set right in the middle of them. Harriet shrugged and touched the tines of her fork to the slim gold line that separated the lion from the snake, pushing aside some scrambled eggs. Surprisingly, it was Ron that answered.
"I don't think so. I don't know why I do," he clarified at Hermione's raised eyebrows. "But she just didn't give me that vibe, as evil as she is. Besides, look at Parkinson."
Harriet snuck a look from under her lashes and was shocked to see how drawn Parkinson's face appeared. She was regarding her food as if it had turned to sand in her mouth; Zabini snuck his arm around her shoulders. Parkinson leaned into the comforting embrace, her face contorting. For the first time, Harriet saw them not as nasty, back-biting sneaks; but here was a girl worried over her best friend. Harriet felt the weight on her shoulders press down a little more and she put down her fork, taking a drink of juice to get rid of the lump in her throat.
"Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall intoned sharply behind them and they all jumped. "The Headmaster would like to see you before your first class."
"Yes, Professor," Harriet replied meekly, getting up and trying to ignore the hopeful gleam in Parkinson's eyes.
The Headmaster steepled his fingers and tapped them against his pursed lips. Standing beside him, Professor Snape glowered at Harriet, who resisted the urge to squirm and adjust her skirt under her robes. The skirt could have been a little short for regulation, but Harriet hadn't seen the need to have new ones made when these still fit. She supposed that the frugality instilled in her by living with the Dursleys went pretty deep.
"Harriet," Headmaster Dumbledore finally addressed her and Harriet focused on him gratefully. "I know this is a delicate subject, but I must ask: Have you had any visions from Voldemort recently? Especially any one concerning Miss Malfoy?"
"No sir," she responded. "It's been almost too quiet."
Professor Snape looked ready to strangle her. His long thin fingers clenched rapidly and he actually took a step towards where she sat in the squashy armchair. Harriet tensed and sat up in challenge.
"Don't let your petty arguments get in the way of her life, Potter," Snape spat and Harriet bounced up out of her seat. Really, Hermione was right about her temper.
"I'm not! I'm worried about her too," she cried and wrapped her arms around herself. "She was never my enemy."
"Oh. So wonderfully demonstrated by the hair-pulling episode last week," Snape said dryly and Harriet closed her eyes for a moment.
"Not like Voldemort. She never killed my parents or tried to kill me. She was just...Malfoy."
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore said warning as the Snape opened his mouth for another attack. "I believe that Harriet knows nothing. Thank you, my dear."
Harriet stood up and gave them a questioning look.
"Sir, will... will the Order be trying to get her back?"
"If I knew where she was," Dumbledore responded wearily. "I would go there myself."
Really, Harriet, she could almost hear Hermione admonish. Were you ASKING to be kidnapped?!
"Oh, shut up," Harriet muttered, trying to wish the throbbing headache away. She really didn't know what happened. One minute she had been walking arm-in-arm with Hermione and Ron, the three of them lagging behind the large group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws coming back from a Hogsmeade outing. Her scarf had unwrapped itself from around her neck in a sudden strange gust of wind and she had darted out from between the two, ignoring their sudden cries as she snatched the offending material out of a low branch. When their yells had become more frantic, she had turned to look at them quizzically. The last thing she remembered before a large hand closed over her eyes was the panicked expression on Ron's face as he rushed in her direction.
"Urgh," she groaned and rolled on the large bed she lay in. She lay on her stomach for a little bit and then rocked back to rest on her heels, feeling nauseous. She looked down herself and was shocked to see she was only dressed in a long dark-grey shift without sleeves, her wand nowhere to be found. She folded her arms against her chest and grasped the small golden pendant that she wore all the time, a little stag that Ron and Hermione had bought for her. Harriet squeezed it and hoped that the homing charm had activated.
"I don't think it will work," Malfoy said with forced calm from where she was sitting in the shadows. "The wards won't allow it."
Harriet stared at her. She was sitting at the head of the bed, gathered up into herself tightly, arms wrapped around knees. Her hair, usually caught up in a severe knot in the nape of her neck, was loose and soft around her face. The dim candle-light around them flickered, making her grey eyes molt into gold and revealing that she was wearing the same get-up as Harriet.
"You're alive," Harriet said a little breathlessly, crawling towards her and Malfoy's delicate features twisted. "What is it? What's the matter?"
"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Shut up, you wouldn't understand--"
"What wouldn't I understand? Where are we?" Harriet looked around and saw no doorway; just a tall square room with stone walls and narrow windows set almost at the level of the ceiling. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the space.
"We're in a hidden castle, Lescudjack," Malfoy said in a low voice. "In Penzance."
Harriet felt herself go pale. Penzance was about as far as one could get on the UK mainland without falling off into the sea; the distance from Hogwarts was immense. Malfoy seemed to be on the brink of tears and without thinking, Harriet reached out a trembling hand; to her surprise, Malfoy reached out a corresponding one, lacing their fingers together tightly. Her hands, always delicate and well-groomed, were scarred, a few fingernails blackened. Harriet stared at them, feeling ill.
"We'll get out soon," Harriet promised, switching her gaze to Malfoy's face. "Don't worry."
"Potter, always with the stupid hope. It won't be soon enough," her companion replied in a dark whisper. "There's a ritual tonight and he's going to--" She gasped and pulled her hand away, and Harriet turned her head, tossing her hair out of her eyes impatiently. A line glowed in the middle of the wall directly opposite to the bed, widening to a tall rectangle. The bright light faded within it and Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, giving Harriet an appraising glance.
"So good to see you awake, Miss Potter," he smirked at her. "We're happy to have you here."
"The feeling's so not mutual," Harriet ground out, the pain that had been a low mutter in her scar now a full scream as soon as the doorway had been opened. Lucius laughed cheerily and they both backed up as he advanced on them.
"Come, Draza, my darling," he said smoothly and Malfoy twitched.
"You're not allowed to call me that anymore," she replied, her face pressed into her arms. Her hair fell in a light waterfall around her bent knees; even so, her voice sounded imperious. Unyielding. "Papa, I don't want to go."
"It's not a matter of what you want or not, DrahomÃra," Lucius snapped, pulling out his wand. "It's really all about what you're contributing to our Lord. Accio daughter," he said coolly. Harriet cried out and lunged for Malfoy as she slid along the length of the bed, grabbing her wrists and holding on tight. Malfoy twisted in her grasp, trying to pull herself back towards Harriet, when Lucius made a slicing motion with his wand and Malfoy was ripped from her hands. Draza's screams were cut off as her father put her into a full-body bind; Harriet scrambled off the bed and rushed to the doorway behind them, bouncing painfully off some invisible blockade.
"Let her go!" Harriet screamed, pounding her small fists against the barrier and watching as Lucius levitated his daughter down a dank corridor.
"Have no fear, little dark lovely," Lucius threw back, his dark robes almost blending in perfectly with the surroundings. "In a few days, it will be your turn."
Harriet was forced back as the stones materialized into place, shouting until her throat was raw.
Notes: This is the first of three chapters, to be posted within the coming week. I hope its not too weird so far!
It had been written for a fanart I had seen on livejournal [NC-17, NWS (remove the spaces in the link and it should work): http // blue-onion . livejournal. com / 11379. html
The title is taken from a Sarah McLachlan song, Ice Cream: it's a long way down to the place where we started from. I honestly cannot tell you why I chose that lyric. All I know is that I really like that song.