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Chapter Text

Kings Cross Station, 1991

First year Daphne Greengrass smoothed the folds of her Acromantula-silk robes yet again as she waited near the entrance to Platform 9 3/4, raking her eyes around the railway platform, checking each group of passengers for her quarry.

The fierceness of the gaze of her blue-grey eyes startled more than one station-goer into stopping fleetingly to notice her standing silently.

They'd observe that, despite being on the verge of her teenage years, her intensity reflected a maturity beyond her age. They would note the lean girl, her blonde tresses contrasting markedly with the dark shiny robes she wore, and think, the girl will be a beauty when she's grown; then begin walking again, feeling more hopeful having seen someone so precious in the world.

Daphne, oblivous to their thoughts, looked for a child near her own age, who she hadn't seen yet despite getting to the station at 8 AM, when the clock hands now stood close to 10 AM.

She expected her quarry to arrive here, on the muggle side of the station. In any case, with her mother standing lookout on the magical side, and her father stationed to oversee the dedicated apparition zone for King's Cross Station, it seemed unlikely that her target had slipped onto the train yet.

Her eyes spotted a flash of a short, dark-haired boy walking behind a family of what looked to be muggles. Again. There. This one looked promising.

The boy, shorter than her and slight, was pushing a luggage trolley topped by a large school chest and an owl cage. Oh! The large owl inside, a snowy owl she surmised, was gorgeous, with striking white feathers shot through with dark markings. She redirected her attention back to the boy. Short dark hair, oversized round glasses, green eyes. Auspicious.

The boy brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead and she was sure. A lightning bolt scar marring his forehead, coupled with his resemblance to pictures of his father, made him a solid match for one Harry Potter.

She turned and walked towards him slowly, girding herself for the conversation to come, as she saw him slow and look around the area in confusion. Her observant nature noticed him looking at the two signboards for platforms 9 and 10, then scanning the area.

It immediately occurred to her that this boy, surely a magical if the school chest and owl cage were telling the truth, didn't know the location of Platform 9 3/4. Interesting.

As she paced closer, she observed his clothes. Overlarge. Shabby. Dreadful. The clothes were vastly too large for his small frame, his muggle trainers were taped together at the toes, and eyeglasses were taped at the nose. This boy was not well looked after.

She paused a few feet from the boy while he was looking over his shoulder earnestly and braced herself. You're capable of this, she thought to herself. She had been preparing for this moment with her parents for years, awaiting their eventual reunion, even if she was previously too young to recollect their former acquaintance.

As he turned back towards her, she said, "Hello. Harry Potter?" in the warm and elegant voice she used for family and close friends.

Harry cocked his head to one side, not expecting to be greeted. "Errm. Yes. Hello?"

"My name is Daphne Greengrass. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Wow, so formal, she thought to herself, trying to overcome her nervousness.

"Oh. Ummm. Thank you. I'm Harry, but I guess you knew that. I'm, ummm, pleased to make your acquaintance, likewise."

Daphne paused, daunted by the enormity of her task. Harry filled the gap. "Say, do you know where Platform 9 3/4 is?"

Perfect, thought Daphne. "I do. I would be glad to show you, and escort you aboard the Hogwarts Express to find a cabin."

"Oh, great, thank you. You see, I didn't see any signs, and Hagrid didn't tell me where the platform was, so I'm glad you rescued me."

"Hagrid?" Daphne asked, drawing out the word, confused by his reference.

"Yes, Hagrid. Giant fellow, you can't miss him," Harry said in a rush. "He's the Hogwarts Groundskeeper and Keeper of the Keys. He showed me Diagon Alley and Gringotts and helped me with my shopping. And gave me this beautiful owl," he said as he gestured brightly towards it.

"Oh my, yes. Absolutely magnificent. What's her name?"

The owl looked at Daphne imperiously.

"Hedwig," Harry said proudly. "She's the best. So smart. She understands what I say."

The owl bobbed her head twice, apparently nodding.

"Ah, it appears she does. How clever you are, Hedwig," Daphne said, addressing the owl directly.

The owl faintly bowed, as royalty does to lesser nobles.

"Well, shall we?" Daphne said, returning her gaze to Harry. She gestured towards the wall. "Just continue to push your cart forward and ignore the wall ahead, and you'll come out the other side onto the platform. I'll go first so you can watch." After a moment she continued, "If you're uncomfortable, you can close your eyes. That's what I did on my first trip through earlier this morning."

And without another word she passed through the wall, soundlessly. Harry shrugged to himself. "Well, here we go Hedwig." She looked bored without her recently admiring audience.

Harry leaned heavily into his cart to get it rolling, and strained to push it in the direction Daphne disappeared through. As he moved through the wall, the hubbub from Kings Cross station blended into a new set of sounds with less mechanical clashing and more audible conversations.

Harry stopped, blinked, and saw Daphne just ahead. She waved him forward, and said, "You'll want to keep moving, Harry, so you don't get run over by the next person who comes through. My father told me how he got squished by a trolley his first year because he stopped to gawp." She smiled, starting to feel less nervous.

Together the proceeded to the train, Harry swiveling his head to take in the people, their unusual clothes, the train. The bright shiny red train! Splendid!

Daphne noted her mother standing near the conductor's office, and gave her a slight nod. Her mother nodded back, turned, and departed wordlessly.

Daphne paused before the steps to one railcar, turned to Harry, "Would Hedwig like to fly to Hogwarts? Magical owls are remarkably hardy and regularly fly hundreds of miles. Or she could join us on the train to rest if you don't think she's up for it?"

Harry turned to Hedwig. "What would you like to do, love? Would you like to fly to Hogwarts?"

Hedwig bobbed several times, opening her wings as much as the cage would allow. Harry unclipped the door and held his arm out. She gingerly climbed through the opening onto his bare arm, apparently without causing any injury.

Harry nuzzled her face with his, then held up his thin arm. Hedwig leaped forward, her wings stretching wide as she clawed for altitude, causing several people nearby to dodge to the side. Several graceful sweeps of her wings and she was already above the train.

She turned tightly, circling twice as goodbye, and then shot off over the train and disappeared.

Harry looked on, fiercely proud of his companion. Daphne smiled at his look, said "You were not stretching the truth when you said she's intelligent. That was remarkable."

Harry beamed back at her, both basking in their joy.

Presently Daphne said, "That makes things simpler. You can leave the cage here for the porters to load, and we can carry your trunk to the cabin together?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry blushed. "You're very thoughtful."

"It's no trouble. My parents helped me onto the train, so I didn't have to carry my trunk myself. They're not so heavy, but they're awkwardly sized."

They stood at each end of the trunk and pulled. Harry one-handed his end, his wiry arm stronger than its size would suggest. Daphne picked up her end, but whuffed at the strain, adding her second arm to assist.

"Oh, no Feather-Light Charm?" Daphne said with evident dismay at the weight.

"Errm, no? What's that?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'll manage. I just didn't expect it to be so heavy," said Daphne, thinking furiously. How was it that a young wizarding scion should be roughing it so? The shabby clothes and a broken-down trunk, and yet he owned what had to be quite an expensive owl, all things considered.

Daphne knew of Hagrid, and didn't think the half-giant, a well-known curiosity in the insular wizarding community, would be able to afford to give such a creature to Harry; it was likely several years of his salary for that exquisite animal. Something more mysterious was afoot.

"I'll just back up the stairs, shall I?" she said, not missing a beat. Together they wrestled the chest onto the train, into the cabin, and onto the low shelf.

Harry sat on one side as Daphne closed the door. She took out her wand, pointed it at the lock, and said "Colloportus Claustrum". The door made a subtle yet elegant sound, almost like a gentle breeze, as Daphne cast one of the two spells she had practiced extensively in the brief months she'd had her wand, though her parents had been providing theoretical guidance for years.

In the confines of the room, Daphne babbled nervously, "I've just locked the door, so we won't be bothered. I have several things I'd like to share with you. Don't worry, the lock will open from this side any time you'd like to leave. It's part of my family magic, so it's difficult for others to break," she added to allay any concern he might have. So many things depended on the next little while going well, she thought.

She needn't have worried: Harry seemed unconcerned at her sealing the door, and said encouragingly "Wow, we haven't even started school yet and you already know spells. You're so smart!"

"Thank you. I expect you'll have no difficulty learning spells. It's just a question of practice and intent, really."

Instead of sitting across the cabin from Harry, Daphne sat unhesitatingly on the bench near him. She looked him in the eye, and he gazed back. "Harry," she started, "I have many things to share with you today, but the most important is that you and I are betrothed."

Chapter Text

Instead of sitting across the cabin from him, she sat unhesitatingly on the bench near him. She looked him in the eye, and he gazed back. "Harry," she started, "I have many things to share with you today, but the most important is that you and I are betrothed."

"Yes and no. Our parents arranged for us to be married, but we may choose not to get married," Daphne said reassuringly. Her gaze went inward for a moment as she tried to recall the details. "Upon both of us reaching adulthood, we are to marry within six months, unless either of us should choose not to, after no fewer than three consultations with the other." There, that was the gist of it.

Daphne paused, and Harry remained silent, so she continued. "You're probably wondering why all the machinations. Err, the extra conditions. Right?"

Harry nodded.

"Our parents were in a war, and wanted to protect us from those who might take advantage. If our parents died and we were placed with guardians, we would still be in control of our own destinies. In other words, we couldn't be married against our wills."

"Oooohhhhh," said Harry with dawning understanding.

"Yes. Wizarding Britain is ... an uncertain place, and so our parents aimed to avoid any ... unpleasant ... eventualities." Wow, she was totally channeling her mother, she thought.

"There's more. If either of our parents died, we would be placed with the others to ..." Daphne paused, remembering the words her parents used "... act in loco parentis. To act as our guardians. We, that is to say my parents, were unable to gain custody of you when your parents passed." Daphne now looked quite somber. "I'm sorry."

Harry looked down, stricken. "I could have avoided the Dursleys", he said quietly to himself. Looking up again, he said more forcefully, "I never knew why I was placed with my aunt and uncle, my mom's sister and her husband. I only know that I hated it there, and that they treated me like... like... a slave!" his last words almost a shout in the closed space of the cabin.

"Oh Harry, I didn't know. We didn't know. My parents did everything they could to find you and bring to our home. I'm so sorry."

Harry looked at her with anger boiling in his visage. "Who did this, Daphne?"

"Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts. But also, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot." At Harry's look of incomprehension, she added "The Wizengamot is the heads of government. My mother sits on the Wizengamot, as did your grandfather. You will be able to take the seat you inherited ... once you reach your majority ... adulthood," Daphne ended lamely.

She was beginning to internalize that Harry didn't have any background in wizarding history due to his terrible upbringing, and committed to providing more explanation in future.

Harry looked thoughtful, digesting this mass of information.

Daphne continued after Harry looked up again. "This, all of this, is why I was waiting for you to arrive. Harry, whatever has happened in the past, we want to do what is best for you. You are family to me and my sister, Astoria -- she's three years younger than me -- and seeing your reactions today ... I want to bring you into our family."

Daphne felt an overwhelming sense of grief as it rose up in her. Harry looked away, but she saw strong emotion in his face too, with tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Harry reached up angrily to wipe away the tears. "I want to be part of your family, if you'll have me." He looked back to her, and, after she nodded, he continued. "My 'family'", he said, spitting the word, "never loved me, never treated me well. It's not my home. I'll never go back there again. Please help me go with you. Please help me get away."

Daphne reached out to Harry, gently taking him in her arms, and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled him towards her. He yielded into her, letting her rest his head on her shoulder. She wrapped one arm around him, and patted his hair with the other hand, as he cried loudly into her, his body shuddering and trembling.

Over time, he quieted, then became silent, but continued to rest his head on her.

"Poor Harry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to go through that. And I'm going to see that you don't have to go back. I swear."

Eventually, they both lay down on the bench and fell asleep, emotionally wrung out by the day's events, Harry from all he had learned, and Daphne from the strain of recalling and communicating what she'd spent years gleaning from her parents.

Harry started awake an hour later, bringing Daphne out of an unpleasant dream, a mishmash of unhappy emotions brought on by her newfound knowledge. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and face, while Daphne sat up and rearranged her clothes in graceful lines.

"Well," Daphne said, "I'm feeling better after a kip. Are you?" At his nod, she added, "I've got food if you're hungry?"

She contrived to open her trunk without removing it from the shelf, using a clever drawer that slid forward. She leaned her head and torso deeply into the trunk, startling Harry, and removed a small folding table, then an ever-increasing pile of cleverly wrapped treats: bread, cheese, fruits, and chocolate, along with two incongruous plastic water bottles marked 'evian'.

The two filled themselves politely with food, lunch being long past, with Harry particularly hungry given the small breakfast he'd been grudgingly given. Conversation was minimal at first but gained ground as their appetites waned.

They kept the conversation light, with Daphne doing most of the speaking, answering Harry's many questions about magic, Harry's family and hers, the Ministry, Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Daphne's childhood, and a welter of other subjects tied together only by Harry's interest in learning everything about her and the magical world.

From time to time, she interjected with a question about Harry, asking after his schooling and knowledge, minimizing her probes about topics which might be hurtful. Even so, her investigation uncovered more pain and harm than she anticipated. Clearly Harry hadn't had any easy life. Daphne vowed in her mind to improve Harry's life going forward. No one so innocent should suffer so much, she thought.

The time passed quickly, and with increasing cheer, until the sun began to set.

"What was the other spell you learned, Daphne?" Harry asked. At her glance he added, "you mentioned earlier you learned two spells for this trip, but I've only learned about the locking charm you cast."

"You are a good listener, aren't you?" she applauded gently. "I mentioned that hours ago!" She looked to the side for a moment, then back to Harry. "I said our parents took part in a war. Well, the battles stopped, but the war didn't. Our society is filled with people who are hostile towards muggles and muggleborn."

She gestured towards herself, "People like me -- and my family -- who are sympathetic to muggleborn are at risk from Pureblood fanatics."

Daphne appraised Harry once more, then continued, "The other spell I learned is gruesome. It's a spell from my family grimoire -- our book of spells shared only with kith and kin -- that is difficult to block, and causes the target to wither. It's difficult to mend, though my family knows how. I learned the spell to protect myself."

Harry took on a grave look. "I understand."

"I'll teach you ... once you get the hang of spellcasting. It's not easy -- it took me all the months I've had my wand -- but there's nothing better should real trouble arise." Daphne nodded to herself. She was going to keep Harry safe and help him keep himself safe too.

"Thank you," Harry said somberly. In his mind he vowed to keep her safe.

They looked at each other for several moments more, then both burst out laughing.

"It's so serious in here!" Daphne giggled. "There's time enough to learn. I can't wait to see Hogwarts. My parents have told me so many stories!"

Their conversation continued anew, warmer now, with Daphne lightly touching Harry from time to time, and he, uncharacteristically, not pulling away, but rather warming to her touch, smiling more, and laughing with her, as the train trundled on towards its destination.

Chapter Text

Daphne and Harry were sitting on the bench quietly resting, leaning on each other, and looking out the window, happy to be in each other's company, each finding a friend on the journey.

As it became full dark outside, Daphne glanced at her watch. Plenty of time, she thought.

"Here. Let me get up, I've got something for you," Daphne stated.

Harry complied, sitting up again, yawning widely, and stretching his arms and legs to their limits.

Daphne pressed her trunk with her wand, and the drawer glided out again. This time Daphne only needed to reach in, not lean her entire body down. She picked up a Knut-sized amulet trailing a silver chain.

Daphne stepped to Harry. "Here." Harry held out his hand, and she pooled the chain in his palm before placing the amulet on top. "This amulet will alert you to harm. It's not a shield -- don't jump in front of any spells just because you're wearing it. It can't protect you against combat magic, but it does provide warning when people cast spells on you, or try to penetrate your mind. Those things are illegal, but my parents have repeatedly warned me about them."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, ensuring his attention. "There are a lot of not nice things in our world, Harry. Curses and potions to control your mind, wards to imprison you, and dark objects that can kill you if you touch them. We're just children. It's hard to defend against everything."

"This amulet," she pressed down on it with her other hand. "If you're wearing it when someone tries something nasty, well, at least you'll have warning. Keep it on at all times, even asleep or in the bath."

Harry nodded, and slipped the chain over his head then tucked the dull metal inside his shirt collar.

At this, Daphne noticed his shabby clothes again. So much had happened today it was hard to keep track of everything. "Your clothes, Harry. We're going to get you suitable clothes. I'll write my parents tonight and they'll take care of everything."

"How can I repay you, Daphne?" Harry said worriedly.

"There's no need, Harry. You're family. You are my family. You will always be part of my family. And in our family, we take care of our own," Daphne said with force, moving her hand from his shoulder to his heart. "You should never have been taken from us."

Harry wordlessly closed the distance again, hugging her with a wiry strength that was forceful and comforting at the same time.

As they left the train together with their hoods up, they heard Hagrid shouting, "First years. First years over here."

As they came closer, Harry looked up at Hagrid, who returned the look from his high vantage.

"Hey there Harry, howzit? Enjoy the ride?" Hagrid inquired.

"It was great, Hagrid. Thanks again for Hedwig. She's great."

"Ah, tweren't nothin," the giant said, abashed.

Daphne added a note to her mental list to talk to her parents about Hedwig. The owl seemed fine, but was there something they should be worried about?

The pair headed onwards, down the steep, slippery slope and into the waiting boats. Harry handed Daphne into the boat, and she retained hold of his hand to similarly help him into the bobbing craft.

Two girls joined them in the small craft, nodding at Daphne, who immediately doffed her hood.

"Hello Daphne," Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott both chimed at the same time.

"Hello Susan, Hello Hannah, it's great to see you again. It's been so long, since ... Wednesday," Daphne returned sarcastically. "I'd like to introduce you all." Daphne gestured to the shorter redhead, "Harry, this is Susan Bones, niece of Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which I told you about earlier." She gestured to the taller girl with blonde pigtails, "And this is Hannah Abbott, whose family does some business with mine. They make beer. Strong beer!"

The girls both nodded to Harry, smiling bashfully.

"This is Harry Potter," Daphne continued, as Harry doffed the hood of his robe. The girls looked surprised. After a beat, she dropped, "My betrothed."

"Shut up, you did not just arrange to get married on the train! Did you?" Hannah said as she grinned widely. She turned to look at Susan, then back at Daphne. "Really?"

"Hello Susan, Hello Hannah. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," Harry said gamely, trying to overcome the shyness that had returned in full force.

"Hello Harry," they both said, a beat apart.

Susan now spoke warmly, "Daphne, you're a fast mover, setting up to tie the knot on the first trainride to Hogwarts? They might give you a trophy at dinner tonight! Should we worry? Will all the good ones be gone by morning?" She grinned impishly.

Daphne grinned back. "Actually, there's a long story to it, I guess? And why would I give you two a chance at him, eh? Look at those green eyes!"

Harry blushed deeply, a full body blush visible, not used to such attention.

Hannah, the more tender-minded of the two, said contritely, "Oh, poor boy, we're making you blush. Oh Harry, we're just teasing. We're not jealous, we just love ribbing Daphne, just as much as she loves to do it to us." She turned to Daphne, "you cast a Bombarda when you announced your betrothal!" She grinned and turned back to Harry, "We'd love to be your friend too, Harry, if Daphne gives you any time alone. Though she better! We're only eleven years old. You let us know if she's pestering you too much."

Susan nodded, adding, "That's right Harry. Make sure she gives you some time to study. You'll need your wits about you if you're married to her."

Harry, losing his wits after all the blood had rushed to his skin in embarrassment, began to feel cooler given the chance to recover in the cool night air. "Thank you, I'd love to be your friends too."

At that moment the boat rounded the headland, and Hogwarts Castle came into view.

Hannah, in the back of the boat facing towards it, pointed their attention forward, then said, "What an auspicious place to start a friendship. I'm looking forward to getting to spend time with you. All of you."

"Well said," Daphne added.

Harry and Susan chimed in together with "Yes."

They smiled and took in the view together as their boat slowly bobbed its way towards the castle.

Professor McGonagall was feeling her age. She looked down her nose at the bairns in front of her, another crop of new students, though this year promised to be extremely interesting with so many first heirs to houses major and minor in one year, and one Harry Potter.

Nothing to be done for it, she decided, except follow through with the plan she and Professor Filius Flitwick had first concocted before feeling out other like-minded professors. This year things would be different, by my troth, she thought.

Her mind roiled with plans and contingencies they'd considered, but she was woolgathering now. Her new charges were looking up at her frightening countenance, getting increasingly nervous at her silence.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she intoned sternly. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress. I will be escorting you to the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into houses. Houses will be your family within Hogwarts."

"These houses are Gryffindor, known for the bravery of its chosen, Hufflepuff, for loyalty, Ravenclaw for wit, and Slytherin." There, that should be plain enough for even the incompetent ones to suss out. She desperately needed to minimize the population of Slytherin house, to reduce the number of dullards turning into blood purists.

"You'll be sorted presently in front of the school, so smarten yourselves up. Hurry up, children," she added when no one moved.

A flurry of activity commenced as students straightened their robes and hair. Then she pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and strode forth, commanding "Follow" in an imperious voice.

A rag-tag band followed, staring up in awe at the ceiling, bumping and tripping each other in their inattention, as they passed up the length of the hall.

Eventually, mercifully, the sorting began.

"Hannah Abbott". Harry's newfound friend, she of wicked wit but gentle demeanor, flounced up to the stool and put the hat on her head. It shouted "Hufflepuff", followed by clapping about the room, and cheers from the table dressed in yellow-trimmed robes.

Harry watched Susan also pass into Hufflepuff, then later Daphne into Slytherin before finally his turn came.

Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the stool as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. Almost immediately it called out "Slytherin", to the surprise of everyone in the room. Harry was grateful: the less time the hat sat on his head, the less time he'd have to spend being gawped at by everyone in the room.

Almost immediately loud clapping started from his three friends, along with muggleborn not "in the know" about what was special about this Harry Potter person. Susan whistled loudly. Hannah cheered, and Daphne shouted, "Yes!" The rest of the room followed in their applause somewhat more belatedly.

Harry walked to the Slytherin table and sat down gratefully next to Daphne as she slid one arm around behind him and hugged him firmly.

"You made it! I'm so glad you're here with me," Daphne exclaimed.

At the head of the room, Minerva McGonagall looked waxlike. Well, The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley, she thought wryly. This was most certainly not one of the contingencies she had considered in any of her wildest flights of fantasy. Nothing to be done for it but to lay new foundations, she supposed. And drink some scotch whisky. Perhaps a lot. Very helpful in brushing away the cobwebs of the mind, it 'tis.

Chapter Text

On the way to the dungeons, Harry and Daphne waved to their friends in Hufflepuff, and received convivial waves in return, though distance prevented any further conversation.

Daphne looped her arm through Harry's, walking closely beside him, and he felt warmed by the sensation. So, this is what it felt like to have friends. Wow!

The walk to the dungeon was long, far longer than Harry expected. How would they find their way back to the Great Hall for breakfast? He hoped it wouldn't be troublesome, because he didn't have any food. Maybe Daphne had something he could keep in his trunk?

"Daphne? This might be kind of stupid but... what's the food situation like? Is there a way to get snacks in the dorms?"

"Yes, Harry. I'd be glad to give you some of mine. My trunk is stocked for Ragnarök. When we get our trunks, you can take all you'd like. It's for family, and you're family."

Draco Malfoy, walking nearby, felt the need, previously suppressed by all the eyes at dinner, to express his disdain and importance. Making a scene in the Great Hall would have resulted in a speedy report to his parents, and an equally speedy reply from his father, likely with some horrible form of self-torture he'd have to perform, to be witnessed one of the prefects, surely.

"Potter, are you begging scraps? Didn't you just eat? Oh, I expect your tummy was upset by being placed in the house with all your enemies."

Several nearby Slytherins laughed raucously at Draco's wit. Of course, it was always hard for Draco to tell if they liked his jokes, or just laughed along to avoid the consequences that would be dispensed by their families as surely as Goblins hoarded gold.

Daphne said loftily, "Harry, I'm not sure if you've met Draco, scion to the English Malfoys, the branch that fled France several hundred years ago to avoid decapitation, I'm sure. His family is wealthy, but they lack the refinement of the Noble and Ancient families of Albion, so must throw about their gold to make up for their lack of refinement, accomplishment, wit, bravery, aptitude, or any other redeeming traits. Draco, Harry. Harry, Draco."

Draco followed Daphne's speech, his face dropping by degrees until it positively sagged.

"Chin up," Harry added with relish. "You'll get used to it."

Draco rushed ahead, eager to avoid further bruising of his ego, to the titters of several nearby. Quiet laughter, well masked, of course. One can't be too careful in a roomful of snakes.

"Actually, I did meet him once, at Madam Malkins. He was a real git. Completely full of himself," Harry said, shocking himself; when had he ever let such words past his lips. Thought, yes. Expressed, never!

Another burst of titters sounded out around them.

"Harry, that's shocking," Daphne said with exaggerated affect. "Does he even think before he acts? Perhaps he should have been sorted into Gryffindor."

Astonished guffaws followed. This was too much. A parliament of Hogwarts mail-owls would surely be dispatched soon, and would no doubt cause Draco's stock to fall rapidly.

Pansy Parkinson, dark-haired, tall, and thin; and Tracey Davis, brown-haired, short, and curvy, dropped back and exchanged terse hellos with Daphne.

"I see you've already claimed your first beau, Daphne," Tracey said brightly.

"Hardly her first," Parkinson amended cattily.

"Why Pansy," Daphne said airily, "I would have thought having *your* desired beau handled so thoroughly would have made you cautious. What are your tutors teaching you of comportment? Would you like to try again?"

Pansy looked angry and stalked ahead quickly.

"Tracey, if you continue to hang out with her, it's going to be a problem," Daphne said to the brown-haired girl. "You see what she's doing already?"

"Daphne, I didn't know she was going to be like that. She's probably just nervous about being here, away from her parents for the first time," Tracey temporized.

"Wouldn't that be an excuse for everyone here?" Daphne replied.

Tracey shrugged but didn't reply.

Daphne turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Tracey Davis, heir to the Davis family, which also does business with my family, a substantial amount of business." Turning to Tracey, "Tracey, this is my good friend *and* betrothed, Harry Potter, who should need no introduction."

"Hello Tracey," Harry offered, ducking his head.

"Hi Potter," she said, now out of sorts. "I'm going to go see how Pansy is doing." She sped away to follow her compatriot.

Daphne put a hand to cheek and said, "Well, that is a surprise. I expected Pansy's behavior. She's been in love with Draco ever since she saw his manor house, I'm sure. Tracey less so. She's flighty, but she seems to be leaning darker than I would have imagined. She's just a child," she glanced at Harry as he gestured to all the other eleven-year-olds around them. "Okay, yes, we're all children, but I can't think why she's behaving that way. We're not close, but she's turned off the charm, that is certain."

"Wow, Daphne, I had no idea my first year of school was going to be so complicated. Like, when do we go to recess and play tag?"

"What is 'tag'?" Daphne asked with a straight face, not understanding.

"Wow, I really have joined a different world," Harry muttered to himself. Harry may not have gotten to play tag because of his cousin Dudley's bullying, but at least he knew about it.

They stopped as the students ahead bunched up in the hallway.

One of the two prefects, Gemma Farley, a fifth year, announced, "This is the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. No other houses are allowed to know of it, much less enter our sacred rooms. The password is Pure of Heart." Daphne rolled her eyes at this. "Remember it, and don't share it. If you forget, come to one of the prefects."

Harry looked down at the floor and whispered to Daphne, "How are the other houses not going to know where it is? You can see a trail of footprints that stops right here!"

Daphne rolled her eyes again in mock vexation, but said nothing.

The Slytherin first years filed in the common room and looked around at the stylish green decor. Older students watched from a distance as the first years were led to the fireplace, where a tall, dark-haired man with a large nose and hooded eyes waited, looking at them disdainfully, like they had just crawled out of a sewer.

Gemma announced, "It is my honor to introduce you to Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House."

Snape looked over at Gemma and nodded to her, then returned his gaze to the first years, sweeping his eyes across them, until they rested on Harry. He stared at Harry, his hooded eyes blank, betraying no emotion. Harry looked back, feeling a sense of unease at his stare.

Then Snape spoke, his eyes roving once more to take in each of the students and assess their qualities.

His voice had a silky sibilance as he intoned quietly, "Slytherin house has a distinguished history, starting with its founder, Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest wizards of all time. Since its inception, Slytherin House has grown in renown by regularly and reliably producing the finest wizards of their day. Many of them have gone on to become the leaders of society; to carve out new spells from the Terra firma of magical lore; to pursue knowledge, wherever it might lead them; to brew potions that change the course of history; and to teach new generations of Hogwarts students."

He paused for a moment, then carried on, "Professor Septima Vector, currently the most accomplished Arithmancer in England, and perhaps the world, is one of us. I am proud to be a Slytherin, and the youngest wizard ever to complete a Potions Mastery. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, and Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, are two of many notable Slytherins leading the Ministry, as are close to half of the members of the Wizengamot."

"We are a powerful house, but members of the other houses, jealous of our successes, will seek opportunities to tear us down. You must all resist getting caught doing ... anything ... inappropriate ... in ... retribution."

"Those of you acquainted with the Ministry know each department is guided and directed by Slytherins in key roles, but the work carried on there doesn't perform itself. Members of the other houses have their roles to play in the lesser positions necessary for the Ministry to function. They are essential, just as are the hands and organs of the body exist to be commanded by the brain. Remember this before you antagonize others to carry a grudge against you, for what fool would willingly chop off his own hand or cut out his own heart?

Snape looked sharply at Draco's grimace. "Mr. Malfoy, what appears to be the issue with your face? Those with good breeding, like your esteemed mother and father, know that raw displays of emotions are the hallmark of the lesser orders. Please correct it. Now."

Draco straightened and blanked his face.

Snape paused, scanning the room again. "Furthermore, whatever difficulties you have amongst yourself will stay here, in the Slytherin common room, and will not be on display outside this room."

Now Snape looked directly at Harry, not moving his gaze away, and spoke slowly. "We are the house of ambition and cunning, yes, but also the house of courage, intelligence, and diligence. Demonstrate this in your words and deeds."

"That will be all. Prefects, see them off to bed."

After the bairns were bedded down for the night, and the prefects on their patrols, Minerva gathered with her coterie, Flitwick, along with Pomona Sprout, Septima Vector, Aurora Sinistra, Charity Burbage, and Severus Snape, to put new solution to scroll.

While it would have been nice to bring Poppy Pomfrey into the equation, her close alignment with Headmaster Dumbledore made it risky. Poppy seemed too willing to hide childrens' injuries from proper oversight, to Minerva's way of thinking.

However, Snape was a surprise, she thought. What a surprise he had been.

Minerva thought back to the tentative, years-long verbal probing she had done of the far younger man's mind, sussing out his opinions. His expertise at Occlumency -- unusual for one so young -- meant that this was difficult, as the man gave nothing away. Eventually Snape, tired of the game, indicated his willingness to open his mind to her. Using a combination of temporary vows, potions, which she procured from reliable sources, and magic, they had an honest, forthright conversation about his intentions, something he was not eager to repeat given the strain on his nervous system.

Minerva discovered in Snape an ally, sick of what he had done, tired of being manipulated by both sides, and desirous of finding solutions that didn't involve the well-worn clash of dark vs. light.

And what a wonderful ally, deep in the confidence of the dark and the light. Minerva, a careful but not inspired strategist, more of a tactician in things political and societal, came to deeply appreciate his brilliant insights. A lot rested on his narrow shoulders, to be sure, but he had grit, fae the heart.

Once everyone was seated, and the requisite layers of privacy, security, monitoring, and alert spells had been laid down by the group, an operation efficiently performed given long practice by the group, Minerva began.

"Weel, our carefully constructed plan seems to have run to ground in a clarty field. Harry Potter being joined to Slytherin was nae something we've discussed, much less considered. Would anyone care to suggest how we should trundle our wagons back out of the muck?"

Minerva looked to Snape, but he didn't respond, too canny to be drawn out first even among friends or allies. Wise counsel doesn't leap first thing into the affray.

Flitwick opened in a high, nervous voice, though it was often hard to glean whether it was due to his small stature or generally high-strung disposition than worry. "I think we're going to have to bring some of the Slytherins into our plans, Minerva. We can't have the Boy Who Lived simply sit out the fight of our lives against a Dark Lord he's already defeated once. Who knows if he's got it in him to do it again, but whether it's as figurehead, battle-commander, or war-wizard, we need him on our side."

"Well said, Filius,", Septima added genially. Her warm manner and melodious voice disguised a deep-thinking person, as one might expect for a person who surrounded herself with complex mathematical treatises on the underlying nature of universe and read them for pleasure over tea.

She continued, "We need to start assessing the views of appropriate Slytherin students. We already know the bad apples in the later years, and can guess at some of the new ones. By their deeds Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle have already eliminated themselves from any consideration." She shivered. Everyone in the room nodded sympathetically, knowing it was only Lucius' vast influence that prevented the three boys from being jailed for their black-hearted deeds in the midlands, and kept it unaccounted in the news.

Septima held her hands out in balance as if a scale. "How many Slytherins are hiding their true nature, when they're surrounded by so many dangerous and despicable members in their house? Who might share our plans with the enemy if we should broach the subject. We must be careful in our approaches."

Everyone looked around at their neighbors, none speaking. Finally, Snape weighed in.

"I agree with both of you. Flitwick, you're right that Harry must become an ally, no matter his views at present. Were he now inclined toward the dark, his desire to survive can only be found by fighting against the dark. Whether he is Albus' puppet is presently unknown. However, I do note that he seems close with Greengrass, Bones, and Abbott, who are all of them neither light nor dark. I find it interesting that Albus hasn't seen fit to put a tighter noose around young Harry's neck."

Snape looked around the room. "I had fully anticipated that Harry would enter Hogwarts surrounded by light sycophants, starting with Ronald Weasley, no doubt including all the rest of the Weasley spawn. Consider us fortunate that doesn't appear to be the case, and I doubt the antipathy between Gryffindor and Slytherin will allow bonds to form there."

Snape brightened, a rare sight in such a brooding visage. "All things considered I think we are blessed by Harry's placement. As to Septima's point..." Here he bobbed his head gracefully towards the witch -- no doubt there's some funny business going on between those two, Minerva thought in the small part of her brain not consumed by plotting -- "... Harry's position in Slytherin may well be valuable in allowing us to draw off people who might have otherwise fallen into the Dark Lord's orbit."

His look returned to its usual saturnine nature. "We must exploit this. Ruthlessly. As I will be expected to perform this service anyway by those trying to control me," He tilted his glance upward, signifying the Headmaster, "I will begin passively passively legilimizing the students to ... as Minerva would say, get the lie o' the land." He concluded with, "it is so gratifying when everyone wants the same thing; it saves effort."

"Thank you, Severus, we greatly appreciate the service you do. All of you. We are all bound together in this undertaking for, as the great colonial wizard Benjamin Franklin said, if we do not hang together, we will hang separately."

With that they all rose to return to their quarters.

Chapter Text

After Snape returned from the meeting with the other "free radical" professors, he brewed potions for several hours. He wanted to be available in the event that his new first years needed him -- sometimes the first day away from home was too much for his young charges, many of whom, like himself, came from abusive homes. Not something that he shared widely, of course, but shrewd and cunning traits didn't develop in a vaccuum, and were more often to be found in response to dangerous living conditions.

Nearing midnight, he called Malfoy Manor on the Floo Network using the fireplace in his office. Snape knew Lucius, long a night owl, would be awake at this hour, and especially desirous of learning of his son's sorting, though the house he would be in was never in doubt.

Malfoy handed him through the fireplace. Snape, always fastidious, used his wand to clean himself before they proceeded to the nearby den. Not Lucius' study, of course, though Snape had visited there. That inner sanctum was reserved for more discreet discussions, and neither expected this evening's conversations would delve into such matters.

The den was a comfortable room, with well-used but not worn couches, a comforting fire, and two high-backed chairs set near to each other with a small table for glasses between. Other chairs were against the wall should any meeting include more visitors, but this would just be the two of them.

However, Snape found himself surprised as Narcissa joined them before they sat. She wore an elegant evening robe, a muted dark green, with understated silver trim. Even at home, before bed, and among close friends -- for Snape was a close friend of the family -- Narcissa would never appear anything less than polished, graceful, and refined in manner and attire. Her one nod to the late hour was that her long blonde hair was no longer elaborately coiffed, and was instead tied simply using a black silk ribbon.

"Hello Severus," she said lightly. "I shan't bother you for more than a moment, but just wanted to ask after Draco."

"Good evening, Narcissa," he said as he took her hand gently, and bowed over it. Though the words were formal, he said and meant them warmly. "Draco was, of course, sorted as expected, and there were no surprises amongst our set."

"Of course, of course," she replied, anticipating nothing less.

"He was in fine fettle throughout the evening," he professed, now on shakier ground. While the Malfoys loved Draco, they were too satisfied with his qualities, and disinclined to hear any recounting of his faults.

Snape continued, "I anticipate Draco will begin collecting declarations from his housemates this week." He paused, clearly not done expressing his thoughts. "There was one ... unexpected wrinkle ... in the sorting."

"Yes?" said Lucius, with interest.

"Harry Potter. He was sorted into Slytherin," Snape stated. "Moreover, he seemed unconcerned about the placement. He is, apparently, well acquainted with Daphne Greengrass, and stayed with her."

"That is interesting, Severus," Narcissa said, raising one finger to her cheek in studied elegance. Or perhaps it was simply unconscious; one never knew.

"How was the boy?" Lucius asked.

"A study in contrasts," Snape began. "He seemed lively and animated, and showed no sign of being a troublemaker. At dinner didn't speak much, listened often, attentively. On the other hand, he was dressed appallingly. Rough haircut. Broken glasses. Shabby clothes visible underneath his robes, and excessively worn shoes. Muggle shoes. Badly repaired, not something anyone would wear willingly. He looked a vagabond. And no trace of a foreign accent."

"My, you're very observant, Severus. Your powers of sartorial observation vie with your potion-making skills," Narcissa teased. Snape bowed his head genially in reply.

"This is quite the surprise. We've long wondered where Dumbledore kept the boy," Lucius said. "I had expected him kept with some overseas family Dumbledore knows well. Perhaps even with the Flamels -- wouldn't that have been an enlightening childhood, I shouldn't think."

He waved them both to the chairs, handing Narcissa into one gracefully, then turned to pace before them in front of the fire. "It would seem Dumbledore has some other plan I hadn't considered. What behooves it him to raise the boy here, with ... muggles? If it was a wizarding family of any persuasion, surely we should know. It would be impossible to keep it from us," he mused.

"Yes, that was my intuition as well," Snape followed.

"And what could be his purpose then?" Lucius posed. Snape and Narcissa kept silent, both knowing Lucius liked to talk. While Narcissa was the more insightful of the two, especially with regard the emotional drives of others, Lucius was no slouch either. And was worth listening to, especially in matters of politics. And Harry Potter was a matter of politics, no question.

"I should wonder if Dumbledore placed him in some broken home as a way to mold him. Yes, that seems most likely. But to what end? Perhaps Dumbledore hopes to keep him submissive, or even break his spirit? To make him ... pliable? It seems so improbable. I would think, rather, that regular visits by a wise and genial Dumbledore, sharing his wealth of knowledge and showing off magic tricks, would have the boy enamored." Lucius stopped, turned to his wife, "Narcissa, your insights on the matter are always welcome. You have such a keen intellect for matters of the heart."

"Thank you, darling," Narcissa began. "I believe your analysis astute. I confess myself puzzled. Albus never does anything without some goal in mind, even if it takes years to glean his true aims. Often more than one goal," she said slowly.

The two men remained silent, giving Narcissa time to impart her thoughts at her own pace.

"So ... he must want the boy to be more than a disciple. He needs the boy to be ... beholden to him? Willing to do his every bidding? That seems most likely, though he's already made a misstep if the Greengrass girl is involved. Daphne is a clever girl. I would go so far as to say the most intelligent and resourceful child for the last several years, perhaps a decade. Only Gemma would number among her peers, I should think," she mused.

"If Daphne has an interest in the boy, then she -- and her parents, make no doubt -- will bend him to their way of thinking rather sooner than later. There is opportunity here. The Boy Who Lived. How has Draco taken all this in? Has he engaged with Potter?" she asked, turning to Severus.

Snape gathered his thoughts, and said, "Draco has not made a good first impression, would be my assessment. I did not witness any interactions between them, but his mood during my welcoming speech was somewhat brittle."

"That is a pity," Narcissa said. "He does get himself in strop betimes." She turned to Lucius. "You must write him, and provide direction to his efforts. This is an opportunity not to be missed. He must bend his nature to the prevailing winds."

"Yes Dear." Lucius said, his frown at Severus' words turning to a smile as he accepted her direction.

"I have kept you up. I will bid you farewell," Snape said, rising.

"Oh Severus, you grace us with your presence. We look forward to your next visit," said Narcissa, always the graceful hostess.

"Do come again soon, Severus," Lucius added.

With that, Snape departed, knowing the way out, and leaving the Malfoys to their further conversation.

Chapter Text

Harry found Daphne waiting downstairs in the common room. She rose from the couch and greeted him, "How did you sleep?"

"Out like a light," Harry admitted. "Long day."

Daphne thought he seemed tense, so smiled and added, "Yes, it was. But a good day too." After a beat, "The prefects will be escorting us to breakfast as a group. In the meantime, would you like me to introduce you? I don't imagine you had much time to meet your roommates last night."

"Yes please. Thank you, Daphne," Harry offered, a grin starting to form now.

Daphne took Harry's hand in one of her own and led him gracefully to a mixed group of students nearer the window. Harry boggled for a moment, a window in the dungeon? As he looked, a school of fish swam past in the clear water, sparkling in the light. Some magic at play, he thought? Everything was so clear!

Several students were sitting on couches, and some leaning against the wall informally. It seemed a comfortable group. Their inaudible conversation halted as Harry and Daphne approached, and they looked up with interest.

"Good morning, everyone. I'd like to introduce you to one of our new housemates. This is Harry Potter," Daphne said with graceful ease, sweeping a low wave towards him.

Harry, briefed yesterday during the train ride, bowed briefly. "The pleasure is mine."

Daphne gestured towards the couch to their left, where a thin, delicately handsome, dark-skinned boy sat, who Harry recognized from the sorting. "This is Blaise Zabini, who I've known since ... ah yes, since he peed in our rose bushes ... four? ... five? years ago."

"Ooof, Daphne, you wound me!" Blaise said with good humor. "How was I to know where the bathrooms were on my first visit with you so busy lording it over all the other kids?" He reached out to Harry languorously to shake hands. "She's very talkative when giving the manor tour. Couldn't get a word in edgewise while she described the fabulous garden parties she would host. Call me Blaise. And I'll try not to pee on you."

"I'll try not to look like a bush", Harry quipped after a moment, trying to match his cheer. The group grinned.

Daphne looked quellingly at Blaise, then turned to the next person, a strongly built, strongly featured girl with mid-length dark hair. She was the tallest in their year. "This is Millicent Bulstrode. We've also spent a great deal of time together; our parents are friends. You'll find she's very good at keeping the boys in line. Knows all their tricks. They do require so much guidance from us," she said, clasping her hands together.

"Millicent, a pleasure". Harry reached out to take her hand and bowed low, miming a kiss. Doing his best to keep up a smooth patter, he added, "I should think between you and Daphne that the boys are all well-behaved."

"Harry. Do you think you'll need much guidance?" Millicent said with mock threat.

"Oh no. Daphne has me cowed," Harry said after a moment, thinking fast.

"So well trained already, and it hasn't even been a day," Daphne said, grinning. She turned next towards a tall, thin, sharp-featured boy, not one of the first years. "This is Terrence Higgs, our Quidditch seeker. He's a sixth year."

Terrence leaned forward and shook Harry's hand with his own large, calloused hands. "You play?" he asked.

"Errm. No?", Harry said apprehensively.

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," said Daphne. "You're only a first year. There will be plenty of time to practice to take his spot on the Quidditch team next year."

"Hey! Watch it!", Terrence retorted to Daphne. "Where are my beaters?!?". He looked around the common room. "They're supposed to protect me from this kind of harassment. Hmph. Looks like they're off showboating somewhere, never around when you need 'em."

Daphne smiled, then turned to the final member of the group. "And this is Theodore Nott". Nott, a stout, unattractive boy with plain features and plain brown hair, stood and shook Harry's hand.

"Hello, old boy, glad you could join us. Call me Theo, everyone does. Except Daphne. Not sure what I did to make her mad," Theo said, then turned toward Daphne and continued, "No, don't you start. I'm sure you have a list of mishaps I've caused."

Harry smiled, "Well, I'm glad there's someone who's caused her more trouble than me," and grinned.

Theo grinned back.

Daphne said, "Well, I'm sure you'll see more of them soon, since we have all the same classes together. Excepting Terrence. I'm not sure he goes to classes. He just practices flying," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

Terrence grinned back at her, "The Quidditch cup won't win itself now, will it?"

As Harry was looking at the group, he noted all eyes look up past him, and turned to see Draco Malfoy, along with two larger first years, Crabbe and Goyle, walk up.

"Potter. Sure you're in the right place? We can have the prefects help you find your house if you're lost," Draco jeered.

Harry was at a loss for words, not expecting the attack. At that moment, Alonsyius Bedfellow, a fifth-year Slytherin prefect, called out in a clear voice that cut through the low chatter, "First years, first years over here. We're headed up to breakfast now."

Harry looked between Draco, Daphne, and the group, not sure how to respond.

Theo walked past Harry, put his arm around Draco, then used his larger mass to turn Draco with him towards the prefect, and said, "Timing is everything, Draco. I think you missed your moment." Theo continued forward, propelling the thinner Draco along with him.

And with that their group broke up to head to breakfast.

Chapter Text

After the long walk from the dungeon, Harry was famished. He decided to start eating a pre-breakfast if this much exercise was required to get a morning meal. Fortunately, the food was already on the tables, and piping hot.

Harry loaded a plate with a bit of everything, feeling lucky and special. Meals at the Dursleys were always a chore, not only having to make the meal, but then never getting as much as he liked. They didn't starve him, exactly, but he never felt quite full either.

Around him the noisy chatter of students carried around the room. The professors were arriving individually, and Daphne told Harry their names and specialties, as well as other tidbits about their manner and reputations.

Harry asked, "How do you know so much about all of them?"

"Oh, there's a book my parents gave me. It includes their pictures, biographies, awards. It's very useful for preparing for school. My parents were very particular about making a good first impression, you see," Daphne said. "Oh! I wrote a note to them and gave it to the prefects last night to deliver. I do hope that they'll reply -- perhaps as early as this morning, about your attire."

As if on cue, mail owls arrived en masse, circling the room and descending to the tables.

Harry felt a brush on his ear, and the next moment Hedwig landed in front of him. "Hedwig," he called. "It's so good to see you!" He reached over, and gently scratched behind her ear.

Daphne said, "Oh, that owl is so adorable. She really stands out with her bright coloration too."

Harry, distracted by his owl-friend, nodded absently. He reached over to a plate to take some bacon, and then started hand-feeding the bird, who was apparently famished as much as Harry. Flying such a long distance must be taxing, thought Harry, though she looked alert, not droopy.

She cuffed him gently with a wingtip, prekked in the direction of Daphne, and swooped away. Immediately thereafter another owl landed in front of the pair, burdened by a small box in its claws.

"Well," said Daphne. "It looks like my parents have already responded. Eat quickly. Once we get our class schedules, we can go someplace to look at this."

Harry just couldn't believe events around him were happening so fast. His mind struggled to keep up, it seemed he was living in a dream because of the change in pace.

Harry ate rapidly and didn't slow down. Eventually, the heads of house were to be seen walking down the length of their tables, distributing class schedules. Snape efficiently passed out papers on his way down the table, then slowed in front of the mass of his first years.

Snape looked them over, his dark eyes observant. "Here are your class schedules. You'll find they're all the same, take one. Gemma will escort you to your first class with Professor Flitwick. Be on your best behavior, I expect not to receive any reports on bad behavior or lackluster performances." At this he looked forbiddingly in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle, who quailed.

The first-years chorused variations of "Thank you, Professor Snape".

The schedules were passed down both sides of the table. Daphne glanced at hers, then tucked it away. "Quickly now, we have some time before we need to be back here."

She and Harry darted away and found a quiet, unused cloakroom near to the Great Hall.

Daphne set the box from the owl on the floor and tapped it with her wand. It grew to the size of a wardrobe. Daphne gave Harry a "go ahead" gesture with both hands, encouraging Harry to open the doors.

Inside, Harry saw an array of clothes: robes, shirts, sweaters, trousers, in various colors, with black, green, and silver predominating. On shelves below were socks, pants, belts, ties, and shoes. Harry couldn't believe it. He pulled out a shiny pair of shoes. Would they fit, he wondered?

Daphne pulled on a vertical panel. Harry watched in amazement as it folded out and hinged downward, becoming a small bench. Harry sat down gingerly, not wanting to break it, but it didn't bend or sway at all.

Daphne turned to him and said, "I'll just be outside so you can change. You have a few minutes but be quick. Just tap your wand on the wardrobe when you're done."

He pulled off his grimy, oft-repaired trainers, and looked at his disreputable socks. Beyond repair. So he removed his socks and replaced them with some wonderfully thick wool socks that felt warm and fuzzy inside. Harry had never felt anything so comfortable.

Nothing to be done for it. Harry let down his trousers and shimmied out of his pants while leaving his robes on, then pulled on some new ones. Then he shucked his robes and changed shirt and undershirt quickly in the still-cold air. He put back on a new robe, much finer than the one he had been wearing moments before. Finally, he sat back down, and put on the shoes, which he noted sized themselves to his feet even as they laced themselves. Come to think of it, all the clothes fit perfectly. It must be magic at work, he thought.

He left his old clothes overflowing in a wastebasket the corner of the room. He tapped the wardrobe, and it shrank back to its former size, which fit easily within his pack. As he looked over to the corner, he saw that the wastebasket was already empty. Magic! Awesome!

Moments later he was outside, with Daphne looking him over. "You look much smarter. You're a proper gentlewizard now."

Harry blushed, but responded, "I feel better too. These clothes are wonderful. Thank you. How can I thank your parents?" Harry asked.

"When we have some free time, we can write letters. I'm sure they'd love to hear from you. I bet Hedwig would be glad to take your letter, and they can meet her too," Daphne bubbled. She was as excited as he, and they both giggled with enthusiasm. Harry thought he had never experienced so many moments of joy in such a short time in all his life!

"Let's go," Daphne prompted. "We don't want to be late to our first class."

Together they ran back to the Great Hall enthusiastically, holding hands.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of the Charms classroom door, Draco realized the enormity of his mistake. He had already antagonized Harry three times in twelve hours and now his father wanted him to court Harry Potter.

He recalled this morning's letter from his father, delivered to him by family owl:

Dearest Draco,

Severus informs me of your placement in Slytherin. Congratulations, I expected nothing less. I trust you are already well on your way to having your year mates wrapped around your finger, ready to do your bidding. I remember with fondness my early years in the house: the camaraderie, the games, the adventures, and of personally making a sizable impact on winning the house cup. I look forward with enjoyment to hearing your stories over a Yule fire.

My later school years were markedly less pleasant due to clashes with Gryffindor house members. I trust you will be able to navigate these challenges and work to heal the breach, that we might have use of the — as Severus would have it — useful hands for our Slytherin brains to utilize.

I understand that Harry Potter was sorted into your house. This is surprising, and fortuitous. While Harry’s temperament and, by extension, his eventual role in our society, is yet to be fully determined, his value as a symbol of your leadership -- the Boy Who Lived, mentored by a Malfoy -- would do wonders for your reputation, and my regard.

Your mother and I, based on Severus observations, believe the boy may have been raised by muggles, which provides you with an enormous opportunity to teach him about our world, shape his views, and create obligations to you and our family.

I trust you will use this opportunity to your advantage.

With my sincere wishes for your good fortune,

Lucius

P.S. Your mother asks that I include her abiding love for you, and to convey her regard to Miss Parkinson, who I would add seems —- appropriately given your station -— more besotted with you after every visit.

P.P.S. We’ve been saving these Abraxian chocolates from the continent for you, that you may avoid the inferior products to be found at Honeydukes. We have finally located a supplier who can provide them in such quantities that you may dispense them to all your housemates regularly, should you desire.

Said missive from his father was even now a burning ember in his intestines, or perhaps it was his panicked binge-eating of the entire box of rich chocolates from Switzerland. The directions and obligations couched in the loving words from his parents filled him with a sense of dread. How to correct this situation and fulfill their expectations?

Crabbe and Goyle, hulking nearby, and used to Draco's frequent bouts of irritability, quieted to a dull silence rather than risk more of his snippy comments this morning.

Draco spied Harry, side-by-side with Daphne, roll up to the class. Seizing the moment, Draco approached the pair. As he approached Harry looked up, surprised and wary.

"Mr. Potter," Draco started formally. "I'm afraid that we ... got off on the wrong foot ... with ... some ... misconceptions in our communications ... which I hope to rectify." He paused here, not sure what to say next.

Harry looked Draco in the eye. "I'm not sure I had any misconceptions when you insulted me for no reason."

"Perhaps I can make amends," Draco tried. Keep it formal, he thought, that's the thing. "You'll need a partner in Charms and Potions, and the Malfoys are well known for our abilities in both areas of magic. I would be glad to squire you to assist in your introduction to our society." There, surely that offer of his prodigious capabilities would win Harry over. Surely a half-blood, raised by muggles, would see the value in seconding himself to the leading pureblood student residing at Hogwarts.

"No thanks," Harry replied shortly, turned, and stalked over to where Theo and Blaise were chatting amiably, with Daphne following.

Daphne gently took Harry's arm as the approach and whispered something Draco couldn't make out. Damn, he thought, feeling a further wave of worry.

Shortly thereafter the door to the Charms classroom was opened by Professor Flitwick, who burbled happy hellos, greeted the students as a group, and invited them genially to enter his demesne. While Flitwick was small by human norms, shorter even than Harry, who was the shortest of the first years, Daphne had indicated that his stature as a Charms Master was immense. As well as having published the "definitive treatise on the use of charms" (Daphne had said), as well as several more academic ones about charms creation, he was also a former dueling champion, winning the European Grand Duelist Tournament three years running.

Harry had marked Daphne's strong desire to learn, and to ingratiate herself with the teachers. He also looked forward to his first class learning spellcasting. With those points in mind, he approached the front of the room to find a seat near to the professor, with Daphne sitting on his left next to the window.

A moment later, to his displeasure, Draco sat in the chair to his right. Harry tensed.

Professor Flitwick proceeded behind his desk, disappearing entirely, then arose again a moment later, climbing stairs? books? to place himself on top of the desk looking out over -- or rather still under -- the students.

"Welcome, students. What a privilege it is to have you all join me today to discuss one of my favorite subjects, and something that I hope will soon be one of yours, Charms," the professor began, speaking with a contagious excitement.

"Charms are one of two main branches of magic cast using a wand, the other being Transfiguration, which you'll be studying with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, who is one of the top experts in the field today. I hope to provide you with a similarly excellent level of instruction," he said with humility. "Now, would anyone like to share with us the difference between charms and transfiguration? Yes, Miss Granger."

A bushy-haired girl several chairs to Draco's right, who had raised her hand, spoke quickly. "Transfiguration involves changing the form or appearance of an object or creature into something entirely different, whereas Charms are spells that add or enhance properties of an object, creature, or situation without changing their fundamental nature."

"Excellent, Miss Granger, thank you. Five points to Gryffindor," Flitwick said genially.

To Harry's right, Draco scoffed, "Right from the book, mudblood." Harry tried to ignore him but felt anger welling up at the slur.

Class proceeded, with Flitwick demonstrating Lumos and Nox, and all the students repeating his performance.

"Go ahead, Harry," Daphne urged. "I'd like to be the one to see you cast your first spell."

An unnamed emotion welled up inside Harry at her request, counteracting any lingering unpleasantness from his proximty to Draco.

Harry visualized a light, called out "Lumos", and a small bubble of light almost instantly appeared at the end of his wand. Wow, thought Harry. I'm a wizard.

Daphne clapped gleefully, grabbing his non-wand arm with both hands and squeezing him. The light at the end of Harry's wand glowed brighter.

For Harry, the tingling sensation of the spell passing from his center, through his arm, and out to the tip of his wand was mesmerizing. His spell slowly grew brighter as he concentrated, and he experimented with making the light gradually brighter and dimmer. He felt awed by the simple spell, and more alive than he could remember feeling previously. Daphne, he noted, performed the spell with no difficulty, though as he looked around the room, he did see some who struggled.

He stopped the Lumos spell at a thought without using Nox, then perfunctorily cast Nox just to be sure.

Next Flitwick provided some background and instruction for their next spell, the Levitation Charm. He then distributed feathers throughout the room from a box on his desk, using a spell. Harry was impressed at how the feathers rose smoothly, traveled down the aisle in formation, and distributed themselves, one to a student. Magnificent!

Draco leaned over and said, "I noticed your Lumos spell wasn't very bright. It's important to have strong intent. Observe." Draco placed his feather on Harry's desk and began waving his wand near Harry's face.

Harry had had enough of this. "Get away from me!" He pushed Draco's wand arm away. Apparently, this changed the wand motion enough that it caused an explosion, blowing both boys back from the desk with a loud bang, though both were uninjured.

"You ass!" shouted Draco, standing up and looming over Harry.

"Yeah, well sod off, you tosser," Harry replied from his sitting position on the floor.

"Boys, boys," said Flitwick. "I'm afraid that this is not the sort of interaction I would have expected from either of you. Please sit down and refrain from talking for the remainder of the lesson. While this is only the first day, I would be remiss if I did not provide a forceful intervention to remind you of appropriate behavior. You will both have detention this evening with your Head of House."

Harry nodded to the professor and apologized, then looked morosely at Daphne, feeling a failure. And the class had started so well, he thought.

The class finally ended with an assignment given, and Harry was able to leave, feeling miserable, while Daphne commiserated. The day improved, as Draco didn't sit next to Harry nor Daphne again, keeping well clear.

That afternoon after lunch, the pair sat themselves in the Transfiguration classroom, awaiting the start of instruction. Unlike their other classrooms, the door was already open though no teacher was present.

Harry boggled when Professor McGonagall transformed from cat to human, and barely noticed as she remonstrated two Gryffindors late to class. He was already deeply invested in becoming an animagus, and thinking about what forms he would like most, already starting to wonder if he could be a magical beast, and what kinds of magical beasts existed. Consequently, he was not entirely focused on the instruction Minerva provided and had to play catch up as he watched Daphne exercise her will and wand to convert matchstick to shiny, pointy needle.

McGonagall passed by and provided instruction to each student in turn. She gave Daphne five points for her "masterful effort", requiring no instruction. She did likewise for Hermione Granger, nearby. Harry made progress under McGonagall's watchful eye. Almost immediately after the professor had passed on to the next row, Harry was able to complete a similar quality of work.

"Good job, Harry," Daphne said. "It's not that hard if you focus, is it? I'm going to try some variations," and returned to her efforts.

Harry looked around the room. As he looked out the window he saw fresh snowflakes falling. In the crystal-clear air of northern Scotland, the flakes looked magical themselves. Harry felt a sense of happiness watching their gentle descent.

Almost unconsciously Harry waved his wand, and a similar gentle descent of snowflakes began inside the window, unnoticed by anyone. Harry's heart warmed with the same sensations he'd felt earlier in Flitwick's class. He made small spirals with his wand, causing the snowflakes to circle and turn about slowly in time with his motions.

From the back of the classroom a loud bang erupted. His reverie broken, Harry turned to see the source of disruption. One of the Gryffindors had apparently had an accident, and his face was covered in soot.

The class wrapped up shortly thereafter with another assignment set. Harry and Daphne departed for dinner along with the rest of their classmates strung out down the increasingly crowded hallways as everyone mustered toward the Great Hall.

Dinner was uneventful, though full of cheer, assuming one avoided looking at the sullen Draco, until eventually the Slytherins returned to their common room, again escorted by prefects, sixth years this time.

Harry said his goodbyes to Daphne and his other new acquaintances and headed to Snape's office for his upcoming detention. He found Draco already standing outside the room, head low. Fortunately, the other boy didn't address Harry, and they stood in brooding silence.

The door to Snape's office opened several minutes later, and Snape gestured the boys inside. "Would anyone care to elucidate the nature of the trouble Flitwick encountered today?"

Harry didn't believe he was in the wrong, but he was not a grass, so there was no way he was going to speak first.

After a pause, Draco spoke, "The fault is entirely mine, sir. I was intruding where I was not wanted and should have been more circumspect." He turned to Harry. "I apologize for my actions."

"Anything to add, Mr. Potter?" Snape drawled.

"No sir. Or rather, I accept your apology, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape, raising his tone, said "Well then, with this happy moment concluded, let us then turn to the matter of discipline." Then his voice became steely, as he gestured to a large box on a shelf behind him. "Mr. Malfoy, you will dissect these puffskeins. I need intact hearts and livers, to be stored separately in these jars. Do try to minimize their suffering. It improves the quality of the potions they'll make."

Malfoy nodded and prepared to start work. Snape expected no less: Draco would have no difficulty, and might even enjoy, destroying these beautiful, innocent creatures. This was fortuitous for Snape; while the work was mundane, even his best potions students would blanch at the task.

Then Draco opened his gob. "But what about Harry? What are you making him do?"

"Mr. Malfoy, while I am your godfather, you must not presume on me when I am working in an official capacity. Look to your work, or you will be here tomorrow evening as well," Snape scolded.

Draco looked down and frowned, chastened.

Snape continued, "In any case, I have a less pleasant task for Mr. Potter. Come." Snape turned away and walked into another room off his office. Harry followed, but not before noticing Draco's frown turning to a nasty smile at Harry's anticipated punishment.

They proceeded through another room filled with bubbling cauldrons. Snape stopped at several to look them over, stirred one once, and then continued onward. They passed out of this room, through another, until finally reaching a small reading room with a fireplace and two chairs.

Snape gestured to one of the chairs. "Please sit, Mr. Potter."

Harry sat on the edge of the chair gingerly, while Snape took off his over robe, hung it on a peg, and sat. Harry, no clothing expert, thought Snape's clothes under the robes were much of higher quality than he would have anticipated, the shirt black with thin silver lines of intricate detail under a glossy black vest.

Snape paused a moment, then began in a soft, inquiring tone, entirely unexpected from the sallow-faced man. "What do you know of the wizarding world, Harry? More specifically, about the dangers you face?"

Harry was confused at the question but answered quickly. "I know Voldemort", at this, Snape grimaced, "killed my parents. Daphne told me yesterday. I didn't know that before. That he had an army of Death Eaters, and that some of them are not in prison, and might be after me."

Snape nodded. "Mmmm. You are correct. I have several things to say to you, for your own safety. I hope you'll allow me some latitude as your Head of House, in providing you with advice that I doubt will bring you joy."

Harry nodded.

"First, I know not who told you the name Voldemort, but I would encourage you not to use it. During his reign people were killed solely for mentioning his name. In fact, there was a taboo on his name that allowed his ... retainers ... to locate and apprehend those who spoke it. Even now you will find that many flinch when hearing the name, but more to the point your easy use of the word will mark you as someone discourteous or ... hmmm ... in need of chastisement by people who hew to his world view."

Harry, eyes huge, nodded.

Snape continued, "It is with little pleasure that I affirm your knowledge. There are Death Eaters, as well as those sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause that remain unmarked, and who would do you ill. More to the point, many of their children are here at Hogwarts. Do you take my meaning?"

Harry swallowed. "I need to be careful around students I don't know, because they might try to hurt me."

"Precisely. In particular, some of the older students are quite volatile, and not safe for you. I could name them, but I would not expect you to know them by sight. As such, I have prepared a book for your perusal. This book contains a list of all the students presently at Hogwarts, along with their portraits and other pertinent information. I have marked the students you should concern yourself with."

With this Snape picked up a book from a side table, brought out his wand, and intoned "scripturam visibilem" before passing the book to Harry. "Study this book carefully. It may not leave this room. I will return in two hours."

"Yes sir, Professor Snape," Harry said earnestly.

Snape rose and departed, while Harry bent his efforts towards memorizing the particulars of those who wished him ill.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, only the third day of the school year, but seemingly weeks later given the flurry of studying, spells practice, exploring, spells practice, talking with house mates, spells practice, essay writing, spells practice, visiting the library, spells practice, meals, and spells practice, Harry and Daphne sat on stools in the front row of Snape's "Potions Dungeon".

Daphne had explained that the bare floor and minimal decor were due to the desire to maximize safety by minimizing foreign materials that might interact badly with potion ingredients, rather than interior styling decisions by their professor.

Harry was excited to take part in the class, still buzzing from the excitement of Magic MaGiC MAGIC. Each time he cast a spell he felt a bubbling warmth throughout his body and limbs, and his wand was beginning to feel like an extension of his arm, so much so that when he set it down or put it in his wand holder, he felt a part of himself missing.

His wand holder, along with a new potions kit and protective gloves & goggles, were provided courtesy of the Greengrasses. Hedwig was making what seemed to be twice-daily trips carrying letters, boxes, and treats to Hogwarts from Daphne's parents, and daily updates on their progress, thoughts, and goals from Harry and Daphne. Hedwig clearly liked the work, looking trim and proud each time she visited. Her feathers glowed, perhaps from the large quantities of bacon Harry and Daphne lavished on her each visit.

Harry's letters began awkwardly, but with Daphne speaking regularly of the mettle of her parents, and the long letters they included with their gifts, Harry felt like he was beginning to get a sense of them, recognizing in their writing and ideas two remarkable people who helped shaped Daphne's intelligence, confidence, and grace.

For his own part, Daphne enjoyed spending time with Harry. His cleverness, happiness, and good humor warmed her heart. His obvious love of magic was contagious, and while Daphne had expected to enjoy spellcasting, their friendly rivalry and mutual desire to see each other succeed added spice to their frequent spells practice squeezed in spare moments throughout the day.

As the room filled in with students behind them, Harry and Daphne laid out their equipment according to the book, *Potions Ingredients and Their Uses*, recommended by Snape, and provided to Harry by Daphne's parents. He wondered why it wasn't a required book when it did more to explain the subtle art of potion making than his readings in their standard book of potions. Daphne explained to him that the book was very expensive, and so not recommended as part of the required materials to avoid beggaring less-well-off families. Harry didn't think that entirely fair, given how seemingly important it looked to be from their pre-class readings. In any case, they both finished their setup as Snape swept into the room, his robes flowing out behind him majestically.

Snape strode behind his desk, leaned forward on both hands, and spoke with a feral intensity, foregoing any greeting to the students.

[Author's note: copied from Book One; this speech is too good to try to replace with my own feeble efforts]

*There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." Snape stared at Draco Malfoy, "who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.*

As Snape spoke, he stepped out from behind his desk and walked along the front row. Snape stopped in front of Harry, who was rapidly scribbling Snape's thoughts on his paper, and looked around the room to see mostly idle quills. "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention! I see that Mr. Potter is taking note of my instruction," Snape said, as he leaned over towards Harry. Then he looked up at the class. "Well, what are the rest of you doing?"

A rapid rustling of backpacks and paper, and the clinking of glass and porcelain inkwells on desks, indicated that the rest of the students were preparing to match Harry's efforts. Daphne, of course, was in identical repose to Harry in already having taken notes.

After the assignment was given, Harry collected the potions ingredients from the front cabinet. He and Granger, the bushy-headed girl from Gryffindor, reached the cabinet at the same time.

Granger looked wary, but Harry genially waved her forward first. "Go ahead." She nodded her thanks and collected her ingredients on a tray. Harry watched her quick movements to avoid making any mistakes when it came time for him to perform the task. He noted how one powder clumped up, where the next came out so fast it almost mixed with the first on her tray, and used that knowledge to pour carefully when his turn came.

Upon his return he saw Daphne had the cauldron filled and boiling, a neat flame glowing blue underneath. As he looked around to other stations, he saw some with overly small or yellow flames, and one cauldron with blue and yellow flames reaching up around to the sides of the cauldron. Too hot, danger, he thought instinctively.

"For our first potion, would you like to handle the timing, stirring, and adding ingredients, and I'll prepare the ingredients for you?" Daphne asked.

"Thank you, Daphne, that would be great."

Daphne took the ingredients tray and started preparing them with her silver athame, making precise and uniform cuts of Whillygig leaves.

Harry carefully copied Snape's recipe from the chalkboard to ensure he had the steps prepared and added a row of timing numbers and stir counts along the left margin, per his *Potions Ingredients* book, and then added the first ingredient.

As he threw the Karkeek buds into the cauldron, inky tendrils appeared from their base. Harry began stirring, as the recipe called for, fascinated by the patterns of the magic he could see. He continued stirring well beyond what the recipe called for, hypnotized by the swirling shapes.

"Harry? Harry? Harry?" Daphne asked. Harry started at her third call of his name, returning from his deep concentration.

Snape chose this moment to intervene. "Miss Greengrass," he said sharply, "it appears that Mr. Potter is woolgathering. Please remove yourself to another cauldron and begin your own potion."

Several students nearby guffawed at Harry's predicament. Getting caught not paying attention was a one-way trip to a week's detention in potions class, they had been told by the upper years.

Snape continued, addressing Daphne once more. "There is plenty of time to finish by yourself," he said lightly.

He turned back to Harry. "Pray proceed on your own Mr. Potter and see me after class."

Harry heard, "Ooooh, busted" from further back in the room and blushed deeply. "Yes sir, Professor Snape," he coughed out.

Harry tried to pay attention, but after each ingredient he added, the swirling maze drew his attention for long minutes, and so he made slow progress, not completing the potion even as the other students were bottling their efforts.

He turned to look at Daphne, confused. Where had the time gone? He was not so much worried as mystified.

Snape walked to Daphne again and said, "Please proceed to dinner, Miss Greengrass. I need to have some words with Mr. Potter, and he will be along presently."

All the students packed their belongings and filed from the room, some slowly, some looking back over their shoulders, especially the Gryffindors, hoping to see the wrath of Professor Snape delivered on one of his own. They were denied this privilege as Snape waited until the last was gone, and the door shut, before addressing Harry.

Harry steeled himself for an explosion of the likes of Vernon Dursley in a strop. He'd already experienced the disappointment of Flitwick when fighting, the casual disinterest of McGonagall when his first effort didn't come as fast as others around him, and now expected Snape, who he had heard from others would often express himself in sarcasm and rage, to rip off his head.

Harry's head drooped at the anticipated outburst. After a moment, he peeked up to see Snape slowly stirring Harry's partial potion with the glass stirring rod, looking bemused.

"Tell me Harry, what do you see in the cauldron," Snape asked in a mild voice, so different from the many verbal flourishes he had used in other circumstances, and even more soothing than when he delicately explained that yes, half the Slytherins were out to kill Harry any day now.

"Errm. Well, there is water at a rolling boil, almost dissolved Karkeek buds, the leaves of four plants that are clumping, and Powder of Peritas floating on the surface," Harry replied. "Sir," he added hastily.

"Entirely correct, Mr. Potter. Now look deeper. Tell me what caught your interest and kept you fascinated."

"Well, sir, ummm, do you mean, like, the swirling dark-gray tendrils from the buds that are intermixed with the slightly less dark whorls from the leaf-clusters?"

"Yes, Harry, you see it too. You should consider yourself a fortunate soul indeed," Snape mused. "Did you know that your mother, Lily Potter, was a potions autodidact, and the best potioneer I've had occasion to brew with?"

Harry gulped, completely undone. Snape was mentioning ... his mother? "No sir. I don't remember my mother."

"I'm sorry, Harry. She was an amazing young woman, and you share so many traits with her, including the color of your eyes."

Tears dripped now from Harry's eyes. What was Snape talking about?

"Harry, you have a gift, like your mother. What you see when you look into the potion is something that few will ever have the privilege to witness. You're seeing the raw magic itself as it interacts to form the effects of the potion. I can see it, your mother saw it, and now you too join our esteemed ranks. When I say this, I say it with absolute certainty: if you desire, you will become a renowned Potions Master."

Harry burst into tears. Snape came around the table, and hugged Harry to him, as sobs racked the boy's body, it being too small to contain the emotions welling up inside.

Nearly an hour later, when Harry arrived at the dinner table, it was clear from his visage that he had been crying. No one said anything to Harry as he arrived, but gossip down the table had it that Snape must have used corporal punishment on Harry. This whispered news quickly traversed all the tables save the professor's table at the head of the room, and students looked upon Harry with a new awe: he was so bad at potions that Professor Snape had beaten him. Gossip quickly turned to speculate on the forms and instruments of punishment that must have been applied.

Daphne looked up at last, not having seen Harry come in. She took one look at his face and immediately ushered him to sit. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's okay. Everything's okay. I'll tell you about it later. Let's eat, I'm starving."

While Daphne consented to his wishes, she vowed to do extreme damage to Snape if he had hurt her betrothed.

Later that evening, when Daphne and Harry repaired to a quiet location in their common room, Harry shared the events that occurred after her departure, and then went on to explain that he and Professor Snape had talked about potions, his mother, her brewing, and her cleverness until it was time for dinner, with the promise that they could continue the conversations at another time.

Daphne hugged Harry for an extended time, then they sat and chatted quietly. The other members of Slytherin house avoided the pair, wanting to give Harry his pride back after being beaten mercilessly by a professor they knew had no compunctions about sticking a knife in where it would hurt most.

Later the pair studied, then headed up for an early bedtime, the events of the day having worn on both excessively.

Chapter Text

With the end of the first week came the student review section of the weekly staff meeting, where the professors shared their thoughts on leaders and laggards, so as to facilitate curriculum changes where necessary to provide increased independent study or additional tutelage, as the case may be.

Professor Dumbledore, largely absent for the first week given the immense load he bore taking on three important positions as Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, with none of them a sinecure, was seated at the head of the table. While it had been a busy week, Albus considered himself an educator first and foremost, and was excited by the prospect of discussing this year's new crop, especially given the importance of one of its members.

Albus looked around the table, nodding genially as each of his subordinates came to their seats. "Welcome, everyone. I'm glad to be here with you all this evening to learn more about our precious new minds. And I must give my apologies, especially to you, Minerva, for my busy schedule this week, as events overseas that have kept me busy," he finished mysteriously, as was his wont. "Minerva, would you please begin?"

"Thank you Albus. It has been a trying week getting the new bairns accustomed to the shape of all things Hogwarts, but there have been no worrisome incidents like last year's first week." Several around the table looked overwrought or even shivered, remembering the stark events of September 1990 and the weeks of paperwork it entailed to satisfy the Ministry's Control of Unusual Health Gatherings Investigation Group ("Mini-CoUHGInG") as to their preparedness as a school to continue educating at-risk youths.

Minerva continued, "As it is late I shall constrain my remarks to say that my transfiguration leaders are Daphne Greengrass, and my house's Hermione Granger," she said with evident pride. "I'd say I'm lucky to have got one over on you there, Flitwick."

"As for laggards, well, we have a much larger crew than usual this year given the small size of the entering class, but to list only the worst, Seamus Finnigan, Ronald Weasley, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. The latter two are merely dull, whereas Ronald is the very definition of indolent, and I will be writing his mother a report this evening. Expect a howler at breakfast. Seamus, on the other hand, is dangerous, bordering on lethal. I encourage you all to watch him closely for signs of danger. Even though I had my eye on him in class today he escalated to catastrophic in an instant!"

"Thank you, Minerva," Albus responded. "And how about Harry Potter."

Snape sighed. This would surely be a theme of tonight's meeting, betraying the headmaster’s all too close attention on the young boy, without stated cause.

Minerva lowered her glasses. "Well, I am disappointed to say that he's not as quick a hand as Misses Greengrass and Granger. More middle of the pack, to be sure. And I did note that he seemed to lose focus several times during classes this week. Not so much of a worry in Transfiguration, of course, but I hope you won't see such lapses during Potions, Severus, or we might lose a whole castle wing if he and Finnegan are paired."

"Thank you, Minerva," Albus said with some disappointment evident in his voice. "Filius, what say you?"

"Thank you Albus," Filius said exuberantly. "An excellent week in Charms, I am happy to announce. We have very many promising students this year, with Hermione Granger, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Lisa Turpin, Su Li, Susan Bones, and, to my surprise ..." here Albus looked hopeful again "... Miss Hannah Abbott." Albus' face dropped again.

Filius continued more sedately, "Mr. Abbott is an old family friend who has been dismissive of his daughter, but perhaps I misread his humility as disregard. In any event, I'm happy to say that she is quite a bit more than capable in her abilities. I could add three or four more students who are nearly to the same level. All in all, a good crop. On the other end of the scale, I would include the same list as Minerva, though Blaise Zabini unfortunately numbers among them too. I think he may be having some adjustment issues, what with the news of his recently deceased stepfather. His sixth, as I understand." Heads nodded around the table. At another time the professors might gossip about the news, but it would be unseemly at the staff meeting.

"And Mr. Potter?" Albus prompted.

"I'm afraid Mr. Potter is off to a poor start. A detention on his first day, something I've only seen once before -- the Weasley twins, of course..." the other staff members nodded knowingly "... for fighting with Draco Malfoy. They both shaped up after a detention with Severus. Thank you, Severus." He nodded to Severus, who nodded back. "I've not seen anything that would suggest either will be joining the top or the bottom so far. Distraction does seem to be an issue for both boys."

Dumbledore sighed softly, then spoke, "Well said, Filius. Severus, would you fill us in on your potioneers?"

"The usual assortment of incompetents: unskilled, incapable, clueless, and bungling. I've not had to mop anyone's brains off the ceiling, but the semester is young." Here Severus halted and spoke no further.

"Leaders? Laggards?" Dumbledore prompted once more.

Snape replied, "I suppose that Miss Greengrass and Draco Malfoy show some slight potential, and may not be entirely awful in several years’ time," Snape allowed. The older professors nodded along sagely, that could be considered praise, coming from Severus.

"The rest are dunderheads. Of particular note are Mr. Weasley, who lacks any initiative, and Mr. Finnegan, who is a danger to himself and those around him, and who forces me into hovering nearby to ... keep the castle intact. If I must choose, please grant me more of Mr. Weasley, who is simply incompetent and poses no threat, rather than any more of Mr. Finnegan, so that I might achieve my pension."

"And Mr. Potter?" Albus repeated.

"His small stature means that he doesn't consume much air, which is a blessing to those of us trying to draw breath amongst the poisonous fumes," Snape assayed.

"Yes, well, thank you Severus," Albus said. He continued to query the rest of the teachers before arriving finally on their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Quirinius Quirrell. "And what do you have to share of your first-year pupils, Quirinius?"

"As you know, I've revised the curr... curr... curriculum markedly from last year's, and so it's difficult to comp... comp... compare these pupils against what Professor Malarkey included in his notes before his untimely passing."

Heads around the table dipped in acknowledgement of loss of their previous, well-liked DADA teacher. "Before his time", one professor said loudly enough to be heard around the table, "only 119 years old."

"In keeping with the goal of not starting the pupils on spells which might lead to trouble in the hallways during the first weeks, I think a fairer assessment will be possible nearer to Halloween," Quirinius finished.

By this time, Albus only had to lower his head slightly while looking directly at a professor to request an assessment of Harry Potter's capabilities. He did so now.

"Mr. Potter seems to suffer from headaches, it would appear, which is distracting him from the work required. Perhaps he should receive a palliative from Madam Pomfrey in due cour... cour... cour... cour... in the event it cont... cont... continues," Quirinius stuttered out, as each of the other professors held their breath to stop from laughing or crying at his words.

"Well, I think that wraps things up for this week. I wish you all a pleasant weekend and will look forward to seeing you for the next week of school. I will sadly be unavailable this weekend in Austria. Shortly thereafter we can announce the closing of the third floor, west wing, to unaccompanied students. Good night."

With that the professors departed to their various Friday evening haunts, looking forward to the weekend. Snape and Septima Vector left together, with Minerva and Poppy Pomfrey following the two with their gazes, then turning to each other and giggling like school-maids.

Chapter Text

With September nearly over, flying lessons were a topic of much excitement and dread among the first years.

Early afternoon would see the Slytherins fast-march to the Quidditch pitch, their goal to beat the Gryffindors to the cache of brooms on the ground and thereby ensure they would get the better ones, as fewer than half the brooms were "only" two decades old, while the remainder were so ancient their brand names had worn off their handles, courtesy of legions of death grips by sweaty hands. Unfortunately, the wear on the labels was largely indicative of the wear on the brooms, with the structural integrity of the brooms themselves in doubt.

It is an interesting fact that Hogwarts alumni donate prodigious sums to the school post-graduation, but the funds so acquired are not utilized to purchase more contemporary and reliable conveyances that could be used to safely impart the basics of flying to (mainly) inexperienced youngsters, members of the majority of families that do not have the wherewithal -- or the airspace -- to learn on their own.

Madam Hooch, sporting a stupendously expensive ensemble comprised of tiara, earrings, barrettes, broaches, rings, robes, and designer lacey undergarments (ooh la la), certainly had no notion of such financial malfeasance.

In any event, luck was with the Slytherins today as the field was clear, and they were able to capture their prey. Or rather, most were. Given their numbers vs. the number of brooms still (barely) operational, some laggards would have to sacrifice themselves in service of others.

Shortly thereafter the "festivities" ("riot") ceased and the "students" ("rioters") involved "were satisfied with" ("cursed their dire fate due to") the "high-quality transport" ("largely broken deathtraps") they "had selected" ("been forced to accept by circumstance"). Several students could be seen fishing bandages and plasters from backpacks to palliate their ... errr... hemoglobic profusions and broken ... ummm... aaah... never mind. Moving right along.

Harry, enjoying the brisk (very brisk) walk (well, run, really, but who's counting) with Daphne, arrived late to the riot. Party, I meant party! They arrived well after the previous arrivals "collaborated" ("fought tooth and nail") for the few broom specimens thought to be most desirable.

The pair, in their happy bliss, and not perceiving the afternoon's earlier squabbles, looked to select brooms from those remaining. Daphne was fortunate to find a new (-ish) broom tucked underneath one of the worst-looking of the bunch, and so considered herself fortunate.

Harry was less lucky as he searched the field looking for similar. This entailed quite a bit of walking, as the brooms has been scattered widely: students grabbed as many as they could, ran away as far and as fast as they could, then sorted through their loot so acquired, punching and kicking others away as necessary, until they found one they liked. But, y'know, festively. Because it's a party.

One specimen seemed particularly interesting to Harry as he approached. While unsightly, bent, bristles pointing at odd angles, and colored bright orange -- for this broom was one from that halcyon year of 1851 when the Cannons' owner primped for top-of-the-line brooms believing those precious steeds would bring the team to the championship, and more importantly, fame and fortune, before realizing he'd purchased repainted duds from a scam artist -- Wait! Where was I? Oh yes. Said broom was radiating an unusual energy signature that Harry could feel from a few yards away. It called to some primitive part of his brain, in the same way that a pitcher of grape juice or a jug of red wine on the counter above a pristine white carpet calls to the primal instincts of toddlers everywhere. And no, Bounty, the Quicker Picker Upper won't help here. Not even the whole roll of paper towels.

As he approached and raised his hand, the broom gently but swiftly rose to his grip (yes, I know, the word "but" is doing a lot of work in that sentence). He stood there, vibrating with an inner tension. Or who knows, maybe getting electrocuted. Well, he's not turning black like a hot-dog left too long on the grill, so he's probably okay.

The Gryffindors arrived soon after to discover their predicament, but there was nothing to be done for it. They picked up their own conveyances from those remaining, with some small reprise of the battles seen earlier. Less vigorously fought because the stakes were, of course, lower given the state of said remainders. So very much lower indeed. Oh lordy yes.

Madam Hooch, in all her bangled, shiny, garbed glory, strode out amidst the scattered thong. I mean throng. "Okay, listen up, knuckleheads. I'm Madam Hooch, your flying instructor. I've not been offered full-time employment, I'm only an hourly-wage contractor with a limited time allocation, and no health or retirement benefits, so if you little dung-beetle droppings want to learn to fly we need to make this happen before the clock runs out. Got that?!"

Said speech given at over 114 decibels, without a Sonorous Charm. Not the loudest a human voice has ever reached, but well into the range that can cause permanent hearing damage, even to witches and wizards with their prodigious ability to withstand amounts of damage that would pulverize the strongest no-maj humans alive.

While shouting ... err ... yelling ... ummm ... speaking in her inside voice, Madam Hooch walked from student to student, verifying handgrips, removing broom bristles from one student's nose with a minimum of fuss and only a few quarts of blood, and otherwise attempting to corral the chaotic mass of them into some semblance of order.

"We're going to start slow, so you lunkheads can understand. I want you all to grasp your broom like this, with the bristles underneath and behind your butt, right? You there, fat boy, what's your name? Crab? You're going to put genital crabs on the broom? Turn that broom around so the bristles go out behind your ass, m'kay? That's right. You, other fat boy with the bulbous head. Yes, you. Ghoul? What kind of name is that?! Turn it over. No, the other way. For Merlin's sake, gimme that. Like this!"

Hooch continued her circuit of the pitch to connect with all the stragglers who had wandered further afield (haha, get it, the pitch is a field) to procure transportation.

As she came to Harry, she looked at the broom he carried, and the odd way he was standing, then spoke in a lower tone, or at least, under 100 decibels, directly to Harry. "Hey kid, you look a little fresh. Have you flown before?" At the shake of his head, she continued, "You might maybe want to trade that broom with a more experienced flyer and get yourself something a little more sedate."

Hooch continued walking the field.

Harry looked around but, given what he was now beginning to understand of the selection process for picking brooms, felt it "better" ("safer for all concerned") to keep the "broom" ("conceivably non-lethal transport") he had now rather than "trade" ("fight for his life") for a "new" ("slightly less old") broom and potentially leave some significant portion of his life's blood on the outside of his body.

Hooch raised her voice slightly, causing birds for miles around to fall to the ground, stunned or dead (wiping out several avian species in the process), and said, "Okay, now, gently push yourself off the ground with your feet. Just a little hop, and then remain where you are."

Students shot off in all directions, some at high rates of speed, including crashing into the ground. Some even flew at the ground and missed.

Madam Hooch face palmed. "Every year. Evvvvvvvvvery year. They're not paying me enough for this."

A few minutes later a clear stratification of flyers can be seen in the air -- and in broken heaps on the ground -- in four distinct layers.

Up high are the want-to-be daredevils, frequently from well-off homes that have "accrued" ("stolen") the funds to purchase their children personal transport devices like brooms (and flying carpets for those daring law breakers). While they're flying higher than the others, they're actually quite cautious because they are, for the most part, scared out of their wits, and only flying at that altitude due to some foolish notion of pride and, let's face it, pre-teen peer pressure. Some one or two are at that altitude not because they're good or experienced flyers, but simply because they lack some essential component of the brain related to self-preservation or good judgement. Like free climbers in the mundane world. Or perhaps they're simply clinically insane. The wizarding world doesn't have good health care, especially psychiatric care, and so often this type of issue goes undiagnosed and untreated for a lifetime. Please consider donating to a philanthropic medical organization dedicated to mental health; for example, the one where this author resides, which specializes in treating the criminally insane; see details below. Anyway...

At this level of the stratosphere are found Draco Malfoy (wealthy enough to own a broom, easily peer-pressured, too stupid to be scared, delusions of grandeur about his flying skills) and Ron Weasley (poor but shares ownership of a decent broom, wannabe proto-jock susceptible to peer pressure, also too stupid to be scared, a smidge of flying skill for his age), among others. Mostly boys, of course. Testosterone is a dangerous drug, and should be outlawed, you know?

The mid-level flyers, who have chosen an altitude where, should they fall, they risk only a minor sprains, are the competent ones. At that altitude they're more willing to try new tricks and thereby learn, and so are likely to become next year's trainees for the Quidditch reserves. Because, y'know, the daredevils are probably all going to get themselves killed before next term.

At this more reasonable and moderate altitude we see Susan Bones (oh, wait, the Hufflepuffs fly on a different day) and Blaise Zabini (because he knows he looks handsome when his robes flutter in front of the ladies). Oh, and Daphne's up here too because she's cool. Not, like, trying to be cool. She's just cool without having to try.

Below them are the low-altitude "flyers", their feet dragging the ground, and still scared out of their wits. If they crashed from this altitude a Band-Aid would be unnecessary. To be fair, some flying at this level are doing so because their brooms are so wretched they cannot gain more altitude, strive though they might. So don't judge, okay? Let's call them the grounders.

At this "altitude" we find Hermione Granger, white knuckling a broomstick with a grip that looks very saucy in a certain light. Wait, don't quote me on that, she's only eleven. But played by an older actress so maybe it's okay? And Neville Longbottom. What, you thought I was going to break his arm? Nope, been done too many times in other fics on those disreputable websites out there. Don't be obtuse; you know the ones I'm talking about. Not that I've ever read them, mind you.

The final set of, ahem, "flyers" are those still on the ground, comprised of two subgroups. The first subgroup are folks who crashed hard ("crashers") and, who, even with the strong constitution of wizards and witches everywhere, are winded and need a moment. Whew! That solar plexus, it's not like a Timex watch that takes a beating. The whatsit inside does not take much to activate, does it?

The second subgroup's sole member is Harry Potter, who's still communing with his broom. He's not out of his mind, he's lost inside his mind, his nerve endings simulating every possible flying move, simultaneously. Kinda like that scene in the movie War Games, where the computer simulates ... never mind.

So to make this easy, it's daredevils, competents, grounders, and crashers. And Harry. He's special.

Now that the aerial stratification has set like jello on a hot day, Madam Hooch calls out loudly. Actually, isn't that redundant? Never mind. "Students, to make things more interesting, I am releasing three practice snitches for the more adventurous of you to catch." She did this entirely on her own, not as some kind of plot device I intend to exploit later.

With that, she throws three snitches into the air, which disappear almost immediately. That task completed, she glances around the field to see how things look, kind of like the school janitor after an egg-drop competition. She spots Harry, still standing alone, and heads toward him. "Hey kid! Get in the air! Ain't got much more time before I blow this bread-wrapped-around-meat stand." (I'm guessing tacos are unknown in Britain, but I'm American and have no idea).

Harry, startled by the impending destruction of his eardrums upon Hooch's close approach (under forty feet), leaps into the air. His broom shoots up with a clap of thunder (though less loud than Madam Hooch) and he disappears into the clouds virtually instantaneously, super-heating the air in his path. Seconds later he is flying directly back along the same path, upside-down. He makes a close approach to the ground, flying at Mach 4 while hanging from the bottom of his broom, and does a slow roll back to the top while traveling at roughly, I'd say, six feet (37 meters? I have no idea; American, remember?) off the ground.

Harry zooms through all three rings at one end of the field, then reverses course and does the same thing at the other. The iron rings are now all the deep red color of just-poured molten metal, smoking slightly, and would flambee (Is that how it's spelled? I need a better dictionary. Maybe I can get paid for this so I can afford one) a porterhouse steak right about now. Or maybe ribeye? I always forget which is better.

The sight of Harry's precipitous flight around (and around and around) the pitch draws the attention of others, for better or worse. The daredevils start to descend, realizing their feeble attempts to show off don't even show up on the scale of one to Harry.

The competents, secure in their abilities and trajectories, marvel at Harry's performance while continuing to maintain course and speed.

For the grounders, Harry's flying seems to cause existential dread, like being in the same general area with him (Scotland? Great Britain? British Isles? Who understands this map-reading shit? I'm the product of the American school system, and we can't find jack without Google maps. Hey, if you do break up the company, make sure the maps thing still works) will cause them to go crazy and, I don't know, try to repeat his stunt while covered in flaming vodka while swallowing a sword? They panic, whizzing every which way. That's fortunate, because it means 50% of them fly downwards, "crashing" into the ground from near zero altitude. No Hello Kitty Band-Aids for those losers.

Of the remaining ones, by a fortuitous stroke of luck, and, perhaps, the lack of any nearby repositories of vodka and swords, notwithstanding the flask of Scotch Whisky Minerva thinks she successfully hides on her person, even though it's an open secret among the staff. Omigod. I got lost in the sentence structure again. Send help. Anyway, due to sheer good fortune, all but one of the remaining grounders crash into each other at low altitude and will escape with a lecture from Madam Pomfrey about not wasting the time of medical professionals with nonexistent injuries. The sole exception is, as you anticipated, Hermione Granger. She of the white-knuckled ... Never mind, kids. Back to her in a moment.

The crashers, many of whom had almost recovered their breath, are now breathless again at Harry's antics as their solar plexi (plexuses? plexopodes? Is the word Greek or Latin?!?) is/are (what's the #$^&@ conjugation of irregular ... nouns?) are spontaneously re-injured by tracking his flight path, and they remain firmly grounded. Or crashed. Whatever.

So, yeah, Hermione. She flies straight up one hundred feet, then loses her grip. Because it would be too simple to lose her grip close to the ground. And would create less drama for the screenplay I hope to get paid to write. Don't worry, her grip will get stronger with time so this is less likely to happen in future, trust me. Wait, forget I said that.

Harry, seemingly in his own world until now, becomes aware of the danger to someone else. Yes, Harry's Saving People Thing (hereafter SPT, even though I won't use the acronym again) kicks in with a vengeance. It's like fate did a number on this poor kid's DNA, he can't help himself. Especially if it's someone as attractive as Hermione Granger. I mean, let's face it, the bushy-hair? The slightly oversized teeth? Really? That's unattractive?!? C'mon, we all just had to pretend that she was ugly so we could get the big reveal in fourth year. What? I'm right, aren't I? Fine. Buzz-kills, you are. *sigh*. And now, back to our regularly scheduled story.

At the time, Harry is shooting in the opposite direction from Hermione. Well, shooting doesn't really do it justice; bullets would look like they're standing still when he passed them by. He reaches the wall of the stadium and uses both feet to perform a kick-turn, reversing his direction 180 degrees, no mean feat when traveling several thousand miles per hour. But it's Harry, so no problem in a clutch situation like this. His broom screams across the field at high speed, likely causing relativistic effects as he simulates a particle accelerator at full bore.

Yadda yadda, catches the girl, etc.

Harry lands gently near the middle of the field, sets Hermione on her feet, steps off his broom, and checks to see that she's okay. The broom continues to vibrate dangerously for several days, until Hagrid, in his role as Groundskeeper, contacts the Magical Utilities Emergency Services Liason Investigator (MUESLI) as the most qualified professional to remove said object. They disposed of it safely and in accordance with all national and local laws and guidelines, I'm sure.

Once her feet hit the ground, Hermione returns to form. "That was amazing! How did you do that? I saw you fly through the rings, but how can you defy the laws of physics so easily? What's the maximum acceleration you managed today?"

Harry, bemused by the volley of questions, says, "You're welcome."

At this point Madam Hooch has had enough. "Alright you lot, that's it. Bring your brooms back here now or you'll be killed. Or worse, expelled."

Hermione, the most temporally-sensitive of those present because she'll extensively use a time-turner in two years, sensing a discontinuity in the timeline, faints. It can be dangerous fainting on hard surfaces but (a) she's standing on grass, a vegetable (fruit? I mean, cows eat it right? It must be one or the other) bred specifically to withstand the impact of ten-stone players (approximately 40 liters metric, I estimate?) and returning them gently to their feet while still retaining that fresh-cut look and smell of a lawn in summer, (2) while, when standing on her feet, she's slightly further from the ground than when riding her broom, it's not actually that far, and (iii) she's a wizard, wizard-ess, witch, whatever, and they're pretty resilient. So, no further rescue from Harry needed at present. Though honestly, the day is still young, anything could happen. Thank goodness it's not Halloween, amiright?

A few minutes later, everything is packed up, because I'm too lazy to write about the cleanup efforts. It's been a long day for everyone, yours truly included.

Madam Hooch says disconsolately, "Well, I guess I'll have to personally retrieve those practice snitches so I don't have to pay for them out of my own pocket. Which ought to be an illegal labor law violation."

Harry looks sheepish, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the three snitches and hands them over. He wasn't going to take them. Not really.

The upshot of all this craziness is that Hermione never willingly goes near a broom again, not even to sweep the house (because let's face it, Ron would never). She pays for a cleaning service thereafter to avoid such risk, even though the Granger-Weasley family budget doesn't have enough left over for a thimble, what with Ron working as the Deputy Assistant to the Assistant Offensive Line Coach. Of the Cannons. Volunteers are paid more. And we all know he's a trad-male who won't let the ridiculously overqualified Hermione become the youngest Minister of Magic ever, and create spells that prevent you from dying while magical rainbow unicorns shoot out of your butt, which sounds fun, and would likely increase their household funds by a smidge.

Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy eventually take roles on their respective Quidditch teams (probably due more to social promotion than actual skill, but I won't say that on the record because it might engender a lawsuit), and play in much more subdued fashion than their childhood fantasies would suggest, both realizing they're NPCs in the game of life, and so shouldn't endeavor ("try", for American readers) to rise above their station.

Hooch tries to explain in later years how this all happened to her circle of friends. In the Azores. Because they don't have an extradition treaty for non-violent financial criminals with Great Britain. Not casting aspersions; just saying.

In any event, her thesis is that younger (smaller and lighter) kids don’t have much magical power to go fast, whereas older (larger and heavier) kids have more power, but that's offset by their increased weight. So, Harry must be a time traveler, which makes him older time-wise, but still young in body-years and, consequently, small and light. Yeah, it didn't make much sense to me, but maybe a few more Mai-Tais on the beach and it will parse.

Oh, and Terrence Higgs switches from seeker to chaser so Harry, who is clearly qualified for the seeker role, can do so with a petition approved by Snape (obviously), who cares as much about winning the Quidditch Cup as McGonagall, but doesn't want to let on because it's kinda pick-me.

Chapter Text

Harry and Daphne were enjoying another brilliant Charms lesson with Professor Flitwick, his mastery and enthusiasm for the subject creating a level of joy and excitement in them that made learning come easily, with both quickly gaining proficiency in casting the Levitation Charm.

After their initial success with the spell, they started experimenting further, with Daphne working on keeping her feather high above the desk and moving it in complex patterns using a secondary charm, while Harry aimed to lift his heavy spellbook uniformly, intentionally keeping it close to the table to verify the gap between book and desk was identical at each corner, with his feather ignored nearby.

Flitwick watched Daphne's efforts with amusement, followed by, "Excellent work using animation and levitation charms simultaneously, Miss Greengrass. Double-casting is advanced work for a first year! We won't begin even studying the theory until the middle of fourth year! Take 10 points for Slytherin."

He then moved on to watch Harry and, not seeing the feather floating, asked, "Any troubles, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, distracted with his casting, responded with, "No sir, Professor Flitwick. I think I've almost got it."

Flitwick hummed but didn't say more, disappointed in the boy's progress, but hopeful given his positive attitude. "Keep at it then," and moved on to help the next student.

The Gryffindor half of the room was in chaos, as usual, with explosions and shouting. With half an ear Harry overheard a frustrated utterance from that girl he had saved on the Quidditch pitch, what’s-her-name ... Hermione, "No, stop, stop, stop! You're going to take someone's eye out. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's Leviosa, not Leviosar," followed by Weasley, that annoying, lanky redhead blurting, "You do it then, if you're so clever. Go on, go on."

Harry sighed. He and the other Slytherins did their best to ignore the Gryffindors, but the unruly bunch did make it quite hard to concentrate. Maybe if they would just focus on their own work, instead of getting so involved in each other's business?

On the way out of class no one could miss the tension, as the redhead called out in a stage whisper, "It's Leviosa, not Leviosar. She's a nightmare, honestly! No wonder she hasn't got any friends."

Hermione, sobbing, rushed past, bumping into Harry and Daphne in her haste.

Harry turned to the redhead and said, "I think she heard you."

It looked like some of the Gryffindor girls were going to look in on Hermione, and the incident passed out of Harry's mind as Daphne interrupted his chain of thought with "Want to get lunch, or practice first?"

"Let's get lunch. I'm famished," said Harry.

"You're always hungry these days. Pretty soon you won't fit your new clothes. You'll be so big you won't be able to climb the stairs!" Daphne teased.

Harry made as if to hit Daphne, and she ran away, dodging between students in the halls as they made their way toward the Great Hall.

Seeing Filch standing in the main hallway, Daphne came to a sudden halt, so much that Harry thumped into her back, then had to grab her arms to prevent her falling, while they both tried to look casual. Whew, Filch hadn't noticed. He still glared at the pair as they passed, while they kept up their innocent act until they reached the giant doors of the Great Hall. They had to cover their mouths to stifle their giggles, though once safely through the doors they burst into laughter, then proceeded to their spot near the bottom of the Slytherin table for lunch.

By dinnertime gossip was just reaching the Slytherin table that Hermione had been crying all day in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Pansy wondered aloud, "Why would she pick that one, when there's a much nicer one just down the hall?" She added, cattily, "I mean, if I was going to cry all afternoon, I'd certainly pick someplace more sanitary. I can't imagine that her sorrow will be any less if she catches Dragon Pox from touching one of the filthy toilets in there."

"Always so classy, Pansy," Daphne said airily.

They glared at each other, as the passing of the school year had only increased their animosity. Harry was glad he didn't have to room with the Slytherin girls, as it seemed to entail a lot of drama.

Harry was just serving thirds onto his plate when Professor Quirrell stumbled into the hall, announced "Troll in the dungeons, thought you should know," and fainted. Well, at least his stuttering was less pronounced in a clutch situation. It would have been terrible had he dribbled out the words over several minutes, like he typically did in class. Harry shrugged and jammed another roll with butter in his mouth. So delicious! He wondered what made them so fluffy. Was it just the ingredients, or did they use magic to make them?

A pronounced movement of students towards the doors suggested they were all going back to their respective common rooms, so Harry and Daphne joined the crowd -- staying close to the prefects due to Harry's concern for his safety and Daphne's, and proceeded back to the ... dungeons? Well, that didn't make much sense with the troll nearby, but with so many wands Harry was pretty sure they'd be safe. Whatever. He and Daphne contrived to play a game of charades on the long walk back.

They used the extra time in the common room that evening to get a head start on their potions essays, as Professor Snape was a stickler for well-researched papers. Probably purchased red ink in enough quantities to affect the economies of small countries with his purchases. As the evening waned, they eventually said their goodnights and went downstairs to tuck in for the night.

In the common room the next morning, Harry waited for Daphne. These days she took a bit longer to come downstairs because of the contention for bathroom sinks and mirrors. The girls were starting to compete in the makeup department, which seemed to take a lot of time.

Frankly, Harry didn't see the need. Daphne was already the prettiest girl in the school by far, makeup or not. Harry wouldn't say it aloud, but he thought her more beautiful without makeup. Still, it's something she felt was important, so he did his best to support her in her aims.

Daphne had explained at length about the signaling various forms of makeup implied to other women, but it all seemed too complex for Harry to really get, so he sometimes just "mmm-hhmm'ed" at what seemed like appropriate times.

Maybe it would make sense when he was older, he wondered? Girls, after all, did mature so much faster mentally than boys it was scary. Big scary. You could almost see their intelligence increase day-by-day, particularly emotional IQ. But he'd catch up eventually, right? He hoped so, because he didn't want to let Daphne down. She was so good to him.

Harry realized he was woolgathering the moment Daphne came downstairs, looking radiant. Wow, so pretty. He let her know, then took her hand, and they joined the breakfast crew waiting for the prefects to signal the morning's expedition for breakfast. Life was good.

Breakfast that morning got off to a great start with pancakes and eggs. And ham. The ham was always good. But pancakes were a rare treat, so Harry made to get some quickly before the rush started in earnest. So much better than the French toast, really. Though with enough butter, the French toast wasn't bad.

Professor Dumbledore entered the hall, looking grave. He conferred with the teachers, spending extra time with Minerva McGonagall, who looked to be, crying? Well, certainly red-faced. Something unusual was going on, and the room quieted as people focused their attention on the staff table.

After a prolonged silence, Dumbledore stepped up to the table and, largely unnecessarily given the dead silence of the room, tapped a spoon three times on the side of a goblet, producing a rising note that could only have been done with some clever magic. Harry, who hadn't previously had an interest in music, added the subject to his list of interesting study topics, already quite long, and headed by "ANIMAGUS", underlined three times.

Dumbledore spoke at a measured pace designed not to cause panic. Obviously, one hoped, if things were dangerous, he'd get to the important bits quickly. But slow? Slow was safe. "Good morning, all. I have some sad news today. Last night, as many of you know, there was a troll incursion that began in the dungeons, and ranged widely throughout parts of the school..." Here he stopped for a moment at a whisper from Professor Burbage, then continued, "... and outbuildings, thank you Miss Burbage, until the troll was dispatched by the professors. Special thanks go to Professors Snape and Vector for their expert work in resolving the situation effectively, and to Mr. Filch and the house elves for performing an extensive and lengthy cleanup effort."

"I'm sorry to say that one of our students was gravely injured and may not survive. Madam Pomfrey is, of course, attending the student in the hospital wing, as the student is too critically injured to be moved to St. Mungos. Consequently, medical specialists from St. Mungos are on site to assist, so do not be surprised if you see them in the hallways. As the situation is, as they say, touch-and-go, please refrain from interfering with their duties by asking questions or hindering their progress. We will keep you informed as to the student's medical status at mealtimes. Please avoid bothering the staff for updates," Dumbledore closed.

The breathless silence continued for several seconds as everyone waited to see if Dumbledore would continue, but when it became clear there was no more information coming, the room burst into gossip, accusations, recriminations, tearful apologies, and general chaos.

Harry looked around the room to see who was missing. At the nearby Ravenclaw table and slightly more distant Hufflepuff table nothing seemed amiss, though it was difficult to tell with all the people moving around to exchange gossip farther down their own tables or at adjacent ones. Gryffindor was too far away for Harry to assess its population accurately, especially as they were always so rowdy. Well, the news would come out eventually, but it would be nice to know.

[Author's note: it's killing you, isn't it. What happened to Hermione already?!? Am I really going to drag you through all this mundane makeup and breakfast stuff before letting you know if she's injured? What if she's dead? You might have to make a run to the commissary to get tissues for all the crying that's about to ensue, right after you lambast me for my choices and general unfairness. She's only eleven, you say, how could you do this to her, you monster!]

Chapter Text

The morning's History of Magic class with the Hufflepuffs went well, which is to say that Harry got some additional, and much needed, rest. Perhaps a growth-spell is coming on, wondered Daphne, given his excessive eating and sleeping. She hoped he wouldn't start smelling, like some of the other boys. Puberty was gross.

Daphne used the time productively to write a letter to her parents. She started with the date and time at the top, and her parents did likewise with their replies as, with their frequency of writing, with multiple owls airborne at once, and with their sometimes-overlapping trips (owls must stop to eat and, I presume, use the bathroom? One shouldn't ask, it's not polite) the letters could become mixed in transit, creating surprising amounts of confusion.

The duration of the class was just long enough for Daphne to write a thirty-six-inch update in her small, neat handwriting of the happenings since she woke. Whew! Quite a lot had happened before her first class, as usual. First-year, Slytherin-girl house politics really took a toll with all the jockeying for position which would set the course for the next seven years.

She knew the boys would be dealing with these issues in a few years (according to her father), only to realize that the power-structure was already established, and the key roles already sewn up by the girls, well really, all the roles except for Sergeant-at-Arms, which was a purely ceremonial role that only got to tap the flag on the floor twice at the beginnings and endings of meetings.

Harry wrote her parents too, quite a bit considering he'd never met them in person -- he said he really enjoyed their erudition, except, well, he didn't use such a long word -- but since they were Daphne's parents she wrote more frequently.

Upon leaving the class Daphne indicated she would use the loo with Tracey, and Harry could proceed to the common room with Theo and Blaise, given that they all had a free period before lunch. Harry, knowing that said trip to the loo could be ... time-consuming because politics ... took her advice and they went their separate ways.

Once out of earshot around the corner, Harry and crew were startled to see several of the older Slytherins in the hallway, headed by what's-his-name, the really big kid, Flint. Marcus Flint. Quidditch captain. Very Quidditch-focused. Mean temper.

"Hey pipsqueak," Flint said menacingly. He seemed to have a lot more teeth than normal wizards, not all straight. "I heard about what you did out on the pitch. You need to come with me. We have some things to do." Flint looked at Theo and Blaise. "Scram, runts!"

His two year-mates beat a hasty retreat, leaving Harry with Flint, Adrian Pucey, and Terrence Higgs. Well, at least Harry knew one of them. Harry was trying to remember if Flint or Flinck was the dangerous one listed in Snape's yearbook, but the imposing view of the three larger students looming over him wasn't doing his memory recall any favors.

"Let's go," Flint said.

Harry, not seeing a choice in the matter, followed them through the halls, down the stairs, and out a side door. The Quidditch pitch was visible in the distance. Huh, Harry hadn't realized there was a quicker way to get here from the other side of the castle. Must be a magic teleporting corridor. The castle was lousy with them. A notebook-sized folding map for students would be useful, surely.

Now back outside, he felt safer than in the confines of the dark hallways and tight staircases, though really, outrunning three bigger kids seemed unlikely in the event of trouble. Especially since they had presumably practiced coordinating as a unit, which was something that Dudley and his gang lacked, and were too stupid or otherwise incapable to make their own plans and/or adapt to dynamic situations on the fly. Kind of like most of the people in American horror movies. Hey, it was hard to sleep with all the screaming and bone-crunching and blood-spurting when the Dursleys stayed up late with young Dudley to watch horror flicks. Since he was awake he might as well watch too.

When they arrived at the pitch, the other members of the Quidditch team were all there, dressed in their uniforms. Boy, those beaters looked huge wearing pads, thought Harry. They waved their bats menacingly, though everything looks menacing when you're a foot shorter and several stones lighter than everyone else. Harry looked forward to his eventual growth spurt; it was tough being the smallest boy in his year, and, as a first year, therefore the school.

It turned out Harry was being interviewed for a position on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Harry somehow thought that this wasn't allowed? Were there first years on any of the other teams? Quidditch looked interesting to play, but Harry wasn't into memorizing all the "inside Quidditch" stats and playing "fantasy Quidditch" like so many of the other kids seemed to do. All. The. Time. so he didn't have the details in his head to answer those questions.

Harry put on the protective layers of pads, needing some help with the ... ummm... lower torso guard. Okay, fine, groin protector. The others laughed when he put it on backwards at first, but eventually everything got sorted. The gear weighed a tonne. Maybe even a metric tonne? Or was that lighter? At this juncture Harry couldn't remember.

At this point Terrence finally provided some guidance. "Harry, everyone says that you're a great flyer and know how to catch training snitches." Ooooh, praise. Harry, had heard this concept existed. Starved for it his whole life, he was now especially attentive. "This tryout is pretty much the same thing, except we're going to use a real game snitch, and the beaters will be giving you a workout. Oh, also, the chasers will be making runs on the goal, and part of your job is to try to disrupt their plays, okay? Keep an eye out for the snitch. And try not to do anything stupid."

Harry considered this advice, wondering what he'd got himself into. Surely it was a bit more complicated than that? He'd heard some kids talking about ... "plays" ... and ... "tactics"? Well, how hard could it be, really. I mean, if that bludger ever hit someone in the head it would knock out most of their cognitive skills, critical thinking, and, really, just about everything except life support, so the game probably had to be simple enough that you could still manage after that eventuality.

One time Harry had tried to learn all about Quidditch fouls during a quiz-game, but Daphne was playing a different game with their Hufflepuffs friends at another table that seemed more interesting, so Harry was only half paying attention, and consequently his understanding of the lingo was incomplete. Flacking and Haversacking were totally basic. Cobbing seemed more difficult because, really, how much use of the elbows was too much? But Harry really wasn't clear on the differences between Blagging, Blatching, and Blurting. Well, this was only a tryout, so probably not important now.

On the other hand, these things could become important if Flint was one of the ones to be worried about, a, y'know, Mini Death Eater. Harry's danger sense started tickling again.

Flint opened a chest containing the Quidditch balls -- Harry still snickered every time someone said that -- and dispatched them into the air. He turned to Harry, opened that disreputable mouth, and said "go get 'em, squirt."

Harry wasted no time getting into the air and gaining some altitude. One thing that was obvious from his limited study of the game was that you didn't want to be in the way of the bludgers, and the best way to do that was to have an eagle-eye view on the proceedings.

He circled the field slowly, watching the chasers loosen up, and the goalies speed to their stations. Momently Terrence flew up beside Harry.

"Are you here to give me tips?" asked Harry.

"'Course not. I'm trying to catch the snitch before you."

"Oh", said Harry, in a very small voice indeed.

"Okay, the chasers are going to do some runs so get to it," Higgs offered up helpfully. Now that Terrence was his opponent, two or three stone heavier and much taller, and wearing several stones (tonnes?) of gear, Harry was starting to think of him as Higgs.

Well, nothing for it now. Harry nosed his broom over and pointed at where he thought the chasers were headed, then turned on the jets.

The three starting chasers were used to a rougher style of play than would normally be considered fair or appropriate in, say, a professional Quidditch match between two teams with hundreds of years of competitive rivalry battling through grueling multiday matches that included excessive fouls, life-threatening injuries, and questionable calls by the referees, while competing for a wildcard spot in the playoffs, in short, teams involved in a grudge match. The chasers felt quite confident in their abilities to handle the (get this, first-year) seeker candidate, who would likely, given his stature, bounce off their pads without much more ceremony than the frequent raindrops seen in late autumn.

They lined up and, not wanting to give Harry an easy time of it, set to it at high speed. No one wanted to be the first to lose the quaffle to a newb, given the ribbing that would surely entail later. They could always ease up after a few goals and play it as a friendly.

As the chasers wove down the field, matched-up by opposing chasers from their reserves, they got about halfway inside opposing territory before a green bolt of lightning, shooting down from the sky centered on their position, hove into view momentarily before disappearing from sight. They looked around, befuddled. Where did the quaffle go?

"Ha ha, very funny. Which one of you has the quaffle?" Flint asked. Pucey and Bletchley looked mystified. "No, seriously. Cough it up or imma beat some ass." They patted themselves down, hoping to find the missing ball -- no one liked to antagonize the captain given his violent tendencies coupled with his power to make them fly laps -- but it was nowhere to be found.

At this point Harry was back to hovering beside Higgs, who had noticed Harry's departure but hadn't seen the action. "What you doin' back here? You're supposed to disrupt the chasers."

"But I've got the quaffle," Harry said, twisting so Higgs could see it tucked under his distal arm.

"What you doin' with that? You're not supposed to hold onto it. Give it to your teammates."

"Oh, okay." Harry flew down and, not knowing exactly what to do, flew to one of the reserve chasers, Minklethorpe, he thought, and politely handed him the quaffle. "Terrence asked me to give you this."

Minklethorpe, a fourth year, and not by any means a great player, but on his way to becoming one competent enough to replace a departing senior eventually, didn't waste time on questioning his good fortune. He set off down the field towards his opposing goal, tossed the quaffle past the goalie (a third year, not blooded yet), and through the left ring.

Somewhat anticlimactically, the scoreboard adjusted to read 10-0.

Slytherin's starting chasers, not the sharpest tools in the shed, were just now discovering what had happened. They just got rolled. And they were not happy. That little shit! He was going to get what was coming to him!

Two hours later, Harry having to leave now, right now, without a shower, if he wanted to be only thirty minutes late for Snape's class, scurried off. The scoreboard registered 260-30.

Well, maybe the starters were just having a bad day, Harry wondered? No, they were going easy on him, no question.

Flint convened a team meeting thereafter, the upshot of which was that Terrence would move to starting chaser, a position he had played in junior leagues prior to starting Hogwarts, and Harry would become starting seeker. The disheveled team packed up and returned to the dorms, too shattered to go to any classes that afternoon, and would not be seen until dinner. By unspoken mutual accord, none of them felt it necessary to share anything more than the barest notion that a tryout may have occurred when asked.

Later that evening Harry would repair to Snape's study to re-read the yearbook, receiving Snape's help to unlock the notes encoded therein, and discovered, to his relief, that it was Flinck, not Flint who was worrisome (quite worrisome, really), and that in fact none of the Slytherin starters or reserves was, according to Snape's detailed character profiles, a Mini Death Eater. Perhaps Quidditch was too important to witches and wizards to sully with politics? In any event, Harry felt much safer playing Quidditch, though he wondered how much more difficult real games would be when the players started giving it their all.

[Author's note: OMFG, you're doing this? You're really doing this? You're making us wait another chapter to find out about Hermione? What kind of psycho are you?]

Chapter Text

Harry prepared himself for today's Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) class. The headaches he got in DADA were so strong that mustering the energy to enter each day was a chore. That coupled with the slow pace of learning due to Professor Quirrell's stuttering meant the class didn't rate highly in Harry's ranking, though even with those problems it beat out History of Magic: too boring, though useful time for sleeping and homework; Astronomy: completely pointless as far as Harry could make out; he'd asked Daphne, and then eventually Snape, about the effects of astral objects and it seemed even a full solar eclipse with 70% planetary alignment only affected spell efficacy in the range of 3-5%; Muggle Studies: Harry knew more than the teacher, by far, though Professor Babbling was very nice to him, and he frequently took advantage of the opportunity to share his knowledge, most especially of gardening, laundry, dishes, cleaning, shining, buffing, mopping, sweeping, dusting, and other chore-related activities he had learnt at the knee -- literally -- of Petunia Dursley; and Herbology: he could take it or leave it; on the one hand he knew the practical aspects well, but he figured in future he'd just buy ingredients he needed from a potion-materials supplier and pay the premium.

At the beginning of today's class, it was customary to hand in essays for the previous week's assignments, though Gryffindors seemed oddly willing to accept reduced marks in exchange for submitting the essays later in the week. Harry wondered if there was some academic strategy involved that he was misunderstanding, but Daphne just laughed at him when he asked. Though she did have a pretty laugh; he could listen to it all day, even if it necessitated some minor embarrassment on his part.

Harry wrestled the scroll out of his backpack, which was entirely stuffed with class materials, homework, interesting bits and bobs he had collected, as well as extracurricular spellcasting projects he was working on that would become gifts for Daphne, her parents, Susan, Hannah, his Slytherin roommates, something for Draco, even though he was a git, but you had to make an effort, but mostly gifts for Daphne. His burgeoning skills enabled him to create increasingly deft, fantastical, surprising, interesting, beautiful crafts utilizing a combination of charms and transfiguration learned inside of class and out. Needless to say, it was a squeeze to fit new things in each day. Harry had heard tell of an expansion charm, but older students suggested it was advanced fifth year material, and Harry thought that might be a stretch. Still, the necessity was becoming increasingly urgent, and needs must; he might have to reprioritize his learnings to fit it in.

The scroll, somewhat wrinkled and crushed by its journey in his backpack -- perhaps he should have started it later in the week, so it would have suffered fewer assaults caused by adding and removing items each day? -- was as complete as he felt necessary, and he anticipated top marks. Quirrell didn't seem to grade particularly difficultly, so Harry had slacked off a bit in his efforts on class essays -- the practical work was what interested him -- but not so much that it would affect his mark on the assignment.

Harry set his essay on the corner of his desk. Normally Professor Quirrell would cast a spell to gather all the scrolls, neat, but not as impressive as the fanciful efforts of Professor Flitwick, who added new modifications each week to an already mind-boggling display of magical ability.

However, this week Quirrell's health seemed to be suffering -- lots of coughing, didn't he know to cover his mouth? Healthcare in the magical world seemed to be substantially further behind in some of the basics than the non-magical.

On the one hand, Harry hoped that the professor's health would improve, but a small part of him wished for a health emergency that they might have a substitute who could provide better -- faster, really, he thought -- instruction. Harry was so many chapters ahead of the lectures it beggared belief.

"Harry," Quirrell called out. "Would you please assist me and gather the assignments this week. I'm afraid I might fall out if I overexert myself. I'd normally ask Hermione to do it, as she's such a good apple, but seeing as how she's not here today, are you able?"

Said speech took the better part of thirty seconds. Harry got the gist pretty quickly, but patiently and respectfully waited for the Professor to finish speaking. Interrupting stutterers to "rush them along" was considered insulting, Harry had learned. Not that he would ever do it, but those Gryffindors couldn't seem to help themselves. It was like a dog chasing a car, they couldn't not do it. And then, having caught the car -- Harry's metaphor was getting pretty stretched in his mind -- they didn't know what to do when they, invariably, guessed the professor's intent incorrectly.

"Yes, Professor Quirrell, I would be glad to." Harry was always polite. It was the right thing to do, treat others as you would like to be treated. Harry already got that, but it was great to learn from Daphne that the behavior had a name, "The Platinum Rule". Harry liked that. Much better than the Golden Rule, which seemed slightly ethically wrong, but Harry couldn't immediately figure out why. It was on his list to talk about with Daphne, but he always got so distracted with studying spells, talking about the wizarding world, playing with and combing her hair, reading together, play-acting, tag, charades, muggle card games -- all superior to the wizarding ones, especially Exploding Snap, which was fun the first couple of times, but seemed pointless after that. Hearts was his new favorite, with Susan and Hannah making up their foursome. Although cutthroat was also fun when one wasn't able to show. Not detention or anything like that, no. They all just had wide circles of friends and weren't attached at the hip.

Harry started, realized he had been woolgathering again. He stood, walked up and down the aisles collecting assignments. Malfoy was being an ass again, not letting go of his scroll and nearly causing Harry to drop all those already gathered in his arms. What, did Malfoy study a guidebook of ways to be annoying so he'd have something new for each day?

Harry would be aware of that little trick next time. Not so he could retaliate, no. Just so there'd be no joy in it for Malfoy. Nothing annoyed the prat worse than not letting his pranks land. That was another area that Daphne had really helped Harry. The first couple weeks he kept falling for Malfoy's silliness, getting angry and stomping around, because he wasn't going to blast his year mate in front of the professors. Once he cottoned to Daphne's suggestion he under-react to Malfoy's tricks, he had become smug watching the bugger evince his frustration, sometimes enough to earn himself a detention.

Harry carried the scrolls back up to the front. The assignment required so many inches this week that the stack he carried was teetering, and he unfortunately dropped several on the floor while trying to manage the load onto the small desk.

"Sorry, Professor Quirrell, sir," Harry said quickly, reaching to pick up the escapees. Quirrell reached down to grab them at the same time, and their hands touched briefly.

Harry felt a small stinging sensation and wondered at it. He was just turning away to return to his seat when he heard screaming behind him. What? Was this a test of his reflexes? Professor Quirrell sometimes tested the students by casting non-harmful spells like the Colovaria Charm to test their ability to react without panic. It was good practice for his dodging skills, as casting the shield spell still took too much time given that Harry sat in the front row and, good Quidditch reflexes notwithstanding, six feet of distance is still only six feet of reaction time, not much time given that spells travel at fourteen feet per second for garden-variety offensive spells. Daphne, and likely Hermione, wherever she was, could probably provide more decimal points on that number, as well as list exceptions to the rule, categorized by which branch of magic the spell-in-question was classified.

So, Harry turned around and crouched to one side, not bothering to draw his wand. He was surprised to see Professor Quirrell holding one hand at eye level, while the other hand grasped its wrist, as the first hand dissolved away to nothing, specks of dust floating from it and disappearing.

The professor continued to scream in a higher and higher pitch, without seeming to draw breath. His sleeve collapsed, his remaining hand clutching at nothing. His face began to peel, gray dust flying out from it now. His voice continued to rise in pitch, but decrease in volume, until a moment later, his entire robe fell to the floor behind the desk and was consequently only visible to Harry.

Harry turned around with an "are you seeing this shite?" look on his face as he scanned the room behind him. He saw the pale, startled faces of his classmates looking back in astonishment, their identical looks confirming he had, in fact, seen that shite.

No one said anything for a long time. Silence. It had been over so quickly. From the time Harry touched Professor Quirrell to his disappearance, the whole process had lasted maybe ten or eleven seconds?

Given the adrenaline coursing through a person's veins during intervals of extreme stress like this, the person-in-question would typically have a difficult task measuring the time interval to any exactness, but this was Harry Potter, a kid who lived on a constant stream of fear-induced adrenaline from years age two to eleven, with some extreme moments since then, but a much lower baseline since arriving at Hogwarts. The constant state of nervous excitement of his early years, coupled with extensive practice assessing high-stress situations, enabled Harry to add several digits on the right side of the decimal point to his original estimate of ten seconds, and calmly take control of the situation and provide guidance to the students when the vast majority were simply trying to prevent the extreme pressure of their bladders and colons from creating "a situation" that would be sure to elicit jeers when they returned to their respective common rooms.

"Well, that was unexpected," Harry spoke in a calm, slow voice. If there was one thing he learned from Dumbledore, it was that calm and slow resulted in much better outcomes during moments of shared panic. "I think it would be a good idea if we all wait here to act as witnesses for the eventual interview sessions, inquest, trial, and appeals that seem likely in an unexpected situation like this." As he spoke, he could see individuals in the room start to regain conscious control of their nethers. He was heartened to see Daphne among the very first of them. He had been watching her closely to assist should she require his help, prepared to sacrifice all his clothes except his pants should she need to change quickly. Good, his slow speech was re-enervating the students from their flee-or-faint responses. First years, excluding Harry himself of course, rarely had a "fight" response, as far as Harry could tell.

"Draco, why don't you and ... Dean Thomas ... go and get a professor. I believe Professor Vector's classroom is quite close," Harry said, slowly, of course. Harry's master plan included getting Draco out of the room, so he couldn't cause trouble, getting one relatively stable member of Gryffindor on board, so their joint explanation would not seem like a prank, giving them a specific objective and destination, a professor who was capable of dealing with "situations like this". Harry would have preferred Snape, but the long jaunt to the dungeon would reduce the likelihood of a successful journey by the two startled boys.

Harry returned to his desk and started writing notes about "the situation" while standing, trying to set a visible example of what to do for others, and to maximize the chances that his recollections would not be fobbed off as ex-post-facto rationalization -- even if he didn't use big words like that in his mind. Short, punchy Anglo-Saxon words over those complex Latinate ones, every time. Curse words stood to the fore in situations like this, but he avoided writing those ones down.

Presently -- perhaps four minutes; good work boys, gold star -- Professor Vector arrived to survey the situation. Harry explained, assuring the professor that, apart from the two boys, nothing else had moved in the room, so that a proper crime scene investigation could be performed.

The Dursleys thought that Harry couldn't see the frequent -- and excellent -- British crime dramas they watched on TV, but by scrunching his head down in his closet to see through the vent and breathing lightly so as to be able to hear the dialogue, Harry had received an excellent education in proper police procedure. And gripping drama it was, to boot, one of the few highlights of the first decade of Harry's life, really.

By and by the students were let go, encouraged to skip further classes and return to their common rooms to regain their composure. By this time, Harry felt fine. His pulse was below forty beats per minute, shockingly low for a child, and more appropriate to a well-trained ultra-marathoner, but then, Harry is special, isn't he?

At dinner that evening, Headmaster Dumbledore first provided the student body with a summary of the day's "DADA situation". Some money began to change hands, and Harry now recollected that the Weasley twins, along with other aspiring bookmakers, had crafted a complex set of odds and bets for possible outcomes for the DADA professor, and those bets were even now being paid off.

Harry wondered if stock markets, which had learned about recently after a brush with an economics textbook Daphne shared -- she was the Greengrass heir and so expected to know how to operate the complex, multinational family business, even if she was consigned as a baby-factory to Harry from birth -- operated this efficiently, and if not then perhaps the Weasley twins could be co-opted to raise their aspirations from shady betting agents to dealer-brokers, with Harry providing capital in exchange for a significant share of the returns. Daphne had assured him that he had plenty, and he was waiting for Christmas break to go to Gringotts to appraise his financial wherewithal. Harry was starting to think in these terms about business because he didn't want to be a leach on his presumed family fortune, nor seen as a layabout by Daphne. Rather better to lay more money by than reduce the amount his descendants could utilize should they face dire straits themselves.

That news quickly digested and paid-out, the Headmaster moved on to providing an update on the patient in the medical wing, whose condition had, surprisingly and fortuitously, been upgraded from grave to critical. The Headmaster let slip that the patient was, in fact, Ronald Weasley, who had suffered a rather dire groin pull, among other serious -- but not equally serious -- injuries, and that the attending physicians were cautiously optimistic, whatever that meant.

Huh, Harry was wondering what happened. With all the unusual events of the last few days -- pancakes mid-week, for starters -- Harry had assumed that Hermione Granger's absence was due to her status as "the gravely injured". He was disappointed. She seemed nice, if a bit high-strung, and that Ronald's absence was more likely in relation to his having put Granger is a situation to be mauled by a mountain troll. Or did it become a cave troll by virtue of passing through the dungeons first? Harry wasn't sure. Another thing to ask their Care of Magical Creatures teacher; he would know.

So, what had happened to Hermione then? She seemed to have been missing since the troll event. Well, in any event, it was good news. Wait. Wait! Perhaps she had transferred out due to the experiences she'd had, and by her proximity to Ronald's near-death experience? Well, that would suck.

The world needed more smart people, and he was looking forward to meeting her again, which would be unlikely if she switched schools. Where would she go, anyway? Harry was completely ignorant of the magical schools other than Hogwarts, though surely there must be some. After all, Harry hadn't encountered kids in his classrooms with French, German, or Australian accents. Something else to ask Daphne. At this point it would behoove him to prioritize his list of questions for her, otherwise the most important ones might get missed given the limited free time they had together each day. Never enough, to his mind. He could spend all day with her.

Chapter Text

With the early part of the school year dedicated to corralling troublemakers and consoling lost waifs, until prefects learned such roles well enough to perform unsupervised as closet-monitors and sex-minders, professors were too busy to do more than aforesaid waif-saving, delivering of lessons, adding of corrections for dreadfully-written essays that explored new phyla of grammar, much as this sentence does (which essays usefully supply fodder for English Literature Mastery candidates), along with not infrequently guzzling of "afternoon refreshers" from hip flasks -- but also morning, noon, evening, and night -- being careful to follow the tipples with mints to savor thereafter so as to avoid potential complications arising from overly strict interpretations of the Professors Code of Conduct.

And so consequently ...

... in those first few weeks Minerva was unable to schedule meetings of her free-radicals special-interest group focused on creating an offensive force to secure the safety of wizarding Britain, the distributing of class schedules and helping of sobbing teenagers being apparently more important to society, or at least their ability to remain employed.

Fortunately, the free-radicals did continue to research students' beliefs and morals to identify candidates for their militia, while avoiding individuals who might have overly dark- or light-leaning beliefs, AKA extremists.

Eventually, which is to say sometime later in the school year before Halloween, the author not having a calendar for 1991 nor the desire to gin up something plausible, Minerva was able to align everyone's schedules, and they all found themselves in a meeting room. Together. Again. Got it?

"Filius," Minerva started, after the usual meeting setup and greetings folderol, "you indicated to me earlier that you've had some success in identifying potential recruits. Would you share that with the group?"

"Yes Minerva. One thing that has become painfully clear to me as a member of a small minority group is that racism is still shockingly vigorous at Hogwarts, though we've all worked hard to correct student attitudes, for which I thank you. While it is unfortunate that I have to suffer, suffer I will to build our forces and root out extremists." Several "well saids" could be heard from around the room.

Filius continued, "I have developed a charm that measures micro-facial-expressions that people show when confronted with a triggering stimuli, such as myself, as well as portraits of other species I have placed around the Charms room. Using this method I can identify racist tendencies with extreme precision."

"We can utilize this information to match racist tendencies with known information about extremist views to rule in or rule out militia candidates. Septima will explain," Filius said, passing the floor to the resident math expert.

"Thank you Filius," Professor Vector picked up smoothly. "My analysis, using peer-reviewed quantum arithmancy techniques I've developed, shows that there is a statisically-significant overlap between racists and people who desire the return of ... err ... ummm." Here Septima paused. She didn't want to say "Voldemort" for plenty of good reasons, but "He Who Must Not Be Named" and "You Know Who" were so ... unscientific.

Professor Snape finished her sentence with, "The Dark Lord."

"Thank you Severus," Septima said, looking relieved at her ... beau? Stop it Minerva, you're supposed to be chairing this session.

Scattered congratulations and plaudits were shared, leaving Filius and Septima well-pleased with the results of their extra efforts over the oh, let's say, about six weeks or so, I guess? Y'know, within a margin of error and all.

Once the room had quieted, Filius began again. "Now, if you look at the scrolls before you, you'll see a two column list of candidates to pursue and those to avoid, ranked by their desirability or undesirability. Once again I will pass the gavel to Septima to explain the rankings."

"We chose three criteria to rank candidates: firstly, racist-extremist score; secondly, estimated magical power, using the results of spell-power tests taken each year prior to exams, and thirdly, Miggs-Breyer sociopathy estimates based on essay analysis, again using quantum arithmancy. We were fortunate that our wonderful house elves have kept every essay ever written by Hogwarts students over the last thousand years, so we have an enormous data set to work with to evaluate social-moral behavior." Septima was particularly proud of this latter ranking as the work significantly expanded upon her Mastery thesis, which itself was already one of the most notable and quoted papers of the last several centuries.

Snape looked on with pride at Septima, love blossoming in his eyes.... STOP IT MINERVA, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

"Finally, combining these three scores using a divergent crossover matrix, we have the rankings."

With that, the professors opened the folders in front of them. While no bets had been placed, the group was filled with inveterate gossips, headed by Minerva, and so they all had their theories.

The professors were largely correct in their assessments of student strengths and values, so few surprises arose, although, Professor Burbage, while a very nice person, had poor character assessment skills and so was frequently surprised at the orderings.

"Excellent," Minerva said. "Now that we know who we'd like to recruit, let's talk about how we recruit. Severus, please."

Severus stood. While all the other presenters spoke while sitting down, Snape didn't know how to lecture without standing. Perhaps it was related to his need to physically intimidate small children so they WOULD NOT EXPLODE THEIR CAULDRONS, thereby jeopardizing vast sections of the castle, and not incidentally, Snape's existence as a human-shaped being instead of a distributed mass of small, nasty, unidentifiable blobs of sticky stuff.

Snape started in a low, silky voice, necessitating his listeners lean forward to hear, which increased activation of brain tissues, thereby increasing retention of the information he was about to impart. "As the ideal candidates have been identified, these are the tools we will utilize to gain their willing participation."

Now his tone becaome cold and purposeful. "To prepare candidates for the inevitable confrontation with the Dark Lord, it is essential we cultivate autonomy, mastery, and purpose within them. Autonomy must be fostered by encouraging independent thought —- push them to question, to seek answers beyond what we spoon-feed them. Mastery will come only through rigor; do not coddle them, but demand excellence through practice, until their skills are sharp enough to rival their enemies. As for purpose, each student must be made to understand the gravity of the war we face."

Snape started pacing with a frightening energy.

"This is not about grades or house points; it’s about survival and the future of the magical world. If we can embed these principles in them, they will not just be students, they will be prepared, fully equipped, and driven to stand against the Dark Lord. And we must expect no less from ourselves." His gaze sweeps the room, stern and unyielding. "Fail to instill these traits, and we might as well hand them over to him now."

None of the professors had been taught potions by Professor Snape, so his teaching methods were unknown to them. The intensity of his words and body language caused these experienced educators to shrink back in their chairs like first years, the gravitas of his exhortation firmly embedded in their psyches, like a splinter in the minds eye.

Snape was now silent, as the teachers focused on staunching the bleeding from the aforementioned, and very painful, splinters.

After a moment's reflection, Professor Aurora Sinistra said, "That's all very well and good from a motivational standpoint, Severus, but do you have any practical advice?" Apparently gazing at the stars for extended periods of time, away from human -- and human-goblin and human-giant -- company, damaged cerebral abilities related to social interaction.

With this the staff meeting descended into chaos and squabbling. And consequently Hermione's teacher recommendations form, which needed written statements from three staff members, and was very much required for acceptance as a student by New Zealands's prestigious Aukland School of Magic, Dancing, and Juggling prior to the auspicious second full moon occurring after the first half of the latter third of the ... never mind, you get the idea. In any case, Hermione's transfer request was denied with prejudice, and, it being too late to apply to other schools, she would return to Hogwarts. There, are you happy now?

Chapter Text

After a moment's reflection, Professor Aurora Sinistra said, "That's all very well and good from a motivational standpoint, Severus, but do you have any practical advice?"

With this the staff meeting descended into chaos and squabbling.

The upshot of the Sinistra's poorly-worded statement was a better outcome than Minerva could have hoped for: after some discussion the professors adopted Snape's suggestion to foster autonomy, mastery, and purpose to encourage extra-legal actions for the good of society, which would include noting excesses of both light and dark. Everyone attending felt those elements could be worked into their teachings.

Professors then considered who best to approach, which candidates were most likely join the militia and be good team players.

The consensus was Susan Bones was the ideal candidate to start with, along with Harry Potter, obviously, and with him Daphne Greengrass, given their betrothal.

Susan had many reasons to desire a change to the status quo, not the least the aggravating freedom of people who had murdered her parents, and now had important roles in government.

Susan's aunt Amelia, Director of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement, had similar motivations. Pomona Sprout, her close friend, regularly heard her complaints about being beset by extremists of light and dark.

Recruiting Susan would be a top priority, and a success with her would be an excellent start to their efforts. After all, if she was on board, she'd be an ideal person to help recruit others.

It was then, very, delicately, suggested by Minerva that some practice might be required for recruiting candidates, since this required a gentle touch. Though Snape thought the idea silly, he felt it a poor choice to battle further after the preceding squabbles, and an hour of role-playing ensued before Minerva called end to the meeting.

Minerva McGonagall approached Mr. Potter and Miss Greengrass, asking them to stay after transfiguration class. Mr. Potter was an icon to the wizarding world, and Miss Greengrass was, according to Severus, the key political mover in her year in Slytherin, something Minerva didn't pretend to understand. First-years? Politics? Gryffindor seemed so much more straightforward. But both students were critical to their efforts.

"I had hoped to talk to you both about ... something you must be aware of," Minerva began.

They both looked on with curiosity.

"When you reach a certain age, there are things in life that change. Things that become ... more important. That require preparation to improve outcomes. Things that will have a major impact on your lives for many years," Minerva said cautiously. Young minds were often so fragile, she thought, better not to rush it.

Harry, unable to think where this conversation was going, looked on with increasing confusion, whereas Daphne straightened up, crossed her arms, and tensed.

"Can you think of anything important in your lives that would make a big difference to your futures?" Minerva posed delicately. There, she had them where she wanted them.

"Errm..." Harry started.

Daphne reached out to Harry, gently quelling him with a hand on his forearm.

Daphne said stiffly, "My parents both descend from ancient lines and follow the old ways. They have informed me of ..." here she looked to the side and blushed, "contraception and copulation," she finished with a rush. Her words became more formal. "Your willingness to ... provide advice ... is thoughtful ... but unnecessary. I do not anticipate that this will be ... an issue for many years," she closed forcefully. Then for propriety's sake, "Thank you, Professor."

Minerva, now quite embarrassed both for her own sake and those of her charges, awkwardly said, "I see. Well. That will be all, thank you."

Daphne took Harry's arm firmly and pulled him from the room.

As they reached the hallway, Harry asked, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing important," said Daphne, still blushing. "We can discuss it after we graduate."

"Oh, okay then. Hmmm. I wonder what's for lunch today. I'm hungry."

Professor Charity Burbage was excited to have the opportunity to recruit a student into the militia. She had practiced her part with colleagues, and in front of the mirror in her personal quarters, even adopting different voices when assuming the role of the student.

So it was with a nervous excitement that she strode to the hospital wing where Ronald Weasley was staying so she could put her practice to good use. She'd have to be careful if there were other students about, but a privacy charm was just the thing for secret conversations, she thought.

While Ron appeared near the very bottom of the "desirable" list, Charity couldn't think why, and felt that taking matters into her own hands and bringing aboard a candidate that everyone else seemed to have given up on would strengthen the militia, and set a feather in her cap.

She looked down at her outfit one more time. One wanted to be subtle. Her clothes should have an element of mystery, to look "cold", as the muggles would say, and yet not be so outré to give the game away to the, here she glanced sideways both ways before even thinking the word in her mind, "extremists".

She pushed through the hospital doors and scanned the room. She didn't immediately see Mr. Weasley, but Poppy Pomfrey happened to be passing, holding a handful of towels.

"Hello Charity," Poppy called out pleasantly. "It's a welcome surprise to see you here. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your visit before. I trust it's nothing serious?"

"Hello Poppy. Yes, my first visit. Your hospital seems very nice." Charity paused, unsure how to proceed. Poppy seemed quite patient, but she didn't want to raise suspicions. She paused for a moment, replaying Poppy's words, then belatedly realized an answer was required.

"Oh. Oh no, there's nothing wrong with me. No. Thank you for asking, no." Well, she thought, first challenge mastered. She paused again, looking around. She hadn't anticipated Poppy guarding her quarry. She began again, speaking slowly to allow herself time to audit her words before they passed, irrevocably, into the air. "I am here to visit with Mr. Weasley and convey a message about." And here she stumbled to a halt again. What was her message? Oh, this was so difficult. "About. About a private matter." There. That seemed to be a good place to stop and wait for a response.

Poppy, seeming unfazed by Charity's words, and to Charity's mind, completely hoodwinked. Excellent. "You'll find Mr. Weasley in the annex. However ... " Poppy continued.

A dread welled up in Charity's mind. Had she done something to create suspicion? She replayed her words, wracking her brain to identify a slip or omission.

"... Mr. Weasley is unconscious, I'm afraid to say," Poppy finished.

"Oh. Ooooh. That is disappointing. Do you ... know when he might receive a visitor? Alone? That is to say, I have a message of a private nature." This was a challenge. Charity felt clammy and hoped her rising flush and perspiration would not give away the game. A small sliver of her mind thought that perhaps future practice sessions should be delivered under the influence of a warming charm to simulate the harsh conditions seen in the field.

"Well, Charity, I'm sorry to let you know. Mr. Weasley has suffered extremely serious injuries to portions of the male anatomy ...". Here Charity raised hand to mouth in startlement. Not only was such an injury shocking, but as Charity was extremely familiar with all aspects of muggle society, she also recognized that Madam Pomfrey was not aware of certain obligations that muggle doctors were required to follow, HIPPO regulations, and was sharing too much of the patient's personal information about his ... errr... again, she glanced both ways before thinking the word ... privates.

Charity agonized over her duty. Should she continue her recruitment mission, or provide some information about HIPPO requirements? Would it be presumptuous of her? After a moment, oh, how she wanted to fan herself, she resolutely decided it would be better to remain silent than blow her cover.

"Will Mr. Weasley ... be ... available? and ... able? ... to speak with visitors soon?" Charity inquired.

"No, no. It's very tragic. Mr. Weasley will not be waking up anytime soon. Quite apart from the shock of the injury, we hope to keep the poor boy in a medically induced coma until some repair is possible so that he won't be awake until ... things ... are fully healed. Well, not fully. There may be ... substantial ... or rather, considerable, or more probably profound ... loss of size and function ... in his organ." Poppy said delicately.

"Oh my. Oh, my my! Well." Charity's shock was evident, HIPPO forgotten by now. This was far worse than she had anticipated and would be likely to defer her ability to complete her mission, not to mention the ... well, the poor, poor boy. Boys did seem to place so much importance in their ... things. "Thank you for letting me know about Mr. Weasley’s ... condition. My best wishes on his speedy recovery," she said, sympathy for the boy more important than her, she glanced both ways, secret mission. "I will leave you to your work, Poppy. Good luck."

"Thank you, Charity, and I hope we'll see you here again under better circumstances," Poppy said.

Charity departed the wing, her mind aflutter with the situation, and wondered if perhaps a muggle greeting-card from the students would cheer Mr. Weasley. After all, his father placed great store in muggle artifacts, and so, perhaps the son would also. It seemed an appropriate gesture in any event.

Professor Pomona Sprout caught Susan Bones as she was packing up preparing to after Herbology. "Miss Bones, a moment of your time?"

"Of course, Professor Sprout." Susan turned to Hannah, "Be a dear and save me some of the macarons? They always go so fast!"

Hannah nodded, left, and closed the door.

Sprout jumped right in. "Susan, your mother and I have known each other for years, and I consider her a good friend."

At this, Susan nodded.

"I, and several of other professors are extremely concerned about the rising darkness in our society."

Susan continued nodding, believing fervently this to be a important concern.

"And the light members of our society do so little!" Sprout huffed.

Susan nodded, knowing of the regular appeasements by the light members of the Wizengamot, hoping to avoid jeopardizing business relationships over political issues.

"So I'd like you to be a key member of a rebel group to overthrow the old order, arrest the people who threaten our society, and initiate a democratic transformation through a generalized reform of governance." Here Sprout halted, crossed her arms, and asked, "Are you with us?"

"Yes!", Susan answered quickly.

"Wonderful. That is all. You're free to go to lunch now," Sprout finished.

Susan hurried to lunch, secure in the knowledge that she, she and her friends, were going to make a difference. Of course she should recruit Hannah, no question that Hannah would join. Cedric? Of course, he knew of the problems their society faced from both ends of the spectrum, and was tired of his father's continuing unwillingness to use the Diggory reputation to make change. And also ...

By the time Susan had reached the Great Hall, she had already put together a complete list of potential members to recruit in all four houses, planned a reporting structure emphasizing small strike teams coupled with an extensive network of spies, propaganda agents, nurse trainees, and administrative facilitators, grouped around the key areas of government that would need to be undermined. Yes, this was going to work!

That organizational process complete, her thoughts turned to the macarons, hoping that Hannah had secured several of the prizes before they were all gone. For a house that prided itself on fairness, securing a reasonable portion wasn't easy.

Chapter Text

After the embarrassing meeting with Professor McGonagall, the rest of day had proceeded more smoothly for Daphne. The fact that Harry was no more the wiser about the professor's inquiries into the possibility of their having, ahem, coital activities was a blessing. As if she was ready for ... all that. After she and Harry graduated and married that sort of ... activity ... would be fine, she was sure. But that eventuality was far, far into the future. A lady of an Ancient House had her honor and should not have been questioned in such a manner. Shocking!

Harry, not knowing of Daphne's vexation, was occupied instead with brushing her hair. He sat behind Daphne on the couch, both turned sideways, so that he could bring the brush down in long strokes through her blonde hair, which reached all the way to the middle of her back. It was very pleasant, Daphne thought, and she enjoyed the soothing process of having the brush drawn through her hair over and over. She soon relaxed as he continued their regular activity.

Daphne recalled how this activity they shared had started weeks prior. Harry had been angrily pacing up and down a nook in the common room when Daphne found him. He explained that Draco had started yet another incident, due to a minor oversight caused by Harry’s lack of knowledge of every wizarding custom. Harry was so angry he couldn't even recall the particulars.

That Harry was muggle-raised was common knowledge throughout the school due to interhouse gossip, so how could he be expected to know everything about their world after so little time? Couldn't they provide him with some time and grace to learn? At the very least, it would be more becoming if they were more diplomatic when pointing out the gaps in his experience.

If Harry wasn't already embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, Draco had apparently made a point of sticking the knife in as Harry walked away, calling "Don't worry, Potter, you'll learn about your betters eventually." Harry was further incensed by the laughter afterwards.

Daphne, on a couch with the Slytherin girls, had immediately sensed the change in the room, and come to discover the source of his distress. But Harry was apoplectic and didn't want to talk. So, Daphne went to her room momentarily, and returned with a hairbrush in her hand.

This time, instead of trying to talk, she gently pulled him to the couch. She knew Harry would not fight her, so he allowed himself to be coaxed to the destination she desired.

Daphne had handed Harry the brush and said, "There’s only one way to fix this. You are going to brush my hair while I explain how matters are handled in Slytherin."

Harry tried to pull away without hurting her, but Daphne wouldn't let go. "Fine." He flumped down on the couch, and she gracefully sat on its edge.

Daphne winced as Harry's first pull through her hair was too fast and caught in a tangle. Rather than complain, she let Harry's lapse go unaddressed. She knew he was empathetic enough to notice his blunder, and she intuited correctly for his next stroke slowed to a more reasonable pace.

After a minute of careful brushing, Harry's strokes becoming more confident, Daphne asked without turning, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Let Malfoy get to you?"

Harry stopped brushing. "He's being mean. How am I supposed to know everything when I've only been here for two months?", he fumed.

Daphne turned her head to look at Harry in the eyes and said, "That’s true, but you’re allowing him make you mad. It’s your choice to get angry."

Harry looked like he didn't believe a word Daphne was saying.

Daphne started again, "You could ignore what he says, and instead think about why he's doing it, and what strategy you’d like to adopt."

"What? "Harry asked, surprised at her words.

"Imagine it is a game Harry," Daphne began, "Like Whist. You're watching what cards he plays. What do his cards mean?"

"I don’t know," Harry said immediately.

"Think about it for a moment." Daphne turned away while Harry considered. After a while he began brushing her hair again.

Eventually Harry said, "He's ... when he plays a card, he's trying to see what I do? To know what I have in my hand?"

"Do you want to let him know what's in your hand?"

"No, of course not."

"Words are like that, Harry. You use words to express ideas, but also to make another person think what you want them to think."

"Right," Harry said. He stopped brushing for a moment before continuing. "He wants me to be mad."

"Yes. And how would you prevent that?" Daphne asked gently.

"I'd ... I'd try not to respond. I would ... say something back so he didn't think I was mad."

Daphne rolled her wrist in a circle twice, signifying "more".

"I would ... say different things to see what he does."

"Precisely, Harry." Daphne looked pleased.

At this Daphne turned around far enough that Harry had to stop brushing her hair. She looked him in the eye, "See? You know what to do. You’re a Slytherin, remember?"

Harry looked at her, considering her words for a while as she looked at him. "I could ... change the subject. He would ... he might think I didn't care, since I didn't get mad."

"Yes, that's an idea that would work. Is there anything else?"

"I could ... " Harry looked around the room, searching for inspiration. "I could talk to someone else. Ignore him."

"That’s great Harry. Those are excellent ideas." Daphne smiled at him, a smile to warm his heart and let him know she thought him clever.

"Now turn around, it's my turn to brush your hair." Harry was surprised, but turned around, not sure what to expect. His hair was always a mess.

Daphne started slowly. While his hair was shorter, it didn't seem that Harry ever brushed it, so it was a bit of ... well, a bit of a rat's nest. But clean. Harry didn't smell horrible like the other boys. He smelled of ... well, she couldn't put a name to it, but he smelled like Harry.

Daphne brushed, and by degrees Harry relaxed, his shoulders loosening, his abdomen no longer tight, his breathing slowing, until a sense of calm pervaded him.

That day would stand out for both, Harry feeling like he could finally do something about Malfoy, and Daphne feeling pleased that Harry listened, really listened, when it would have been so much easier for him to stay angry. He had so much anger. The Dursleys, she thought, have a lot to make amends for.

Since that day they found time to repeat the activity. They used time spent this way to continue their discussions, with Daphne sharing stories of the things she had learned while her mother brushed her hair, or her sister's.

After their tête-à-tête on the couch, though of course Harry wouldn’t use that word, Daphne watched as Harry’s approach to dealing with Malfoy changed markedly. Gone were the sudden rages at Malfoy's actions, mostly.

It took time for these changes to become habit, and for Harry’s responses to take on a more calculated pattern. Mostly Daphne watched, and listened to Harry as he recounted what happened. Occasionally she would provide suggestions, but she knew from her parents' advice that sometimes it's better to learn by doing than by getting told.

To her great delight, Malfoy's initial response was confusion or startlement, but as Harry’s replies became more practiced, it was Malfoy who would become enraged. This gave Harry no small amount of pleasure, and Daphne grinned to see him so. She saw in Harry an increasing adoption of the Slytherin way. With each victory, Harry’s approach became more thoughtful and analytical.

At times when Harry was brushing her hair, he would ask her to game out situations that had occurred earlier in the day so that he might experiment with different responses, while Daphne used her wiles to test the limits of his cleverness.

Sometimes these games evolved into humor and ended with tickling, while others left Harry thoughtful as he sought better answers to the conundrums she posed.

She could see Harry enjoyed it when he watched Draco pacing on the other side of the room, clearly angry at an earlier exchange where Harry got the better of him, and sometimes taking it out on his hangers-on.

After one such occasion Harry had asked Daphne, "Why do they follow Malfoy? Crabbe and Goyle, I mean. And Pansy? And the older kids?"

Daphne explained, "Crabbe and Goyle belong to lesser houses bound into alliance with the Malfoys. Neither of their houses is well-off, nor do their parents have reliable employment or income, or land or businesses that would enable them to grow their wealth. So, their parents ally their families with the Malfoy's and provide services in exchange for a stipend -- regular payments. This includes, as you’ve seen, the services of their children."

"Ooooh," Harry said. "It's not friendship, it's duty."

"That's right. And the upper years who follow Draco, like Warrington and Montague, are bound similarly. Pansy is a different matter. Her house is moderately well-off, but Pansy sees the wealth of the Malfoy's and would like to become part of that house. She hopes to become a princess, I suppose, instead of a merchant's daughter."

"Aren't you a merchant's daughter?" Harry asked, with a grin.

Daphne now looked Harry in the eye and spoke with gravitas, "Yes, insofar as my family imports and exports goods. But there's a difference between local street vendors like the Parkinson’s and a transcontinental trading firm like the Greengrass’s. Their trade constitutes the orts and oddments left over in the sweepings of the business we manage." After a beat, she grinned and continued, "That's almost verbatim to something my father said when he was annoyed at the Parkinson’s. Theirs is not a well-managed business and they pay late, so I've heard him snappish."

"How do you know so much? I think my head would burst with all you know!"

"It's easy, Harry. I'm the firstborn, and my parents have been teaching me all my life. And Astoria too. They have high expectations, and I've never wanted to disappoint them. And, well, I love it."

Daphne relaxed into Harry's arms, leaning back into him, as she continued to talk.

"My mother and father have a great many people coming to visit. My father manages purchasing goods, and my mother, selling them. He's good at finding out what he can get things for -- he's proud of being good at driving hard bargains. And my mother is good at finding what people want, and how much they're willing to pay. She's gentler, but no less ruthless in matters of trade. They let me sit in on their meetings. And my sister. They're too important to offend, so no one said a thing about two little girls sitting in on their meetings. And afterwards, they'd explain all the little things we missed, or didn't understand. As we got older, they'd expect us to tell what we saw first, before they'd explain. So, I learned."

This exchange led to other long conversations about what wizards did to earn money and how they found jobs. Daphne spoke about what she knows of trade between the Muggle and magical worlds, which the Greengrass’s specialized in. There were complexities they had to navigate to avoid running afoul of the many complex and overlapping legal restrictions in either community.

Harry went to sleep that night his head bursting with new facts and thoughts, and Daphne with an enormous sense of pleasure at being able to share her family’s accrued knowledge and wisdom with her betrothed.

Chapter Text

"Daphne, do you remember when Dumbledore made the announcement in the Great Hall? When he played a note on his goblet?" Harry asked Daphne.

Daphne looked over at Harry, sitting on the rug near one of the common room fires, from her vantage on the couch above him. "I guess you must have finished your essay already?", she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course; it was easy. Professor McGonagall was trying to trick us with the question."

"Yes, I remember the announcement. What about it? You want to learn more about Ronald Weasley's groin injury?" she teased.

Harry, choosing not to take the bait, instead replied, "No. You remember the note he played right? It was beautiful." At her nod, he continued, "I wondered if you know any spells to make music like that? Since you're doing choir. Do you do anything like that?"

"Oh, you liked that, did you? It was expressive. I've been in choir since I was seven, but we never did anything like that. Everything we did was with our voices. I'm afraid I don't know any musical spells," Daphne said.

"Oh. Maybe I should ask Professor Flitwick then?" Harry inquired.

"I'm sure he would know."

"Cool. I'll ask him after Charms then. I'm really looking forward to hearing you sing at Halloween. I mean Samhain, sorry. I keep forgetting."

Daphne reached out her hand and rubbed Harry's hair vigorously. "Good. We've been practicing the song we'll sing, and I think you'll like it." They smiled at each other, then returned to their studies after a moment.

Samhain, or Halloween, as Dumbledore persisted in calling it, thought Daphne, was finally here. She was looking forward to her choir performance in front of the school along with her thirty-odd choir-mates. After two weeks of nightly practices, and twice each weekend day, her group was excited about the performance, a combination of jitters and pride.

So it was that she stood with her choir before the entire student body on tiered risers in place of the usual Headmaster's Table used by the professors. As a first year she was on one of the higher tiers, but not blocked from the audience' view despite her diminutive size compared to her older peers. Professor Flitwick stood on a platform, back to the audience, facing his conductor's stand.

The typically ebullient professor looked radiantly happy, standing in front of them in his black and white tuxedo and tails, and proud of his choir. His every expectation was that they would perform admirably this evening.

Their song, "A Night to Remember", was an older piece from the 1830s, modernized by The Weird Sisters, then converted into a choral piece by the professor himself, and so its haunting melody and harmonics would be a novel experience to every audience member, outside of those who participated in the choir's closed practices.

As Flitwick raised his wand as a baton, the room quieted. He paused there a moment, looking to his singers, providing a reassuring smile to those who needed it most, as he was a consummate leader for the group.

The opening notes from three singers, male baritone and tenor, and a seventh-year female coloratura soprano who was the star of the choir -- pity she was graduating, thought Flitwick -- rose to the ceiling of the room and floated majestically down. While the ceiling of the Great Hall was known for the cleverness of the night sky that could be seen in its heights, less-well appreciated were the impressive acoustic qualities, which rivaled the best concert halls in Muggle Europe, while still being noticeable for allowing students and professors to talk without shouting even while several hundred other conversations were going on at once.

The students and professors listening were transfixed as new voices joined, creating complex tiers of interwoven patterns of notes, exactly the sort of thing one might expect from a Charms professor noted for the intricacy and sophistication of his spells. The house elves below the floor all halted in their endeavors, the music more compelling even than their desire to work.

Daphne's part as a junior member didn't stand out from the group, but then, it wasn't supposed to. She helped support the effort, providing more depth to fill the notes.

As the song started towards its inevitable crescendo, an odd series of noises could be heard from outside the room, loudly enough that they began to be noted by the students nearest the giant entrance doors. Loud bangs, coming from a distance, and gradually growing louder, then shouted spells from scared voices.

The doors cracked open, and the Weasley twins burst into the room, and quickly shut the door behind them, leaning on the doors to -- apparently -- keep them closed. Such was the proficiency of the choir members that they continued in the face of the increasingly loud distractions.

As they reached the complex chord progressions leading to the final crescendo, and vast booming on the doors crashed through the room, with bits of the door flying off near the middle. The doors pushed inwards, but the Weasley twins, one per door, scuttled to close them again quickly.

At this point the choir became discordant, students losing their places, some voices dropping out, and others hitting the wrong notes. Flitwick turned to see the disruption, which shattered the final poise of the remaining choir members, and the song ground to a halt.

Twice more the doors boomed and pushed inwards, and twice more the Weasleys were able to re-close the doors against the onslaught.

Professors who had been slowly moving in the direction of the doors now made haste, now perceiving some great trouble was afoot, and that this was not just another prank in the endless history of Weasley troublemaking.

At last, the doors burst open, and both twins were smooshed against the walls as the doors both swung one-hundred and seventy degrees on their hinges to open almost fully, prevented from doing so in their entirety due to the squishy, and now somewhat squished, bodies of the twin themselves.

In the center stood a mountain troll, or maybe a cave troll, Harry wondered? Fourteen feet of muscle, and weighing nearly a ton, the troll stood unfazed by the site of so many tasty morsels of students in its line of sight. It roared, and then charged into the room.

Fortunately, it was met by the combined might of all the professors, and their combined if uncoordinated spells hamstrung, blinded, crippled, sliced, roasted, and quartered the beast. While trolls were magically resistant, their abilities were no match for the creme-de-la-creme of magical professionals, and the carcass dropped to the floor in sections, on fire.

A moment later the Great Hall was flooded by hundreds of small, flying objects, which upon closer inspection appeared to be flying keys. They swarmed and darted above the frightened students, but fortunately did not descend to attack.

Even as the professors started to respond to this new influx, a vast multitude of clomping, crashing, juddering noises filled the air, and a full set of massive chess pieces, both black and white, entered the room at a gallop, four knights in alternating colors leading the charge.

The combined efforts of the professors, now including Flitwick, who had left his post to man the battlements, or rather, the end of the Ravenclaw table, having run from the far end on its surface to assist, were now concentrated on halting the deluge.

As their efforts started to rein in the chess pieces, a final indignity showed up. A three-headed dog burst into the room, dragging Hagrid along. The half-giant had a firm grip on its collar and was trying to slow its charge with his feet braced on the floor while simultaneously crying out, "Bad dog! Down Fluffy! Tha's not nice!"

Flitwick's vantage on the table provided him the opportunity to demonstrate a first-year spell he'd so recently taught his students, and he loudly cast a levitation charm on the beast. It quickly rose to a height sufficient that Hagrid, while still holding on, was dangling with his toes just touching the floor.

Finally, the chaos began to subside, fortunately without injury to any present in the room, mountain troll steaks excluded, for they were now so burnt as to be inedible even to dragons.

The students, still too shocked by the display to say much, were consequently quiet, and the voices of the professors could be heard throughout the room as they assessed the damage and assigned blame.

"Albus, what in the name of Merlin have you allowed to happen?!!" a very angry Minerva McGonagall called out at her superior.

Albus, looking somewhat overtaken by events, tottered out sagely, "It appears, Minerva, that our efforts to secure the third floor have been tripped by the Weasley twins. Perhaps I'll just go and take a look around and see that the remaining puzzle is still operational, shall I?"

And with that, the headmaster quickly scampered from the room, quite surprisingly for a man of his advanced years, before further reproach on his conduct should be apperceived.

Well, Flitwick thought, as he looked around the room, the concert certainly measured up to the title of their choral performance. He brightened and looked forward to congratulating his pupils on their most excellent and memorable efforts.

Chapter Text

The rest of the term before Yule was, fortunately, more sedate than the excesses witnessed by the students during Samhain, except for the Weasley twins, who were harried at every turn. During waking hours, the twins were regularly to be seen on hands and knees, at the tops of ladders, and hanging from ropes, performing menial tasks, while supervised by staff and prefects. The professors had discussed asking for an auror team to supervise the pair for the remainder of the school year, but Albus felt this was excessive and would bring undue notice to what should be considered a purely internal matter.

As the Yuletide holiday approached, and the permission form for those planning on staying at the castle was posted, Harry began to worry. If he signed the form, he'd be stuck in the castle. While he enjoyed it immensely, obviously preferring it to his home life, he recognized that most of his enjoyment was due to Daphne, and to the new friends he was making. And they wouldn't be here over the holiday break.

More to the point, if he added his name to the form, then some Mini-Death Eater or two might decide to stay over to kill him and thereby win points with their parents, and that seemed an unnecessary risk.

However, if Harry didn't add his name to the form, then he might be bundled back into the waiting punches and kicks of the Dursley family and friends, and death might be preferable now that he'd had his first taste of freedom since ... forever, as he couldn't remember his pre-Dursley upbringing.

Harry asked Daphne to accompany him to meet with Professor Snape, both for moral support and as a member of his host family. Besides, she was good at all the "Perquisites and Rights of Ancient and Noble House" business, so who better to bend the ear of their head of house.

Professor Snape was aware of Harry's home life, Harry having shared some of the information, and seemed surprised, bordering on appalled, that Harry would have had to reside there. Petunia Dursley, to Snape's way of thinking was, apart from being small-minded, mean, grasping, obnoxious, rude, distasteful, annoying, and condescending, not magical. How would a muggle handle raising someone so obviously magically powerful, and consequently likely to have frequent outbursts of accidental magic?

Harry knocked diffidently on the frame of the professor's open office door; hearing "Come" in Snape's #6 annoyed tone. One quickly picked up the nuances of the professor's tones from hearing them regularly utilized during potions classes. Fortunately, Harry -- and Daphne -- were not terribly awful at potions, and so were able to learn these nuances without being at the wrong end of their unpleasant inflections. #6 wasn't too bad, suggesting dissatisfaction with student's work so, in this case occurring outside of class, perhaps due to grading papers?

Harry entered quickly, not wanting to antagonize Professor Snape by dawdling, with Daphne following close behind.

"Mr. Potter, and Miss Greengrass, of course. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Snape asked. He did have a quill in hand, with a bloody-looking tip as if he had stabbed some essay overripe with tripe, and with a stack of papers nearby on the desk. The one directly before him looked to be the subject of a dissection given its sanguine coloration. Fortunately, Snape's tone for his question seemed not that annoyed, and more to the point, probably not annoyed with them.

"Hello Professor Snape," they chorused.

"Sir," Harry began, "I would like to go to the family of my betrothed for the hols, but I'm worried that I'll be forced to go back to the Dursleys." There, he thought, keep it simple, as Daphne suggested, and put the problem in Snape's capable hands. Don't try to solve the problem, you're only eleven, she had said.

"Yes, I see your point," Snape said after a brief pause for reflection. "Here is my advice. Write the Dursleys and let them know you will not be coming home." He turned to Daphne, "Miss Greengrass, ask your parents to pick you both up from the train." Seeing her about to respond, he continued, "I expect you've already done this." She nodded. "I will arrive at Kings Cross and see that your departure is unhindered, though I will stay in the background unless needed. Does that suffice?"

"Yes, thank you!" Harry grinned.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Professor Snape. We appreciate your consideration in assisting us with a family matter," Daphne said more formally, indicating to Snape that she recognized his extra effort and the minor obligation it entailed, as it constituted a task outside the normal scope of his duties and, potentially, in conflict with his superior.

Snape dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the children scooted from the room.

As they returned to their common room Daphne asked, "Harry, how do you plan to contact your aunt?"

"I dunno. I guess I'll send Hedwig? Or perhaps another owl so Hedwig doesn't get hurt. She won't like not going, but I can't let the Dursleys try to hurt her to get back at me."

"Ah. I have a suggestion. Because my family goes substantial business with muggle firms, we have a remailing service we run -- as one of our businesses -- that allows you to send owls with muggle letters. Let's write your letter, and go the owlery later, and I'll show you how it's done."

"Awesome! You know everything! I love you, Daphne, you're always looking out for me. And Hedwig does too," Harry said with glee.

This declaration of love was the first such acknowledgement of his blossoming feelings, and it touched Daphne deeply. His earlier life under trying circumstances and few positive emotions had made it difficult for him to express his feelings, keeping all his emotions bottled initially. These few months at Hogwarts had enabled him increasingly to be comfortable with sharing, and this avowal was indicative of his growing maturity.

"Thank you, Harry, I love you too." Daphne daily felt a warm, comforting feeling in Harry's presence, and her statement was an affirmation of the growing sentiments she had experienced during the same interval.

Going from a mood of nervous anticipation and worry at what Harry would be like, she had begun to recognize, even in the scared version of Harry she met, a gentle soul with a positive outlook, even with all the pain he'd experienced. She sometimes wanted to growl like a mother bear to protest the injustices against Harry, and a deepening love for him was growing in her heart.

One final scheduled episode remained for Harry before the break: his first Quidditch match. The Slytherins had been matched against Hufflepuff for their first game, and the matchup was expected to be a tough fight. Just as the badger that was the Hufflepuff house animal was a fierce opponent, outmatching animals many times its size, so too was the Hufflepuff house a daunting face-off.

Unlike the Gryffindors, who were in a rebuilding year after the last two years' losses of all their starters, and unlike the Ravenclaws, who hadn't fielded a strong team in years given their focus on academic pursuits, the Hufflepuffs always came out to play. Their notional reputation as the house of leftovers could not be further from the truth. Just because the house members, and its team’s players, did not try to stand out as individuals, preferring team effort to personal recognition, did not mean that they would be easy opponents.

Moreover, the Hufflepuffs had the oldest average age, and consequently the most experience playing against Slytherin's aggressive style of play.

Harry had been briefed by Terrence about the individual players and their strengths. While Harry's performance in tryouts had been nothing short of spectacular, an additional advantage was that Hufflepuff would be fielding a new seeker this year, third-year Cedric Diggory, and so the experience gap was not as large as it could have been.

Waiting in the locker rooms before the game, Harry watched as his Slytherin teammates head-butted, chest-bumped, punched walls, and smashed trash cans and lockers with beaters' bats, getting themselves riled up for the game. The Slytherin's play-style focused on fighting over finesse, and so the team prepared themselves to give and take damage once airborne.

Prior to their exit to the field, Flint, the team captain, took both of Harry's small shoulders in his large hands, leaned down so their foreheads touched, and growled, "Good luck out there, Potter. I only want one thing for Yule: make sure you bring the snitch back with you." With that he smacked Harry on the left arm, almost knocking him over. He grabbed his broom, then turned to lead the team's starters onto the field.

Harry's team members flew out one by one at several second intervals, leaving Harry to last. It was an open secret among his housemates that Harry was seeker, but this would be a surprise to the other houses as no Slytherin would ever reveal such a secret.

As Harry followed in the path of his departing teammates, he heard the roar of the crowd for Terrence Higgs as starting chaser. Already this would surprise everyone, for then who would replace Higgs as seeker?

Harry shot out of the gates to the voice of Lee Jordan, a lanky Gryffindor, calling out, "And number seven is Harry Potter, a first-year seeker? Are first years even allowed to play?"

Harry could hear the loud roars, cries, and catcalls of the audience, something he hadn't experienced during the closed practice sessions with his team.

After a momentary pause in announcing, Jordan resumed, "Professor Hooch assures me that first-years are allowed to play with permission. She indicated that Potter is the youngest seeker in one hundred years at Hogwarts, and the youngest seeker ever for Slytherin House."

Harry zoomed around the entirety of the pitch, following his teammates, before pulling up next to them near center arena. As they were the home team based on the flip of a coin, the 'puffs were already floating nearby in the brisk air, blowing visible clouds with every breath.

Madam Hooch flew down to the field from the announcer's box to a chest located on the play field. She flipped open the box, then looked to each of the captains in turn. "Ready?" A nod. "Ready?" Another.

She flipped a switch, and the snitch jumped into the air, hovered a moment, and disappeared into the sky at speed. Both seekers tried to follow its movement, but it became invisible almost instantly.

The heavy bludgers followed shortly thereafter, and then the quaffle flew free.

Players from both teams shot into motion, going after the quaffle, with both chasers and beaters attacking to get the ball. In the melee, beaters lashed out with their bats at players on the opposing team, resulting in hard blows to those unfortunate enough not to dodge, while chasers, lacking an offensive weapon, made loose with punches and kicks. Harry, expecting such a start to the game from what he'd learned, shot into the sky to avoid taking a blow that might remove him from the game at its very start.

In moments the quaffle was picked up by a Puff chaser, and the race was on. With the chaser only allowed to hold the ball for five seconds, the play was quick, with the Puffs working the ball down the field into the Slytherin zone.

Harry prepared to make another disrupting run, but the Slytherin beaters had already found their quarry, tracking the bludgers and hitting them into the Puff's formation, hitting one chaser as he prepared to catch a pass. The ball rolled off his fingertips as he cried out in pain, and Flint picked up the ball.

Seeing no need to intervene, Harry began to scan the stadium looking for his target. He'd been led to understand that snitches were rarely visible this early in the game, but exceptions happened, so periodic scanning was important -- or simply tailing the other seeker to keep the race to the snitch close.

Cedric, the more experienced player, initially assumed that Harry would adopt the "tailing" strategy, leveraging Cedric's expertise locating the snitch, then utilizing his smaller size and faster speed to try to outpace the third year.

Instead, Harry zoomed around the stadium, frequently changing his sightlines to discover whether the snitch was hiding in an unusual spot. I mean, it had to be somewhere, right?

Cedric felt torn. He was the experienced player, and had a better chance to locate his quarry, so perhaps should let Harry roam and miss out on the opportunity? But he was an unknown quantity, and perhaps there was a reason they added the first year to their roster, instead of sticking with the sixth year Higgs with two seasons under his belt? Cedric dithered, sticking near to the middle of the field but tracking Harry, and feeling a bit lost.

After two quick loops of the stadium, looking in and around crenelations in the stands, Harry looked back to the field, just as the Puffs picked up a shot blocked by their goalie. The quaffle was quickly passed up field to a waiting teammate, and now the Puffs had a two-on-zero break.

Harry nosed down and poured on the speed. The Puff chaser, getting close to needing to dish the quaffle or risk a penalty, looked over for a pass. Harry roared down at him, startling the Puff and causing him to hang on to the Quaffle for too long. He was forced to drop it. Harry screamed around in a 180 turn and kicked the Quaffle back downfield to a teammate. It was scooped up and a three-on-one break, this time in Slytherin's favor, quickly led to a goal.

Cedric, seeing Harry's break earlier, but not believing the snitch discovered, had followed half-heartedly. Harry scorched past him going the other way, causing Cedric to veer downwards to avoid a crash, and he was now entirely out of position, and almost falling over the front of his broom. It took him time to right himself, re-establish his balance, and move up high again to regain a commanding view. Even then, he was shaken when he arrived.

Cedric didn't immediately spot Harry and startled again. He did a three-sixty scan once, twice, thrice. Where is he? Already chasing the snitch? It's too early. Finally, he looked up, just in time to see Harry zooming down past him, spinning him around again!

Harry roared back into the affray with the chasers, this time during a loose ball situation. His presence caused the nearest Puff to veer away, allowing his teammate to pick up the Quaffle again.

After the initial scuffle at the start, the beaters had been non-entities in the game. They were battling each other, hitting the bludgers back and forth at each other, each team trying to establish dominance over the other to then use their earned advantage against the opposing chasers.

Their beaters' battle had taken them off to a low corner of the stadium near the Slytherin goal, and the rest of the players, goalies included, were fine to be left alone for a while. Having to worry about two twelve-pound iron balls while fighting for the Quaffle was a scary prospect, even given the enormous amount of abuse wizards could absorb.

Harry continued to rattle Cedric and the chasers as the game progressed, preventing their offense from running plays, blocking them from taking good defensive angles against Slytherin incursions, and keeping Cedric ducking, dodging, and looking over his shoulder instead of searching for the snitch.

Eventually the Puff beaters, seeing their team outclassed, tried to take the attack to Slytherin, but not having established an advantage, their efforts were routinely stopped and reversed against their own side.

To add insult to injury, the snitch hove into view below Cedric, perhaps trying to give him the advantage to make up for the drubbing his team was receiving, but Harry, quicker to spot it's appearance, simply swooped in, upending Cedric one more time, and made a clean catch, as the snitch apparently didn't perceive his close approach from behind Cedric until it was too late to dart away.

The Puffs left the field disconsolately, looking up to see the final score at 280-70, far from their aspirations upon starting the match.

Harry looked gleeful as his teammates carried him on their shoulders around the pitch to the cheers of the fans, with few jeers to be heard even from the Gryffindors, as Harry's spectacular first game appearance was too good not to show some measure of respect for the longtime rivals.

That evening Harry roundly toasted in the Slytherin common room, putting in performance as seeker even the seventh years had only rarely seen exceeded during their time at Hogwarts. Harry, with the advice of Daphne, avoided the punchbowl, but tried his first butterbeer and enjoyed the warm, pleasant sensation of the sweet, foamy beverage, before eventually retiring to leave the older house members to their increasingly raucous party.

Chapter Text

Harry and Daphne meandered at Hogsmeade Station along with the other students leaving for the Yule holiday break. It was an opportunity to say goodbye to friends old and new.

Harry enjoyed the experience of having friends who hadn't been chased off by Dudley and was in a great mood. While they still had a long train ride to spend together before Kings Cross, the time outside the close confines of the train's cabins allowed for a more free-wheeling set of conversations. Harry and Theo had just wrapped up a conversation, and Theo headed off to talk to an older Ravenclaw, when Hermione Granger approached Harry.

Hermione pushed her bushy hair back on one side behind her ear, and said "I know we haven't talked, but I wanted to say hello. I'm Hermione Granger. I guess you knew that. The feud," Hermione gestured with one hand in the air, "between our houses makes it difficult."

Harry nodded amiably, "Hello. Yeah, our houses do seem to have it out for each other, don't they. Well, at least things slowed down after Samhain."

"Halloween?" Hermione asked. "Yes, I guess they did. Thankfully." She paused, now shy again, biting her lip.

Harry picked up the thread. "Daphne said that once Weasley was in the hospital, Draco didn't have a rival anymore."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I think she's right; I can see that."

Harry continued, "We're lucky no one else was foolish enough to engage with his nonsense. I noticed you didn't take the bait when he was being an ass."

"Hmmm. It was certainly very trying at times. I didn't particularly like all the slurs he called me, but responding to him didn't help, and the teachers certainly did nothing about it."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking down and scuffing one shoe on the bricks. "I don't know why they allow that. It's not fair. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Potter. You seem kind. Is it okay if I ask you a question? About spells?"

"You can call me Harry. Go ahead."

"It's only ... I saw ... Remember at the beginning of the school year? In Charms? I saw you casting a spell to create snowflakes. How did you know how to do that? I looked it up later and it was a sixth-year charm."

"What? It is?" Harry rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "I dunno. I didn't learn it in a book, if that's what you mean. I just ..." Harry thought back; how had he done that, he wondered. "I just ... wanted it, I guess."

"You ... wanted it. Wanted snowflakes?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah."

"So, no wand motion? No incantation?"

"Yeah," Harry said again.

"Oh." Hermione looked puzzled. What Harry was suggesting was ... out of her understanding, and not something she'd seen in the books. "And that works? I mean, can you cast other spells that way too?"

"I guess?" Harry considered. "Yeah, I guess I can. I dunno, sometimes I just want to do something, and it just comes to me, I guess."

"Well, okay. Do you ... think you could show me sometime?"

"Yeah, sure. Until you mentioned it, I didn't even think about it. Maybe I can learn more if I show someone else," Harry said, looking thoughtful.

Daphne walked over with Sue Bones. "Hi Harry, sorry to interrupt. Sue wanted to invite us over after Boxing Day to visit with her aunt. Would you like to go?"

"Hi Sue. That sounds great. I'd love to," Harry said. "Oh, err, Daphne, Sue, have you two been introduced to Hermione Granger?"

Daphne and Sue both dipped their heads gracefully. "Glad to make your acquaintance, Hermione," Daphne said, and Sue followed with, "Hello Hermione, it has been a while."

"Hello Daphne, hello Sue," said Hermione with less poise than the others, tucking her hair behind her ear again.

"Hermione was just asking me about spellcasting. We were talking about getting together next year to practice. Maybe we can all do that," Harry added.

The foursome continued to converse, agreeing with the notion to meet up upon their return. Shortly thereafter the train arrived, and the students began boarding, looking forward to their return home.

As the train began slowing for its arrival at Kings Cross, Harry's tension increased. Several times Daphne saw him leaning forward in his seat, legs bouncing with nervous energy, and she'd calm him with conversation, holding his hand, or stroking his back.

By the time they arrived on the platform, Harry was as tight as a clenched fist. He followed along behind Daphne, both towing their school chests. Harry had arranged that Hedwig would fly to join them later, as Harry didn't see the need to keep her caged for the long journey.

Daphne halted in front of a middle-aged couple, looking younger than Harry expected. Selene Greengrass was the image of Daphne, or rather, vice-versa: thin and blonde with blue-gray eyes, but in more adult proportions, especially height. She was much taller than Harry, about 30cm (one foot) taller than Harry's 140cm (4'8" height), he guessed, and her hair was pulled back in a braid, instead of loose like Daphne's.

Cyrus Greengrass was taller still, over 180cm (6'0"), Harry guessed, and handsome. His dark hair and carefully trimmed goatee gave him a debonair air.

Both were clothed in a style that Harry would later come to learn was expensive and understated, the type of clothing well-off adult wizards of younger years wore to show their wealth and sophistication, without any of the garish effrontery of the older set like Madam Augusta Longbottom and her vulture-crowned hat, or the over-tailored Lucius Malfoy with the affectation of a snake-headed cane, modeling his attire after the older generation to emphasize his maturity.

Selene smiled as Daphne curtsied, and said, "Mother. Father."

Propriety complete, Daphne rushed forward and hugged them both at once, while they smiled over her at Harry. After a moment, Daphne stepped back and gestured Harry forward. "And here is Harry. I'm so glad you're finally able to meet him. He's wonderful. Harry, these are my parents."

Both parents gestured Harry forward. He blushed and ducked his head, then stepped forward into their embrace. They held him warmly, and each leaned down to kiss his head in turn, as they said gentle words of welcome.

"So glad you're joining us, Harry," Selene said. "We've waited so long."

"Welcome home. Welcome home, son." Cyrus added.

Each of them had tears in their eyes, and they spent several moments hugging and looking at each other.

"Harry, we've arranged a portkey. Have you used one before?" asked Selene. At Harry's head shake, she continued, "It can be a bit surprising the first time. Just put a hand on this and hang on to it and your trunk, okay?" With this she raised a metal ring 10cm in diameter, and they each took a grip. "SlytherGriffinPuffleClaw," she intoned.

Harry's felt a tugging sensation in his intestines, then felt like he was being pulled through a tube and spun wildly. Ten seconds later he dropped onto a lawn and fell to the ground. He paused for a beat to see if he was injured but felt fine.

Cyrus leaned over, pulled Harry up with one hand, smiled, and said, "Not to worry. It gets easier with time."

Cyrus and Selene led them inside, and introduced Harry to Astoria. Three years younger than Daphne, with chestnut hair and dark eyes, she looked more her father's daughter than her mother's. She was clothed in an elaborate holiday dress, with her hair tied with ribbons. She immediately ran to Daphne and squeezed her into a long hug, then, still holding her sister, turned to Harry.

"Hello Harry. Glad to meet you. Mum and Dad have talked about you so much!" Astoria chattered.

"Hello Astoria, I'm glad to meet you at last. Daphne talks about you so much, I can tell she misses you," Harry said with a smile.

Astoria released her grip, stepped forward and gently hugged Harry, then stepped back and smiled up at him. "Would you like to see the house?"

What followed was a whirlwind tour of the house, cellars,, stables, gardens, and shed, with the rest of the family trailing along in Astoria's wake. Harry marveled at the pleasant country house, with its comfortable, cozy feel. While tidy, every room was filled with well-used nooks, projects-in-progress, and books. With the light starting to fade the party eventually ended up at a small dinner-table, window looking out onto the darkening sunset.

The first course of food and drinks arrived on the table, smoothly fading into existence. Harry, used to similar food-service at Hogwarts, barely noticed, but did brighten at the prospect of food. The Greengrasses gently quizzed Harry and Daphne about the last few days of school and their tests, the only part of the school year that hadn't already been conveyed in letters from the pair.

When Harry eventually went to bed covered in a wonderfully soft flannel sheets and a down comforter, the sense of comfort he felt enabled him to fall asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Text

While Harry enjoyed the welcoming warmth of the Greengrass residence and was discovering more about his parents' lives and those of his newfound family, another first-year Hogwarts student was having a more disagreeable time after his return home for Yule.

Upon Draco's arrival at the platform of Kings Cross station, his parents greeted him warmly but tastefully, aware of the watchful eyes of the common folk milling about. Narcissa and Lucius would never deign to demonstrate strong feelings, whether good or ill, in front a crowd of lessers.

As soon as they returned home, Narcissa enveloped Draco in a warm hug, kissed her son on the head, and whispered words of endearment. Once she let her son go, Lucius congratulated Draco with a firm handshake, clapped him on the shoulder and then pulled him close. "We're so proud of you, Draco. Welcome back."

While Lucius had a calm mien in public, he was capable of showing love and physical affection to his only child, leavened with high expectations and strong disapproval when his standards were not met.

"Come, you must be hungry. We've laid out all your favorites," Narcissa said.

They began to quiz Draco about the school year as they walked to the family parlor, the most comfortable parlor nearest to the back gardens, where they spent the most time together when at home.

A long set of tables along one wall veritably groaned under the weight of platters of food, all covered with spells to preserve freshness. As a finicky eater, Draco put together a small plate that contained few of the treats and sat on a couch facing his parents.

"Love, what of your peers?" Narcissa asked. "How is the lay of the land?"

"I'm doing well, mother. I'm well-respected within Slytherin, and the older students seek out my opinions and defer to my judgments," Draco said with a tone of pride.

"Can you tell us more of what's happened at Hogwarts? Many among our coterie have remarked upon Professor Quirrell’s demise, of course," Lucius probed.

Draco leaned forward on the couch, "It was remarkable, father. Potter touched the professor and he turned into dust in front of everyone. I took control of the situation to establish order within the classroom, then sought out Professor Vector to interrogate the students. I would have sought Severus, of course, but deemed the distance too great. I'm sure the Gryffindors would have been blundering about if I hadn't got them proper supervision right away."

"That was well considered, Draco," cooed Narcissa.

"Thank you, mother."

Now Lucius sat forward, matched Draco's posture, and said, "Draco, as you are becoming a man grown, it behooves me to share more of our ... situation with you. Severus tells me that your occlumency is now far enough along that we can be assured of your keeping this information private should ... events require."

Draco gulped and nodded.

Lucius unbuttoned his left shirt cuff and rolled up the sleeve. On his forearm resided a black tattoo of a skull with a serpent slithering from its mouth. The mark was faint, less noticeable then when Draco had seen it accidentally the year prior.

"This mark was given me by the Dark Lord at my father's behest when I was but a several years older than you are now. It was a stark and sinister mark and was fully black on my arm then. When he was vanquished in 1981, it became faint, then began darkening again until ... until the day you say Quirrell passed. It became faint once more but begins to grow darker again day by day."

Draco nodded. "What does it mean, father?"

"This mark is tied to the life of the Dark Lord, and will remain until he ceases," Lucius said carefully. "This mark demonstrates that he continues to exist on this plane."

"What can we do to restore him? If we bring him back, he's sure to destroy the mudbloods and reward our efforts," Draco said fervently.

Lucius glanced away. "Draco, life is always more complicated than one might expect."

Here he paused, and Narcissa spoke. "Your father and I have always and rightfully owned our place as leading members of the upper echelons of the wizarding world. As the most prominent purebloods, we were destined for this role, as are you. This is true, whether or not the Dark Lord exists."

Draco nodded doubtfully, uncertain of her meaning.

"Draco, we Malfoys are the elite of our society. If anything, the rise of the Dark Lord set back our efforts. The conflict he started took the lives of many of our compatriots, unsettled our society, reduced financial prosperity, created more tension among our inferiors, and reduced the moral suasion we utilize to guide the social order."

Draco spoke in a hesitant voice, and said, "We don't need the Dark Lord?"

"Yes Draco, precisely," Narcissa said, and smiled.

Now Lucius rejoined, "Draco, it is to my great regret that I took his mark. There was nothing to be gained, and everything to lose. My role in Britain was already secure. What need have we of more wealth, more influence, more ... anything? We already have everything we need."

Lucius stood, flipped his open robe from his legs, and stood. He took several steps away, then turned back. While rebuttoning his cuff, he said, "Should the Dark Lord return, it will be to our detriment. What have any of us to gain?"

Draco now stood too. "But, but ... the mudbloods. They're trying to take over!"

"But Draco, how can they do that? You will eventually take your seat on the Wizengamot, along with your peers, and set the laws, assign privileges, and judge actions. What chance do the muggleborn or half-bloods have to take your place?"

Draco looked unsure, so his mother continued. "You've been raised in our society. You've learned of magic since birth, and know how our world works. Surely, they're not capable of besting you. Are you concerned?"

"There's one. Granger. Severus told me she's the top student in my year so far, but she's only a mudblood. She must be cheating, but the teachers are doing nothing to stop it!"

Narcissa raised one finger to her cheek, and said, "Hmmm. You must work harder, Draco. One born to the muggle world should have no chance given your heritage and training. We will speak to Severus on the matter. But it is incumbent upon you to provide a role model for what a pureblood is that lessers may know their station. It is by your deeds that you must demonstrate your superiority. We have faith in you, love."

Lucius returned to his seat. "Well, that was a weighty topic. Let's discuss an area where I'm sure you're having success. Tell me of your year-mates."

Draco brightened. "Slytherin house runs like clockwork, father. I've arranged study sessions for our year to keep the laggards progressing. Crabbe and Goyle will never be brilliant, but I aim that they do credit to our house. I'm leading our efforts in Potions and Charms, and I've assigned Theo to teach Transfiguration. I've put Daphne in the role to demonstrate deportment and let her start group readings for Runes and Arithmancy so that we're prepared for third year. Well, for those of us with the capability to take those subjects, anyway."

"Bravo. It sounds like you have matters in hand," Lucius made a quiet clapping gesture. "And what of those in other houses?"

Draco paused, searching for an answer that would please his father. "Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff do not challenge our dominance; we expect to take the house cup. Our house members interact well and maintain decorum. As to Gryffindor. Well, I'm sure you know, they're not very amenable to ... to ... working well together. At anything."

"What of Harry Potter?" Lucius posed. Both parents leaned forward.

"I ... he ... we have spoken several times. A number of times. He seems to be ... acceptable in class but hasn't demonstrated excellence. I don't see how The Boy Who Lived can be so ... ordinary."

Lucius nodded. "Well, that is as may be. He doesn't have to the magical power of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord to be an important figurehead. It's more important that we bring him to our way of thinking. Bring him into the fold. We rely upon your efforts, Draco."

"Of course, father," Draco said, swallowing. "He's almost in my pocket already."

"That's wonderful, Draco," Narcissa said.

That evening, Lucius lounged on his marital bed in his nightclothes, re-reading a scroll from one of his many subordinates. Narcissa entered from her boudoir, hair loose, wearing a filmy nightrobe that enhanced her beauty.

She said, "I think we have need to speak with Severus."

Lucius set aside the scroll and looked up appreciatively at his wife, distracted from her words. "Hmmm?"

Narcissa halted at the edge of the bed above Lucius. "I'm afraid that Draco seemed somewhat disingenuous this evening. That I don't know about exactly what suggests that he's growing more cunning, which I dare say is a good thing considering how transparent he was in past."

Lucius smiled. "Quite. I'll arrange lunch. I'm sure Draco would be glad to have a day around the house to relax, and we can join Severus. I'll pick a place I'm sure you'll both enjoy."

She smiled back knowingly. "Yes, Severus is quite prickly about his dining arrangements, isn't he?"

Lucius reached up and took her hand, stroked it, and looked into her face with longing. "Come to bed love". He pulled her down on top of himself.

Lucius, Narcissa, and Severus Snape sat in a well-lit and well-appointed restaurant. With only a few tables in the large space, and a staff that moved discreetly from place to place, a quiet calm pervaded the room.

With their lunchtime repast finished, the dishes cleared, and the staff at bay, Lucius pulled his wand and cast a series of spells to prevent eavesdropping. The quiet noises of the restaurant now became entirely indistinct.

The trio's talk of trivial matters ceased, and Narcissa turned her attention to their guest. "Severus, thank you for taking charge of Draco at Hogwarts. We're so pleased to have someone of your excellence looking out for his best interests."

"The pleasure is mine, of course, Narcissa," Snape said with deference.

"With the ... changes ... you and Lucius have seen this year," she started, then paused. Snape nodded knowingly. Narcissa reflected that it was wonderful to speak to those who didn't have to be led with a halter to an understanding. "We believe the most important act of note that Draco might accomplish this year relates to ... securing Harry Potter's allegiance to our endeavors. He seems to believe the matter in hand. We seek your thoughts on his efforts."

Snape, a careful occlumentist, did not hint by his face or body any change in emotion at her question. He paused a moment before saying carefully, "Draco is perhaps well-intentioned in his efforts to seek out a cordial relationship with Potter. As they share the same house and classes, he has many opportunities to pursue accord."

Snape paused a beat. Narcissa almost sighed aloud; Severus always had such a touch for the dramatic about him.

Snape continued, "His efforts to date have been unrewarded. Potter has found many distractions in Miss Greengrass, and Draco's charm has not penetrated their bubble."

"Come, Severus, always so diplomatic," Lucius cajoled. "We might read such in Witches Weekly. Give us your innermost thoughts."

Snape turned to look at Lucius. "I'm afraid Draco must redouble his efforts if he is to find success. He must not stir the potion too hastily and should rather seek to stabilize it first before seeking to further his efforts."

Lucius looked to Narcissa and said "This is most regrettable. I do believe that Draco has blundered badly." He turned back to Snape, "When your personal ruminations are so carefully worded, I'm afraid that even I can read you, old friend."

In the drawing room, Lucius Malfoy strode back and forth in front of the couch where Narcissa and Draco sat quietly, his boots cracking loudly on the stone floor as he seethed. While Narcissa looked on with quiet aplomb, Draco cowered back against the back of the couch, trying to put as much space as he could between himself and his enraged father.

"Draco, I simply don't understand how you could have demonstrated such poor judgment. Is it beneath you to extend a welcoming hand to create a bond of friendship to such an important young man? Or is it beyond your capabilities to follow simple directions?" Lucius halted his strides and stood, impatient, hands on hips, leaning over Draco.

"I tried, father," Draco said, indignant, looking anywhere but at Lucius. "He rudely rejected me when I offered my help. He must have been poisoned against me by Greengrass."

"This is shameful. Making excuses for your own bad judgment is unacceptable. My forbearance is not infinite Draco. You must redeem yourself!"

Lucius turned, and strode from the room, the clicking of his boots receding into the distance. Draco continued to squirm on the couch until eventually, mercifully, the noises faded in the distance.

Narcissa, quiet during Lucius' controlled rant, now turned to her son. "Tell me the truth, Draco. What went wrong?"

"I'm sure I don't know, mother."

Narcissa waited, maintaining her silence as she continued to look into his eyes.

"I ... I may have made a mistake. After the sorting, Harry was ignoring me. He's such an oik. He has no notion of how to comport himself, and I ... well, I may have said something about it."

Narcissa rolled her arm and wrist with a "more" gesture.

"Well, then he and Daphne insulted me."

"Hmmm. Did you do anything to repair the damage?" she asked.

"I offered to tutor him in society and good manners, and help him in Charms and Potions," Draco proffered.

"I begin to see the predicament," Narcissa said. "Draco, my love. You're such a clever and special boy." She reached to him, taking his hands in hers. "You are a Malfoy, a proud member of our family. I see that we may have some fault in making you too proud."

Draco shook his head. What...? he thought.

"We will need to spend some time working on your ... disposition. Your father and I spoke to you of important matters upon your return yesterday. For the security and safety of our family, it is essential that we reconsider matters together and look to how we might look at our situation in different light."

"Yes, mother," Draco said sullenly.

"Good. Let's begin."

Chapter Text

The mood was jolly among passengers as the Hogwarts Express began its journey back to the school, and friends re-acquainted themselves after the brief Yule break. At least, that was the case for most of the compartments.

In one compartment, the mood was less festive. Draco had pulled most of the Slytherin first years together -- Pansy, Tracey, Millicent, Theo, Greg, and Vincent -- and asked for a Vow of Privacy. While not as extreme as the penalty for violating an Unbreakable Vow, which would lead to the loss of magic or death of the oath breaker, the repercussions for breaking a privacy vow would show a mark on the face of the betrayer to all and sundry for a year. While the mark on the face would fade, the stain on one's character would linger for a lifetime, so taking such a vow was consequential, and none in the group would have done so but for Draco's position as the leader of their year-group.

After the vow, Draco looked at each member of the group, his eyes shifting and darting between them. He felt a nervous energy, unsure whether his plan would work, but now too far gone to back out. "Play the long game, Draco," his father had said to him. He tried to keep it in mind.

Draco licked his lips, and then began. He spoke softly, trying to emulate his godfather, Severus, in setting the stage. "We represent a source of strength as a coalition in the leadership of the British wizarding community. As heirs to our families, and upon our eventual assumption of our Wizengamot seats, we have the capability to set the direction of our nation and make it pre-eminent in the wizarding world. Together, we can ..."

"Oh bother," Theo interrupted, causing Draco to falter.

Draco glared at Theo, and Theo returned his look with a calm gaze.

Theo continued, "It's only, I mean... I don't think any of our parents or grandparents are planning on dying any time soon and relinquishing their seats. Don't we have a few decades yet before this is an issue?"

"Theo, let him speak," Pansy suggested.

Theo seemed entirely unbothered. "Well, I would, but I had planned on several rousing games of Exploding Snap, you see, and cousin Draco seems to be starting into a long-winded thing. It doesn't seem relevant."

Draco tried to pick up the thread again, "This is important. You see, we have the chance to decide, together, to take the reins and ..."

"No, you're doing it again," Theo interrupted once more, speaking congenially. "Maybe you could skip to the part where you make your point? I mean, if it's not too much trouble?" He shrugged, hands out.

Draco clenched his fists, bit down hard on his first response. On his next several responses. He stood angrily for several moments before finally continuing. "Fine. My father ... well, both my parents, think that I ... that we ... should do what we can to gain the trust of Potter."

"Oh, I do see the problem now," Theo said, now dusting invisible lint from his sleeve. "That might have been easier before you, I don't know, insulted him repeatedly?"

Draco was flummoxed once more but managed to regain his composure. "I ... went about things badly. Very badly. I think I may have ... well, I think I was worried and ... acted foolishly. I was witless. Unwise."

Theo and Millicent glanced at each other, an unreadable look between them. The others in the room sagged. They had all thrown in their lot with Draco and now were feeling naive for following his lead. Their impending return to Hogwarts now seemed fraught.

"My father ... explained some things that ... I was unaware of that may ... cause us to look at things differently," Draco said.

The room was now deathly quiet. Theo looked on without interrupting, leaving space for Draco to continue.

Draco said, "Our families lead the wizarding world. They control the Wizengamot and the Ministry. We ... or rather they ... don't need any upheaval to remain in control. The status quo is good for them. And for us."

Draco paused again, afraid to blurt out something too close to the truth of the matter. "Everyone, I think, would prefer a stable society. A safe society. My father..." Draco halted again. How to make them see, without saying something unforgivable should circumstance change, he thought.

"A war, started by anyone, would be bad for everyone. We have the most to gain from civility. We should ... aim to improve matters," Draco said, then stopped. A long pause ensued, until it eventually became clear that he was finished speaking.

Now Millicent, usually silent, said "What about the mudbloods and blood-traitors?"

Theo winced, then tsked at her, shaking his head.

Millicent turned to Theo. "I know, I know. I'm only asking because it has to be asked."

They both turned back to Draco and waited.

Draco looked contrite. "I have some repair to do." He looked about, seeing them all waiting for more. "I will have to make amends."

Now Theo asked with more sharpness, "And how will you fix this with the darker Slytherins? They surely won't like the new Draco. A lot of them would prefer less civility, I expect."

Draco looked unsure. "I'll try to explain," he said tentatively.

No one said anything for several seconds.

"Does this mean we don't get to hunt the mudbloods?" Crabbe asked.

Theo gave a tight smile, and looked to the girls present. "Well, I think I'm no longer needed here. I think Draco has some work to do with his troops. Millicent, would you like to join me? Tracey? Pansy?" As they all nodded, he stepped forward and clasped Draco on the shoulder. "Good luck." Then they marched out, leaving Draco to his misery.

In another compartment, Harry was pulling out a contraption from his school trunk to show to his cabin-mates. While Daphne had already seen it, he aimed to show Blaise, Susan, and Hannah, as well as Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had joined the two Hufflepuff girls. Justin seemed pleasant company, comporting himself extremely politely, in stark comparison to Blaise, who lounged with relaxed nonchalance. The rest, now firm friends, filled in the middle.

Harry turned and showed his new toy. "Okay, here it is. Let's see if it works. This is a hand-crank radio. It's the muggle version of a wizarding wireless radio."

Harry extracted a handle from the back, then cranked the handle rapidly in a circle several times before returning the handle to its cradle. He flipped the radio and turned the volume dial. A hissing noise came from the speakers, then flittered out.

"Hmmm," Harry said. He tried the experiment again, but the radio performed no better. "Well, that's too bad. It worked in the garden."

"Oh, what a pity," Daphne agreed. She turned to the others and explained further, "We were able to get several muggle music stations to play in the garden. It was quite enjoyable to hear the music. Some of the stations play the music of magical composers like Brahms, Mozart, and Beethoven. Oh, and Tchaikovsky, of course. And then there were a lot of modern music that sounded like ... well, like nothing I've ever heard! All sorts of wonderful songs."

"Well, it was worth a try," Harry said, frowning. "Darn! I wonder how we could share them?"

"Maybe on the Hogwarts grounds? Or in the commons?" Susan suggested.

"I guess. Well, something to work on," Harry said.

"I like your new glasses," Susan added.

"Oh. Thanks! I can see better now too," Harry said, brightening.

"Uh oh, maybe we should take those away," said Hannah. "Your next Quidditch match is coming up soon, and it might be to our advantage if you're blind. Even up the house points," she teased.

"Leave my Harry alone," Daphne said. "I don't want him to crash into any bludgers or the goal posts. He's already too reckless!"

Hannah opened her trunk and pulled out some snacks. "My mother has been trying some new recipes for crackers, and you can help test them. I've a sample of meats and cheeses for toppings."

Oohs and aahs filled the room as everyone leaned forward to try something.

"Don't suppose you brought any of your mum's beer to wash it down?" said Blaise.

"Just the sort of mischief we always expect from you, Blaise," Susan said. "When you say something that's not naughty it will be quite the shock, I'm sure."

Blaise nodded affably. "Oh, now, I couldn't do that. I don't want to disappoint, that's Harry's job," he said without vitriol.

"Hey!" Harry said.

Daphne gave Harry a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Never," she said.

Harry turned and put his forehead to hers.

"Oh, look what you've started Blaise! Yuck," said Susan.

Daphne turned and stuck out her tongue at Susan.

The camaraderie continued apace as the friends enjoyed each other's company.

A time later, a knock on their compartment door halted the boisterous conversation. Justin opened the door to find Hermione Granger outside. "Hello," he said.

Hermione looked discomfited at the size of the group in the room but said her hellos.

Then another knock occurred, and Justin opened the door again to find Draco outside.

The mirth in the room dropped, and Draco found himself facing a room full of stone faces.

"We're full up in here, I'm afraid," Daphne said.

"No... I...", Draco began.

"The gents is just down the hall," Harry added, to titters around the room.

"I'd like ... I'd like to apologize," Draco stuttered out.

Silence greeted his pronouncement.

Draco continued, "I have ... behaved inappropriately. My behavior has been deplorable. I will ... aim to rectify things in future. Thank you for listening."

Draco fled.

"I think his father found out," Blaise said deadpan. "What? He always said wait 'til his father finds out."

"Very clever, Blaise," Daphne said. "Well, I think the remainder of the year will be different, won't it?"

"I'm not going to hold my breath," said Harry.

The rest of the train ride was spent in discussion and conjecture.