A/N: Sadly, I own neither Code Geass nor Harry Potter.


Year One
Stage 10 - Operation Friendship


The school was abuzz with gossip. The topic on everyone's mind? The duelling club.

"You haven't read the rules yet?" came an incredulous voice.

Another picked up the thread of conversation. "Each house gets a team of seven, one duellist for each year. You can slot someone from a lower year into a higher one but not the other way around. Matches are one on one. Winner advances to the next fight. Repeat until one team is out of duellists. You score a point for winning a round plus one for every year above your belt."

"Ah. So you've got to beware the specialised runts, then. We're going to need spies and informants."

Where quidditch used to be the sport of choice at Hogwarts – incidentally, it had been the only organised sport at Hogwarts – the duelling club had, in a day, supplanted it in popularity.

"Oh, nice. There's going to be a match every Saturday between two houses. Everyone's invited to watch."

"Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are up first. Should be quick. Looks like we don't get our crack at the lions until October."

The duelling matches, very much a spectator sport, occurred more frequently. More people could participate on a rotating basis. It even taught a practical skill. What was not to like?

"You thinking of joining the doubles team for the exhibition matches?"

"If that's your way of asking for a partner, let's do it."

Of course, there were complications.

"Have you heard? Williams is going to challenge Burton for the captaincy."

"How many captains have we gone through now? Three?"

"Nah. You missed Stuart crush Kelly just before lunch."

Gryffindor and Slytherin had three unofficial captains jockeying for control at the moment, while Ravenclaw, it seemed, had nominally only one at this point. The only house this morning's announcements hadn't thrown into chaos, unsurprisingly, was Hufflepuff.

"Hey, the captain called for a house meeting tonight. Pass the word on."

"I'm not actually that interested in duelling."

"Yeah, but she's looking for input from everyone. We want to sweep the first match to send a message."

"Oh?" And didn't that voice sound downright menacing? For a Hufflepuff, at least. "No wonder she scheduled us and Gryffindor first."

It seemed everyone had something to say about something.

Daphne, personally, had little interest in joining. For all that she would likely wind up becoming Tracey's private sparring partner, she much preferred to sit on the sidelines and simply…observe. But she admired Granger and Potter's initiative. Those two knew only a paltry few at Hogwarts. They had no idea what they were in for nor how to play the game, a game which most everyone else here had started at birth. They'd forever be fighting an uphill battle. And so they'd immediately flipped the table and set everyone to scrambling to adjust. It would be interesting indeed to watch how the duelling club affected Hogwarts's internal power dynamic. When the dust settled, well, rumour had it that Granger was the undisputed captain of the Hufflepuff team for a reason.

The day passed much as Daphne expected it to. Their first class of the year in each subject, as her parents had warned her, largely consisted of administrative details about the curricula, their grades, and such trivialities. Since she intended to get perfect O's regardless, she tuned that information out and turned her thoughts to more important matters: she needed to find a way to ensure Granger's survival.

Oh, the girl was safe inside Hufflepuff, Daphne was sure. The badgers protected their own. But Granger already had friends in every house. She would wander. She would mingle. Certainly, she would be alone on occasion and would, more than likely, want a fair amount of private time with Potter for their plots. And if she survived the next few years, for other reasons as they got older. More than one competent witch had been caught unawares with her legs spread and her robes shed. Legend had it that even Merlin had met his end in a similar fashion.

For a moment, Daphne considered writing her parents, confessing her abilities, and asking for help. She was out of her depth, she knew. But she'd kept her secret for all her life. Tracey was the only person she trusted unconditionally and then only for future reasons she tried not to think too hard about. She would just have to step up, learn, and probably befriend Granger to maintain proximity.

No problem.

In the transfiguration classroom, Daphne felt the distinct absence of Granger. But there was another target of almost equal importance who was far more readily available. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he read and idly fingered a needle transfigured from a matchstick while everyone around him struggled with the unfamiliar spell. His would be a good friendship to cultivate regardless.

Yes, she would start with Potter.


Transfiguration finished for the day with a six-inch essay on the matchstick to needle transformation due Wednesday. Daphne had no idea how she would write that much about a frivolous spell meant to ease beginners into both the subject and casting magic in general, but she would deal with that later. She had more pressing matters for the moment.

After collecting her things, Daphne shared a look with Tracey. The latter nodded that she was ready, and they made their approach. Potter hadn't yet left his seat or set his book aside, but Malfoy had thankfully already departed with his inner circle. Now that they were closer, Daphne recognised the text as an intermediate guide to healing magic. She wouldn't have guessed that Potter held any interest in such things, but then she was hardly one to talk, and that made for a good start to a conversation.

"Healing, Potter?" Daphne asked.

He idly replied, "The women in my life tend to throw themselves into danger," with a hint of amusement. "There's a lesson to be learnt there."

"Ah." As Potter put away his book, Daphne said, "Then may I assume I needn't warn you that not everyone took everything Granger said this morning well?"

Potter allowed a smirk to grow on his face. "You may rest assured that she fully intended every word as a direct challenge."

"Bold. How far are you into your studies?"

In a grim humour, Potter replied, "Far enough to know that death is easier to cheat than cure."

Daphne's lips pulled into a thin but sympathetic smile. She knew that pain. She might not have lost anyone yet, but she would. The only way to avoid it was if she, where generations before her had failed, found a way to remove her family's blood curse.

"Um, speaking of," Tracey began hesitantly, "do you, well, remember what happened that night." When she received no more than a blank look in reply, she hastily added, "It's just I heard she was found beside your crib, and I wondered if maybe your mother was the one who…well, you know. No one has ever survived the killing curse before. It's supposed to be impossible."

Realisation only lit Potter's face once halfway through Tracey's explanation. It made Daphne wonder, if he'd not been thinking of Lily Potter, who had been on his mind? His aunt hadn't 'thrown herself into danger' according to the Prophet when she'd died.

Regardless, now that Potter knew what exactly Tracey wanted to know, he answered, "I have memories of memories of that night. And I wrote everything down, of course."

"Really?" Tracey asked with as much surprise in her voice as Daphne felt.

Potter nodded. "From what I witnessed, it's very likely that my mother's trap defeated Voldemort."

Tracey jumped at the name, and Daphne did her best to suppress her sharp breath. Potter, for his part, looked distinctly unimpressed. And that meant the Weasleys had neglected his education to a dangerous degree.

With an even breath to steady herself, Daphne asked, "Do you know why we're so uneasy hearing that name spoken aloud?"

Potter laid his hands out flat, palms up in invitation, and said, "Assume I do not."

"Do you know what a taboo is?"

"I know the dictionary definition of the word," Potter replied, eyebrows arched.

In other words, no one had ever explained this to him. That was irresponsible in the extreme. What else had the Weasleys neglected to mention or obscured for his own supposed good? For now, however, Daphne offered him what she knew. "A taboo is a powerful jinx on a word that reveals the speaker's location. Short of magics on par with a fidelius charm, one cannot hide from it. At the height of the war, a kill squad would be upon you and your family in less than a minute. Even now, it's very likely that the jinx is still in effect, and we have no idea who tabulated the information it generates."

"Ah. That," Potter began, "is a compelling reason not to speak the name. Thank you for the explanation. It's hard for me and Hermione to trust the information we hear about the war. Even credible sources disagree on key points." He chuckled as some thought came to mind. "Xeno had an…alternative theory, and Molly Weasley has very strong opinions on what children need to know."

Daphne scoffed. She knew she had a lot to learn and plenty of room to grow, but children were more capable than adults ever gave them credit, even the precocious ones like herself.

But she was not here to grumble about the nonsense that got into parents' heads. There were more important matters to focus on. "What about Granger's family? Are they safe?" Peace only meant so much, and no one with any sense honestly believed the last war was over. Granger's family would be one way to get to her that Daphne couldn't do much about from Hogwarts, not without confessing her secrets.

No immediate response came from Potter. No, he sat there with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes that seemed more suited to a man three times his age. "Interesting. I take it you've heard a credible threat–"

Daphne, caught completely off guard, inhaled sharply through her lips before cutting herself off. But that momentary hiss might as well have been a veritaserum confession for Potter.

"–and are reluctant to reveal your source," he finished. When Tracey moved to interpose herself between the two of them, he held up a hand and added, "I respect confidential informants. I won't ask."

A soft sigh of relief escaped Daphne, and this time she didn't fight it.

"How did you know?" Tracey demanded.

Potter regarded her for a moment before an odd expression of approval showed on his face. He then said, "We all have secrets. Are we good enough friends to know each other's?"

"No," Daphne answered readily enough, and Potter showed no offence. For all that he and Granger seemed friendly and intelligent enough to hold a decent conversation, neither she nor Tracey really knew anything about them nor, she assumed, vice versa. "I thought you might not believe us if we only warned you."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Potter shrugged. "But that's neither here nor there. What can you tell me?"

"Nothing solid yet," Daphne admitted. "Names to beware, mostly, not all of them at Hogwarts." But this one act, if her prior meddling with time were any standard to judge by, would change that soon enough. She'd committed to involving herself with Granger. Her visions, then, should start giving her the information she needed, if in their usual opaque manner, now that she'd collapsed all of the timelines where they never became more than classmates.

With a nod, Potter simply said, "I can work with that," and then asked, "Is Hermione the principal target?"

Daphne didn't actually know, but she would find it hard to believe otherwise and said as such. The only real viable alternative that came to mind was Granger taking a curse for Potter, but after this morning, that seemed unlikely. Regardless, she promised to give him a basic rundown on who's who at Hogwarts and beyond later when they had the time and the privacy for it. He, she had to admit, knew far more than she ever would have expected from someone of his background, but it wouldn't be enough.


Charms. It was to be their last class of the day but also their first class with the Hufflepuffs. Granger would be there, and from the rumours that had been circulating, that promised to be…interesting.

Speaking of whom, despite Tracey's badgering for details – amongst many, many others' – Potter had politely but firmly refused to explain how Granger had managed to organise this morning's entertainment and in the span of a single night, no less. Daphne certainly wanted to find out how she'd pulled that off and fully intended to take notes. From what she'd heard, even those already determined to hate Granger were impressed.

The Hufflepuffs arrived shortly before class was due to start. They filed into the room as a single orderly group, chatting amongst themselves. At the end of their procession came Granger. She moved with long, purposeful strides that let the gold-trimmed black cape she still wore billow out behind her with a suitably dramatic flair. If anything, she held herself like a mage knight of old. She only needed an enchanted sword to complete the look. Susan and Hannah flanked her on either side as her honour guard and were clearly having fun with it. The cete was determined to make a show of strength, it seemed, or at least a display of house unity.

Granger, to no one's surprise, opted to take the empty seat at the table just above and behind Potter. He, in turn, spun about in place so that they could speak.

"Was that your uniform cape?" he asked.

Granger grinned. "Nuuna thought it appropriate. Could you ever say no to her?"

With an amused snort, Potter said, "But in those colours? That would make you the Black Knight of the Round, would it not?"

The muggle-raised amongst Hufflepuff, listening in as was everyone else with varying degrees of pretence, smothered their laughter at whatever the joke was, but Granger didn't even bother trying. "Hey, it's in Hufflepuff colours," she said. "This was fate."

"Uh-huh. And did I detect a healthy dose of plagiarism in your speech?"

Granger leaned forward onto her elbows now with her hands propping up her head. "I stole from the best," she replied with a bright smile, setting off another peal of laughter amongst those in on the joke. "I hear imitation is the greatest form of flattery here."

"Well, I'm sure the orator in question was happy to be of service. Well done."

As their personal banter died down, others took the opportunity to pounce. Bulstrode led, asking, "So? How did you do it?"

A knowing smirk grew on Granger's face. "How did I do what? I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific." She was enjoying this, clearly.

"You know," Tracey said. "Wrest control of Hufflepuff. Organise a duelling club. Get the professors on board. That disappearing act. And all in a single night!"

Susan responded first. "I don't believe you understand how Hufflepuff works."

"We're not Slytherins," Hannah added.

Granger nodded in agreement. "Hufflepuff is a cohesive team. We build each other up, not tear each other down to stand on top."

Daphne didn't miss the slight hint of disapproval in Granger's voice, or had it been of warning? Regardless, she said, "A common flaw amongst the ambitious. But you cannot deny who is charting the course."

"Well, I suppose that's true to some extent," Granger admitted. She shot a narrow-eyed look at Potter with some silent message of reproach. "But in my exceedingly vast experience with administration, delegation is key. And once you get them on board, Hufflepuffs are eager to volunteer information and assistance."

Daphne's eyebrows rose. That surprisingly simple explanation made enough sense for her to connect the dots.

"So the duelling club?" Malfoy prompted with a borderline deferential level of respect that would be oh so delectable when he discovered Granger's origins.

"Already had a lot of unorganised interest," Granger replied.

"And the professors?"

Granger again provided a simple response. "Our head of house spent the night in Hufflepuff helping us settle in. When she saw that we had the support and the outlines of a solid plan, she agreed to speak to the others professors on our behalf. We're not asking much from them beyond casual supervision, so they okayed it without much fuss."

There remained one more major mystery, and Zabini addressed it first. "How did you vanish from the Great Hall?" Unless Granger had managed to cast a frankly terrifying amount of magic with a snap of her fingers, there had to be a simple explanation.

Granger, however, only smirked and replied, "A magician never reveals her secrets."

That was an insufferably muggle expression if Daphne had ever heard one, not that anyone important listening in seemed to have picked up on that.

There was much protesting, but it was to no avail. None of the other Hufflepuffs cracked under interrogation either, although Granger did confirm that, yes, she was the Hufflepuff duelling captain. Apparently, that was why none of the professors had called her out on a dress code violation. The cape fell into the same category as a prefect or quidditch captain badge as a symbol of authority. None of the professors had likely thought she'd choose such a flashy symbol of office, but it was done now.

It wasn't long before Professor Flitwick arrived and broke up the conversation by beginning class.


Once classes ended for the day, Potter and Granger slipped off together while Daphne had been distracted. She'd thought to catch them at dinner, but they'd not made an appearance. While she didn't begrudge them their time alone together, it did make it hard both to fulfil a promise made in good faith and to keep an eye on Granger. Hogwarts, with its moving staircases, its tendency to favour connections over direction, and its habit of rearranging its layout on a whim, was not the easiest place to find someone in.

But she and Tracey had taken the opportunity to wander about at their own pace now that they didn't have classes driving them from place to place. Neither could say they'd seen everything the castle had to offer, not nearly, but hours of idle exploration had left them familiar with everything easy to discover from the Owlery to the entrance to each house's common room.

What struck Daphne most about Hogwarts was how empty it was. Sure, there were portraits scattered along the corridors to speak with and ghosts floating about, but outside of the main routes, they'd rarely bumped into anyone. Piles of dust and sheets of cobwebs had claimed an endless supply of unused classrooms. It was a stark reminder of, even at an exclusive private school, just how small their class sizes were. Her parents' stories of their school years certainly hadn't been this…barren. And her dreams loved to torture her with visions of the next war to come. Would there even be a Hogwarts after that one finished?

Tracey, having picked up on Daphne's darkening mood, pulled her off to the next sight to distract her. Judging by the endless collection of plaques, medals, statues, cups, and such, they'd entered the trophy room. Every award was polished to a mirror shine, and as they explored, she couldn't identify any rhyme or reason behind why some were locked up in display cases while others were left exposed. Regardless, the pair managed to track down their parents' awards without too much difficulty. It wasn't a particularly interesting affair, but at least they could say they'd done it.

A short while later, the two exited the trophy room into the third-floor corridor – not the forbidden one – where it currently resided. Daphne distinctly recalled her mother mentioning once hiding in it on the sixth floor to escape from Professor McGonagall after curfew, but either the staff had relocated it or the room itself liked to move about. She would give either possibility equal likelihood.

Spotting a bench nearby, Daphne took a seat to rest her tired feet. She'd done nothing but walk and climb the last few hours. Tracey, meanwhile, wandered off back out into the Grand Staircase to watch the flights of stairs move about.

"Hey, isn't that…"

With an idle curiosity, Daphne glanced up only to witness Tracey duck behind a corner from the Grand Staircase.

"Hey! Daphne!" Tracey said, her voice lowered nearly to a hissed whisper. She gestured to come closer, and Daphne reluctantly did so. "It's them. Potter and Granger." She jerked her head toward the exit. "They just came out of the forbidden corridor."

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe she should just let Granger get herself killed. It wasn't like every timeline without her ended in the world's destruction, or magic's end, or something else equally cataclysmic at Potter's hands. In many of them, Daphne was sure, she and Tracey survived at least long enough to confidently conclude that.

But that would be irresponsible. It wasn't like there was anyone else meddling with time for her to pass this unasked-for burden off onto, not with the stark absence of any known credible seers in modern times.

"So," Tracey began, "should we ask them what they're up to or listen in?"

Daphne doubted they would give an honest answer if asked and might sensibly outright deny any rule breaking, so she was inclined toward the latter. The question there, however, was if they knew how to detect listening charms. Those two had obviously taken advantage of the homeschooling exception to the underage magic laws before 'transferring' to Hogwarts. She wasn't entirely sure how they'd unearthed it from beneath its tangled web of legislation and regulation, but that wasn't important. What was was what subjects they'd focused their pre-Hogwarts education on.

She knew Potter knew a fair bit about healing and had excelled at useless introductory classwork. Granger, in contrast, if rumour were to be believed, had probably leant heavily into combat. As an educated guess, she'd assume that they'd started reading a previous year's required texts before growing bored and delving into more interesting material. From the observed degree of their respective specialisations, they probably hadn't had time yet at their age to learn much of anything else.

Probably.

"Listen in, I think," Daphne said. "But we play it safe. Let's just amplify sounds here and dampen the racket the staircases make."

With a nod from Tracey, they set to work. Daphne formed the magnification spell while Tracey cast the silencing spell to filter out the noise. That let them hear the faint echoes of Potter and Granger's conversation as they headed downstairs.

"–was Cerberus, right?" Granger asked. "My Greek mythology isn't very strong."

Daphne and Tracey looked to each other and wondered how those two had gotten to talking about that old story before they set out to follow and stay within hearing range.

"I think Cerberus is usually depicted as more…" Peering over the railing, Daphne saw Potter wave his hand in a circle. "–monstrous, but I see the comparison. Shall I assume you can make something to knock it out for a while without access to your lab?"

"Oh, for sure. Worst case scenario, the Draught of Living Death is quick and simple to brew. It might take a few tries to determine the right dosage for a short nap on something of that size, but we're hardly in a rush."

Daphne bit her lip. "Tracey, isn't that…"

"A NEWT potion, I think," Tracey finished.

They made a note that Granger was a talented and dangerous potioneer.

Meanwhile, Potter nodded and then changed subjects. "So how did you teleport your team out this morning?"

Granger's voice adopted a triumphant tone. "Giving up?"

"I have a few guesses but none which match the evidence."

"You're giving up!" There had to be a smirk on Granger's face as she said that. "I've outwitted the master. Admit it."

Daphne easily imagined Potter rolling his eyes as he said, "Yes, I'm giving up. Happy?"

"Exceedingly."

"So?"

"Ah, it's simple, actually," Granger said. "Hufflepuff is on very good terms with our neighbours."

Daphne had no idea who that would be if not the Slytherins or, even more unlikely, Professor Snape, and Potter expressed a similar sentiment.

Thus Granger said, "The kitchen staff. House-elves. Hogwarts's wards don't stop them from popping around with whatever or whoever they want."

Daphne facepalmed. In hindsight, that was the obvious answer. She resolved to pay more attention to house-elves in the future. She'd read stories with that lesson before. Plenty of them, even. The moral always was to treat your servants well. They learnt more than you wanted them to just by doing their jobs. They could open doors or silently sabotage you just by talking or remaining quiet. They fed you. Only a great fool antagonised their own staff.

As the pair reached the Entrance Hall at the base of the Grand Staircase, they called out a greeting to a young brunette named Arsènie, whoever that was. Daphne didn't know anyone who went by that name at Hogwarts or beyond, and Tracey didn't either.

"So?" Arsènie asked. "How was your night, you two? I heard someone had fun after I slipped out."

Granger replied, "Well, my bed was cold, but I made do."

Arsènie laughed, and Tracey clearly didn't get the implication, but Daphne had to fight down a blush. Those words had surely only been said in jest.

"We'll have to see which one of us gets L.L. next year," Potter said. "You know she won't sleep in her own bed."

Oh, by Merlin's unshaven beard, they were just joking, right? Right?

"Yeah, she doesn't really strike me as a Gryff or a 'Claw," Arsènie mused. "Well anyway, you wanted to talk?"

With a nod, Potter said, "Greengrass and Davis warned me that Hermione has a potential death threat hanging over her head."

Arsènie hummed curiously. "After this morning, I can see why. The fanatics are real pieces of work. You believe them?"

"They seemed earnest enough. We were hoping you'd focus on Hermione over me until we learn more."

For a few moments, Arsènie considered the request. "Sure, no problem," she eventually replied. "I trust you can look after yourself in class?"

Potter's scoff answered that well enough.

As the three descended into personal chatter, Daphne dispelled their eavesdropping magic and turned to Tracey. "Potter has a bodyguard?"

"Sounds like it," Tracey replied. "If she's here, she must be official. I can ask my brother to pull DMLE records, but no promises."

"Do it. Let's ensure there's no subterfuge there."

"It'd be easy to lure those two into a trap if someone impersonated their guard," Tracey suggested.

Daphne nodded. Anyone could buy polyjuice in Diagon Alley, and it wasn't that difficult to obtain a stray hair even from someone who went to the proper lengths to prevent such identity theft.

After a short time, Tracey asked, "Think we should tell them?"

"We should," Daphne replied hesitantly. Spying on someone, even for their own good, wasn't exactly the best way to make friends. "But obliquely. Granger probably knows about polyjuice already anyway."

A new voice broke in. "Oh, she does."

Daphne whirled toward the sound with her wand in hand while Tracey watched her back, similarly armed. Their eyes scanned for the interloper but couldn't find anyone. Just as she started the incantation for a general detection spell, she felt something pluck her wand from her hand. Judging by the protesting yelp, the same thing happened to Tracey.

The figure of a brunette roughly a head taller than their own height then appeared beside them with the characteristic wavering light of a failing disillusionment spell. Each of her hands held one of their wands by the tip, apparently unconcerned with drawing her own. This was Arsènie, most likely, although Daphne hadn't gotten a good enough look earlier to be certain. Regardless, this brunette's spellcasting belied her apparent age. This supposed girl, Daphne was sure, had taken an ageing potion to pass unnoticed within Hogwarts.

Daphne inched closer to Tracey and fingered the spare wand in her robe sleeve just in case.

"Well now, what should I do with you two naughty children? Spying on your friends?" The brunette clicked her tongue in mocking disapproval.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." It wasn't a good response, but Daphne couldn't think of one better off the top of her head.

The brunette smirked and said, "Of course you don't." Then, surprisingly, she held out their wands for them to take. They did so, Daphne cautiously and Tracey with a sharp swipe. "I've already told those two to learn how to watch for eavesdroppers, so best you two not try this again."

"We weren't doing anything," Tracey protested.

The brunette just nodded indulgently with a hummed, "Uh-huh," and reached out to rub their heads. "You're good kids," she said. "You know, you four can probably learn a lot from each other. I'll keep this just between us, but give it some thought."

And with that, the brunette stepped backwards, saluted, and then flipped herself over the railing to plummet headfirst toward the ground floor. In the few seconds it took for Daphne and Tracey to peer over the edge, she'd vanished.

"Well," Tracey said. "That happened."

Not sure what else to do, Daphne only nodded. They weren't prepared for this. Their parents had only taught them the basics. It was all they'd had time for. That would have been more than enough to deal with normal classmates, but Potter and Granger clearly were about as far from normal as children could get. The Weasley kids weren't like that, not that Daphne could tell. Was it just those two? They'd mentioned Luna Lovegood, hadn't they? What would she be like?

"Daphne?"

"Yes, Tracey?"

"I think we might be in over our heads."

Finding herself again with no better answer, Daphne said, "Yeah."

A few moments passed.

"We're not going to back off, are we?"

Daphne shook her head. "But we need to study. Fast."


Daphne awoke in the middle of the night in a tangle of sheets and blankets with someone's firm grip across both of her shoulders. Her heart hammered against her chest, and her breaths came heavy. She thrashed against her restraints as best as she could while her eyes darted about for her wand. One arm managed to get free and swung against the figure above her, drawing out a low grunt of pain. Taking advantage of the moment, she rolled away, unceremoniously fell off of her bed onto the rug below, and certainly picked up a mild abrasion on her exposed skin. She then hit her head against a leg of her bedside table and, dazed, slumped onto the floor.

A head peered over the edge of her bed. "Daph?" called a cautious Tracey. "You all right down there?"

It took a few moments before Daphne had the wherewithal to gather her wits. "I…" She looked around. She was in the room she shared with Tracey in Slytherin. A heavy sigh of relief passed her lips as she realised that everything had just been another dream of the future. "Yeah. Where's my wand?"

Tracey disappeared for a few seconds and then reappeared with said wand in hand. She held out both it and her free hand to help Daphne to her feet. Daphne, in turn, gave her thanks and gladly accepted both offers. Then with practised motions, she healed the minor damage she'd done to herself at the end of her fit. She spotted the beginnings of a bruise forming on Tracey's skin soon after and fixed that as well with both magic and an apology.

Once they were settled and Daphne had had a few moments to pull herself together, Tracey spoke. "Please tell me we aren't making things worse by saving Granger."

"What? No! I–" Daphne ran her hands across her face. "I don't even know what to make of what I saw. It was… There was… Nothing made any sense. It was like those bedtime stories our parents told us about Atlantis or Avalon. You know, the ones where everyone is so magical that things just happen when they want them to. And – and sometimes when they don't. It was like… Trace, it was like how I remember dreams being. Or nightmares, at least."

"Was it a dream?" Tracey asked. Her tone and expression clashed in a mixture of hope and worry.

Daphne stopped for a moment to consider that – really consider that – before shaking her head. It couldn't have just been a real dream for the first time in years. She'd unceremoniously awakened as a seer when she'd been younger. That much was true. But whatever magics they possessed, witches grew into their powers. That was normal. She was normal. She might not be able to control all of those powers as she once had when they'd been new, but she saw no reason why her inner eye would abandon her now just because she didn't know how to rein in its growing strength as she did with her regular magic.

"Well, what happened?" Tracey asked next.

"I… There was this mirror that we walked through." Or at least Daphne thought it'd been a mirror. She was already starting to lose her grip on her memory of the vision. All she really remembered was a strange reflection of herself. "On the other side, there were three people I've never seen before." That happened on occasion, but coming on the heel of their resolution to save Granger, she couldn't believe anything but that they were somehow very important. "Two…wizards and a witch, most likely. They were fighting. We got caught in the crossfire, I think." What else had happened? "There was… No, that's not right. Everything happened so fast. It was like watching Merlin and Morgan have a transfiguration duel."

An impressed whistle met the claim. "So maybe we steer clear of strange mirrors, then?"

Daphne managed a weak smile and a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess." She racked her brain for more details but felt them slip from her recall the more she pulled at her memory. "I'm sorry, Trace. That's all I have. I waited too long to start talking."

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Tracey said, "Nah, it's fine. I'll just log this, and then we can get back to bed."

"Yeah. Okay."

Daphne knew she'd not be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Even if she managed it, she doubted she'd get much rest. But she could pretend for Tracey's sake and then sneak out into the common room after her friend fell back asleep. Tomorrow – today – the next morning, whichever day it came on, looked like she'd need another dose of girding potion to go with breakfast. Then again, they only had defence and potions on Tuesdays. Maybe she could squeak by without and slip off after for a nap.


Like most Hogwarts students, Daphne had arrived at the castle fully expecting to suffer seven different defence against the dark arts professors over her seven years as a student, one or two of which might have the capacity to mollify the damage the others would inflict upon her education. It'd been the class she'd least been looking forward to regardless of her own apathy toward the subject.

Now, however, she had to admit to eagerly awaiting to attend. This change of heart had one simple explanation: Slytherin shared the class with Hufflepuff. If Professor Quirrell actually knew how to teach defence, then she could enjoy actually learning a useful skill. If he didn't, then she had a front-row seat to watch the fireworks. They might not go off today, next week, or even this month, but Granger obviously had a special place in her heart for this class which would not silently abide incompetence forever.

When Hogwarts's clock tower rang out the top of the hour and the official start of class, the back door in the classroom flew open. Professor Quirrell strode out from within, his hands clasped behind his back and a firm look upon his face. He came to a stop in the centre of the classroom, where his eyes immediately landed upon Granger.

A few seconds passed in silence before Professor Quirrell smirked. "Well done, Ms Granger." The rumours were untrue, it seemed. Oh, the man had a stutter, certainly. No healer would recommend sending him back into the fray where a single error in pronunciation could spell death. But it wouldn't interfere with his daily life nor his ability to teach, especially if he'd mastered silent casting. "Inform the rest of the class what lesson your little speech yesterday morning inspired."

Without even having to think about it, Granger replied, "Never let the enemy get into your head. Metaphorically or literally."

"Correct. A point to Hufflepuff." With a casual wave of his wand, Professor Quirrell set chalk to board and wrote two words for clarity. "Occlumency. Legilimency. The art of protecting your mind and the art of penetrating others'. Neither are subjects which Hogwarts is currently permitted to teach in an official capacity. You can blame your parents for filling your heads full of family and state secrets for that. However, if any of you aspire to excel as Ms Granger has, you will find a trustworthy partner to practice both disciplines. The sooner you start, the more aptitude you will have for the arts when you're fully grown and the easier you will find them to learn."

An elbow prodded Daphne's side, and she silently acquiesced to Tracey's request. They were both decent occlumens, but they could be and would likely need to be better.

"Now then," Professor Quirrell continued. He paused briefly as his eyes scanned the gathered students. "Who can tell me why the latest dark lord to rise to national attention nearly won his war?"

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy's hand rose first. When called upon, he answered, "Because only Dumbledore could duel him, and he had the political and financial backing to succeed." It was a better answer than Daphne had expected, certainly, but it completely missed the point.

Indeed, Professor Quirrell replied, "Incorrect. While the Dark Lord was a formidable warrior, anyone can be brought down under the right circumstances."

Much of the room turned toward Potter, something both he and Professor Quirrell ignored.

"Moreover, while support from within the existing power structure is desirable, it is not necessary. I understand many of you are not familiar with muggle history, but I highly recommend you study their revolutions. Who would like to attempt an answer next?"

Daphne raised her hand and received the go-ahead to proceed.

"The Death Eaters were never a large organisation. They were well-funded and well-connected, true, but their numbers never exceeded the triple digits even counting their uninitiated supporters. While they made extensive use of the imperius curse to secure key positions, their long-term strategy largely focused on eroding resistance amongst the population through a sustained campaign of terror."

"Precisely," Professor Quirrell said, and he awarded Daphne a point for Slytherin. "The great failure of your parents' generation was the power over themselves they relinquished piece by piece to their enemy. Some joined him willingly. A few were imperiused. Others were coerced. Many simply had their spirits broken. And let me be clear on this point. Voldemort was everyone's enemy." The gasps went ignored. "He was no kinder to his allies than to his adversaries. Arguably, he treated those who stood against him with more respect than those who stood at his side. Often not for very long, mind, but such is the nature of war."

Daphne, eyes shining, couldn't be bothered listening to the scattered whispers in the classroom. This was a man who understood.

"No, it was not his knowledge nor ingenuity which made him dangerous. It was not his martial might which made him a living hazard. It was not his resources and allies which made him a threat. Deception was both his greatest talent and his strongest weapon. He made himself large than life in our minds. He sowed distrust amongst us and made us doubt our closest friends. He convinced his personal followers that their loyalty would someday be rewarded. All these things he did so that we would delude ourselves into believing him our lord and master."

Professor Quirrell paused there a few moments to allow his words to sink in.

"And now," he continued, "let us see who has been paying attention. Mr Potter, explain why you in particular should not trust me."

Daphne didn't need to look to hear the smirk in Potter's voice. "Because I know little about you other than that you clearly understand what I mean by common knowledge."

A small snort escaped Professor Quirrell. "Quite," he replied with a satisfied curl pulling at the corner of his lips. "And for those less mathematically inclined?"

"Well," Potter began, "you've clearly presented yourself as against You-Know-Who in front of some children who you might not want reporting that to their parents. However, I know nothing about you except that, which might be an easy way to gain my trust. On the other hand, you could be a double agent pretending to spy on me so that you might spy on him. But then why should I trust someone who betrays trust not under the direction of someone I trust? Shall I continue?"

With a shake of his head, Professor Quirrell said, "No, I believe you've underscored my point. Take a point for Slytherin." He turned then to address the entire class. "I do not argue that you should not trust, that it is wise to doubt everything and everyone. If you wish to take my words as a political statement, that is your prerogative. All I ask, as the man responsible for teaching you how to defend yourselves, is that you act with caution. Think clearly. Do not blind yourself to reality. Never let the enemy into your head." He spared a brief glance at Granger before adding, "Metaphorically or literally."

He spared little time for his students to absorb all that as he carried on with his introduction. "As new students, consider yourselves fortunate. We have little damage to undo, few lessons to unlearn. But we have only until the end of June to build within you a solid foundation in this subject to last you your entire lives. While this course will cover enough trivia to pass your worthless ministry exams, our primary focus will reside in how to subdue or evade actual threats."

And with that, Professor Quirrell clasped his hands behind his back once more. He stood tall and, without the slightest hint of a stutter for just these words, proclaimed, "Welcome to your first year in magical combat."


Daphne could barely resist the urge to dance as she departed the defence classroom with Tracey at her side. Defence against the dark arts had been more than she had ever dared dream of! They were going to learn how to actually defend themselves, not how to deal with minor pests and give off harmless sparks. Oh, if only she were older. The NEWT students would probably get to learn about logistics and operations, tactics and strategy, intelligence and counterintelligence. It would be glorious!

But she could content herself with introductory material. Professor Quirrell clearly intended to teach as much as he possibly could in the year he had available, and Granger's duelling club could not have arisen at a better time. The fresh competition would keep everyone motivated to plough through material both in class and outside of it while they had the rare good defence professor at their disposal.

"Someone has a crush," Tracey teased.

"I do not!" Daphne protested in perfect honesty. "A witch can admire a wizard without any infatuation involved."

That didn't stop Tracey from continuing to poke fun all the way to potions, however. Not that Daphne let it bother her. She'd get the last laugh when Tracey invariably fell into her–

Nope, not thinking about that.

Daphne internally recited Professor McGonagall's transfiguration safety rules to force the stark memory of some very private and terribly secret visions of Tracey's future from her mind. The last thing she needed right now was a visible blush to give the girl more fuel to tease her with.

Their potions lessons took place in the dungeons not too far from the entrance to their common room. Like Slytherin House itself, the classroom bore a slight chill. Various ingredients lined the walls in glass jars, clay pots, and metal bins. In one corner of the room, a stone gargoyle poured frigid water from its mouth into a basin. Few potions required cold water as a base, but it was marginally easier to warm a cauldron of water than freeze it. The dim lighting wasn't ideal for beginner brewers, but it certainly set the mood. Between that, the pungent mix of odours in the air, and the faint sound of bubbling cauldrons emanating from the adjoining room, it reminded her of her mother's research lab.

Daphne made a note to write home sometime soon.

In the classroom, each workstation had two stools tucked away beneath them but with equipment arrayed for individual use. Perhaps they would be working in pairs at some point in the future. Regardless, Daphne and Tracey found a free table, unpacked their small school cauldrons, and worked through the usual safety and sanitation checks before brewing.

Two rows up and a column to the left, Daphne idly observed Potter in conversation with his foster brother and some variety of cousin, Ronald Weasley. That was the sixth Weasley son, if Daphne recalled correctly. He looked somewhat uncomfortable around Potter, and from what little interaction between them she'd observed before their sorting, she could guess why that was.

Daphne snorted and drew Tracey's attention. At her friend's questioning hum, she nodded toward the pair up ahead. "A week of potions cleanup says Weasley has already written to his mum about the slimy snake in the family."

"No bet," Tracey replied. "But I'd wager that Potter brings him around before Samhain."

Daphne hummed as she considered that. The Weasleys had a certain reputation and, worse, were all Gryffindors. "All right," she said. "You've got a bet."

Shortly after the pair had recorded their friendly wager, the classroom door swung open with a dull thud and a shudder upon its hinges. Professor Snape stalked into the room from the corridor with his robes billowing out around him in a way that almost made him seem to glide rather than walk. Even if it came naturally, Daphne would admit to being impressed with her head of house. He made intimidation look easy. It wasn't really what she wanted in a professor nor in the professor primarily in charge of her welfare, but that didn't blind her to the man's actual talents.

No one needed to be instructed to find their seats. Everyone silently returned to their chosen tables – Potter, interestingly, sat beside Longbottom – while Professor Snape immediately launched into his introductory speech as he strode toward the front of the classroom.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making." With a wave of his mere hand, the door slammed shut. "However…" He paused for effect and meet each student's gaze for a brief moment as he continued, "–for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

Professor Snape fell at last upon Potter. "The illustrious Captain Granger's beau." If Potter was meant to take that as an insult, he clearly didn't. "I have been informed that your knowledge of this discipline is complementary with hers. What potion would you request she brew to treat someone suffering from doxy poisoning?"

"That would depend on the situation," Potter replied. "The aptly named antidote to common poisons would suffice for a mild case. It's cheap, effective, and easy to brew. For more severe symptoms, any muscle relaxant in addition would alleviate the accompanying spasms without adverse side effects. In an emergency, I would skip the potions altogether and have them swallow a bezoar."

Professor Snape's expression remained unreadable as he next asked, "And how would you treat a broken bone?"

"Trick question. In almost all cases, a specialised mending charm will do. Skele-Gro is only required when substantial, accelerated regrowth proves necessary."

"And for a strange case of difficult breathing and a laceration across the chest which won't close, both caused by a single unknown spell?"

That question gave Potter pause, although Daphne couldn't say why. She'd known the answer to the last two, and this one seemed similarly straightforward to those with an interest in healing. When one didn't know the cause, treating the symptoms rarely went wrong. It often even helped reveal the underlying problem, especially when it came to the nastier curses. Either way, it almost always kept the patient alive, which was the important part.

Eventually, Potter asked, "Am I to presume dittany is ineffective?"

Professor Snape nodded with an impassive expression.

"Then the two treatments I would normally prescribe individually would have an explosive potion interaction when mixed."

Daphne didn't bother to stop the momentary widening of her eyes.

Meanwhile, Potter rested his jaw atop his knuckles as he thought through the problem. "Ideally, I would call in a specialist. If that's not an option, I would treat the lungs first. A blood replenisher in an IV should sustain the patient for long enough to reassess the laceration later."

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow, and rightfully so. Potions had to be ingested. It was the act of drinking or, in some cases, eating which triggered their magic. Some could be turned into pastes or creams, but that was a cross-disciplinary subject with alchemy. That said, Daphne made a mental note that her head of house unexpectedly knew what an IV drip was.

In turn, Potter replied, "I am not unaware how touchy this community is on the subject of blood."

It took a few seconds for Daphne to realise that Potter had obliquely suggested a blood transfusion. Yes, that would certainly start an uproar. Were the muggles not ignorant of how dangerous it was to leave their blood lying around for anyone to steal in convenient little packages, she would think them all mad.

Not that it made Potter's idea a bad one for the hypothetical.

Professor Snape, surprisingly, seemed to agree, for he made no further mention of the subject. He gave no house points for the answers but said, "How very curious, Mr Potter, that you did not go to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. I wonder if it is your cunning or your ambition that led you to Slytherin." Coming from a man of his infamously surly nature, Daphne could only assume there was a very great compliment buried in those words.

More importantly, that observation raised a fundamental question. What exactly did Harry Potter want?


Today, thankfully, Daphne had managed to get a pleasant nap in without her inner eye disrupting her rest. She'd missed dinner, but she'd prepared for that and snagged some leftovers from lunch to eat later. And so, feeling both refreshed and sated, she left Slytherin behind and made her way to the library. If there was one solitary thing Potter and Granger had made clear to her in the brief few days they'd known one another, it was that knowledge was power.

That did leave her with a slight conundrum to sort out, however, as she browsed the shelves upon shelves of books, tomes, and volumes. What should she study? Or more fundamentally than that, what did she want out of life and what should she research to progress toward it? In asking herself what Potter wanted, she'd realised that she'd never really asked that of herself.

Obviously, she wanted to save the world. That went without saying. That wasn't about her, though. That was a necessary public service only she could effect no matter how small or large time required her actions to be.

She did want to remove the blood curse from her family. Every generation made the attempt. Her parents had once managed enough pull to call in the Flamels a couple years after Astoria's birth to try their hand at it once it'd become clear the curse intended to claim another victim. But even those two with their famous mastery of alchemy and its potent medicines had failed just like everyone before them. So it wasn't practical to dedicate her entire life to the project. She needed a hobby or a larger goal to tie that into.

There was always politics, she supposed. Not a particularly leisurely pursuit, but by simple virtue of being her father's eldest child, that would become an inescapable part of her life sooner or later. And someday she would inherit the family businesses as well, and her parents would almost certainly want her to take part in managing them when she came of age. That wasn't something to ignite her passion, though.

Romance and a family was also an option. If she lived long enough to have them, she knew they always brought her comfort. But neither would ever fully occupy her, especially since her potential future spouses and lovers were, to put it succinctly, not the type to idle at home in comfort.

On a related note, she readily admitted that she wasn't Gryffindor enough to enjoy the adventurous life of a professional curse breaker. She didn't think she wouldn't risk her life when it was actually important to do so, but curse breakers had one of the shortest life expectancies of any profession for a reason. While it might prove beneficial to study under one for a time, she would happily seek employment elsewhere.

In her musings, she bumped into a boy her age standing perfectly still. She stepped back, apologised for her inattention, and then noticed the book still open in his hands. She recognised it by the cover art alone as a primer on ritual magic. The rare few who did more than dabble, with the occasional exception, usually waited until years after graduation before delving into the notoriously complex subject. So who would…

A faint smile pulled at the corner of Daphne's lips. Maybe it was okay to just be a kid for now and take what opportunities she wished when they arose.

"Evening, Potter. Would you like to study together? You teach me healing, and I'll teach you rituals."


A/N: A Daphne chapter. The first year of Hogwarts is going to have to pull its weight building up the supporting cast. That said, I intend to move the first few years of Hogwarts along quickly, although knowing me, we'll see how well that actually goes.

P.S. If you read this chapter very carefully, you may be able to guess some things about Daphne and the world at large that even she isn't aware of.


Behold! A shameless self-promotion! I have a Patrreon account under the username Forthwith if you want to support my writing in general.