Certain Dark Things || Book Two

xxxix. changing skins

Despite the worry and trepidation hanging around the castle like dark clouds in the air, Harriet couldn't deny Hogwarts was beautiful at this time of the year.

Snow blanketed the grounds, and all around them, the highlands slumbered beneath the crisp white sheet and the trees swayed dark and solemn, the lake a solid, gleaming sheet of hoary ice. Icicles clung to the eaves, growing along the ramparts, and whenever one fell, it dissipated into a fuzzy swarm of magic and frost, fogging the windows and the unawares in dewy drafts. Hagrid dragged pine trees into the Great Hall and the professors decorated them with magic and delicate things, fairies hiding in the needles, their giggles seeming to follow Harriet wherever she went, fairy dust sprinkled on her shoulders and in her hair. A Yule Log burned in the Hall's hearth, Charmed to remain until the hols came to an end.

She enjoyed herself more than she had the year prior, simply because Elara was there with her. They snuck back and forth from Myrtle's loo with her Invisibility Cloak and hid in Harriet's trunk to pore through Hermione's exhaustive Polyjuice research. In direct contrast to Professor Slytherin's orders, the Headmaster had Snape come drag them out of the dungeons if they spent too long down there alone, and so the pair of witches went exploring, enjoying the library, or avoiding the Defense teacher. They did homework in the Great Hall by the fire and oftentimes a professor would come sit with them to help or chat.

On Christmas Day—or, well, the day of the Solstice—Harriet woke to find a smattering of gifts left on the foot of her bed, an occurrence that would never cease to surprise the bespectacled girl. Elara had the same assorted collection of presents, though she was far less enthused when poked away by her dormmate only an hour or so past dawn.

"Harriet, I'm going to murder you."

"Murder me after we open gifts, c'mon!"

They sat in their nightgowns with their coverlets pulled up around their shoulders to ward off the dungeons' chill and started in on their presents. Harriet received the same thoughtful, if trivial, trinkets from the old families, including another packet of parchment with her family crest from the House of Black. From Elara personally, she unwrapped a pretty, deep violet quill that shimmered with silver threads when she brought it up to her eyes.

"It's made from an Occamy's feather," the other witch explained as she prised open a Transfigured box. "It's for letter writing. Oh—are these gloves, Harriet?"

"Yeah! I ordered them for you. They're supposed to feel more...what's the word? Tactile? And they're water-repelling."

"Thank you." Elara pulled the black gloves on over her pale, slim hands.

"Hermione got me a kit for my broom, excellent."

"Did Malfoy send you anything?"

"His family—or his mum did, at least. Chocolate Frogs."

Harriet picked up one of her final gifts, a sizable, lumpy parcel wrapped in butcher paper and twine. She recognized the writing on the card, and hummed thoughtfully, wondering what it could be. "I got something from Mr. Flamel and his wife."

"What is it?"

The paper tore, and heavy, cool fabric puddled in Harriet's hands. "I think they're robes." They were black in color with fine, silver threads at edges and a silk, sage-colored lining.

"Go on, try them on."

Unearthing herself from the blankets and strewn packaging, Harriet got to her feet and tried to find where the robes opened. Wizarding fashion could be funny in its design. "Why are they so big?"

"You're putting them on wrong."

"No, I'm not. Look—." As soon as she stepped into the robes and pushed her skinny arms through the overly large sleeves, the fabric came alive and swaddled her, scaring a high-pitched yelp out of Harriet. The cloth drew itself snug about her frame, sleeves shortening and tightening, sash cinching tight as a silver brooch snapped shut on her shoulder, closing the front. The startled witch stood still, arms held out, and waited to see if the robes would move again.