Snakecharmer

Chapter 3

Cause and Effect

–

Hermione taught me something, I think early second year, called causality. I don't rightly recall what it had to do with magic, but I took too it easy enough in regard to pretty much anything else. It was one of those fundamentally makes sense kind of things, that just slips into your head and becomes a part of the day to day.

Which is why I'm not really too surprised that I'm strapped down, face down in some kind of doughnut-shaped pillow, with my back exposed to open air when I wake up. Rather than struggle and upset whoever is doing whatever to me, I spend a few minutes blinking my eyes clear, swallowing to clear my throat, and scrubbing my teeth with my tongue. No sense being utter unpresentable when I start screaming bloody murder at the people responsible, after all. It isn't much, but I don't feel like a half-blind, cottonmouthed, stale-breathed lout when I start cursing fit to give a sailor red ears.

State of mind is important to getting one's point across, you know. If I don't feel that I put in a decent effort, then I won't have the satisfaction of a job well done after.

When I wake back up, I'm right side up, and there's the feeling that I just tapped an electrical socket with a fork working its way through my fingers. An ennervate. Which means I was stunned... "Alright, which one of you soon to be sacks of dead meat stunned me, and saw fit to fucking examine me like a lab specimen?"

I don't recognize the voice. "Well, he's got a rather foul mou-"

"ANSWER ME!"

Having bad vision is a real bitch sometimes. Without my glasses, the world is just one big, blurry, indistinct and annoying smear that pisses me off to no end. Today at least. Tomorrow may be better, but today, not so much.

One of the blobs, wearing white and looking somewhat like a bowling pin, waddles forward. "Mr. Potter, you must understand-"

Wrong answer. "I must? I must?" There was this movie, old as sin, I think. It was a classic or something, that used to get played in elementary now and then, during science class. The teacher had this thing about fictional science. We had to write a small oral report on three things we could see that didn't make sense with the movie, and three that did. Simple. We were kids, after all – he wasn't looking for feet of analysis. Just have fun.

One thing stuck with me though. It isn't anger that makes you strong. Oh no. It's rage. Anger isn't hot enough. It's too undirected. Too broad. I can be angry with a school, a rule, a mistake. Rage, fury – those take focus. It didn't take much for me to figure out that all those weird, unexplained, rather odd things that happened when I was young were magic, after a week or two in Hogwarts. It was only natural to think back on them, and figure out what it was that triggered them, or what was going on. I was upset – really happy, embarrassed, sad, angry, afraid. It didn't matter which. But I was focused on it.

I'm feeling pretty fucking focused right now. "If I'm not let loose from here in five seconds, I'll do it myself – and someone is going to bleed." Maybe everyone's expecting the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Maybe a threat of physical violence is really unusual. Maybe I look as furious as I am, but the end result isn't someone coming to loosen the bindings, but the whole lot taking a step back, probably in surprise. A year ago I wouldn't be so furious, after all. I'd be scared, or upset and curious first, angry later maybe.

No, now I have the lovely memories of being tied down to a tombstone as the very last thing that I felt really connected me with my mother was stolen from me by a snake-faced son of a bitch who was so afraid of dying, he built an entire empire of fear around himself for protection. Want to see me go from calm to murderous in three seconds flat? Tie me down.

There's a shuffle of cloth, another blob moves, and someone – female – clears her throat. "Mr. Potter, we're a group of healers hired by-"

"I don't care," I snarl out, lips peeled back as I strain on the thick leather cuffs around my ankles and wrists. Tension is running through me like a current, and it burns. White and furious and I don't mind. "Cut me loose!"

"We can't do that until you're calm."

I arch, my body only contacting the bed in five places. Hands, feet, and the back of my head. I feel it all settle in my chest, like someone is squeezing my lungs and everything soft inside me with a huge, soft, hot hand. I want out, I want out, I need out, need out-

Motion catches my eye, and I see the tell-tale gesture of someone pulling a wand. Something between my eyes and my brain snaps a little, like a twig bent too far. Not in half, just splintered.

The Parsel spits out from between my lips in a rush, "Alohamora!"

I can't see them but I know. Every lock, fasten, catch, and closure within a few meters of me comes undone. That includes those holding me down. I'm up and on the first, closest person as if I was launched, and with the much-closer distance, I can see their expression, their face finally.

She looks like Madam Pomfrey, only younger. The family resemblance is in the hair, the way the face is shaped. The lines around her eyes aren't from frowning – they're the wrong direction, wrong place. She'd be pretty, if her face wasn't screwed up in surprise and horror.

This person is afraid of me.

She has reason to be afraid of me.

I made someone fear me.

I roll off her, and to the side and just lean against the bed I was recently on, breathing hard and watching everything around me warily. The rage is gone, burned down and dry and brittle, and it brought me with it, making me feel the same. Exhausted down to my bones. The world is still a massively indistinct smear, but the people-blobs are keeping their distance, and no one is going for a wand. This is good. I don't want to see that look in someone else's eyes. Collecting my breath finally, I growl out in a voice I barely recognize, "Where am I?"

A door opens, at least that's what it sounds like, "H-Harry?"

What fury was still in me drained away at that voice. Maybe I'm not somewhere so far afield then. "Daphne?"

"I heard something from my room... what's going on?"

Her room? "What?"

"Mr. Potter, you didn't give us a chance to explain," one of the healer-blobs, the ones in white, tried to explain. I turned, nodding for them to continue. "Mr. Greengrass called for us."

I knew the answer as I asked, but it didn't make sense. "Why?" Why would he care, now? It was all in the past. Nothing these people could do would change scars – and even if they could, I wouldn't want it.

A dark-haired blob pressed my glasses into my hand. After a short explanation on why I was stunned to begin with, we all settled down with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass to discuss what was found.

"So you stunned me to do some tests? Why?"

From his place at the long table, the Greengrass' dinner table which was big enough to seat us all, the man explained, "My mother had a saying, 'It's easier to ask forgiveness, than permission'. I was practicing a bit of her wisdom here.

"It would be conductive to our goals if you were healthy," he continued, motioning to the healers that were still present. I glanced around the table, taking in the faces of those around me with a frown. There really is no secret, I'm not in the best shape. Being a Quidditch Seeker didn't take a lot of muscle, just speed and good eyes. Years of eating too little at the Dursley's table didn't let me really hit my growth, and whether I liked it or not, I was typically shorter than my year mates. And sometimes those a few years below me. Mr. Greengrass broke into my thoughts, speaking to those gathered, "There is a lot depending on you, Mr. Potter. I hope you realize, that in many ways it is vital for you to be at your best."

I fix Daphne with a glare, before nodding once. She has the grace to look away, embarrassed that she was caught out I suppose. There was nothing really that kept her from sharing what she saw, but regardless I felt betrayed. "Whatever," I mutter, slumping back in my chair.

One of the healers spoke up, next. "When would you like us to begin treatments?"

There was a glance shared between myself and Mr. Greengrass, and I imagine he's wondering how our studies are going. I nod, letting him know we'll be finished on time. "Two weeks," he declared, conferring with the healers. They of course wanted to step it up – immediately of course – but there was no way what they intended could be accomplished on the grounds of The Fields. Greengrass declined, stating there were prior arrangements that must be met first.

More conversation revealed that the treatments they had planned were... unpleasant. Between them, a rough schedule of what was to be done was produced, and both Greengrasses blanched at reading it. Eventually I was sent a copy... and I had to admit, it didn't look fun. Having most of my bones vanished and regrown, tissue replaced, then a lengthy fitness regimen after to get me used to what equated to a new body. It wouldn't be fast, but the payoff would be good... still... "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Daphne, quiet up to this point, finally spoke up, "What do you mean? How can you not want to?"

"I don't have time," I replied, pushing the paper away. "This would take weeks to complete, maybe months. Sure, I have all summer, but there are other things I need to do." Reaching up and rubbing at the bridge of my nose under my glasses, I spare Mr. Greengrass a glance, seeing him torn. I don't know, of course, all the things he had planned for the summer. With the Occlumency training, I can only guess there would be more, other lessons, probably something to do with the titles he mentioned or the politics he's implied. Being bedridden regrowing limbs wouldn't really fit into his plans, I bet.

Then... why set this up? My eyes narrow, as I try to feel out Mrs. Greengrass and Daphne as well. The woman looks pensive, as if considering an unpleasant choice, but her eyes keep straying to the list. Daphne is staring back at me, as if trying to convince me just with the intensity of her eyes to do the treatments.

"We will consider it," the man finally answered, holding up a hand to stave off any comments. "There is plenty of time to be had, if one uses it properly. I will contact you later, with our final decision," Mr. Greengrass informed the healers, leaving pretty much everyone disgruntled in some way or another.

"But... father-"

"No, Daphne. This is Mr. Potter's decision." I could see it didn't sit well with the girl, but she didn't voice another complaint. I should feel touched that she either cared enough to put this idea forward, or annoyed that she would interfere so openly. Maybe it says something about me that I can't believe it to be the former. To Daphne's left, I noted Astoria giving me a rather inscrutable look, leading me to believe that she took more after Mr. Greengrass in personality, where Daphne followed her mother's more impassioned ways. Disregarding the odd looks, I still found myself curious on the elder daughter's reasons. Believing her motives – any of the Greengrasses for that matter – to be purely benevolent just felt like a disaster in the making.

When the healers were finally dismissed, I rose to go back to my rooms in the basement, but Mr. Greengrass asked me to stay. Dinner was served – Daphne and I were used to eating in the dungeons, but this wasn't an unpleasant change – and through it we talked of lighter things.

For the most part.

Once the meal was over, Mr. Greengrass took me aside, to the sitting room and with a sense of deja vu, we sat in a pair of the loungers much like we had at Privet. "Mr. Potter, I... would ask that you not hold what happened earlier against Daphne."

Not precisely how I thought this would begin. Deciding to forego smalltalk, I got directly to the point, "I don't see how it was any of her business. I... informed her of those scars to prove a point. That was all."

"And she got it, trust me," the other man muttered, looking to his hands wearily. "She was up till rather late this morning with her mother being quite irate and asking questions we didn't have answers to."

Confused, I quite honestly replied, "I don't understand."

Getting up with a quiet huff, Mr. Greengrass began to pace slowly before the large fireplace that sat central to the wall, on the right as you entered the room. "Do not take this the wrong way. You do not understand what it is to be a wizard."

Alright, warned or not, that comment still pissed me off. It just smacked of the bigoted, blood-purist nonsense I hear from the snake's House every godsforsaken year. "Excuse me? What the hell-"

"I'll explain if you can control your temper," Mr. Greengrass snapped, halting to shoot me a glare. "Let me remind and enlighten you to a few facts that may have escaped your notice.

"The ability to use magic, that which defines us from muggles, is an increasingly rare trait," he continued in a less waspish tone, once I'd settled back down. "We are lucky, Evie and myself. She is from a rather long pureblood line, like myself, and we have our two wonderful daughters to show for it."

I really don't get it, and I'm sure it shows on my face. Mr. Greengrass seems to be considering something till he rolls his eyes and slaps his forehead, "Right, of course. You're first contact with a magical family was the Weasleys, yes?"

As usual, I bristle slightly, but relax when I think on the question and realize it is just that – not an incrimination or insult. "Yeah. I've spent some time during my summers at their home."

Nodding, the elder Greengrass sat and regarded his interlaced fingers for a long moment. "I'm going to tell you some things that are held in confidence. Some things I should not know, and should not be telling you, by the edicts of tradition and polite society. As such, we never had this conversation, agreed?"

Cottoning on, I nod. "Never happened."

"Good lad. Now, the Weasleys and their... prodigious family, are a direct result of Mrs. Weasley's – Molly's – brothers Gideon and Fabian.

"They were contemporaries of my time in school, and were quite the pair. I believe you have a rather similar set of twins currently attending?" I nodded, recalling Fred and George. "Yes. Believe they were named in memory of the brothers. Anyway, back to the point.

"Gideon and Fabian were quite the pair," Mr. Greengrass noted, with a pensive scowl. "One of my more... close acquaintances had a falling out with them, and got herself expelled laying a curse ritual down on them, and by extension, their family for what she referred to as a 'deplorable exploitation of her trust'."

"I don't understand."

"Like your twins, so were Gideon and Fabian."

That didn't help. "But, that doesn't explain-"

"Celestine – my friend," the way he said friend made me think of the way people would talk about a former... oh. I straightened my face out so not to blush too much as he continued, "She was dating Fabian."

I blinked. I blinked again. My eyes shot wide as the implications set in. "Oh. Oh! Oh..."

"Indeed," the man drawled. "I hear that Fredrick and Gregory are as much the pranksters. Regardless, that indiscretion lead to the Weasley line curse you may have heard a bit about?" I had not, and indicated so. "Well, the long and short, is that apparently Celestine only reinforced an already active curse. It seems that mischief bred as true as the hair. The conditions on the curse were that it would carry on, and that the Weasleys would have nothing but sons till some unlucky woman managed to bear six magical sons. Molly I hear has broken that curse."

My thoughts immediately turned to Fred and George, however. "Would it be out of line for me to warn the twins off... repeating history?"

"Merlin no. Please, if they'll listen to you, consider it a personal favor to my family and due a boon in return," Mr. Greengrass replied with open fervor. Apparently, I would be having a chat with the twins when I got back to Hogwarts. "We have strayed from the point, however. That curse has haunted the line for some time. It has done them some good, however. As you may have guessed, I share that with you for a reason. That is this: the Weasleys are the exception to the rule, when it comes to children."

As he was speaking, I was coming to the same conclusion. It just seemed the only purpose to that line of discussion, really. "So, other families don't have so many?"

"As I stated, Evie and I are lucky, with our two daughters. For a direct answer – no. It is rare to an extreme for pureblood families to have more than one magical child, and considering that most wizards in times of peace often live for upwards of one hundred and fifty years... I hope you see the implications."

And did I. "So... Daphne was upset, because no wizard would treat their child like that."

"Perhaps I should clarify, though it will no doubt be, ah, hard to stomach," Mr. Greengrass haltingly said. I didn't like that, not a bit. "Purebloods rely heavily on tradition and the inherited mores of their families. To damage a child, particularly an heir, is tantamount to declaring that you care not at all for your line and blood at all. That doesn't mean there are no punishments, just as cruel, that came in to being just for such occasions and... preferences."

I was glad to be sitting. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable." I cut my eyes to the man and he held my glare unflinchingly, which quieted my suspicions. He didn't subscribe to the same barbarism he was describing, at least I didn't think so, so I let my glare die. "I think I understand, then."

"I know these last few days have been nothing but shock after shock for you. I can see it in your eyes, which is part of why I had hoped to save much of the more distressing things for after studying the texts." His manner was apologetic, and I took it for what it was. "A good grasp of Occlumency is not only a defense, but a benefit to the user. The needed organization to hide one's mind, by necessity lets it be efficient. It become easier to process new experiences, and understand them, without it throwing you into a tailspin, as it were."

That would be welcome, to a degree I doubt Mr. Greengrass would understand. I didn't explain it, but to me, it seemed like the world since discovering Hogwarts and magic was one large drum, beating away with me inside of it. Each beat broke down my sanity a little more, made me all the more open to the frankly frightening world that magic presented.

Yes, magic was amazing. It did things I could never imagine, could never believe in before. That world was also full of utter madness. What kind of people would willingly invent a tournament, that allowed dragons, the potential death of non-participants, and no security, that only involved school children? That would turn a blind eye to years of threats, all deadly and potentially catastrophic, within a school?

I did not want to turn into one of those people.

"So, this rather heavy topic aside, Mr. Potter, will you forgive my daughter her indiscretion?"

Deciding to lighten the mood a bit, I recalled the earlier topic of indiscretions. I assumed a thoughtful pose. "Possibly. Do you by chance have that ritual your friend used, handy?"

Mr. Greengrass blanched white and I couldn't help but laugh. "No harm, sir, no foul. I'll see you tomorrow." As I rose to make my way to the more secure areas, I vaguely heard him laugh nervously. Far enough away not to be heard, I chuckled again. Daphne would no doubt hear about that one – and though I don't think she would be adverse, at some point, to having children when she married, no doubt the threat of twins, or worse, would keep her from blithely letting such things go again.

Recalling Fred and George, and how Mrs. Weasley seemed at her wits end about them almost constantly, I had to admit there were quite a few fates worse than death. Quite a few more pleasant too.

–

Three days into our studies, and Daphne had her first rant. I had been expecting it, though had no idea on its nature, for some time.

"Potter, how the hell did you manage to pass at all up to this point?" Taken somewhat aback, I simply stared at her, which was obviously not the correct answer. "Seriously. Your work ethic is abysmal, your essay skills are below atrocious, and to be honest, you don't really seem to care about the material."

No one likes being ranted at. Years of Hermione riding along and beating me about the ears with her own variety did nothing to inoculate me to another's attempts. "Now you wait just a minute. I'm just as far along in this as you are-"

"Because you're holding me back!" the girl shrieked, setting me back in my chair with her volume. "We can't progress till we are caught up. I've had meditation and thought-clearing down since day one. I've been singularly working on my organization method, since day two. I've been working with you, so you'd catch up – not because I was 'just as far along'. Are you really this dense?"

I was stunned. She was already doing work that was presented in the middle of the text. With some dawning horror, I replaced Hermione's image in my mind with Daphne's, and saw a similarity that frankly, scared me witless. Regardless, the raven-haired harpy wanted an answer, and if I didn't provide one soon, she would likely start cursing till one was had. Rather than present my case, I simply asked, "How? How are you already so far along?"

Daphne made a disgusted sound and crossed her arms, falling back into the desk she'd claimed. "Disciplne, perhaps? We need to have a rudimentary understanding and practical beginning for this before the end of two weeks at least. Do you enjoy living in these caves?"

"No, of course not," I answer automatically, before I start to understand what she means. "So two weeks was the limit-"

"Not the bloody goal, you mental midget," she snapped out in reply. "And I can't leave, till you can leave. Just because we're given a time frame to work in, doesn't mean we need to just squeak in under it."

What she was saying made sense, well other than the mental midget part. "But why would they not say so in the beginning?"

Daphne threw up her hands and let her forehead fall with a thump against her text. "Maybe because they didn't expect you to be such a layabout with your studies?" She ignored the pointed glare I shot her way, mostly because she was immune, her face being planted firmly in her book. "Really, I tried to explain, but they'd not listen."

Explain? "What do you mean?"

"Oh please, don't even jest," she sniped back, raising her head to glare at me. I returned it with some heat. "Fine, you want to play like that? Answer me this: Who made you work? Who revised all your essays? Who was it that was your minder, up to this point? Was it you? Did you ever take that initiative?"

I began to shoot back that it was, till my reply died on my lips. Mostly because it would have been a bold-faced lie. It wasn't my idea, and never was. Sure, I was happy to do the practicals in the classes themselves, but everything else was so much rubbish, it seemed. Why did I need perfect form, when the spell worked? Why, furthermore, did I need to write an essay about such a thing? The spell cast fine – end of discussion.

Or... was it? My stricken expression wasn't lost on Daphne, who sat back and simply waited for me to ride out this personal storm. She of course knew who it was that made sure I, and Ron for that matter, got our classwork done and done in such a way as to not be an embarrassment. That she said so often enough caused me to flinch, driving the point home. "Right," Daphne broke in, pulling me from my recriminations. "Granger, that insufferable little loudmouth-"

"Hey, now that's uncalled for!"

"Is it?" Daphne asked icily. "For a girl who's year ranking is fifth, one would think she had a personal ownership of the concept of knowledge, with how she speaks to everyone around her."

It's really not a secret; I don't like people putting down my friends. Standing up to pace in my irritation, I occasionally shoot the blue-eyed Slytherin dark looks. "She is bright. You can't deny that."

"So is Tracey Davis," the girl drawled in reply. "In fact, if we go by scores, she's brighter than your little mudblood. You don't see her crowing to every open ear about it, however."

The argument after the word 'mudblood' doesn't really register till a bit later, however. "Don't you use that word around me, Greengrass."

Daphne's eyes narrow to slits. "Let me inform you of a little thing that perhaps your lack of cognition has left you ignorant of, Potter," she bites out, practically spitting my name. "The reason most of the school sneers at your bossy bint of a friend, is because she's the epitome of why we hate muggleborns to begin with."

"Just because she's bright and a brilliant witch doesn't-"

"Will you shut up a moment and listen, you thick-headed moron?" Daphne screeched, making me wince. Pursing my lips I sat, fully intending on ignoring her, but listening regardless. I'm sure this won't be any different than Malfoy's idiocy, just with bigger, more colorfully insulting words. Waving as if to give permission, I sneer and in my best Snape impression, bid her to continue.

She practically vibrates with anger for a moment, before calming visibly. "What do you think the average pureblood comes to Hogwarts knowing?" I'm fairly sure it's a rhetorical question, so I only shrug. "On average, up to second or third year, as far as understanding and theory. Most children learn from their parents, at least that much, by association."

That set me back in my seat somewhat. Partly because it never occurred to me, despite how casually every adult I've seen seems to use it, but also because I just never thought of something so obvious. Not missing a beat, however, Daphne continued, "Do you really think a muggleborn with no knowledge of magic could be more versed in it than an entire generation that grew up in the same?" She sneered nastily and went on, "The professors feed her ego so the other muggleborn and raised will see her as an example. They need those students not to leave the wizarding world, you see, and so make exception to her self-aggrandizing posturing."

To say I'm a little shocked is understatement. "So, all that... is calculated?"

"Not all, she is quite intelligent," Daphne admitted with a shrug. "She is not, however, the next coming of Merlin – or Morgana as the case may be. No, what we have issue with isn't her intellect, but her attitude.

"Imagine, Potter, taking a summer course on French. Now, you go and attend say, Beauxbatons in France." I begin to see where this is going, and look down at my hands, pensive. "Now, while you, barely aware and capable of speaking the language yet with a good understanding of it, go about your day, you comment on your wonderful grasp of the tongue to every native speaker you meet. Not wanting to dissuade you, the professors and staff compliment you on your skill." Daphne tapped her nails on her desk, one brow raised at my chagrined expression. "This isn't your fault. You're not more aware of our culture, in truth, than she or any other muggleborn or raised is."

It really pains me to think such a thing, but I finally start understanding quite a lot of the insults thrown Hermione's way, at this point. Using Daphne's reference, I wince, realizing that in truth my friend really has made being a living insult to wizarding culture a sort of active hobby. Daphne, however, isn't finished, "What you don't realize, is that our way of life is the way it is, because of how long we live. Our leaders grow old slower, are replaced less frequently, and go on making and enforcing decisions for more of their lives. Lives that frequently are rooted in experiences from a century back. Dumbledore, who heads the current school and is the Chief Warlock of our governing body, the Wizengamot, not to mention Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, was born in the eighteen hundreds," taking a breath, she rested a hand against her temple, rubbing it idly. "People younger would still be working off morals and ideals their parents taught them, and so on. I'm sure as intelligent as she is, Granger thinks that we're all a lot of barbaric bumpkins who can barely fathom wheels and fire, but to us, she just represents the eventual loss of our culture."

"Loss of your culture," I parrot, my mind a blank. Daphne's sad nod tells me I heard correctly – I didn't doubt, but it was good to know – and the gravity of what that meant crept over me. "Wizards separated themselves to protect them from persecution, right?" My companion nodded, so I kept on, thinking my way through this out loud, "So, of course things from the muggle side of the world give wizards a bit of pause. Sure, making electricity work in Hogwarts would be interesting, but it would destroy the authenticity of it. The culture of it."

Daphne stood and came to my side, laying a hand on my arm. My flinch was more involuntary and ingrained than anything, and I'm happy she persisted. "It would. I'm sure we'd be happy to have a place to study such things – but not at the cost of losing what we are. Wizarding kind will balk at change, but not at new things. It's the approach that matters."

I think I get it. "So, say an outlying building where magic and technology were allowed to work together?"

"Perfectly fine," Daphne noted, watching my eyes.

"Running electric lights through the great hall?"

I grinned as she winced in an exaggerated fashion. "Riots in the streets," she replied with a grin then, knowing I was just pushing such an extreme as a lark. "But, we've wandered. Granger is not a bad person. She just neatly defines herself in such a way, that the traditionalists and those who grew up happily in the wizarding world find her offensive. Mudblood isn't always an insult on one's heritage, so much as one's pride in what they are, and how they appear to people like me." With a sigh, she leaned back on her heels, "There's also the fact that muggleborn and raised make up nearly eighty percent of those that invoke Statute violations." I boggle at that, and she shrugs. "Can you see Granger really putting aside magic for her whole life, or for that matter, living in such a traditionalist world? We need her, as a culture, because otherwise we stagnate, but cannot abide her at the same time. She'll be on the fringe, and as such, be interacting with both sides. Hence, Statute violations."

The matter-of-fact way Daphne presented that made it clear that such a thing had happened in the past, and was a well known situation. That on its own settled nastily with me, but there was something else there that sat uncomfortably with me. Something had started bothering me during this, and it finally registered. "All this time, you've been talking about culture, the wizarding world like it was something I wasn't a part of." She looked away, but shrugged with slight bob of her head. "So, that means I guess most of your... er. Clique?" I try the word out and she just makes a noncommittal affirmative noise, so I go on, "I guess your clique just sees me as muggle raised, then."

Daphne shakes her head, a worried cast to her features. This got my attention. What was she concerned over? "No, not really. But, look, I can't talk about that, at least not yet."

"Why not?"

She winced, and wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm not allowed."

Not the answer I was expecting. "What? Who won't-"

"Look, please," and I gape a bit, as this is the first time I've heard that word come out of her mouth, and it looks like it didn't taste very good doing so, from her expression. "I can't go into this. Can we let it go, for now?"

Not at all happy about it, I nod. "Sure. I guess we went a bit afield there, anyway."

"No kidding," Daphne replied, slumping slightly in her desk again. "And all this was spurred on because you're a lazy slacker."

"Hey!"

She laughed, quietly, tiredly. I can tell this took a lot out of her, and to be honest, I feel a little drained mentally as well. It's been a lot to take in. "Seriously, though. We know Granger is why you keep up your studies, she's the first to harp about it when you're not about."

I blink at that. "Seriously?"

Daphne nods, a slight smirk on her lips, "Yeah, she's proud to be the reason you're not being held back."

I would argue the point, but there's no lie behind it. Hermione really is the reason why I do as well as I have in classes – in so much as the written and studying aspects. Practical work is still my best point, but Daphne's rant has given me something to think about. Quite a lot, actually. "So, I take it this won't be the only thing I get lessons in this summer?" I ask, holding up the copy of Mind Your Mind on my desk.

Daphne shrugs, leaning back and looking thoughtful. "I'd hope not. But at this rate, if what I expect my father to be doing is correct, you won't be done if it was all you did from now till graduation."

"Oh," I mumble, feeling myself pale at that. "That much? What could he possibly be wanting to teach me?"

With a slight smile, she shook her head. "Not my place to say. But I know this – you need to find your own motivation. We touched on it a bit in the car here, but I don't think you really understand how important this is."

Oh, on the contrary, I did. During the Tri-Wizard, it really hit home that I was in a life-or-death situation, and you'd be amazed how well that works to motivate a person. Now, with Voldemort back and active, personally calling on his Death Eaters to take up the fight again... yeah. She's right. I have been lazy.

Most of my real attention at Hogwarts has been on Quidditch. Admittedly, I'm a guy, and my dorm-mates aren't in Ravenclaw. Studying isn't what we go on into the night about. We talk about this team on that play, or about which players we'd want, all on a team, if we could pull it off. More than one assignment went on to be hastily scribbled out, then corrected by an irate Hermione, just so I could get in a good afternoon's reading of Quidditch Weekly, before I passed out for the night.

You'd think I would have gotten a clue at the end of my first year. No, it took a family of Slytherins – I think – abducting me and beating some sense into my head to really see where I've been letting myself down. And if what I've been thinking late at night while sleep evades me is right... everyone else too. "Right," I declared, startling Daphne who had been back to reading. "I need a favor."

A corner of her lip quirked at that. "Oh?"

"I need to learn how to learn."

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