Title From X Ambassador's "Torches". Source material belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not just playing fast and loose with canon anymore, but completely rewriting it. This work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

She'd turned an ugly side table into a cradle only moments after she had swept in the door, and now the baby was lying in it, still wrapped in Andromeda's snow-speckled coat. She was awake, fingers curling as she reached for Andromeda, but silent like a tomb. She hadn't made a single sound, not since Andromeda had heard the whimpering and pulled open the cupboard door.

Lily's eyes were like an accusation in that tiny, filthy face. Andromeda put her hand to her mouth and stepped away.

Behind her, a little voice said, "Mumma?"

"Go back upstairs, Dora," Andromeda said tiredly. "It's after your bedtime."

"But there's a baby," Dora said in her bossy voice. "My baby. I want to see her."

A bark of laughter came out before Andromeda could stop it, and she turned. Dora was pouting, and had her arms up to be lifted. Andromeda scooped up Dora, groaning exaggeratedly. "You're getting too big for this," she warned, but Dora only balanced herself and turned to the cradle.

"There's your baby, then," Andromeda said. "Want to tell me how she's yours? You're a little young to be a mother, love." She tickled her side, but Dora hardly laughed.

Lily's daughter was staring at them with those enormous eyes, a thumb tucked against her dirty cheek. Dora kicked a little, and said, "I asked Santa for a little sister, and Cousin Sirius said if I was good—and I was, Mumma! Daddy said so—he'd bring me what I wanted."

Andromeda swallowed down a surge of bile. Damn Sirius, damn him! But Dora was too little to be told, and she adored him, and Andromeda looked down just as Dora looked up and—

She had Lily's eyes on. The baby's eyes.

"Mumma, I want to hold her," Dora said and squirmed until Andromeda set her down. She reached into the cradle before Andromeda could stop her—the baby really was filthy—and grabbed at the little curled hand.

Andromeda half expected tears, or maybe more whimpering, but the baby only looked at Dora and burst into a wide, toothy grin, babbling at once, "Ba ba bababababa!"

"She's so little," Dora said, and wrinkled her nose. "And dirty. Santa shouldn't have put her down the chimney."

Andromeda laughed again, and turned away as the locks on the front door clicked open and Ted stepped in, whistling.

Ted had known she'd been looking for the baby since Lily, since Halloween. He'd been sweet and understanding, like he always was. He'd been sweet and understanding since she'd sat him down in their sixth year and said he was never, ever going to meet her parents. He'd only held her when the Howler had come on the night of their wedding, and he had been filled with astonished joy when she'd handed him Dora and her hair had turned pink. Andromeda at thirty was still sometimes making clouds of smoke when she got angry or surprised, and wondered sometimes if Ted's patience would ever run out.

Stealing a baby, no matter how righteous the theft, couldn't garner only a raised eyebrow or a low laugh.

"Dora," Andromeda said. "Go upstairs. Your father and I need to talk."

Dora was pouting, wearing Ted's face—it always gave Andromeda a shock. "Put your own face back on and go," Andromeda said.

"Can I take my baby?" Dora asked, and gave the cradle a fascinated look. The baby was chewing on Dora's finger, drooling and smiling.

"No," Andromeda said. "Go upstairs and play, please. Daddy and I will come tuck you in soon."

Dora put her own face back on, but kept Lily's eyes. "Fine," she said huffily, and stomped across the room.

"Hey now," Ted called from the front hall, stopping his whistling. "Is that an elephant I hear? Because elephants don't get Christmas presents!"

"Daddy!" Dora whinged, but Andromeda shooed her and she kept up the stairs. The baby, when Andromeda looked back, was lying silent again.

Ted was clomping around in the kitchen now—Andromeda had told him a thousand times to take his boots off if it was snowing—and she put herself between the cradle and the doorway when he appeared, mug of tea in one hand, toweling at his damp hair.

"'Lo, Andy," he said and came across the room to give her a wintery kiss. Andromeda knew the moment he saw what was behind her, because she had to rescue his mug from spilling.

"There's a baby," he said, slowly, hand still at Andromeda's waist. Andromeda tucked herself against him, sagging against his shoulder, and said, "I didn't know what to do."

She knew when the baby turned those enormous eyes on him because he stiffened, and said, "Andy, you didn't."

"I couldn't leave her there," she said, taking deep breaths. She'd been trying not to think about it; thirty was too damn old for accidental magic, but she kept almost setting things on fire. "They had her locked in a cupboard. She's half-starved, filthy. Lily's daughter! Her child!"

Her voice broke. The tea was boiling in the mug when Ted took it away and set it aside. "She told me," Andromeda said. "Lily told me what a horrible woman her sister was, but no one would listen."

"Alright," Ted said gently and pulled her close. "Alright, Andy, I know. But little ears are listening."

"Little ears can't even talk," Andromeda said into his shoulder. "Little ears should know a few words by now. They've stunted her."

"Well," Ted said. "Well." And then he was moving Andromeda aside, tucking her out of the way so he could pick the baby up, who immediately clung to him and shoved a fist into her own mouth. They regarded each other solemnly, and after a moment, Ted sighed a little.

"I always wanted two or three kids," he said. "And it's no one's fault we only have the one, Andy, that's not what I'm saying. Only that, well, it wouldn't be so bad to add another. It's not like we can put her back."

Andromeda wanted to cry, suddenly—huge bursting sobs like the ones she'd held in when the news had broken. It couldn't be that easy for Ted, it couldn't.

The baby made a little sound and lay her head against Ted's shoulder, her eyes slipping shut. He shifted his grip on her and said in barely a whisper, "Or that we would if we could. But this will be hard, Andy. You heard Dumbledore when they read the wills—he was very clear that Lily's sister got the baby."

"We'd have to hide her somehow," Andromeda said at once. "We have no right to her, and they still haven't caught all of the Death Eaters. She'd be in danger every moment we have her."

"We'll disguise her," Ted said. "And I'll find someone to get into the Ministry, change the papers."

With the baby's head cuddled against Ted's shoulder, the practiced way he held her, they could have been father and daughter. Ted's hair was curlier than the baby's shock of black hair, and her skin was more tanned than dark, and when she was awake, no one could mistake her eyes.

And then there was the scar, running across the front of her face like a strike of lightning. Everyone would know who she was with only a glimpse; they'd plastered her stitched face across the papers after the funerals.

There was a creak on the stair, jerking Andromeda out of her thoughts. "I thought I told you to stay upstairs," she said tiredly.

Dora's stocking feet shifted, and she said, "I am upstairs."

Ted laughed, quietly, and said, "Come down, Dora." And when Andromeda shot him a scathing look, he added, "She might as well. This should be a family decision."

Dora was wearing her resting face, dark like Ted, but all Andromeda's shape and Andromeda's grey eyes. She had something tucked into the pocket of her pajamas. Ted took the baby over to the sofa and sat down with her, and Dora climbed up beside him, staring at the baby. "Andy?" Ted asked, and she sighed and went to join them.

"How much have you heard, Dora?" Andromeda asked.

"That we're keeping my baby," Dora said at once. "Only, we have to hide her 'cause she's famous and bad guys like that ugly lady could find her."

Ted looked bemused. "How d'you know she's famous, pet?" he asked.

Dora looked put upon, and her face slid into Granny Tonks's face. "'Cause she's the Girl Who Lived," Dora said. "Daddy, she's got lightening all over her face!"

"Yes, she does," Ted said, laughing, and Andromeda put her face into her hands.

"I asked Santa for the most specialist baby ever," Dora told them, looking pleased.

"Did you?" Ted asked. Andromeda bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yes," Dora said, starting to look cross. "And she's my Christmas present. I'm not gonna let anyone take her away!"

"People are going to be looking for her," Ted said gently. "Did you hear your mummy and me when we said that?"

"Yes!" Dora said, loud enough the baby blinked herself awake. Dora reached for her, sliding into her own face again, and Ted only hesitated a second before he passed her over. The baby already had her arms out, and Dora immediately snuggled her close.

"I can help," Dora said. "Daddy, Mumma, really! Close your eyes and I'll show you." And then after a moment, added, "Please."

Andromeda tucked her face back into her hands, feeling love for Dora bursting in her chest. Her laughing, wonderful daughter.

Dora was talking to the baby now. "You're my baby," she was saying. "And my mumma is going to be your mumma now and my daddy is going to be your new daddy, and everyone is going to know you're my new baby sister and no ugly lady is looking for my baby sister. Okay, Mumma, Daddy! You can look now!"

Andromeda lifted her head up, and had to put a hand to her mouth. Dora was wearing a new face, one she hadn't worn before, and looking very pleased with herself. It wasn't the gentle heart shape Andromeda was used to, but more rounder, like the baby. Like James's face. Her hair was darker now, springy coils like Ted's hair instead of the usually, wavy mess. Her skin was somewhere in between the baby's and Ted's. And her eyes were a strange and compelling color, straddling the line between grey and green.

And Dora had her hand out and was tugging on Andromeda's sleeve. "Make my baby's eyes more grey, Mumma," she said. "Please, Mumma."

Andromeda pulled her wand from her sleeve, and startled. Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, no longer had lightening branching an angry red across her face. Instead, the skin was smooth and clear.

"I don't—" she said.

"Madame Maxillia's Magical Coverup," Ted said, reading the label off the little jar in his hands. "Dora, did you take this from your mum's room?"

"Yes," Dora said, squinting like she did when she felt guilty. "But I wasn't stealing! I was only borrowing it."

Andromeda adjusted her grip on the wand, and cast a gentle spell that blew like warm wind across the baby's face. She rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists, sneezed, and looked up at them with eyes the same color as Dora's.

"Now we look more like Daddy's family," Dora said, grinning broadly. "And I can keep my baby."

"Well," Ted said, and rubbed a hand across his face. "Outsmarted by our little girl. How's it feel, Andy?"

"Strange," she said, feeling that same swelling of love. "But pleasant, I think."

"It won't be when she's a t-e-e-n-a-g-e-r," Ted said, laughing, "so we might as well enjoy it now. Thank you, Dora. You've helped a lot."

"So we can keep my baby?" Dora asked, and hung onto Ted's arm. "And this can be my new face?"

Andromeda reached out and plucked the baby off of Dora's lap. She tickled her a little and the baby gave another enormous grin, looking up at Andromeda. Her heart was already so full with her little family, but she could feel it working frantically to make room, to tuck Lily's daughter in next to Dora and Ted in the place of most precious things.

"Yes," Andromeda said. "Yes, I think we can keep her."

The third bedroom of Number Seven, Old Ashe Road, Oxford was dark and silent. Morning light flirted around the edges of the heavy curtains, casting wavering, grey shadows over the lump hidden under the bedclothes. Books rustled companionably in the two bookshelves, and a single lone Nancy Drew novel huddled half under the bed, where it had fallen in the night.

Some of the posters moved in the dim light. Some of them were tellingly still. At the foot of the metal bed crouched a battered old trunk, packed nearly to the brim. On it rested a parchment letter, addressed in green ink to the room's occupant, and on that rested a brand new wand, holly and phoenix feather. The date on the letter was circled in heavy pencil, and the calendar on the wall had been given the same treatment.

Ignorant of any significance the date—today's date—might hold, a large and imperious cat sat in the doorway, surveying the room as a king might survey his kingdom. A socked foot reached beyond the doorway, and pushed the cat forward, no inconsiderable task considering his sheer mass, and the cat proceeded to rumble his way across the floor and onto the bed.

Any other cat might have jumped, but this cat oozed right onto the bed and onto the chest of the girl sleeping there. He settled himself, and rumbled threateningly.

Not bothering to crack open an eye, Harriet Lily Asterope Potter Tonks shoved at it, mumbling, "G'way Colonel." But the mass only seemed to get heavier, and started to prick at her with pins, right above the heart.

Groaning, Harriet peeled her eyes open and gave the enormous white cat a shove. "Dad says you aren't supposed to open doors anymore," she whined and groped at the bedside table for her glasses. "He said he gave you a talking-to."

"Oh, he did," her Mum said. "That's why the Colonel waited very politely until I came and opened the door. Wake up now, love. I refuse to let your father make us late for an eighth year in a row."

Harriet rubbed her eyes, and squinted. Andromeda was at the foot of her bed, laying out clothes neatly from the pilfered chest of drawers. "I'm tired still," Harriet told her mother crossly as Andromeda waved the curtains open. The Colonel draped himself further across Harriet's lap, and began to knead up the blanket, her pajamas, and, painfully, her stomach.

"Then you shouldn't have stayed up late reading that dreadful book. Honestly, Ted ought to know better by now than to give you something new to settle your nerves. You only stay up reading, and wake up cross."

The Nancy Drew book lying half under the bed edged itself fully under it, as though embarrassed.

A clean set of robes flew out of the wardrobe and folded themselves onto the tide pile. Andromeda waved her wand at the door to shut it and came and sat at the edge of the bed. "I know you're nervous," she said soothingly, her own knuckles white around her wand. "But your father and I have prepared for this. You don't have to worry about anything except making friends and doing well in class." She reached out and smoothed a finger down the line of scar that branched across Harriet's cheek. "We will take care of the rest."

The Colonel purred loudly enough to rattle Harriet's teeth. She put her hand on his back and said, very quietly, "Everyone's going to stare, and ask questions, and be awful, Mum."

Harriet Tonks wasn't completely ignorant of her past. She knew that she used to be a Potter, that her Lily-mum and her James-dad loved her very much, that her mums had been good friends, and that her 'Dromeda-mum and Ted-dad had taken her after her parents had died.

She knew how they had died, and why, and what people were calling her, even though she didn't like to think about it very much.

And she also knew that she was supposed to be living with her aunt and uncle, but they hadn't wanted her. And that technically ("The technical sense being the most important, when you're trying to get out of trouble, pet," Ted-dad always told her) her mum had stolen her.

This was why she always had to makeup her scar and use her Tonks middle name as her first in public. But her mum and her dad had sat down with her when her Hogwarts letter had come, and they had decided together that ten years was an awfully long time to hide a (technically!) stolen baby, and that having her for so long with no-one coming to look for her had set a precedent, and then her mum and dad had used a lot of very long and boring words that meant they weren't going to make her use Asterope at Hogwarts.

So now, on the first of September, Harriet Tonks was going to go to Hogwarts where she was sure an awful lot of adults were going to be asking why her aunt and uncle hadn't been raising her for the last ten years.

"Just remember," Andromeda said as she stood up, " you don't have to say anything to them. And don't try to get into trouble. I've had quite enough of that with your sister."

Harriet lifted the Colonel, struggling, and set him aside so she could stand up. "Dora is coming, isn't she?" she asked as she clattered out of her nightgown and into her clothes.

"We'll see," her mum said as she sailed out the door, shutting it with a snap behind her.

The problem with her mum, Harriet thought as she tugged on her blouse, was that her mum always wanted to be on time for everything, while her dad thought that schedules were things that happened to other, less distracted people.

"Come on," Harriet said to the Colonel, ducking back in from the bathroom. "Dad's making breakfast again—I can't smell anything burning."

The Colonel allowed himself to be carried, putting his paws on her shoulder and looking around as Harriet staggered down the stairs. "Honestly," she huffed. He turned a gimlet eye toward her, and dug his claws into her jumper, but she only stared back. The Colonel had never scratched her, or Dora, not even when Dora magicked him blue, or when Harriet had toddled past as a baby and pulled his tail.

Her dad was in the kitchen, standing at the stove and wielding a spatula. "It's fine, Andy," he was saying. "Plenty of time to have breakfast and get to the station. And I don't see what you're so upset about; we've never actually missed the train yet."

A plate slammed down in front of Harriet. "Eat your eggs," Andromeda told her. "And quickly. We might have to leave your fool father behind."

Harriet hid a smile behind a forkful.

The front door creaked open and something slammed into the hallway wall with a yelp. "Am I too late!" Dora shouted. "Bloody—" Something hit the floor with a thud and several clatters. "Mum! I stepped in the umbrella stand again!"

"For the love of Merlin," Andromeda said, and went toward the door.

Harriet cleaned off the last of her plate and offered the final bite of bacon to the Colonel, who ate it gracefully, and then began industriously cleaning his resplendent orange mustache.

"More pancakes?" Ted asked, brandishing the griddle.

"No, thank you," Harriet said. He went past her and kissed the top of her head.

"You'll be growing like a weed soon enough," he told her. "Better stock up while you can."

"I'm fine, Dad, really," Harriet told him, smiling.

"Go put your shoes on then, pet. I'll come get your trunk in a minute."

All the shoes were kept piled in the front hall. Dora was still sprawled out on the floor, trying to pull the umbrella stand off her leg. "Wotcher, Harry!" she said cheerfully. "Thought I might have missed you!"

Andromeda muttered something that sounded like, "Mutter mutter clock."

"Wotcher, Dora," Harriet said, smiling broadly, and helped her tug the stand off of her boot. "Mum's threatening to leave without Dad already, and it's only a quarter after ten. Hope you don't want breakfast."

Andromeda muttered something that sounded like, "Mutter mutter once mutter mutter on time."

"I ate already," Dora said and swished her wand. "Accio Harriet's shoes!"

They flew across the hall and smacked her in the face.

"Ouch!" Dora cried. "Here, take these, are the soles made of brick?"

"If you two are done playing," Andromeda said in her coldest voice, but Harriet thought she wasn't really angry, just frazzled and nervous.

But she still sat down right away and tugged her shoes on.

Dora slung a companionable arm around her shoulders as she knotted the laces. "Excited about your first year?" she asked, and ruffled Harriet's hair. Her own trembled into long golden curls and black that nearly reached her waist, "When you get sorted into Hufflepuff, I'll write and tell you where the kitchens are."

Andromeda had finally finished gathering up the umbrellas and the shoes and the coats strewn across the hall. "And when you get sorted into Slytherin, I'll owl you my map of the dungeons," she said, and then shouted down the hall, "Come on, Ted! It's already after ten! She's not going to be able to find a compartment!"

There was a series of thumps, like something very light being dragged down the stairs, and Ted appeared in the doorway. "Didn't want to scuff the ceiling," he said easily and let the trunk down. "C'mere pet."

Harriet trotted over and patiently let him smooth down her hair. It never really worked all the way, and even Dora ruffling it hadn't changed the shape of it—messy—much. Then Ted was hugging her, and whispering in her ear, "When you get sorted into Ravenclaw, I'll send you all my old riddle books. The knocker likes you better if you read him a few every now and then."

"Thanks," Harriet said and hugged him, hard.

"'Course, pet," Ted said, and paused. "Oh, almost forgot this," he said and he handed over her wand, which she'd left resting on her trunk. Harriet took it nervous—what kind of witch forgot her wand, nearly? She resolved to check she had it several times, just to be sure.

Ted pinched her cheek and shuffled past her to pull on his own shoes. Harriet shoved the wand into the pocket of her robes and crouched down to pet goodbye the Colonel, who rubbed against her legs, purring concussively.

"Right," Andromeda said as she checked her watch and tucked it away. "Too late to take the Knight Bus, and it'll be crowded to boot. We'll have to Apparate."

"I'll take Harry," Dora said at once. "I know the spot and everything, and Dad'll look weird coming out of the ladies' loo with her."

"Well," Andromeda said slowly.

"I passed my test on the first try!" Dora said. "Not even you did that!"

"Fine," she said and came forward. She straightened the collar of Harriet's blouse and kissed her forehead. "We'll see you at the station. Listen to your sister."

"Ye-es, Mumma," Harriet said and grinned at her, a familiar and toothy grin.

"Good girl," Andromeda told her. "And go out back to the garden, Nymphadora! You know Apparating in the house wears out the wards."

"Mum! It's Tonks now!"

"It'll be a paddling if I catch you again, young lady! And bread and water for a week!"

Andromeda's idea of bread and water was soup and homemade, crusty loaves. Ted's idea of a paddling was a single, firm smack to the rump followed by a thorough lecture. But Dora still grabbed at Harriet's arm and hustled her to the backdoor.

The backyard was more a courtyard, with high stone walls, and beds overrun with plants. "Right," Dora said and parked them in the middle, where there was the least chance of having to fight off the mints, or duel down the snap-dragons.

She turned Harriet so she was facing her. "Try not to sick up," she said cheerfully. "And give us a hug. You're my baby after all. I'm only letting Mum and Dad borrow you while I'm working."

Harriet blushed furiously, but let Dora crowd her close. "I'm eleven," she said. "I'm hardly a babyeeeeeee!"

The last word was torn from her throat in a scream, as she and Dora were forced together through a very long and very thin tube, exploding out the other end with a noise like a firecracker, and a shrill yelp of Dora's own.

"I landed in the toilet," she moaned. "'Course I landed in the toilet, Mum'll never let me hear the end of this."

"Dry yourself off," Harriet suggested and cracked open the door of the stall. A Muggle lady was washing her hands at the sink, and stopped, dripping, to stare at them.

"And do it in the stall, Harriet squeaked, and slammed the door behind herself as she dashed out. London was right outside the doorstep, the air thick with sound and smell.

Dora caught up a minute later, shaking the leg of her trousers furiously. "Steamed myself a little," she said. "Like a lobster. Come on, I checked the time, too. No way you're getting an empty compartment. We'll have to stuff you in somewhere."

They clattered down the street and into King's Cross Station which was crowded with lots of Muggles and more than a few witches and wizards. "Here," Dora said and tugged Harriet to the side. "Let's wait for Mum and Dad."

And then she turned to Harriet and touched her shoulder. "You know we'll be proud of you," she said. "No matter what house you end up in."

"Yes, Dora," Harriet said, and gave her another hug just because she looked a little peaky.

Andromeda and Ted came cutting through the crowd not a minute later, and they shuffled over to the mass of people crowded around the pillar between platform nine and platform ten. "This the line?" Ted asked the man ahead of them companionably.

"Aye," he said, and squinted at them.

It happened every time. Out of instinct, and habit, Harriet tucked herself closer to Dora. She'd put the cream on her scar. Dora was wearing her resting face, with the exception of her hair, which was short now, but the same yellow and black.

"Yes?" Andromeda asked archly, and Harriet let go of the breath she'd been holding. The same magic, so simple it was really a trick of the eye, was working again.

"Nothin'," the man said. "Y' looked familiar, is all." He was staring at Harriet and Dora in particular. "Related to the Zabini family at all?"

"No," Andromeda said at once. "Thank you very much."

The man flustered and turned forward again.

"Don't," Andromeda told Harriet, "ask."

Dora leaned over on her other side. "It's an s-e-x thing," she whispered conspiratorially, and laughed when Harriet wrinkled her nose. "Selene Zabini's a real Black Widow."

"Dora!" Andromeda hissed.

"Muuuum!"

The line shuffled forwards, and they took their turn. Harriet stumbled out onto the platform and caught the cart holding her trunk before Dora could send it careening past.

People were milling around the platform, leaning out the train windows, running down the platform, clustered in groups of chattering adults. But the engine dwarfed it all. It sat there, deliciously red and enormous, steam rising softly above the stack.

She'd seen the train loads of times before, of course. But that was different, because she'd never been leaving on it, only standing sulkily on the platform, waving goodbye.

"Come on," Andromeda said, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her forward. "We'll try near the end. We should get you settled as soon as possible. It works better to make people come to you, not you to them."

Mum hadn't been part of the Black family for a long time, Harriet thought, but she'd never really forgotten all the stuff they'd taught her as a little girl. Harriet let herself be swept along companionable, and eventually, near the very end of the train, was a nearly empty compartment. There was only three books stacked on the seat. Ted hauled Harriet's trunk up into the carriage, and stowed it with the others, just as the whistles started to blow all along the train.

"We should have come earlier!" Andromeda fretted. "There's always a line, Ted! I keep telling you!"

"It's alright, Andy," he said, and tucked her under his arm. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Study!" Andromeda told Harriet, and kissed her forehead sharply.

"Explore something," Ted told her, and hugged her tightly, before putting his arms back around Andy, who was tearing up and looking furious about it.

Dora was the last one to hug her, and she held Harriet so tightly she ached from it when she let go. "Have fun," she told Harriet, her laughing face strangely serious. Her hair, as she spoke was spinning from gold and black to a brilliant green, the same color as Harriet's eyes on the rare occasion that her mum took the charm off of them. A bushy haired girl passing by gaped, nearly tripping as she climbed the train steps.

Harriet took Dora's kiss to the cheek patiently. "Be safe," Dora said, and gave her a little shake. The whistles were blowing louder now.

"I love you!" Harriet cried to all of them, her heart beating very hard. She clambered up the stairs, and looked back, holding the railing so tightly it hurt. "Oh, I love you!"

They all waved, frantically, and she ducked inside, slamming the door and rushing down to her compartment. The bushy haired girl was sitting there, staring very hard at one of the books and blinking rapidly. She looked up as Harriet threw herself onto the seat, breathing hard.

She felt nervous again with that girl looking at her, but her mum was absolutely mad about manners, so she stuck her hand out and said, "Hullo."

The girl startled, then jerked a look behind her like someone would be there. Slowly, she stuck her own hand out and shook Harriet's. "Hello," she said in a firm, clear voice.

Harriet asked, "D' you, do you need a handkerchief?"

"Oh!" the girl said, and Harriet though she flushed a little, but it was hard to tell because of how dark she was. "No, thank you."

"Well, I do," Harriet said, and dug into her pocket, where predictably there were four, all folded together. "And my mum gave be a bunch of extras, probably because she cries every time. Here, take one anyway, will you?"

The girl's shoulders loosened and she took one to dab at her eyes. "Are you not a first year?" she asked after a few second full of sniffling and discreet nose blowing. She sounded a lot more comfortable when she was asking questions, Harriet thought. Nicer, and less stiff.

"No, I am," Harriet said and shoved her handkerchief back into her pocket. "But my older sister just graduated last year and Mum's been crying on the platform since she was a first year. Dora, I mean, not my mum. Only maybe she cried then, too."

"Who was the one making her hair different colors?" the girl asked eagerly. "I've never seen anyone do that before and there's no spells to do it in our textbooks. I've read them through."

And then she looked awkward, and drew into herself uncomfortably.

Oh, Harriet though. "No," she said at once, smiling as friendly as she could. "I reckon there wouldn't be. You've got to be good at Charms to do that. The one with green hair is my sister. She's a Metamorphmagus, and they're really rare." And then in the persisting silence, she pressed on. "It's wicked you've read the textbooks already," she said. "My dad wouldn't let me. He didn't want me faffing about with my wand before school started."

"Oh!" the girl said, and flushed harder. "My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a Muggleborn, and I've never even heard of magic before my letter came."

"I'm Harriet Tonks," Harriet said. "I'm a halfblood, but both my parts were magic. If you've got any questions, I could probably answer them."

Hermione did have questions, and Harriet answered most of them, and let Hermione theorize about the ones she couldn't, until it was afternoon. They were quite on their way to being friends, Harriet thought and felt a deep squirm of pleasure at the notion. It was hard making friends, even with the Muggle kids she'd had half days with in primary school, because she'd had to use a different name and keep so many secrets.

By the time the sweets trolley came through, they'd discovered they shared a reading taste, thought Harriet's skewed more toward adventure books and Hermione's toward non-fiction. Harriet bought a round of Cauldron Cakes and several Chocolate Frogs to share, and obligingly let Hermione study the Sickles and Knuts.

"My parents are dentists," Hermione said, turning one of the Chocolate Frog cards around to read the front. "I'm not supposed to have many sweets, and I don't really like them, but wizard chocolate tastes different. Sweeter. Better." She grinned at Harriet, chocolate all across her teeth and Harriet grinned back.

And then the compartment door was sliding open without even a knock first. Three boys were standing there. The two on the sides were very tall, and one of them was rather chubby. The boy in the middle was shorter, his white hair combed back flat, and his eyes were pressed thin in a squint.

"Well," he drawled. "People are saying Harriet Potter is on the train, but it's clear she's not here, isn't it." He raked his eyes across the both of them, and Harriet became keenly aware of the jeans she had on under her robe, peeking through at her legs, and of Hermione's bright headband, resplendent with butterflies. "She certainly wouldn't be in with Muggleborns," he said with a sneer.

And then there was a commotion out in the hallway, and two more boys shoved their way through. They were dressed messier than the three boys, but they looked nicer, Harriet thought. She'd much prefer to be invaded by them.

The blond boy looked worried, but the red-headed boy said boldly, "Anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

The first blond boy wheeled around and sneered harder, until his eyes almost disappeared. "Longbottom. And red hair, shabby clothes? Must be another Weasley."

"Oi!" the red haired boy said. "Shove off. You're obviously a Malfoy. No one else would look like they're smelling something nasty all the time."

The first blond boy gave a shriek, and a furious scuffle broke out. Hermione tucked her feet up on her seat and looked interested, but Harriet dug her wand out of her pocket and send a barrage of sparks at the five of them.

They didn't catch anything, only singed bits of hair and robes. The boys broke apart, all of them shouting, but there were hurried feet coming down the hallway towards them.

"What! Is going on here!" another, older boy with red hair and Gryffindor robes demanded, hauling the two boys out by their shoulders.

"They were fighting," Hermione piped up. "In our compartment, and none of them even knocked!"

"Ron!" the older boy said with a groan. "You haven't even been sorted yet, and you're already lighting things on fire?"

"I lit them on fire!" Harriet said, and tucked her wand away, feeling very satisfied. Her dad had been right, using warning sparks did help when there was trouble.

"Well," the older boy said and stopped. "I know you," he said, as another boy crammed himself past the other first years in the hallway. This one had on yellow-edged robes, and grinned through his missing front teeth at Harriet. "Tonks, right?" he said companionable, and dragged out the last first year.

"Don't want to get on the wrong end of that wand," the Hufflepuff boy told the Gryffindor. "That's Nymphadora Tonks's sister, Percy, and a crack addition to Hufflepuff soon as we get a hat on her head." He winked at Harriet, and shuffled the Gryffindor prefect out too as he groaned, "Yardley, you can't say that! That's favoritism!"

"No fighting on the train!" the older redhead finally yelled and let himself be pushed into the hallway. The Hufflepuff, Yardley turned back, the door almost closed, and asked, "Anything else, little Tonks?"

"One of them lost a toad," Hermione said imperiously before Harriet could say anything. And then, when he paused in the door, "Goodbye."

The boy laughed and shut the door, then dragged off the sulking boys toward the front of the train.

"Honestly," Hermione said. "Boys are more trouble than they're worth."