Chapter Text
Emma Slughorn had lived nearly seventeen years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
Her parents had been another couple destroyed in the first wizarding war, another to be forgotten in the casualty list. This misfortune left her to be cared for by her grandfather, Horace Slughorn. She had a nice childhood, growing up in North London. Since she was a child, she always had her friend Hermione Granger. Hermione was smarter than Emma, but she was smarter than everyone. Up until their fifth year at Hogwarts, they’d been next door neighbours in London.
When Hermione had been sorted into Griffindor, it was a harsh letdown to Emma. Emma knew she would be sorted into Slytherin, and the sorting hat barely sat on her head before declaring her house. Despite the separation, the two still had some time for each other, even as they both made new friends and acquaintances. Emma had met Blaise Zabini, meanwhile Hermione had met Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Emma greatly approved of Hermione’s friendships, given Harry Potter was famous and Ron Weasley was a member of the sacred twenty-eight wizarding pureblood families.
Yet now in their sixth year, Hermione Granger was dating Ron Weasley, making Emma lose her partner in classes where there were always two seats next to each other. Not only that, but now she was stuck with Harry Potter as a partner, and he took horrible notes. With Hermione spending more time with Ron, Emma was at a great danger of intellectual solitude, given she mostly learned by copying Hermione’s notes.
Emma was often driven by her own opinions, yet did occasionally lean on Hermione’s guidance. Now, she was losing Hermione, yet she told herself it was a new beginning. Now Hermione would be around the right type of people more often.
Now that her grandfather was now a professor, she had weekly dinners with him in his office every Sunday. It was never as formal as dinners in the Great Hall, but it was a way to check in on him. Emma and her grandfather had never had much in common. He took a very relaxed way of parenting, which led to Emma never being taught that she was like everyone else. Her upbringing had given her a great sense of detachment, which was only remedied in Hermione’s presence.
Additionally, Harry Potter was quickly becoming her grandfather’s favourite student, and also went to the weekly Sunday night dinners with Emma. This only led to more of Emma and Harry’s disdain yet mutual respect for one another. Harry was the golden boy, the one who survived death, the boy who enjoyed sunset walks and didn’t run as cold - literally or figuratively - as Professor Slughorn. He was also the one who kept Professor Slughorn from falling back into his depression, which is one thing Emma valued if not anything else. One thing she did not value as much, however, was Harry’s opinion on her.
“Was it a long walk from Griffindor’s rooms, my boy?” Professor Slughorned asked the brunet as he sat picking at the food on his plate. “No sir, not at all,” he answered politely. “How is Hermione?” Slughorn asked both of them. Harry was the one to respond first, “well, she’s doing well.” “She’s seeing Ron Weasley now,” Emma answered. Harry looked at Emma, slightly annoyed with how smug she seemed. Harry knew Emma was a matchmaker, and that she prided herself on it. “It’s not as if you’re solely responsible for them getting together,” Harry pointed out. Emma rolled her eyes, “perhaps, but they would’ve never actually told each other how they feel if not for me. And I was the one who kept Lavender Brown away from him last term.” “You made a lucky guess that they’d eventually date given how much time they spend together. It’s not rocket science,” Harry argued. “Ah yes, but Emma never thinks of herself, only of other people. It’s her greatest fault,” Professor Slughorn added, smoothing the conversation over before he continued, “but Harry is right, you shouldn’t interfere with other’s lives so much, it’ll only lead to you getting hurt.” “Fine, but I must make at least one more match, for Blaise. He’s been such a good friend to me, and I know he’s a bit lonely,” Emma conceded.
“Blaise?” Harry questioned.
“Blaise Zabini,” Emma answered.
“Don’t know him.”
“Dark hair, slytherin, our year.”
“Still no clue who you’re talking about. Is he friends with Malfoy?”
“Not to my knowledge. I can’t believe you don’t know him.”
“That will certainly have to be rectified,” The professor agreed, “you’ll have to meet him at the next slug club meeting.” “I suppose I will. Although, Emma, let him choose for himself whether he’d actually appreciate your meddling,” Harry added.