[3]

. . .

It took a while for Harry to be able to speak with Camille again. Although he saw her during their classes, she always blocked him out during Potions, choosing to remain professional but standoffish — their pairing being deemed by Snape as efficient, and so it was decided that the parterning system was proving to be a good thing for them at least — and he could never find her alone because Malfoy or Zabini would be hovering next to her and glaring at him like two unfriendly guard dogs.

He wasn't quite sure why he was so seemingly desperate to apologize to her in person — after all, he could always just send an awkwardly worded letter alongside a package of some sort. Hermione was fond of books and the occasional flower, and some of the other Gryffindor girls loved receiving little trinkets, so perhaps those would have worked, too? — but he nonetheless always kept it at the forefront of his mind. Unfortunately, with Hermione bringing up the idea to have other students learn Defense from him, and creating lessons plans for what they now called the DA, he had been unable to address the situation with Camille.

As the final DA session for the year came to a close, he found himself talking with Cho. He had always found her pretty, but she had been taken by Cedric — and he was certain she still loved him — and if Harry were to admit, he personally found brunettes cuter. That was why, when she shyly leant in for a kiss, he politely turned his head to the side, and her lips ended up landing on his smooth cheek instead. The unexpected movement surprised Cho into fluttering her eyes open, staring at him in bewilderment for a few seconds before she processed what she had done and paled.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, I—"

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. "It's... okay, Cho. You were just..."

"...yeah," Cho said with a hint of disappointment on her face, but whether it was directed at herself for her actions or at him for not reciprocating the way she expected, he wouldn't know. "I'm sorry again, Harry. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Cho," he said back, relieved when she had finally left the room.

After packing up, he too made his way out, traversing the winding staircases when a figure almost darted past him. He fumbled in his footsteps, and the figure reached out to steady him.

"I apologize, I— oh..."

Harry looked up to see Camille Diggory gazing at him with surprise and a bit of discomfort, averting her eyes and releasing her hands that had rested on his shoulders when she made to catch him. His eyes subconsciously flickered to her pale, unmarred hands, briefly wondering what it would be like to hold them, but—

His eyes narrowed suddenly, honing in on specks of blood as he gently grasped her right hand, causing her eyes to flicker in alarm.

"Potter, let go—"

"She made you do lines?" he hissed, grasp tightening ever so slightly as he read the words that still soaked with fresh red liquid: 'I will respect my betters'.

"It's nothing, Potter," she said, but he ignored her flimsy excuse in favor of leading her to the Gryffindor Common Room, continuing to play deaf to her protests. And why, for he love of Merlin, was she letting herself follow him anyways? She had feet. She could easily just turn around and go, so why was she also content with letting him be? "Potter, I don't know what you're planning, but I'm not supposed to be here—"

"Please wait for me here. I'll be back real quick, okay?" he asked her hurriedly, only dashing inside when she gave a hesitant nod. He left her outside, in front of the Fat Lady, who eyed her silver and green scarf with distrust.

Camille was honestly quite perplexed, and a little worried, because she could never let tonight's detention reach her father's ears. What use was his high-ranking position in the Ministry when Fudge himself was backing Umbridge? Any retaliation could already jeopardize his safety and his career. Besides, she glanced at her bloody hand, it's just a scar. It'll fade in time.

After a minute passed, she began to shift on her feet, feeling uncertain about whether or not she should still be waiting. Why had she even followed Potter here? Had she been do disturbed by Umbridge's idea of a fair, well-earned detention that her subconscious had been affected enough to the point of following a Gryffindor without first clarifying his motives? And why was she still listening to him and standing here?

Mind made up, she turned to leave, but that was when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open once more, revealing Potter, who looked quite relieved to see her still standing there, and a jar of what looked like—

"Murtlap Essence," he stated as he twisted the lid open and hesitantly added, "I was told it can... help with the scarring. May I?"

Camille blinked at the surprising request. He brought her here to help her? And not get her in trouble, or to pull a prank on her? Given how she had offended him in Potions, she half-expected some sort of retaliation, if she were to be perfectly honest. "...You may."

He asked her to settle down on one of the steps of the staircase, and while normally she would have wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of sitting on a place where hundreds of shoes have stepped on, she sat down right next to him anyways as he gently placed the ointment on top of the fresh, slowly-healing wound.

She hissed at both the cooling effect of the essence and at the sting it gave as it came in contact with the open wound. Potter's automatic reaction was to blow on it, lessening the pain, and this should have had her blushing on the spot with how gentle and caring he was being with her, but she was able to push these aside because she first needed to know: "What are your intentions, Potter?"

It was his turn to look confused. "Huh?"

She used her free hand to gesture to the one that was still tightly enclosed in his. "The Murtlap. It would have been difficult to order with her screening everyone's mail, or to brew if you tried it here. And yet, you're giving me some of your stock for free. What's the catch?"

"Catch?" he sputtered. "There's no catch, honest! You just... you don't deserve this and if I could help out a little..."

At this, Camille bowed her head slightly in thanks. "It appears I've misjudged you, Potter. You're very noble. No wonder you're a Gryffindor."

"What do you mean?"

"Draco's rants about you in the common room are quite notorious, and happen too often for my liking," she explained with a bit of a chuckle, "but they do paint quite the picture. I suppose I've been operating on a biased perspective, and for that I apologize. I had assumed you bringing me here was going to be a prank of some sort, and I was about to leave before you came back."

"I wouldn't prank you," he said firmly, "but... thank you. For saying sorry. It's weird I feel a bit better after hearing that. Not that I was mad at you in the first place, or about your assumption! I understand the whole Hogwarts population seems to have easily shifting opinions when it comes to me, so they either decide to hate me or cheer for me, you know? It's getting really tiring, and for you to see past that bias anyways and still treat me normally... it's refreshing, so thank you."

"It's not something you should thank me for," Camille hummed. "It's basic decency."

"Something others could hopefully emulate," he grinned.

She glanced at him and saw innocent emerald eyes gazing back at her. It was almost cruel to think about how much pressure was being placed on him. She smiled in return. "Hopefully."

"You know," he started, "I'm aware Slytherin has a lot of schemes behind, well, everything, but I'm not a Slytherin. So what I'm saying is, you won't ever have to consider that whenever I talk to you. I genuinely want to get to know you, Camille."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

They had never had a reason to talk to each other before. Her brother could have been that connection, but whatever spark it may have began had quickly fizzled out upon his death. She and Harry Potter were meant to be acquaintances at best, so she could not, for the life of her, understand him.

"Why not?"

"It can't be that simple."

It never is.

"It can be," he smiled at her, teeth peeking out from under his pale lips as he did so before he frowned. "About Potions—"

"No, I apologize for assuming," she said bashfully.

He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. There are a lot of things about the Wizarding world that I'm still unware of, and I completely misunderstood what you were trying to say. I guess I have some bias in me, too, huh? So, I asked about what you meant and turns out I really was a fool. Thankfully, I'll have a new potions kit by tomorrow morning to fix that problem."

"Why would you be unaware?" she asked hesitantly, unsure if she was broaching a sensitive topic or not.

"I grew up with Muggles," was his instant, indifferent reply, but she could see resentment swimming in his green eyes. There was likely a lot to unpack, but she wouldn't pry unless he told her himself.

He noticed her eyes widen with curiosity at his reply, and he titled his head to the side as he thought. She ignored how he looked like a cute puppy when he did so. "I'm surprised you didn't know. I figured, since people somehow always knew stuff about me that I didn't..."

"I can't speak for the others but Slytherin House has always been under the assumption that you knew, that you grew up here but were either undergoing training or you simply went into hiding," Camille bit the inside of her cheek as she processed the new information. "It's why Draco's disliked you ever since."

"Malfoy? What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not my story to tell, but I can say this: the Malfoys and the Potters had an alliance established ever since the fifteenth century, but this alliance had only been broken once by your father during wartime. I... sorry, this is really something Draco should be explaining to you."

"My family and his?" he looked so bewildered. "But, he's him, and I'm me. If his family has the same attitudes and beliefs that he does, why would my family ally with theirs?"

"Ask him," Camille said stubbornly, aware of the eyes and ears of the portraits. Fortunately, everything near them was asleep, save for the Fat Lady who was thankfully practicing her singing somewhere in a farm field. Cursing herself for her lack of foresight, she wordlessly put up a simple privacy charm.

"He wouldn't talk to me," Harry sighed. "You realize he insults me every time he sees me? And not to mention, when I first met him, he was being rude to Ron. Ron was my first friend, so I wasn't going to let that slide."

"Draco's always been rude, though that's not an excuse for his behavior," she acknowledged, "but... trust me when I say he only targets you because of the broken relations. Now, though, there's an explanation on your end, so I know it'll go well if you talk it out."

"And what, we'll suddenly be best buddies? His father works for Vol—"

"I'm not saying you'll like each other immediately, but... it certainly sets perspective. And please, don't say his name. I realize calling him 'the Dark Lord' is associated with being his followers, but it's much better than the alternative."

"It's just a name, though?"

"That name was a taboo," she explained gently. "Saying that name was already signalling Death Eaters to your location. It helped draw out the rebels and Dumbledore's supporters during the war."

"I've been saying it all along—" he paled slightly in realization, tightening his grasp on her hand, causing her to flinch when he collided with an open wound. "Shite, sorry." He gently blew on the wound again, and Camille finally allowed her cheeks to erupt into red.

She hastily looked away from the oblivious boy. "So... you really believe he's back?"

"Don't you?" he asked, tone hardening slightly in defense.

She gazed back into his conflicted eyes. "Look, I don't think a Dark Creature sent a Killing Curse to my brother. I've seen the medical reports and they all say it was a Killing Curse that did him in. However, I'd rather not consider the fact that the Dark Lord personally... I'd prefer to believe Death Eaters sent the curse at him, not because I don't believe you, but because if I say I do, I'm acknowledging that we'll likely be at war soon enough. And I don't want that."

"...okay. That's fair. Thank you for not calling me a liar."

"The ones who say you are are either living with rose-tinted glasses or are too confident in Dumbledore."

Harry would have pressed her for an explanation, especially with that jab at Dumbledore, but her eyes were slowly fluttering shut and only willpwoer was keeping her awake. "Sorry, it's late. I'm sorry for keeping you. I'll walk you back."

"I don't think I should be leading you to my Common Room, though I appreciate the offer."

"Actually, I've already been there," he smirked before realizing what he had just admitted. Camille seemed to have found it amusing, though.

"Story for another time, I suppose?" she chuckled, before trusting in him and allowing him to walk her down to the dungeons.

The next day, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl swooped in. It was very noticeable for its size and how even its feathers screamed high quality, and it was even more noticeable when it first made its way to the Gryffindor table. Curious eyes followed it as it dropped a package into Harry's lap before circling back towards Slytherin. A handful of Slytherins and Gryffindors, and a few observant Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, were curious about what they had just witnessed, moreso Ron and Hermione, so when Harry opened it to reveal a book and a fancy white card, most lost interest quickly.

"If that's from Malfoy, are you sure it's not cursed?" Ron asked.

"Rude!" Hermione scolded him but made no move to disregard the possibility.

Harry checked the card first and saw that it said: 'Thank you for last night, Potter. I'm open to meeting again to find out what you meant about your not-so-first-time-travels. -C". He held in a snort before he shrugged towards his friends. "It's from Camille. Not Malfoy." He then turned his attention to the book, which was titled 'A History of and Guide to Pureblood Culture'.

"Camille?" Hermione repeated curiously.

"Camille Diggory?" Ron's eyes widened in surprise. The surname made Harry flinch, causing Ron to send him an apologetic look.

Hermione leaned over to check the title. "Pureblood Culture?"

"I'm apparently behind on a lot of things, so she's helping me catch up."

"Since when are you two close?" Ron with mild suspicion.

"A while? We've talked a bit."

At that, he leaned back to scan the Slytherin table, smiling at Parkinson's failed attempts at flirting with Malfoy and focusing on Camille, who sat next to guard dog #1, Malfoy, as she ate her meal. Her eyes flickered up and she caught his gaze, sending him a smile.

He grinned back at her, heart thumping a little faster, and Hermione, who had been watching the exchange, felt amused.

Personally, Hermione had nothing against Slytherins. Sure, majority of them were prats who would insult her for her lineage, or lack thereof, but there were decent Slytherins. She knew that, and she knew that despite the girl's friendship with Draco Malfoy, Camille Diggory was a decent person, too.

So, if Camille Diggory was the reason why Harry felt much better lately, then Hermione saw no reason to voice out any concerns, or to have any in the first place.

A warning glance at Ron made him shut up before he could begin his protests and once again, insist that all Slytherins were bad.

Really, Hermione wished he'd grow up a little.

A/N: Hope everyone's been doing well! I spent the past few days trying to teach myself finance but I'm still struggling with all the numbers.

Thank you so, so much for all the favorites and follows, and thank you James Birdsong for your review. I hope this chapter is to your liking as well!