Chapter Text
The car swayed slightly as it passed over a rough patch in the road, and Harry adjusted his backpack beside him, feeling the cold leather against his leg. He glanced out the window, watching the facades of old buildings, bicycles propped against curbs, and the hurried red buses. The Muggle world felt more real here, with its noise and haste, almost as if the streets of London were trying to hold onto the last few minutes of freedom he had before disappearing behind the barrier to Platform 9 ¾.
“Did you pack all your books?” Lily repeated, turning to him with that slightly worried look. “I don't want another letter saying you forgot something for your classes. Especially Potions.”
Harry almost laughed. It was always Potions. “Yes, yes, I got them,” he replied, adjusting his backpack with exaggerated care. “And you know Slughorn would do anything for me. I'm still his star.”
“Inflated ego,” James chimed in, finally glancing away from the traffic for a second to give his son a knowing look through the rearview mirror. “Must be hereditary.”
“Oh, it definitely is,” Lily agreed, smiling. “Because I know it’s not mine.”
Harry leaned back in his seat, feeling the gentle sway of the car as his father sped up to catch the green light. “You know I’m his favorite student. He literally invited me to that Slug Club of his by the third month of classes.”
“Did he now?” James said, raising his eyebrows with a false innocence that fooled no one. “I thought those parties were for the older students... you know, the ones who can, let’s say, handle the liquid consequences of poor decisions.”
“I was there! They had sweets and everything. I can't resist free food.”
“Of course, because the food in the Great Hall isn’t enough,” Lily joked, shaking her head.
“Hey, they don’t serve pumpkin pasties and lemon tarts at dinner,” Harry shot back with a mischievous grin. “You have no idea what I’ve done to snag an extra box of chocolate frogs in my first year.”
“Probably things I’d rather not know about,” Lily murmured, though the sparkle in her eyes didn’t fade.
The car merged onto the long avenue leading to King's Cross, the sparse trees turning into a green blur along the curb. The Jaguar growled lightly as James pressed the accelerator, and Harry felt that familiar flutter in his stomach. He pulled out his earphones, carefully winding the cord before tucking them into his pocket, as if it were a ritual to prepare for the transition between worlds.
“And no detentions every other week, Harry,” Lily continued, pointing a finger at him, though her tone was more affectionate than stern. “You have a responsibility now.”
Harry glanced at the seat beside him, where the Head Boy badge was clipped to the strap of his backpack, gleaming with that metallic arrogance he was already starting to resent. He still had no idea what McGonagall and Dumbledore had seen in him to give him that position. To be honest, the idea of giving orders to housemates – many of whom probably knew far more about responsibility than he did – still felt like a cruel joke.
He caught a glimpse of the signet ring on his ring finger, the same one his grandfather, Fleamont Potter, had always worn. The old wizard had passed away the previous summer, a victim of dragon pox that the healers at St. Mungo's couldn’t stop. Harry couldn’t help but think that his grandfather would have laughed to know that he was now a Head Boy. “Authority runs in the Potter blood, my boy,” he would probably say, with that glint in his eyes that mixed pride and mischief.
“Are you okay, dear?” Lily asked, perhaps sensing his sudden silence.
Harry blinked, snapping back to the present. He tightened his grip on the ring, feeling the cool metal against his skin. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking about Grandpa.”
Lily looked at him, her eyes shining with a mix of sadness and affection. “He would have been so proud of you.”
James cleared his throat, his fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. “More than proud,” he added, his voice a bit rougher. “He would’ve made a point of telling every witch and wizard he ran into in Diagon Alley.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile. He could easily picture his grandfather boasting about it, maybe even exaggerating the stories, making it sound like Harry had saved the school from some mortal peril just to earn the badge.
The Jaguar slid into a parking space near the station entrance, the engine growling one last time before falling silent. Harry felt the weight of his backpack as he slung it over his shoulders, the cool metal of the badge pressing against his chest. He looked at his parents, who were already stepping out of the car, the muffled sound of the doors closing bringing back the echo of a refrain still playing in his mind.
And with that last glance at the overcast London sky, he tightened his grip on the backpack strap and followed them toward the station, feeling the familiar flutter in his stomach grow with each step.
Harry maneuvered his luggage cart between the pillars, the wheels squeaking against the stone floor as he weaved around hurried groups and families who seemed to be hauling half the world in their bags. Hedwig's cage wobbled dangerously, and the snowy owl let out a sharp screech, her white feathers ruffling in irritation as he nearly bumped into a distracted old lady with a newspaper in hand.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered quickly, straightening the cage and trying not to trip over the feet of a man pushing an even more unwieldy cart, piled high with bags tied together with colorful ropes that looked ready to burst.
“Are you sure he’s going to be here?” Harry asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. He knew Sirius had the punctuality of a grenade – he could show up at any moment or not at all.
James shrugged, adjusting his glasses as he glanced around with the same restrained anxiety. “You know how he is. He’s got a special talent for showing up at the last second.”
Harry tightened his grip on the cart’s handle, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest that always came before a new school year. He knew Sirius would come, but the thought of leaving without even seeing him first felt wrong.
And then, amid the chaotic clamor of the station, he spotted him. Sirius emerged between two pillars, walking with that carefree, almost defiant stride that seemed to defy the very laws of physics. His long hair was slicked back, his unshaven face adding a touch of rebelliousness, and he wore a dark leather jacket that clearly didn’t fit the setting but somehow looked perfectly at home on him. Even on the verge of forty, Sirius still drew glances, and not always for the right reasons.
“Late as always, Padfoot,” James teased, extending his fist for a quick bump, which Sirius returned with perfect timing. “Harry here was starting to think you’d been eaten by a dragon.”
“Oh, but what dragon would dare to take me on?” Sirius replied, flashing that grin of his that always seemed like a challenge. He turned to Lily, pulling her into a tight hug that made her roll her eyes, though not without a smile. “You’re as radiant as ever, my dear.”
“You shameless scoundrel,” Lily shot back.
Finally, Sirius turned to Harry, his eyes shining with that familiar mix of pride and mischief that made it seem like he was always just seconds away from causing trouble. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, giving him an exaggerated once-over. “Ready for your final year, Pup? Remember all my advice?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, shooting a sly glance at his father before replying. “Oh, you mean the tips about cigarettes, booze, and women?”
Sirius blinked, a wicked grin spreading at the corner of his lips, but he only had time to open his mouth before feeling Lily’s death glare searing into the side of his face. He recovered as quickly as a cat landing on its feet. “No, no, of course not. I meant about grades, studies, and being a model student.”
Harry let out a short laugh, while James stifled his own with a poorly disguised cough.
“This boy’s been watching too many American movies,” Sirius added, crossing his arms as if the matter was settled, though not without a cheeky wink at Harry, who had to bite back a louder laugh.
Lily sighed, shaking her head as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You’re going to be the end of him, Sirius Black.”
“Oh, but what kind of godfather would I be if I didn’t teach this boy what really matters in life?” Sirius shot back, flipping his hair back dramatically.
Before Lily could counter, James’s firm voice cut through the air. “Alright, if we’re done leading our future star astray, how about we cross the barrier before the train leaves without us?”
Harry adjusted his grip on the cart, feeling the familiar weight of his backpack pressing against his shoulders and the cold metal of the Head Boy badge against his chest. He looked at his parents, then at Sirius, and felt that warm wave of belonging – the certainty that no matter how much the world changed, these people would always be there for him.
They exchanged one last look, then moved together toward the brick barrier, the clamor of the station fading into a low hum as they approached the portal that separated them from the magical side of the world.
The typical chaos of September 1st dominated Platform 9¾. Rushed families, students of all ages dragging trunks and cages, groups gathering for hurried farewells – the familiar blend of voices, laughter, and locomotive whistles filled the air with an almost electric energy. Harry maneuvered his cart through the crowd, exchanging waves and handshakes with classmates from previous years. Some faces were familiar, others complete strangers who greeted him with enthusiasm, as if they had known him forever.
He didn’t mind. He liked the attention, the way eyes followed him, the way conversations paused for a second when he walked by. There was something addictive about being noticed, about being part of something larger – something his last name carried like a badge.
From his very first year, Harry had felt the weight of being a Potter at Hogwarts. It wasn’t just the name – it was the history that came with it. Lily, his mother, had been one of the brightest students the school had ever seen, a Potions prodigy whose talent had earned her immediate prestige at St. Mungo’s, where she now worked as a medi-witch.
James, his father, was a different story. Known for being brilliant but lazy, a bit of a womanizer, and, according to some teachers, a real troublemaker. Today he worked at the Ministry, but in his teenage years, he had been a legend. Along with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, he had formed the legendary Marauders – a quartet that had left their marks, many of them permanent, on the walls, corridors, and even the portraits of the school. When Harry first arrived at Hogwarts, he had decided he would be no different. If the Marauders were a legend, he would make sure that legacy stayed alive.
From his first year, Harry had gained a reputation as a rule-breaker. He seemed to have a natural talent for getting into trouble, racking up detentions like other students collected house points. Many wondered how he had never been expelled – especially the Slytherins, who saw every slip-up as yet another sign of the so-called Potter privilege. But the truth was that, despite his occasional excesses, Harry had always known just how far he could push things. He tested the limits but never truly crossed them.
Harry adjusted the Head Boy badge on his chest as they stopped near the middle of the train, where the door to the prefects' compartment was already open, revealing cushioned seats and large windows letting the morning light flood the carriage. He smiled, remembering his fifth year, when Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw a year older than him, had invited him to "check out" that compartment. It was strange to think that he now had legitimate access to the place.
“And I thought McGonagall had been bold enough when she named your father as Head Boy in his final year,” Sirius remarked, helping Harry hoist his trunk into the carriage. The trunk landed with a dull thud on the metal rack, making Hedwig jump in her cage and shoot a reproachful look at both of them.
Sirius leaned in closer to Harry, lowering his voice while Harry’s parents chatted a bit further back. “She thought she could keep James under control, but it only made things worse. It was your mother who made the real difference.”
Harry let out a short laugh, his eyes still on the badge on his chest. “I still don’t know what got into her to pick me. I wasn’t even a prefect. Why not Ron? Neville? Literally anyone else?”
Sirius shrugged, clapping his godson on the back with an exaggerated force that almost made him stumble. “Things happen for a reason, pup. Remember what Remus always said in moments like this: you need to take responsibility...”
“...and act in the best way possible,” Harry finished automatically, a small smile on his lips.
“Exactly,” Sirius replied, a proud glint in his eyes. “Remus would have loved to be here to see you off for your final year, but you know how he is. Ever since he managed to improve the effects of the Wolfsbane Potion, he spends more time traveling than at home.”
Harry felt that familiar pang of longing when he thought of Remus, but he pushed the thought aside as the train let out a long whistle. He and Sirius walked back to where his parents were, now chatting animatedly with the Weasleys.
“Hey, Head Boy?” Ron teased, raising his fist for a quick bump as Harry approached. “Am I supposed to salute you every time I see you now?”
“In your dreams,” Harry shot back, returning the fist bump with force. “I still don’t know how I ended up with this. I wasn’t even a prefect.”
“Who knows what goes on in McGonagall’s mind... or Dumbledore’s,” Ron added, winking as if he already knew something. “The old man’s probably losing his marbles.”
Harry laughed, feeling the tightness in his chest ease a little. He shared a quick hug with Ginny, who pulled him in with that carefree energy she always seemed to have. Ever since she’d started dating Dean the previous year, the intense crush she had on Harry had transformed into a light, surprisingly fun friendship. If anyone knew how to pull pranks with surgical precision, it was her – sometimes even better than Ron himself.
“Harry, dear!”
Molly Weasley’s voice cut through the platform’s noise, and before he could react, he felt her arms wrap around him, squeezing his ribs in that bone-crushing hug only she could deliver. He gave a slightly awkward wave to Arthur, who stood just behind her, adjusting his glasses with a warm, reserved smile.
“I haven’t seen you since your grandfather’s funeral,” Molly said, pulling back to give him a sharp, assessing look. “How have you been? Are you alright? Did you make the most of the last few days? Ron told me about the Head Boy promotion – you should be so proud, my dear! Your grandfather would have been so proud! Have you been eating well? Taking care of yourself? I know your mother’s an excellent medi-witch, but... you know, these things...”
“Mum...” Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry just laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“It’s alright, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied with a sincere smile. “Things are just as they need to be. That’s all that matters.”
Molly let out a satisfied sigh, looking content for a moment before turning to adjust Ron’s tie, prompting a groan of protest from her son.
The train’s whistle sounded again, longer and more insistent this time, cutting through the platform’s chatter. It was the definitive signal that departure was near. Harry turned to his parents and Sirius, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest that always crept in at this moment.
“See you at the next match?” he asked, already picturing his parents in the stands, red and gold flags fluttering in the crisp October air.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” James replied, puffing out his chest as if he could already feel the wind of the pitch. “Send us an owl with the schedule, and we’ll be there to watch you crush it.”
“And don’t forget to keep your grades up,” Lily added, straightening his jacket collar with that careful touch only mothers have. “And write often, or I’ll storm that school myself to make sure you’re alright.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade. “I’ve been there for six years, Mum. Why would you start doing that now, in my final year?”
“Oh, you know me,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You never know.”
Sirius, who had been watching the scene with his trademark grin, stepped forward and pulled Harry into a strong hug, clapping him hard on the back before stepping back and quickly pulling off his leather jacket. In one swift motion, he bundled it up and tossed it to Harry, who caught it mid-air, his eyes widening in surprise.
“What’s this? That’s your favorite jacket,” Harry said, holding the soft leather in admiration. He recognized the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and wind – like the jacket carried the very essence of his godfather.
“It’s something to mark your final year,” Sirius replied, his eyes shining with pride. “Every great Marauder needs a jacket. And when you get back, we can finally take that motorcycle trip I promised, before you get buried in your next academic adventure.”
Harry smiled, feeling the symbolic weight of the gift. He slipped the jacket on, the shoulders a bit wide but the fit perfect for someone still growing, still finding his place. The leather felt warm and heavy, and for a moment, he felt more imposing, more ready for whatever came next.
“You’re incredible, Padfoot,” he said, looking up at his godfather, who winked back with the air of someone who had already pulled off more than enough mischief for two lifetimes.
Harry turned to his parents, pulling them into a quick but tight hug. He felt the familiar perfume of his mother and the reassuring strength of his father’s grip.
“And try not to get detention every two weeks this time,” Lily added, her eyes narrowing in a mix of love and warning. “And if I hear you’ve snuck out to Hogsmeade to meet someone again, you can consider yourself without allowance for a few months.”
Harry laughed, already climbing the train steps. “Mum, you know me. At most, I’ll just try not to get anyone pregnant. See you at the end of the year!”
He ducked into the carriage before she could respond, catching the muffled laughter of his father and Lily’s indignant protests as the doors slowly slid shut.
The train began to move, and Harry leaned against the window, waving at the three figures slowly shrinking on the platform, their familiar faces blending into the steam rising from the tracks. He adjusted the jacket on his shoulders, feeling the cool leather warming up against his body, as if Sirius’s gift were a kind of armor for the unforgettable final year that awaited him.
The train rocked rhythmically over the tracks, making it difficult to walk through the narrow corridor, especially with the crowd of students squeezing past each other to find their seats. The air was thick with the hum of hundreds of voices, muffled laughter, and the occasional clatter of moving cages. Harry had to swerve abruptly to avoid a group of first-years who looked completely lost, their robes still shiny and stiff with newness.
“Can you believe this, Ron?” Harry said, glancing at the fogged-up windows as they made their way down the corridor. “Our last year at Hogwarts. Feels like just yesterday we were first years ourselves.”
“Well, it’s gone by slower for me than I’d like to admit,” Ron replied, clutching his backpack to his chest to avoid hitting anyone.
Harry smiled, feeling that familiar warmth of anticipation in his chest. “I know I’m going to make the most of every second. Hogwarts will remember a Potter just like it remembers James Potter.”
Ron let out a short laugh, his eyes following Harry as he flashed a grin at a fifth-year girl leaning against the door of one of the compartments. She blushed slightly, exchanging a quick look with her friends before disappearing inside.
“You know you already live up to your father’s name, right?” Ron said, raising his eyebrows with a mix of exasperation and admiration. “You don’t need to keep proving it to everyone.”
Harry just shrugged, still wearing that mischievous half-smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned to keep walking, the leather jacket Sirius had given him swaying lightly on his shoulders. “I just know this is going to be the best final year anyone’s ever had...”
He was suddenly cut off when his chest collided with something – or rather, someone. The girl stumbled back, letting out a small sound of surprise before hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you...” Harry started, but the words died in his throat when he recognized the pair of icy blue eyes glaring at him with a mixture of fury and disdain.
Daphne Greengrass.
She sprang to her feet in one swift motion, her blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, each strand looking as though it had been carefully arranged by a perfection spell. Her eyes, as sharp and cold as mountain ice, narrowed as she looked at him, her jaw slightly tense. Her pale, flawless skin seemed even more porcelain-like under the light filtering through the iron columns of Platform 9¾, and her aristocratic features hardened like marble, every line of her face radiating a pride that seemed etched into her very blood.
She looked at him as if he were the greatest abomination to ever set foot on the platform, her lips curving into a restrained sneer, as if his mere presence were an insult to the natural order of things. Even in her school uniform, impeccably tailored, she carried an aura of natural elegance, standing with the poise and sharp gaze of someone born to command.
“Forgot your manners over the summer, Potter?” she snapped, adjusting her skirt with precise movements. “Or are you still thinking like a primate who only cares about Quidditch and girls?”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he let out a weary sigh. “And you still think you’re royalty in the wizarding world, Greengrass? Or is that just when you’re pretending you’re not surrounded by people who don’t fit into your perfect circle of friends?”
Daphne crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “At least my friends know how to behave,” she shot back, her icy blue eyes flashing with irritation. “Yours, on the other hand...”
“Hey!” Ron cut in, raising his hands as if trying to defuse a ticking bomb. “Don’t drag me into whatever this is between the two of you. We’re past that phase.”
“We do not have a relationship!” Harry and Daphne shouted in unison, pointing at each other as if about to cast a hex. “I would never have a relationship with that thing!”
They glared at each other for a tense second before Daphne spun on her heel and stormed down the corridor, her hair swishing behind her like the tail of a comet.
Ron let out the breath he’d been holding, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you two are going to end up killing each other or getting married.”
Harry rolled his eyes, hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
They continued down the corridor, the familiar sounds and smells of the train filling the brief silence between them. Harry cast one last glance at the now-empty stretch of corridor where Daphne had disappeared, feeling the heat in his face start to fade. He shrugged and moved on, searching for Hermione.
Harry and Ron found Hermione near the back of the train, in one of the quieter compartments. She was sitting alone, her head bent over a thick, green-covered book that Harry recognized as Advanced Arithmancy – Theories and Applications . She didn’t even notice them enter, so absorbed was she in the dense lines and complex charts.
“Hey, Mione,” Ron said, leaning down and running his fingers gently through her hair before planting a quick kiss on her temple. Hermione blinked, her eyes adjusting as if she were surfacing from a trance, before turning to face him, a small smile forming on her lips.
“When you said you’d find a compartment, I didn’t think you’d go this far back,” Ron continued, dropping his backpack onto the opposite seat with an exaggerated sigh. “We’re going to have to walk all the way back to the prefects’ compartment later, you know.”
“Don’t be lazy,” Hermione shot back, closing her book with a soft snap and standing up to hug Harry. She sat back down beside Ron, keeping the book in her lap, her fingers still resting on the edge of the cover, as if ready to dive back in at the first opportunity.
“Already studying before classes have even started?” Harry teased, throwing himself onto the seat across from them and stretching his legs out to take up as much space as possible. “As if your grades weren’t good enough already. I bet you already know everything the professors are going to teach this year, and then some.”
“Because it’s our final year, Harry,” Hermione replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We have N.E.W.T.s coming up, and those will define our futures. You two really need to take this seriously.”
Ron shot a slightly guilty glance at Harry before turning back to Hermione with a mischievous grin. “And if I can’t manage, you’ll be there to help me, right?” He pulled her a bit closer, planting another kiss on her cheek, making Hermione roll her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the small smile that slipped through.
Harry pretended to pull a face of disgust. “Do you two want me to leave and give you the compartment to yourselves? Or are you planning on doing obscene things right in front of me?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into a dangerous smile. “As if we haven’t walked in on you in much more compromising situations,” she shot back. “Remember last year? In the third-floor classroom when we were on patrol?”
Ron let out a short bark of laughter, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, right! That image stayed burned into my mind for months.”
Harry grinned, clearly satisfied. “What can I say? Lavender’s flexible in more ways than one.”
Hermione hurled a cushion at him, but Harry caught it mid-air with the reflexes of a Seeker.
“Don’t be disgusting,” she complained, her cheeks tinged slightly pink. “And try to behave this year. You are Head Boy, after all.”
Harry huffed, tossing the cushion back onto the seat. “I still don’t know how that happened. Why not one of you two? You as Head Girl would make so much more sense.”
He noticed the quick, silent exchange between Ron and Hermione, as if they were sharing a secret he wasn’t in on yet. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Ron nudged her discreetly in the arm, giving her a knowing look.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron deflected quickly. “Besides, you must have picked up something about being a prefect. We’ve been doing it since fifth year.”
Harry shrugged, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling of the train. “All I know is patrols and taking points.”
Hermione let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Prefects can’t take points, Harry. That’s against school rules.”
He leaned forward, genuinely shocked. “What do you mean? Then why was Malfoy always taking my points?”
Hermione sighed, the kind of exasperated sigh of someone who had explained this a thousand times. “He couldn’t. Even if he said he could, it wasn’t allowed. Did you never bother to check?”
Harry let out a carefree laugh. “Of course not. I’ve got more interesting things to do.” He glanced at his watch. “Anyway, we should head to the Prefects’ Compartment. McGonagall mentioned in her letter that we need to discuss our duties for the start of the year, and I don’t even know who my partner is yet.”
He jumped to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulders without noticing the quick, knowing look that passed between Ron and Hermione – a glance filled with a mix of anxiety and amusement.
The trio reached the Prefects' Compartment just as the train rounded a tighter curve, the sound of metal wheels screeching against the tracks filling the air. Despite Hermione’s complaints, Harry hadn’t been able to resist stopping in the corridor for a quick chat with Amelia Baxter, a girl he used to date, which had delayed them by a few minutes.
When they entered, they noticed that all the other prefects were already seated. Harry recognized Hannah Abbott and Ernie MacMillan, the Hufflepuff prefects, who gave them polite, reserved nods. Next to them were Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil, the Ravenclaw representatives. Padma shot Harry a cold glance, her lips tightening into a thin line – she clearly still hadn’t forgiven him for the way he’d ended things with her twin sister the previous year.
And, of course, there were the Slytherin prefects. Malfoy, wearing his usual expression of superiority, looked like he was on the verge of making a snide remark the moment Harry stepped inside. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson adjusted her hair with a look of disdain that almost matched his. Harry still wondered how those two had managed to get their badges – perhaps it was Lucius Malfoy’s influence on the Board of Governors, or simply the lack of better options.
Malfoy lifted his chin, his gray eyes narrowing as they met Harry’s. “Surprised to see you here, Potter. Dumbledore must be completely out of his mind if he thinks you’re worthy of being Head Boy.”
Harry smirked, leaning against the door as if settling in for a casual chat. “Missed me, Malfoy? I didn’t think you could look more like a ferret, but I guess I was wrong.”
Malfoy scoffed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “If you think I’m going to take orders from you, you’re seriously deluded. I’m not about to put up with your –”
“Oh, but you will,” Harry cut in, his grin widening. “I’m the Head Boy, remember?” He put unnecessary emphasis on the word “Head,” his eyes gleaming with provocation. “So it’s your duty to listen to me. You don’t have much of a choice.”
Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but a firm voice cut through the compartment, echoing off the walls.
“If you two are done comparing wand sizes, can we start the meeting?”
Harry froze, his smile vanishing instantly. He turned his head toward the source of the voice, and his stomach twisted. Sitting perfectly composed on one of the benches, her Head Girl badge gleaming against the green of her Slytherin uniform, was Daphne Greengrass.
She regarded him with the practiced calm of someone trained never to show weakness. Her blonde hair fell in flawless waves over her shoulders, and her icy blue eyes radiated a mixture of boredom and irritation in his direction.
“What is this?” Harry demanded, feeling his face heat with a mix of surprise and indignation. He quickly turned to Ron and Hermione, his eyes narrowing. “You two knew about this, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ron shrugged, his lips curving into a half-smile that he tried to suppress but failed miserably. Hermione gave him a stern look, arms crossed as if ready to lecture him.
“What difference would it have made, Harry?” she shot back, her brown eyes steady on his. “You’re both adults. You need to learn to work together, even if you can’t stand each other.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Daphne interrupted, tapping her fingers lightly against the cover of the notebook she was holding, as if the sound of his frustration was starting to test her patience.
“If you’re done being shocked by reality, Potter,” she said, her lips curling into a cool, calculated smile, “can we start discussing this year’s assignments?”
Harry took a deep breath, feeling Sirius’s leather jacket weigh on his shoulders like armor, but he nodded, forcing himself to remember that as Head Boy, he had to keep his composure – even if his partner was the last person in the world he’d want to share this responsibility with.
He sat down beside Greengrass, in the spot reserved for the Head Students at the very end of the table. It was the first time he’d shared space with her outside of a classroom or detention, and the proximity bothered him more than he expected. He could catch the subtle scent of her perfume – something citrusy, but with a bitter note – which somehow fit the sharp tone she always seemed to use.
Daphne crossed her legs with the cold grace of someone used to being the center of attention, her long fingers resting on the polished surface of the table, the Head Girl badge on her chest gleaming like a shield. She lifted her eyes to the group in front of them, her icy blue pupils as sharp as blades.
“As many of you know,” she began, her voice clear and controlled, “Potter and I weren’t prefects in previous years.” She shot a quick glance at Harry, who leaned back slightly, as if more distance could lessen the impact of her gaze. “To be honest, I have no idea what went through McGonagall’s mind when she put us in these positions, but I’ll do my best to make sure this doesn’t turn into a disaster.” She turned to Harry, her eyes narrowing slightly. “At least, I will.”
Harry felt the muscles in his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to raise his middle finger. He forced himself to take a deep breath, teeth gritted. It wasn’t like he had asked for this position.
Daphne leaned forward, her fingers still resting precisely on the polished wood of the table. “We’ll meet tomorrow to set up the patrol schedules for the first month, but today we just need to organize the train patrols. We’ve got about five hours before we reach Hogsmeade Station, so it’s simple: we need to make sure all students are in the right compartments and that no chaos breaks out.”
Ernie MacMillan raised his hand. “In previous years, we paired different houses together for patrols to avoid conflicts. Are we doing that again?”
“No,” Harry said, trying to take control of the situation, but Daphne cut him off before he could continue.
“Yes. But not today,” she corrected, her voice sharp and decisive. “We’ll keep things simple. Draco and Pansy will take the first round. Then Abbott and MacMillan, Granger and Weasley, and finally Patil and Goldstein. Potter and I will handle the final patrol, and we’ll all meet on the platform to make sure there are no issues. Tomorrow, we’ll finalize the schedule for the month.”
She straightened her posture, her hands still firmly placed on the table. “Any questions?”
No one spoke. For a few seconds, the compartment remained silent, the prefects exchanging quick glances before they started to stand, adjusting badges and straightening robes as they made their way to the door.
Ron shot Harry a sympathetic look before leaving, like someone watching a friend head into battle without a shield.
As soon as the last person left and the door clicked shut, Daphne turned slowly to face Harry, her eyes narrowing into an expression he was already starting to recognize as her default look of disdain.
“Just to be clear, Potter,” she began, her voice low and sharp as a blade, her icy blue eyes locked onto his, “just because we’re working together doesn’t mean we have to be friends. You do your job, I’ll do mine. But if I find out you’re abusing your power or trying to undermine everything I’ve built over the past few years, I’ll handle it personally.”
She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing further, her stance firm as if preparing for a duel. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I’m not going to let you ruin it just because you think you’re special.”
She turned sharply, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her, the sound echoing through the now-empty compartment.
Harry stood there for a few seconds, the distant sound of the train speeding along the tracks filling the silence. He tightened his grip on the Head Boy badge pinned to the strap of his jacket, his fingers curling around the cold metal.
He knew this year would be different – but he hadn’t expected it to start with a forced partnership with Daphne Greengrass.
“And here I thought nothing could be more irritating than Malfoy,” he thought, letting out a heavy sigh before standing up to head out for his first patrol.