Tracey Davis was known in her House as the ice queen, the chief workaholic, the pessimist, and (on her better days) the voice of reason. It started virtually as soon as she was Sorted. When the other first-years recoiled from the Bloody Baron's first appearance, Tracey didn't even flinch. "Cor blimey, I'm so terrified," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Second year when people were losing their minds over the "enemies of the heir" message, Tracey just pointed her wand at the wall, muttered a spell, and the tip of her wand turned purple. "It's only animal blood, pull yourselves together," she said. "What? I read loads of Auror novels," was her response to their questioning looks. She was right, of course, and it irked her that the teachers didn't do more to shut down her peers' tendencies towards exaggeration.
Tracey spoke up to the prefects at the start of third year, convincing them to switch to more sophisticated passphrases. Because honestly, "pureblood" was the most moronic idea for a Slytherin password she had ever heard of besides "password."
She outright refused to go to the Yule Ball, what was she supposed to do? Confess to Snape that she fantasised about snogging that Hufflepuff girl who had become rather fit over the summer? Since her Head of House himself couldn't even get out of the event, she was forced to attend but spent the entire night sulking at a corner table.
Fifth year came, and she was the one who snuck into the choir practice room and composed the tune of "Weasley Is Our King" on the piano while Pansy and Draco were writing the lyrics. She found it rather satisfying how much it seemed to rattle Weasley on the pitch. Later in the year, Tracey's career advice session consisted of her saying, "I'm best at Arithmancy, but my parents want me to go into the Ministry, so consider the matter closed for discussion," crossing her arms, and staring at the wall behind Snape for the rest of the allotted time.
When Rita Skeeter came looking for material in sixth year, Tracey was approached. It seemed she was expecting a Pansy clone, but that certainly wasn't what she was going to get. "Of course Dumbledore is an idiot, but do you know what's daft and dangerous? This school and everyone in it. I fucking hate this place. Now, I am busy; leave me alone." Rita never asked her for a quote again.
Tracey's attitude towards life, and the audacity of it all, became legendary in her House. Blaise even created a list of her opinions on various topics, which was quickly circulated around. An excerpt read something like this-
Madam Puddifoot's: "Ghastly." Divination class: "My tea leaves show that this is a colossal waste of time." Peeves: "I wish he were alive, so I could kill him myself." The Weird Sisters: "Can't they just turn the microphone off?" Pet rats: "I hope everyone who brings one of those things into the castle dies of plague." Ron Weasley's dress robes: "Surprised I haven't been Petrified just by looking at them." Colin Creevey: "Are you taking a fucking picture of me?" (cue sound of camera lens being smashed a few seconds later)
Unlike Astoria, Tracey had a good rapport with Slughorn once he took over as Head of Slytherin. How could she not respect a man who had a known habit of Transfiguring himself into furniture to avoid interacting with people he didn't want to? Tracey liked that side of him much more than the one that he showed everyone outside Slytherin, constantly hobnobbing with the people of influence. Tracey understood the importance of connections, sure, but she would much rather strike a mutually beneficial bargain straightaway than go through any niceties.
By the time the Carrows took over, Tracey wasn't worried. She knew she could hold her own. It was easy for her to compartmentalise, partly due to her personality but also because of her upbringing. Pureblood culture valued the stiff upper lip, the ends justifying the means, and keeping mum about what went on behind closed doors. The Greengrass girls were the most spoilt out of their group, while Draco's father liked to make a big show of spending lavishly on him but expected strict obedience in return. On the other end of the spectrum were the Carrow twins (born into an entire family of sociopaths) and Theo. The Carrows never crossed the line of acceptability with their own offspring, though; they just considered torturing other people to be a family bonding activity. Nott Senior was the worst by far, because it seemed he found gratification in brutally punishing his own son. It was fucked up beyond belief. Tracey considered herself to be somewhere in the middle-it was just a part of growing up pureblood, right? It was better than being contaminated by those filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods. It had to be.
So she did what was required of her that year, and never showed a sign of weakness. But she started to worry about her friends, especially if the Dark Lord prevailed. The only one she really wasn't concerned about was Blaise. He was all talk, playing the game, and then good at making himself scarce when it was time for action. Astoria was pissed half the time and an emotional wreck the other half. Pansy was very good at attacking people first before they could get wise to her own insecurities. But how long could she keep up that front? Daph, Theo, and Draco could do the spells but didn't always mean them. Greg, Vince, and Millicent did mean the spells but couldn't always do them.
She had lost her temper on those last three shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts, and Tracey still privately blamed herself for what happened after. "If you can't keep up now, what are you going to do when the Dark Lord is victorious? Either kill or be killed, get that through your heads," she had coldly admonished them one night in the common room. How firmly had she planted that idea? If they were told to worry about measuring up in a world where the Dark Lord ruled, no wonder Millie and Greg reckoned it wasn't worth it to stick around when the Light prevailed. Crabbe wasn't as lucky as Draco or the others. So maybe Tracey's prediction hadn't been that far off, and she knew it was so fucked up that she didn't feel much besides a bit of satisfaction about being right. Instead of grieving for her housemates she grew up alongside. Especially when no one else in this post-war world was going to bother to grieve them.
No, the absolute shock to her system came that night, far away from the castle. The phrase she kept using-the only coherent thought she could really express-was "my entire life has been a lie." No need to bury her sexual orientation now, because there was no need to fulfill her parents' expectation of at least one child. Because she wasn't a continuation of the pureblood Davis line after all. She would never really know if her parents' scheme to steal a Muggleborn child and pass her off as their own was anything more than a last-ditch effort to tick a box off the list of things proper purebloods do . She was fortunate that the whole thing hadn't been exposed sooner, or it would have been her fleeing for her life from the Ministry and Death Eaters.
Following her utter meltdown in the aftermath of the battle, where she found herself in the unfathomable position of being comforted by Alicia Spinnet and her mates, she was tipped off that some older Slytherins were gathered outside-away from the suspicious glances of those on the winning side. She approached them with her wand already drawn, ready to defend herself. "I don't know if you've heard the news yet," she intoned, "but I'm turns out I'm not actually Tracey Davis; I'm Tracey the illegally adopted Mudblood. Lovely to meet you."
No one said anything, and Tracey couldn't get an accurate read off their expressions. She felt a sharp pang in her chest, and was fighting to make her legs work, to get her out of here . Then Pansy jumped up and hugged her fiercely, telling Tracey she was just so glad she didn't lose her, too, and the school's ice queen and first class bitch cried together for the first time in their friendship. Then Astoria handed her a bottle of wine and she joined the literal circle of her friends on the grass. "Just don't start lecturing us on morality like Granger," Draco said, making her laugh softly. "No fucking chance, Malfoy," she said, and he reached over and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Tracey breathed a sigh of relief; he was the one she was most worried about and now he had proved that she was accepted. She had no idea how she was going to navigate this upside-down post-war world, but she was still a Slytherin. That would never change.
Her friends were the only reason Tracey came back to school to repeat the year after reuniting with her birth parents over the summer. Yes, she wanted to pursue a career in Arithmancy, specialising in bridging magical and mathematical concepts. But she could have easily finished that NEWT through correspondence and gone straight into research. It was her mum, her actual mum, who convinced her she was making the right decision going back to Hogwarts. Tracey had omitted a great deal of details about her school years at first, but finally confessed to her birth parents how she and her friends had been raised with such virulent prejudice and hatred-and acted it out on fellow students. Thank Merlin, they still wanted her despite everything. It was a difficult feeling to explain; it satisfied this longing she'd been living with for years, but never understood.
So she thought she was dealing with all of this well enough that she could stay under the radar (a new Muggle expression she learnt from her dad) this year. Apparently not, because in December she became the Hufflepuffs' project. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any weirder.