A/N: Thank you to Tincat for the revisions and grammar and character input. Thank you to the people who have been taking a moment to review this trifle of a story. It's appreciated, all comments, constructive criticism, all of it.

Once again — I own nothing. These are JKR's babies, but I did create Daphne G.'s personality. Rated T for strong language

Chapter 3: Deals and Damages

For Harry Potter, it seemed his summer had finally become more interesting.

Dealing with Sirius' death, one day at a time? Check.

Getting away from the hell he knew as the Dursleys'? Check again.

Asking about Dumbledore's creepy and rather icky bad hand? Check once more.

Meeting Professor Slughorn and convincing him to teach at Hogwarts?

(Um . . . check?)

Harry finally saw the lights shining from the Burrow and smiled, knowing for the first time that summer, he would feel truly whole.

Certainly Hogwarts was a nicer, more fancily done up place, and it made Harry quite happy.

But nothing compared to the brilliance of the Burrow to Harry.

It was the Weasleys.

It was Ron. It was Hermione.

It was home.

And apparently, it was currently a shelter for strays. Harry couldn't stop the wry smile from spreading across his face.

He'd received a number of letters from Ron, in which his best friend railed on and on about the nuisance that had slithered into the Weasleys' home.

Daphne "The Slytherin Nightmare" Greengrass.

("Harry! Please! Yell, plead, bloody cry or hex Dumbledore to get you to stay here! Anything! She's an absolute nightmare! Have my mum and dad been Imperiused? It's a catastrophe here!")

Harry had snorted in amusement when he had received the first letter. Then the second and third letters had come in quick succession, always talking about the same things: Quidditch, the Burrow, Hermione and when is she coming, Harry and when is he coming, and the constant thorn in Ron's side since that first week of summer — Daphne.

Letting the Slytherin into the DA had proved — interesting. He had watched Ron alternate all throughout last year between hexing the living crap out of her and actually teaching her defense. Ron and Daphne's interaction provided entertainment . . . and insight.

Daphne hadn't signed up to spy on the meetings. She hadn't ratted them out. She had even fought tooth and nail to be included in the Ministry battle, which ended. . . .

(Let's not dwell on that, Potter!)

Shaking his head to regain his composure, Harry continued to muse about Miss Greengrass, as Dumbledore lightly and politely called her, like he was gently teasing her with the formality. He remembered that fateful first Monday of classes last year that brought his attention to Daphne.

After their initial Potions class, Daphne had pulled Harry aside to tell him, privately, that. . .

"—even though I'm a Slytherin, Potter, and you probably won't believe me, or anything I say . . . I just wanted you to know that I believe you, okay?"

"What? Why the hell would you?"

Daphne shrugged. "Apparently, I'm a — what do they call it? A 'buckaroo?' "

Harry cocked his eyebrow.

She had shaken her head, wanting to take it back. "It just means 'a cowboy,' or, well, an independent soul,' er . . . 'a free thinker'. . . Well, I saw it in an American Muggle movie about Russians and submarines…never mind." She rubbed her face. "I can't really explain it without a couple of hours and some butterbeer, but I . . . I, shit!" She bit her lip, and her eyes looked wildly around for what she wanted to say. "I'm just, I'm confused and I'm supposed to be in Slytherin, and I don't really know why I believe you, okay?"

Agitation sent her voice skywards. She blinked for a long time, Daphne started gathering herself up, and looked at him, "Potter, I don't expect you to believe me now or later, whatever I say." Harry nodded, eyes arched in agreement. "I do want to let you know . . . well, just that. For now."

"Great. That's loads of help for me." She snorted at his cynical tone. "Anything else, Greengrass, or can I go on my way?"

Daphne scowled at him. "You're free to go whenever, Potter!" Harry pushed past her toward the hallway leading out of the dungeons.

"Potter!"

He turned around at Daphne's voice, his green eyes glowing furiously "What?"

Harry reckoned that she looked — confused.

"Umm. . ." she stuttered, "I'm . . . I just . . . we're not all bloody Malfoys, okay?" With that, Daphne turned sharply on her heels and stalked back toward the dungeons. . . .

After this unexpected ambush (er . . . encounter) Harry had gone up to the common room and found Hermione. He had told his friend about Daphne's ambush in the hallway. She had seemed surprised, but then told him she and Daphne did study together occasionally. . . .

"Well, Harry. I admit I was more than a little surprised when she approached me in third year and allowed me to share her notes. Well, threw her notes at me, actually. But, she's fairly good in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. . . "

He snorted. "That's just wonderful, Hermione." Harry couldn't keep out the sarcasm out of his voice. "So as well as 'spew' —"

"That's S.P.E.W. Harry!"

"—you're also president of the Slytherin Fan Club of Gryffindor?"

Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

"Did you not listen to the Sorting Hat? About trying to get along with the other houses?"

"No!" Harry's voice took a dangerous tone. "I've been too preoccupied fighting VOLDEMORT! I'll give you three guesses what house he was in!" Hermione glared at him. Harry held up his hand and put up a finger for each guess. "Slytherin, Slytherin, and oh yeah . . . Slytherin!"

"Harry, there are many students in each house." Hermione's tone was even, but there was a slight tremor as she struggled to keep her emotions from spilling out. She poked him in the chest. "Each one of them might be their own person. They might not all march to the beat of same drum." With that, she stacked up her books and stomped away to the girls' dormitory. . . .

"Harry?" Albus Dumbledore's gentle voice summoned Harry back to the present. "Harry, I wanted a brief word with you before I let Molly pounce on your most alarming, underfed condition."

Even in the middle of the night, Harry could see Dumbledore's eyes twinkling.

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore and Harry found an empty garden shed and the older wizard shut the door behind him to give them more privacy.

Harry felt himself nodding at Dumbledore's revelations that he was going to have special classes with him, and agreed that he should talk to Ron and Hermione about the prophecy.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore said with a note of finality, "I hope that this sounds satisfactory to you?"

"Yes, Professor. The extra lessons are fine and everything. But," Harry paused, "I sort of wanted your opinion about something?"

"Certainly!"

"Sir, I wanted to know, what you thought about continuing with the DA?" Harry's own voice sounded a bit stilted. "Do you think there's any need for that now that Umbridge was sack- . . . er, now that we should have a better teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Dumbledore nodded, contemplating this as he stroked his chin with his good hand.

"Harry, I think it would be wise to leave that decision up to you. I daresay that the other students involved would find the extra tutoring helpful, given our troubled times."

Dumbledore paused and leaned forward.

"Now, Harry, I wanted to take the opportunity to discuss the current guest that the Weasleys have been kind enough to take in."

"Who? Daphne?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, Harry. You see, the Weasleys have allowed Miss Greengrass boardroom for the remainder of the summer at my request."

Harry's eyebrows couldn't have shot up any higher. Dumbledore gave a slight chuckle.

"I am sure you are wondering why I would go to such great lengths for Miss Greengrass." Harry shrugged and nodded. "What do you know about her, Harry?"

Harry had had a number of conversations with Daphne over the past year. It had dawned on him, slowly, that she had seen him as a kindred spirit of sorts; both teenagers had been orphaned before ever knowing their mums and dads, both teenagers grew up in less than ideal households, and both had been completely unaware that they were magical beings, despite the unusual things that kept happening around them.

And he himself had been a hair's-breadth away from being sorted into Slytherin.

Harry told Dumbledore what he knew about Daphne.

Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing look, as if he'd already been perfectly aware of what Harry was telling him. After a moment, the Headmaster spoke, "Well, I do hope that the reasons for my unusual request will be made clear in the future. Now, Harry, I think I've kept you from Molly's hospitality and a warm bed for far too long. Shall we?"

With that, Dumbledore opened the door and led them out of the shed.

"Albus, really!" Molly Weasley implored him. "You must stay and feed yourself. You are at no age to neglect proper nutrition or sustenance. Going away for so long on such draining and dangerous tasks—"

Mrs. Weasley clearly felt no reservations in dealing with the most powerful wizard currently living. Harry chuckled into his second helping of onion soup as the motherly witch frowned at the Headmaster and stubbornly gestured at his sickly hand.

Dumbledore, clearly amused, held his good hand up in surrender.

"My dear Molly! I should know better to never go against your wishes for all of us to be well fed and well taken care of. I will have a helping of your most marvelous-smelling soup and bread."

Mrs. Weasley had already bustled over with the food before Dumbledore even finished talking.

"Molly, I hope you don't mind me asking, but I simply wanted to know for my own benefit," said Dumbledore as he savored the rich, warm broth, "how is Miss Greengrass faring with your family?"

Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley pinching her mouth to restrain herself from what she wanted to say. Hands firmly on hips, Mrs. Weasley sucked in a deep breath.

"She's . . . definitely had a rough life, Albus. No parents or other family, going from home to home at a young age . . . it's toughened her constitution quite a bit."

"Is she getting along with your children, Molly? With Ron, in particular."

At this, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley squeeze her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand. Her mouth puckered like she had just taken a bite out of a lemon.

Apparently, she was exasperated with her youngest son and their houseguest.

"They just snipe at each other all the time! Hermione's been wonderful, keeping both of them under some semblance of control. But Daphne will push Ron, and Ron will push back. Sometimes, it's just teasing and I feel like there's another Weasley girl around the house—"

This sentiment surprised Harry greatly.

"—but there are times when it starts getting a bit rough, even for the two of them. Daphne might leave the room, or Ron will stomp upstairs and act like a six-year-old until I threaten him with chores and no lunch or dinner." Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "They can be very similar at times though. Which surprises me."

Dumbledore merely nodded at this.

"Harry, I shall not keep you longer from the comfortable bed that is waiting for you. Miss Greengrass was told that I wanted to speak to her, despite the late hour of our arrival. I do believe she is up in Percy's room, correct, Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"Excellent. Harry would you please fetch her? I would like a moment with her as well in private."

"Yes, sir." Harry stopped at the bottom step. "Oh, Professor?" Dumbledore looked up at Harry.

"I . . . wanted you to know that, um," Harry found himself at a loss for words. "I'm . . . doing okay. After the Ministry and . . . losing Sirius."

Harry's voice caught in his throat for a moment. He shook his head to continue. "I'm just looking for the good things in the all the bad stuff that happens." His gaze traveled to the floor; looking at Dumbledore right now seemed like a really bad idea. "I just want to live like Sirius wanted me to."

"Harry, Harry, Harry." Dumbledore regarded him with a contented smile, clasping his hands in front of him. "I can't think of a better way to remember Sirius — and your parents — than doing just that! They would be, and are, very proud of what you have become, young man." Dumbledore's bright blue eyes glistened with a slight dampness, reflecting the Weasleys' dining room lights.

Harry smiled, feeling the anger and frustration that had clouded the relationship with the old Headmaster for most of last year ebbing away . . . slowly. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in time that he decided to start letting go of his anger and guilt from last year — or if there even was an exact moment.

After all the loss, all the heartbreak, of the last two years, Harry was finally ready to live.

Smiling away, he started up the stairs to bring Daphne to the dining room.

"Pro-fes-sor," Daphne spoke with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

(A Slytherin does have a reputation to uphold, after all!)

"I know you'd like to think that every single witch and wizard, including the ones that wear this," she held up the corner of her cloak, displaying prominently the green and silver serpentine shield to the old man's face, "are good and wonderful and all, but I'm not going about on some pointless investigation in my house for ones that'll fight against Voldemort and ones that'll sit on their lazy arses, or ones that'll run straight away to get the Dark Mark plastered on their arms."

She shook her head. He wanted her to spy on her own house. While sneaking around her house, asking others to put away their preconceived notions about the wizarding world and thus instigating an entire ideological revolt somewhat . . . amused Daphne, she'd prefer if Dumbledore would ask someone else.

Unfortunately, she did not have that luxury.

Plus, she was bloody exhausted. Being forced to talk to the old codger at such an ungodly hour was abuse in and of itself.

She chuckled as she thought of Child Protective Services stampeding into the Burrow.

"Daphne, I'm not asking you to investigate the students in your house. I want your assistance with the younger Slytherins. Talk to them and perhaps persuade them that they have a choice about which side to follow." He peered at her sternly over the top of his spectacles. "Remember our first conversation, my dear, when I gave you your very first Hogwarts letter?"

She didn't care if he was the Hogwarts' Headmaster. Daphne narrowed her eyes.

(He should know that means danger!)

"What makes you think I'm any different from the rest of them, eh? From Malfoy and his cow of a girlfriend Parkinson—"

She noticed the Headmaster's quick, disapproving stare.

"There's also those idiots, Crabbe and Goyle. Say, I'll just throw a boulder in the common room. Likely'll hit one of the 'bad ones'." Daphne crossed her arms petulantly. "What makes you think I won't run straight away to Lestrange or Malfoy Senior, or any other Death Eater, and tell them everything I know about the Order?"

"And what, exactly, do you think you know about the Order?" Dumbledore continued to peer at her in a very odd, but unnerving way. Daphne opened her mouth to say something, but was at a complete loss.

What information could she give them that they'd want so bad? The location was right out — Dumbledore was the secret keeper. Plus, Daphne was fairly sure the Burrow wasn't the official hideout. And the other side already knew who most of the Order members were and what they had been guarding at the Department. Of course, there was Harry, but she had no idea where he actually lived; she was pretty certain the Weasleys hadn't officially adopted Potter.

She continued to scowl grumpily.

Dumbledore gave Daphne a small smile.

"Miss Greengrass, I have no desire whatsoever to fight with you. Indeed, you can be quite charming in a similar way to Professor Snape, from time to time."

Daphne snorted in derision.

"But, as with Professor Snape, I can sense a—"

Dumbledore paused.

Despite her own apparent disinterest in the Headmaster's pointless ramblings, Daphne leaned forward, anxious as to what he would say next.

"I sense another side to you that belies your external charms" Dumbledore intertwined his fingers (as best he could, given the condition of one of his hands) and placed them around his cloaked knee.

"Daphne, I believe, consciously or unconsciously, you made your choice some time ago, about whether to support Harry or Voldemort. You made that choice before you ever struck up a friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Finding a place with them," Dumbledore gestured upstairs, "well, think of it as a serendipitous event!"

Daphne couldn't stop her eyes from rolling.

(This idiot dares to twinkle at me? How the hell does Snape put up with the twat?)

"Daphne, despite what may be going on in that head of yours, I want you to keep something in mind. All of you — and I do mean not only you, but Harry, Hermione and Ron as well — all of you will find that friendship, in the most unlikeliest of places, can change the world." Dumbledore touched the tip of his long, thoughtful nose with the index finger of his good hand.

Daphne found herself frowning at him, although she was attempting to parse through what he meant by that ridiculously schmaltzy sentiment.

"Now, Daphne, our meeting is concluded. Do you have anything else you wish to speak about with me before I return to Hogwarts?"

Daphne crossed her arms and fumed at the floor.

(The barmy git knows exactly what I'm going to say.)

(I really do hate him a little.)

"Fine, Dumbledore." He gave her another stern stare. "I mean —Pro-fes-sor! I'll do it. I'll talk to the runts in the house. Can't promise I'll do any good. . . ."

"To just try, Daphne, is all I ask."

Daphne nodded at him, but her mind started thinking about something else.

There was something that had been bothering her for quite some time as she found herself opening up to Harry about her own past. Her face must have reflected the thoughts that troubled her mind because, as she looked up, Dumbledore remained seated and focused on her.

He knew she had something she needed to get off her chest.

"Dumble- . . . er, Professor. I want to know if you did see something in me — something good — up here," she pointed to her head, "when we first met? Professor?" she added, her tone softer than she normally used with him.

Dumbledore considered her very carefully.

"I admit, Daphne, that when I met you, there were aspects of your situation that concerned me. You were using magic on other children—" he held up a hand to stop her before she could defend herself. "And I know you didn't mean to make Mildred Clarke's hair fall out, nor did you intend to set fire to Thomasina Belknap's entire closet. But you were also stealing from them, and others, weren't you?"

Daphne mumbled something that sounded like "They did it too." But she managed to look appropriately ashamed regarding this troubling reminder of her past.

Dumbledore's face softened towards the young Slytherin. "But, and I stress this as well, you gave those things back, in person, to each child you took them from and apologized to their faces without Miss Proctor or myself telling you to do it." Once again, Dumbledore gave Daphne a gentle smile. "Would you like to hear why I think you did it, Daphne?"

She rolled her eyes at the old Headmaster. "Look, I wasn't expecting to get shrunk, Professor! I need to go to bed—"

Dumbledore's hand silenced Daphne's tirade.

"Stealing from those children was a sign that you needed, and wanted, attention, regardless of whether that attention was positive or negative. You wanted someone to care about what you were doing. And it was also meant by you to retaliate against them. 'An eye for an eye.' Does that sound accurate?"

Daphne nodded looking down at her feet.

"Daphne, you felt neglected, and you thought they took things from you, so you took from them. Do you feel that's a fair assessment?"

Daphne mumbled, "S'pose so."

"Take heart, Miss Greengrass!" Daphne looked up at Dumbledore. "Young lady, those feelings, everything you felt then, that you probably still feel now, are perfectly normal. It's certainly normal for how you were raised."

Dumbledore lowered his chin, his eyes still on Daphne. "Please remember something, my dear. Humans are fallible creatures. We will make mistakes, we will do bad things." She cocked an eyebrow toward him. "Oh yes, Daphne, especially myself. And like you, I will continue to make mistakes until the day I die. But I strive, every day that I am alive and breathing, to make right what I have done wrong."

Dumbledore paused for a moment. Daphne saw his beard twitch ever so slightly as he pressed his fingertips to his mouth.

"Daphne, when I first met you in Miss Proctor's home, you reminded me of a boy that I used to know a long, long time before you were born." Dumbledore stared just past her, over her shoulder at the window just over the sink and took a deep breath. "This boy strayed far, far away from everything good and wonderful in life. I felt like I failed him, Daphne. If I'm being perfectly honest with you, I still feel like I failed him to this day." Dumbledore returned his gaze to her, eyes and face softening to a gentle, reassuring smile.

"My dear child, I did initially worry about the direction you would choose for yourself when you first arrived at Hogwarts." Dumbledore kept his eyes focused on her, lingering a bit too long for Daphne's comfort. "However, seeing you now," he said, sweeping his hand toward her, "I do think, Daphne, that you have begun down a road that will help you find what you're looking for."

The Headmaster paused once again. "I hope I'm making myself clear to you."

Daphne shrugged, but her eyebrows crinkled in concentration as she tried to absorb Dumbledore's words.

"Wonderful." Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder with his healthy hand. "Well, duty awaits me. And sleep awaits you! Please do give the others here my best."

As he stood to make his way over the door, Daphne chanced asking him another question.

"Professor, who was the other boy?"

Dumbledore halted just before the doorframe leading to the front yard of the Burrow and turned to face her slowly. Staring directly at her, he said in a measured voice, "Please take heart in what I've told you today, Daphne. I shall see you at school."

Daphne realized she never moved a muscle until she heard the distant POP in the field as the old Headmaster Disapparated.

Dinner was a raucous affair the following day. Their O.W.L.S. came early that morning. Although she did not come close to achieving the high number of "Outstandings" that Hermione had managed, Daphne did quite well, managing to achieve three "Outstandings" two of which were in her favorite classes — Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

And, of course, she got an "Outstanding" in Potions.

Why wouldn't she? She was a bloody Slytherin, after all. And Professor Snape was her absolute favorite teacher in the whole school.

(What? I like smart, sarcastic men . . . who favor Slytherins in their classes!)

Harry and Ron's O.W.L.S were also cause for celebration. He and Ron had received a total of seven O.W.L.S. each. Harry had managed one "Outstanding" in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

(Well, he did practically teach the damn course last year!)

And Ron? He'd managed not to fuck up as badly as the twins.

(Although, if opening that joke shop is considered "fucking up," I wouldn't mind making a mistake or two . . .)

"What did Dumbledore want with you last night?" Daphne asked Harry as they sat down for dinner.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked you first, Potter." Harry smirked at Daphne's smug little grin.

"Well, Greengrass, Dumbledore asked me about you."

"What? Why?"

Harry shrugged.

"Dunno. Wanted to make sure our Gryffindor spirit was rubbing off on you?" He bit his lip as he nudged her with his elbow. She glared at him.

"Oi! You'll do well to keep any 'spirit' of yours away from me!"

"'Arry! Daphne! Seet down an' quit 'zis silly bickering!" Fleur piped in. Daphne sneered and rolled her eyes at the French tart.

Daphne generally tried not to agree with Ginny the Runt about anything as a matter of principal — the girl was just too…perfect.

(And perfection is so bloody annoying!)

However, Daphne made a stark exception in all things regarding 'Phlegm'. The three teenage girls' shared opinion on "La Vache Française" was the one thing that truly connected them.

Phlegm was, in their estimation, simply obnoxious beyond belief.

However, Bill Weasley? Bill was fucking beautiful! Beautiful . . . but stupid.

Daphne sighed. That such as gorgeous guy — despite that obnoxious red hair — could choose Phlegm . . . there was simply no accounting for taste!

"Hey Ron?" Harry called out to his best mate and snapping Daphne out of her reverie. "How about we come up with a creative name for 'Miss Greengrass' here? Daphne's really quite a mouthful, don't you agree?"

Ron, mouth filled with shepherd's pie and milk, nodded vigorously, smiling as bits of potato topping threatened to fall back onto his plate.

"What about Fifi?" Harry started them out, waiting for Ron to finish chewing. Daphne huffed.

"Hmm. Or there's GiGi — as in Greengrass. That last name's dying to be shortened."

Daphne's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ooh! I've got it! I've got it! Daffy!" Ron said in a smugly proud voice.

"I like that! So, Daffy it is then!"

Daphne had turned her attention to her plate of food, but continued to glare at the dish like it had just insulted her dark, greasy hair.

"Oh, Da-ffy." Harry said in a sing-song voice. A round of giggles erupted at the table.

She made to punch him in the arm.

"POTTER! Don't start!"

Harry laughed as he held up a hand in a blocking move, cutting her fist off from its trajectory. "Daffy, maybe it's not the Gryffindor spirit you're missing. It just a bit of a Gryffindor sense of humor."

If Daphne gritted her teeth any harder, they'd fall out of her head in a puff of dust.

" Nothing's wrong with my sense of humor, Harry. Hrrumph!" she sniffed smugly at him. "So bloody like a Gryffindor to not appreciate the subtlety and fine art of Slytherin wit."

"HAH!" Ron's barking laugh cut in. Bread and butter flew from his mouth all over the table. "Iff't's 'subble'" finger-quoting in the air, "s'not worf' it."

Mrs. Weasley huffed and tutted at him.

"For Merlin's sake, Ron, swallow your food before you speak!"

Fleur and Hermione both rolled their eyes at Ron. Daphne's lip curled in utter disgust at her tablemate, although she had witnessed worse behavior from Crabbe and Goyle.

"Seriously Granger," Daphne spoke as she turned toward Hermione. "You want him to kiss you with that hole he shoves his food into?"

Hermione and Ron both turned identical shades of vibrant crimson. Satisfied with herself, Daphne turned to Harry, "For your information, Potter, he wants me to see if the younger Slytherins could be persuaded to believe in you and join up in the cause." She shrugged. "He also wants to see if there are any others who support you," Daphne mumbled.

Regaining her composure, Hermione spoke up.

"Daphne, that's a great idea! The Sorting Hat last year warned us about house unity, and this is the perfect time to practice that sentiment. Daphne," Hermione was practically bouncing in her chair with excitement, "you should put together a pamphlet or manifesto for them, you know?"

"Yeah," Ron piped in, mouth finally empty. "Call it 'Reasons Why The Boy-Who-Lived Will Kick You-Know-Who's Arse!'"

"We can even make shirts," Harry started laughing. " 'I Chose Harry Potter over The Dark Lord and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt!'" Harry ran his hands over his chest, miming where the words would go. Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to speak up as Ron and Harry erupted in laughter. Even Molly tried to hide the grin blossoming behind her hand.

"Boys! That's awful," Mrs. Weasley managed to say, but only through great hiccupping sounds as she repressed her laughter.

Fleur, the idiot, looked rather confused. "Tee-shirts? Why iz zat so funny?"

Hermione looked extremely put out. "Daphne should take this seriously! It could mean an entire reworking of Slytherin House, both socially and politically. And why end there? What if it meant stopping the sorting altogether?"

Ron practically spat out his milk and started spluttering.

"Why in name of Merlin's Bum Warts would you stop the sorting?"

"Language, Ronald!" Molly warned.

"Why not?"

"Because, Hermione, there's never, ever, in the entire history of Hogwarts," he spread his arm out wide, "ever not been a sorting." Ron shook his head and spoke in mock seriousness. "Honestly, I know you own Hogwarts, A History, but do you actually read it?"

Hermione's deadly glare only managed to make the Ron and Harry laugh harder.

Daphne, though, had felt her temper rising throughout the dinner conversation. For whatever reason, Hermione's statements about Slytherin House touched a nerve. Daphne threw her napkin down on the plate, shoved her chair out of the way and stood up so quickly that she nearly upended the entire table.

"Daphne, wha-"

"Why does it have to be Slytherin that changes?" Daphne paced along the length of the table in quick, deliberate steps. All eyes were on her, unblinking. "Not one of the whole lot of you ever say it's you, or Ravenclaw, or the idiots that get into Hufflepuff have any changes to make. Why the hell does it always have to be us?"

"Daphne! You had better settle down. If you can't, then go upstairs. I do not tolerate such outbursts at my table from any child!" Mrs. Weasley stood before her, waving her wooden spoon toward Percy's room. She was only a couple of centimeters taller than the Slytherin, but Mrs. Weasley was clearly ready to go head-to-head with the teenager, if necessary.

Daphne was about to tell off Mrs. Weasley, when she heard someone next to her get up from the table.

"I'll tell you why you lot have to change." It was Ron Weasley who had stood up, all skin, bones, glowering eyes and flaming hair. "Because your House keeps breeding Death Eaters! Including the king snake himself." Ron's eyes were a dark, dangerous shade of blue, and his ears were on fire. He crossed his arms, air streaming from his flared nostrils, like a bull preparing to charge.

Daphne stared him down. "Oh, just because we're all cunning, ruthless, power-hungry, pureblood maniacs? There is nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all, with wanting things like ambition or power. They can be useful, particularly when you're gallivanting around after a dark lord!"

It slipped out, without her even meaning to. A hush fell over the house. Even Daphne was shocked that she had called Voldemort . . . that. She felt her own hand rise up, trembling as she touched her mouth. She closed her eyes; she didn't need to see Ron to know that he looked repulsed by her.

(All that hard work, down the drain.)

(Whatever! You don't need them.)

"You just sounded like one of them, y'know that?" Ron spoke like he had bile in his mouth. "We fought against them, and now you're sounding just like one of them." He turned to the rest of the table. "I mean, it's obvious, innit? You lived among all those other wastes of human existence, and now you're spouting back all that Death-Eater-in-training rot. Like it's a part of you."

Ron threw down his napkin.

"You know what they do to people. They treat them like animals." Ron moved slowly toward Daphne. "They tie them up, torture them, curse them until they're unconscious, then wake them up and torture them some more." Ron stood directly in front of Daphne, inhaling and exhaling in deep, purposeful breaths. "And then they'll kill them whenever they've finished having their fun." Ron's nostrils flared with each breath. Daphne shuddered as she looked at his eyes.

So many times, she had seen Ron's eyes fill with annoyance, frustration, and anger. Other times, they could twinkle with amusement, much like Dumbledore's.

But never had she seen his eyes so . . . dead. So cold. . . .

"Excuse me. I'm done eating. I'll be up in my room." He walked toward the stairs. Hermione got up, placing her napkin on the plate.

"Daphne, I-I'll try talking to him." As she walked toward the stairs, Hermione looked back at her. "I know you didn't mean it, what you did mean, but — you understand. . . ."

Daphne couldn't look at Hermione anymore. Merlin, she needed air.

She turned and saw Harry, staring at her with intense gaze.

"We put a lot of faith in you, that you were different from people like Malfoy and the rest. I hope . . . God, Daphne! I hope that we weren't making a mistake." Harry went upstairs to join Hermione and Ron.

Ginny, Fleur and Mrs. Weasley were staring at her as well.

(Might as well let them have at you, too.)

Ginny's eyes looked directly at her, narrowing into threatening little daggers. "I'm going to be in my room, Mum. Let me know if she," Ginny said as she pointed to Daphne, "starts cursing you." And she whipped her long hair around and marched to the door.

"Here, Molly. Please, allow me." Fleur intoned gently. She started picking up the dishes and the silverware, bringing as much as her delicate arms could carry over to the sink.

"Help me clear the table, Daphne." Mrs. Weasley's severe voice brokered no room for argument. Daphne obeyed.

The silence in the kitchen and the Burrow allowed Daphne to ponder how she'd let her words get away from her. Was she capable of becoming one of them? Daphne didn't see how, considering it was Cedric's death that had convinced her to talk to Harry. She replayed the image of Harry bringing back Cedric's body over and over in her mind.

Cedric had been nothing more than a stranger to her. She'd never met the boy even. As far as she was concerned, he was a pretty fit, somewhat dense, Quidditch-loving fool that excelled at everything because the female teachers wanted to do him and the male teachers wanted to be him . . . or something like that.

But seeing him dead with his father crying for him . . . seeing Harry screaming for help. . . .

Two innocent children in danger. . . .

Two innocent children facing some powerful, uncaring evil. . . .

If Harry absolutely had to overcome that, wouldn't he need power to use against Voldemort? Wouldn't one have to be cunning, ruthless, and keep oneself alive to destroy him?

Aren't those necessary qualities found in Slytherins?

Daphne finished with the dishes. When Mrs. Weasley asked her to check on the laundry, she did so, without false bathroom breaks or other excuses. When Ron came out of his room, seemingly calm, merely acknowledging her with a brief nod, she simply replied in kind.

Hermione spoke to her the next morning. She had talked to Ron in great detail about the dinner the evening before. "You've got to think about what you say, Daphne, while you're staying here," Hermione told her, in a far more condescending tone than Daphne liked. The girl, however sat and listened to the Gryffindor. "Ron's had a hard time believing that a Slytherin could support Harry, but the fact that you fought with us, you were there through the DA and at the Ministry, that spoke volumes to him." Hermione leaned forward, staying as close as possible to Daphne without invading the other girl's space, "He's working through it all. Just let him be for a couple of days. I think he'll come around."

"What about Harry?" Hermione sighed and lifted her eyebrows.

"He has a better time of forgiving than Ron does. He's okay, for now, but he still has his reservations, Daphne." Her voice and face were so patronizing it was all Daphne could do not to punch her.

(So much for this summer being easygoing and painless!)

It would be so easy for them to give up on her, to bung her back with all the other Slytherins.

And, if that happened, how would the Slytherins treat her after the fight at the Department of Mysteries?

(Won't I just be chucked away?)

Silently, she busied herself around the house, wondering how she could make these conflicting emotions go away. She even started asking Fleur if there was anything she could help out with — it didn't matter if she was hanging out with 'Phlegm', or whatever. So long as she kept working, she wouldn't dwell on the crap that was currently her life.

Memories of yesterday's conversation with the Headmaster floated back into her mind, as did a particular request he'd made to her about her own House, and Hermione Granger's affection for the plan. She couldn't help thinking about the three other teenagers in the Burrow, the ones who, for better or worse, had put faith in her. Summoned by some unknown force, Daphne recalled the enigmatic, but sentimental words from the Headmaster in the early hours of yesterday morning.

("Friendship, in the most unlikeliest of places, can change the world. . . .")

"La Vache Française" means "The French Cow" (fem.); feel free to correct me in my utter wrongness or abuse of the French language . . . please!