"Everyone doing okay?"
Harry looked up from the form he was filling out. Professor Dahlia leaned over the little group of Gryffindors, who were completing applications and writing letters.
"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied, hardly glancing up as she scribbled a paragraph about her strengths and weaknesses.
"Um, Professor Dahlia?" Ginny raised her quill. "This isn't a final draft, right?"
"It's only practice," Dahlia reassured her. "I'm guessing you want to mention your undefeated season?"
"Hopefully," Ginny said with a grin.
"You can delay sending your letter. Only to the first week of June, though, that's what I'd recommend."
"Got it. Thanks, Professor."
"You three need to be punctual," Professor Dahlia told Harry, Ron, and Hermione sternly. "The Ministry takes applications only until midnight on the first. No later."
"Yes, Professor Dahlia," They chorused.
"Mention that to Draco, will you, Harry? I'm not sure Horace will remember to tell him."
"I will."
Dahlia nodded and drifted away. Ginny hummed happily as she put the finishing touches on her letter. "Hermione, could you look over this for me, please?"
"In a minute." Hermione scrawled a conclusion, then tossed her thick hair out of her face. "All right, give it here."
"Thank you, future sister-in-law," Ginny cooed. Hermione rolled her eyes and bit back a smile.
Ron sighed, leaning so far forward that his forehead rested on the desk. "This is an awful lot of writing for one day," He remarked, voice muffled. "I'll finish it later."
"Me too." Harry flexed his fingers against the tabletop, wincing as he stretched out a cramp. "My hand hurts."
"You poor thing," Ginny teased. "That the excuse you're planning to use if Cass catches the Snitch before you do? 'Oh, Ginny, my hand hurts from writing, I couldn't get a proper grip,'" She moaned, flopping her limp arm onto the table. Ron laughed, and Hermione's mouth twitched, but she remained focused on proofreading.
"Ha, ha." Harry held back his genuine laughter and set down his quill. "Just because I'm not applying for the Holyhead Harpies doesn't mean I don't want the Cup as much as you do."
"I know, I was just messing around."
Massaging his palm, Harry leaned back in his chair. He wasn't terribly worried about getting into Cambridge, even if he should've been. He was the Chosen One, after all, and he was doing much better in class than merely scraping by. Harry worried about Draco; what if the Ministry decided not to accept him after all and had only given him hope to snatch it away at the last moment?
That did sound like something they would do.
As Harry's thoughts wandered, so did his eyes, coming to rest on Professor Dahlia, who had returned to her desk. She was his favorite teacher this year, unsurprisingly, with her easygoing attitude and focus on practical magic. But something was off about her, too, like the way she was perpetually sending or writing letters, and seemed inexplicably sad some days, and tried desperately to hide it. In any case, it's not my business, Harry told himself firmly.
Dahlia took out a stack of mail and began to sort through it. One of the envelopes caught Harry's eye as it slid out. An involuntary shock trembled down his spine as he recognized the color - ruby red, like fresh blood. The shade was unmistakable.
It's just a coincidence, Harry told himself as his heartbeat rushed in his ears. Red's a common color. Maybe it's a Howler. Professor Dahlia's reaction seemed to match; she slid it out of the pile, hands trembling, apprehension in her eyes. But instead of opening it, she placed it resolutely out of sight, in a drawer somewhere. Not a Howler, then, or else her desk would catch on fire.
Harry controlled his breathing. He was overreacting. Why would Dahlia be in contact with the Following? If that's who the envelope was from, which, again, seemed like a coincidence. But she was Thai like they were… Don't make racist assumptions, a small voice in Harry's head scolded. It could still mean something, he shot back.
Busy arguing with himself, Harry didn't notice when the bell rang, and Ginny had to tug at his sleeve. "You all right, Harry? You look like you're going to be sick."
Harry shook his head. "I mean…yes, I'm all right. Not going to be sick." He took a deep breath. "Maybe I should go outside for a bit, though."
"I've got class, but you go do that," Ginny said. "See you all later." She shot Harry a concerned look before leaving.
Ron reached down and tousled Harry's hair in the brotherly way he sometimes did. "What's the matter, mate? Worried about applications?"
"Er…oh, damn." Harry stopped in the middle of the corridor and clapped a hand to his forehead. "Left mine in class."
"I might have picked it up," Hermione muttered, peering into her bag. "Ah…no, never mind."
"You two go ahead, I'll catch up," Harry called over his shoulder; he was already jogging back. He skidded to a halt in front of the door, gave a cursory knock, and cracked it open. "Sorry, professor, I left my…"
He stopped when he saw her. A torn, red envelope laid near Dahlia's clenched hands. Tears streamed silently down her face as she read the letter, hardly a foot long. When she noticed Harry, Dahlia gasped, moving as if to hide it, but she recognized it was too late. "Harry…" She started.
"I just left my paper," Harry said, pointing. Feeling awkward, he rushed to his desk, grabbed the application, and turned to leave.
"Harry." Professor Dahlia's voice was steadier now, and she brusquely wiped the dampness from her face. "I must ask you not to mention this to anyone."
Alarm bells went off in Harry's head, but he remained calm. "Yes, Professor."
"My…" She stopped, cleared her throat. "My closest friend… she's chosen a path worse than death."
The way Dahlia said "friend" made Harry wonder if the relationship meant more than that. Still having no idea what was going on, but sympathetic, he said, "I'm sorry."
"Keep your friends close, Harry," She told him. "Don't ever let them stray." She sounded so like Dumbledore that Harry suddenly felt a lump form in his throat as if he too was on the verge of tears.
"Yes, Professor."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Harry couldn't help but feel, as he softly closed the classroom door, that he was promising much more than he thought. Only the passage of time would reveal if his suspicion was correct.
