"Let them call us whatever they wish. I have no care for the opinions of men so content with the mortality of their loved ones. I will not watch you die, Perenelle. If I have to become a monster in the process, then so be it. Damnation is a price I'm willing to pay." -Nicolas Flamel to his wife while he experimented on humans. July, 1353.
Chapter 12:
There was no shortage of people wandering the corridors of Hogwarts when the moon took centerstage in the night sky. In spite of the curfew meant to curtail rendezvous under the starry expanse, many students, teachers, ghosts, and other odd beings made a habit of venturing out into the darkened corridors once the sun had set. Some students sought the company of their lovers from other houses, some simply wished to see what they could find, others still went to quiet alcoves they'd carved out and made their own. Hogwarts was an enormous castle, there was simply no way for the teachers and prefects to monitor all of it, and so they didn't even bother. The main throughways were patrolled for the first few hours of the evening, but after that it was simply a matter of avoiding Argus Filch and the series of paintings he'd recruited to aid his cause. The old man had no access to magic, but there was no denying that he knew how to navigate the ancient maze of corridors and secret passageways better than most; the corridors he could access, at least.
The thought of running into a wandless squib was of no concern to Quirinus Quirrell as he confidently strode toward the principal entrance to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. Most of the portraits decorating the walls were sound asleep, but even those few that were awake had their eyes slide right past the professor without recognition or awareness. A useful charm meant to aid one in going unnoticed; when combined with a simple silencing charm on the soles of his feet to ensure they would not hear him as he walked upon the stone floor he might as well have been invisible.
In any other circumstance he would have utilized a disillusionment charm, but Quirrell wasn't overly fond of the visual distortions to one's eyesight that naturally accompanied the spell, especially not when he was keeping his eyes peeled for the subtle visual traces of magical wards and enchantments. Dumbledore had shared detailed plans on the defensive measures he had in place for the Stone, not including the individual trials designed by the Hogwarts staff, but Quirrell had the nagging suspicion that the wizened Headmaster hadn't shared everything. The part of his mind that was still his own rejoiced at that fact, but the rest of him, the parts that were no longer under his control, felt only a grim sense of determination.
There was a cruel irony to being aware of one's own possession. Quirrell could feel how his mind was not entirely his own, yet he knew full and well what sides were not his. It was akin to the Imperius curse only even more insidious. Quirrell had experienced the dreaded unforgivable curse more than once in his life, and each time there was at least the ability to fight back, an opportunity to try and resist the command as the spell took hold… but possession was something more; complete and utter subversion of the free will every sentient being enjoyed. There was nothing Quirrell would rather do more than run into Dumbldore's office and tell him everything. Share with him that Voldemort was still alive, that he was after the Stone, and that Quirrell himself was his unwilling pawn, but he could not do so. There wasn't even a choice to be made.
Quirrell knew that the odds of him being stopped were slim. Voldemort had not just gotten lucky in choosing to possess him, he'd hit the damned jackpot. He was an expert in multiple fields of study, an accomplished combatant, and worst of all, an individual who had the trust of Albus Dumbledore. For over six years Quirrell had worked at Hogwarts as the Muggle Studies professor. In that time, he'd been a friend to the rest of the staff and had never given them even the slightest reason to distrust him. Without that history he would have never been hired for his position, not when the headmaster was trying to bait a thief into capture. An inaudible snarl escaped Quirrell's throat as he strode past a set of wards that he'd already been keyed into. Dumbledore had prepared for all the possible variables of each potential outcome; he'd considered every single detail except that one of his own longstanding teachers would be a traitor.
The access granted to him by his status as a professor was unrivaled; allowing him to simply ignore the majority of observation and detection measures that had been put into place. In the confines of his mind, Quirrell raged. He raged at Voldemort for being a psychopathic monster capable of possession; he raged at Dumbledore for not realizing that he'd hired a possessed man doomed to die… but most of all he raged against himself. Against his own stupidity and the harm that would come from it. Every moment that he spent aiding the disembodied soul that was Lord Voldemort was another moment that Quirrell cursed himself for ever daring into those damned woods. In his foolish arrogance he had believed that on his lonesome he would be able to handle the magic that had set a plague over the forest in Albania.
The price of his idiocy would be his life.
Quirrell was far from an expert on possession, the esoteric field was both incredibly dark and difficult to study given the infrequency in which it occurred; but everyone aware of it knew that possession never ended well for the one who was possessed. Muggles believed that exorcisms were rituals that would free the possessed from their torment by safely casting out the evil spirit… if only muggle mythology were more accurate. It was true that exorcisms removed the malignant spirit from their hostage, but the price was always the life of the possessed. Always.
Even the desperate side of Quirrell that craved a method by which he could stay among the living didn't even consider the eventuality that Voldemort would let him live when all was said and done. The Dark Lord had been known for many, many things, mercy was not one of them. That was not even factoring in the very clear insanity that gripped Voldemort's mind in a vice. When Dreaming, even Quirrell's own thoughts betrayed him, an utterly humiliating circumstance but at least when he was awake clarity of thought remained in his control. The Dark Lord was insane. Most would say that was an obvious conclusion to reach given the actions he had taken during the war, but Quirrell disagreed. Voldemort was unquestionably evil, wicked, cruel, and narcissistic, but he was also calculating, cunning, and a genius on par with Dumbledore. The shade of a man that Quirrell spoke to in his Dreams possessed all of the attributes you would expect of the Dark Lord, but there were moments, brief flashes of illumination that betrayed how fractured his mind truly was.
All of the British Isles had suffered during Voldemort's war of terror, but if nothing else he had been canny enough to not needlessly alienate his potential allies and lay waste to the cultural heart of the land he wished to conquer… every just minded individual wished for his downfall, but the sad reality was that for most half-bloods and purebloods, staying out of his way was a path of relative safety. But the malignant spirit that now resided in Quirrell's body had whispered to him that the methods of the past would not suffice upon his return. Passively watching from the sidelines would not be an option. Every man, woman, and child would either serve him or perish. Such a future would lead to naught but ruin… And it will all be my fault.
Quirrell came to an abrupt halt in the darkened corridor, exactly 15 feet away from the door that he knew would lead to the first trial. The nature of the trial itself remained a mystery to him, he dared not peak inside just yet, not until he'd subtly disabled or keyed himself into the dozens of wards and alarms that had been layered into the simple wooden door. A herculean task to be sure, but to his chagrin, he had plenty of time.
The Defense professor knelt to the ground and slowly traced his hand over the stone brick of the wall immediately perpendicular to the floor. A moment later his wand was in his hand, a whisper of a spell upon his lips. "Formistrare." An unseen magical surge swept from the tip of his wand into the stone brick. The magic that permeated every single aspect of Hogwarts meant that the castle wasn't completely immutable to change, but in a way, it was resistant, especially dependent on what exactly one was looking to achieve. Quirrell had to check to make sure his plan would work in this area of the castle. In a similar vein, he had to make sure the many wards that crisscrossed Hogwarts in a normal year didn't have a direct anchor to his location as that would render it impossible for him to use spatial magic there without tipping Dumbledore off. There was a pervasive myth among the public that the Hogwarts' wards gave the Headmaster or Headmistress omniscient awareness inside the castle, but Quirrell knew that to be false. The ancient wards protected Hogwarts from unwanted intrusion, and other wards crisscrossing the grounds and castle could be activated for further defensive measures, but that was all. Hogwarts was not Gringotts, and anyone who assumed otherwise was a fool.
The Philosopher's Stone's placement inside the school wasn't meant to be the ultimate defense, it was bait. Dumbledore wanted someone to attempt to steal and be caught by him in the process. It was a twisted plan, placing an artifact of unimaginable power within the reach of children to bait a thief; but at the very least Quirrell could appreciate that if the thief were anyone but himself, it would have likely worked.
"This area will suffice," Quirrell murmured quietly before repositioning his wand against the stone. "Scalpere." Immediately a small slice was cut into the stone, thin enough to be easily mistaken as simply another natural crack that were common in the aged castle. The even more precise variation of Diffindo had served its purpose well. "Now, for the difficult part." Quirrell reached into his pocket and procured a small, green medallion on which a single four-leaf clover resided. The small, magical artifact was a creation of a particular race of fairies that had a knack for enchantment. Fortunately, its original artificers had designed the artifact with humans as a potential user in mind. The process of designing and implementing a runic array to make the artifact safe for him to use would have been possible but extraordinarily complicated and time consuming.
With a deep breath Quirrell began to channel a small stream of magic into the artifact while slowly rotating it in his hands three times over. After exactly 37 seconds, of which Quirrell had counted perfectly in his head, he felt his perspective of the world begin to shift. The empty sconce on the wall, once at just above eye level was now far, far beyond his reach. The heavily warded door that had previously stood only a few steps away now felt like it was separated from him by miles. The Defense professor normally stood at a height just below six feet, but now he was less than the height of a single millimeter. The change in perspective was jarring but not completely foreign. Quirrell had made a point to test the efficacy of the artifact prior to entering Hogwarts and had in the process become rather familiar with the differing view of reality. It was almost humbling to be confronted with a perspective of the world that so greatly differed from one's norm. Dust bunnies that were once trampled underfoot became a great hurdle to be avoided. Insects that crawled unnoticed along the ground became might predators. The insignificant crack that Quirrell had made into the stone brick just minutes prior morphed into a great fissure he could fall into. Which was exactly its purpose.
There were plenty of spells and potions that could allow one to grow or shrink, but none save the artifact he had acquired scaled down every single aspect of an individual and all that was in their possession. Even his own magic was ratioed to match. Size was regularly mutable via magic, but no potion or spell would adjust your spatial existence within the universe.
Jumping down in the crevice of his own creation, Quirrell directed his wand towards the roughshod stone within the crack. "Terraeforma," he murmured before the once solid rock began to shift and move, an ever-deepening hole wide enough for Quirrell to fit into left in its wake. Satisfied with its depth at five times his diminutive height, the professor waved his wand over his own head. "Labatur." The instant the spell took hold he leapt into the manmade chasm, gently floating downward until his feet were planted upon solid ground. A small globe of light sprung into existence over his shoulder before he cast the same spell again and began to shift the stone to form a passageway inward as opposed to a vertical descent.
On and on the tunnel went, the process of its creation was extraordinarily simple, all it took was time and the occasional vanishing spell to remove excess stone. At the end of the passage, he formed a rectangular room to a very specific set of dimensions; even taking the time to carefully craft a thick, stone door capable of sliding open or closed after casting Terrafigurae.
"Tradembrare,", Quirrell intoned, a faint green glow emanating from the tip of his wand as he slowly traced it along all the edges of the room, a shimmering green line left behind wherever his wand made contact. When the final line was connected, the magic confirmed the perfect symmetrical shape of the room as a shimmering green grid automatically fell into place.
From his pouch, Quirrell removed a scroll of parchment on which a blueprint for a rectangular room resided. Scrawled upon the page were dozens and dozens of interlocked runic arrays, arranged in a very specific sequence and shape. The possessed professor sighed forlornly. While competent in the application of runes, Quirrell had never considered a field that he was an expert in despite having secured a NEWT in the subject. Voldemort, on the other hand, was a master at runes, and these arrays were of his design. There was zero doubt in his mind that it would function perfectly.
The blueprint was placed in the exact center of the room on the ground, with the designs face-up and exposed to the air. "Lumos Proiecur," Quirrell said, tapping his wand upon the parchment as a projection of the runic arrays sprung onto the walls. "Merlin, this is too easy."
Hours passed as Quirrell etched hundreds of runes into the walls, floor, and ceiling of the stone chamber. His possessed body did not allow him to be anything less than careful and meticulous. An additional surge of regret washed over the man, mixing in with the perpetual anger. If he messed up the design of even one of the runes, then the whole sequence of arrays was likely to collapse in a violent fashion once activated… but his dreams of suicide were not to be. As an unwilling pawn, he was woefully competent.
In the heart of the entire array Quirrell placed a second medallion, almost exactly akin to the green artifact he'd use to shrink himself, except this one was crimson in color. "Damn Minish were too clever for their own good…" A single flare of his magic into the crimson artifact was all it took before the entire room pulsed with magic, and the entire room expanded. Spatial manipulation was a regular aspect of many charms and runic arrays, but the degree to which Quirrell watched the miniscule stone room grow in size was incredible. Without the artifact it wouldn't have been possible, not without spending weeks if not months powering the runes without overpowering them. The minutia of runes is what made their application such a complex subject, but Voldemort had conceived of a way to bypass some of their commonly perceived limitations. "Damn him."
Situated within the stone brick of the floor, Quirrell stood in a chamber the size of his classroom. Activating the initial green artifact once more, the Defense professor rose back up to his normal height and nodded in satisfaction. Well within range of the first layer of wards over the trials; hidden in plain sight but practically undetectable unless you were specifically looking for it. This room would serve as a perfect staging ground for the rest of his efforts to steal the Stone.
Not even the ghosts would be able to accidentally stumble upon his hidden abode thanks to the combination of ghost-repellant and notice-me-not runes tied into the various arrays. The flagrant breach of security would exist right under the staffs' noses, and no one would be the wiser until it was too late. Quirrell was still operating on the schedule his unwilling parasite had established for him; and even though circumnavigating the wards established by Albus Dumbledore was no easy task, he was confident that he would accomplish his tasks with time to spare.
A few quick applications of the green artifact and Quirrell was back in the corridor, standing at normal height, with the charms to disguise his movements back in place. He took a moment to vanish any errant stone or dust that had gathered on his clothing. Even though no one would see him during his return journey to his chambers, his own personal sense of decorum demanded cleanliness.
Quirrell had not even exited the third-floor corridor when the unmistakable din of teenagers reached his ears. A small smile quirked at his lips at the timing of their intrusion. If he hadn't planned ahead to hide in the stonework, the students could have presented a very real threat to his ability to see his task through.
"I assure you, friends, our destination is down this way," a male voice declared, faux confidence laced in their tone. Quirrell had spent too many years away from the castle to have any clue who the student was based on voice alone.
"Oh, come off it, already, MacBride," a second male voice interjected. "Why do you even want to see what's here anyway? Does the idea of a painful death get you that hard, or what?"
Trust a teenager to turn every statement uttered in their vicinity into a sexual reference. Quirrell had been the same way in ages long past though, so he did not judge the lad for behaving in such a fashion.
"Matty, I had no idea you were into such things…" A third, feminine voice joined in on the teasing, the playful lilt in their tone obvious to all.
"Oi, I'll have you know I'm into most things, for all I know death could be among them," the now identified Matthew MacBride said, his words utterly devoid of shame. "I assure you though, death is not on my to do list for the year, so I'm thinking we're going to be just fine." Quirrell had yet to teach the boisterous, 5th year Hufflepuff personally, but the brief snippet of conversation he had heard aligned perfectly with the profile the school had assembled on the lad. Average grades, startingly daring behavior for a member of his House, jovial and personable individual.
A loud sigh followed MacBride's assertion. "I don't know where you get your confidence from, mate, but that's really not how the world works," the second male voice said.
"I'm with Glyn, Matty," the lone female joined back into the discussion. "Unless you're carrying around a few bottles of Felix Felicis somewhere in those clothes, then I don't think we can count on the world just making things work in our favor."
"Oh, Delilah," now within eyeshot of the teens, Quirrell could see MacBride theatrically bowing before the named Delilah. "You wound me with your lack of faith. Even without such vaunted elixirs, I think we'll do just fine on our own."
Quirrell's estimation of this group of students' capabilities that much more with their mention of the Felix Felicis. Every single brewer of note in the world agreed that it ranked among the most complicated potions to create. He felt some measure of surprise that a group of 5th years were even aware of its existence to the point of referencing it in casual conversation. On the other hand, their ability to stealth their way into restricted corridors left a lot to be desired.
"Isn't that what you said when we were trying to track down that supposed hot spring in the Forbidden Forest?" Glyn asked dubiously, a single eyebrow quirking upwards.
Were he in complete control of his actions, Quirrell would have dedicated the better part of his next few weeks seeking to verify the truth value of such a rumor. The hot springs he had the pleasure of visiting in Iceland ranked among his favorite ways to relax after a long, stressful day.
"I still haven't forgiven you for that load of bullshit, Matty," Delilah pouted, crossing her arms in a display of seemingly genuine annoyance.
"Hey now, in my defense, I told you both from the beginning that it was just a rumor!"
Delilah scoffed indignantly as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no, you spent that entire week talking about how you'd heard all about a mysterious hot spring that only appeared under the full moon; and that we just haaad to check it out… do you know how excited I was for that?"
MacBride laughed boisterously, a flagrant display of disrespect to the school rules that the party of three were actively violating. "I did say I was sorry. That counts for something, right?" His lively tone a clear indicator that he was not worried about her reply.
"Buy me a box of chocolates from Honeydukes our first Hogsmeade weekend and I might forgive you," the girl impishly replied.
Glyn audibly groaned, both of his companions turning toward him. "You have the most boring taste imaginable."
"What's wrong with a box of chocolates?"
"It's Honeydukes! They have a million and four different types of candy, half of them alcoholic, and all you want is a plain box of chocolates!" Glyn dramatically threw his arms in the air before pointing at Delilah. "You have MacBride eating out of the palm of your hand and all you want is some plain old chocolate that I could find at any Tesco. It's shameful."
Quirrell had never seen anyone quite so passionate about candy before. He almost envied the boy that his greatest concern in life was the type of sweets he would consume. The begrudgingly impressed evaluation he'd had of the teens due to their awareness of obscure topics dropped marginally the longer they were in his presence. Once upon a time Quirrell would have found the casual, lackadaisical attitude of the students charming, but those days had passed. Though it was against his will, he had been forever changed.
"Wait, is Tesco that muggle place you took us to last year?" MacBride asked, a nod from Glyn his only reply. "Their candy was no where near the quality of Honeydukes. Horrible comparison."
As the three descended into further debate over the superiority of their chosen sweets, their quest to find the dangerous portion of this corridor temporarily abandoned, Quirrell decided he'd lingered long enough. He wasn't set to patrol any of the corridors this evening, so revealing his presence to the three students in order to punish them for breaking curfew was not even considered. Given the noise they were making and the utter lack of concealment charms, Quirrell had little doubt that someone of authority was going to catch them sooner rather than later.
As he wondered the halls back towards his residential quarters, his mind could not help but ruminate on the horrific things he had already done and those he had yet to do. Before coming to Hogwarts, he had ruined lives beyond the point of return. He'd made victims of those who believed him to the same man they'd known for years. The horror he had let loose into the world was already beyond his purview and nothing could change that.
There was a good chance that one of the students he'd just passed, Glyn, was a muggle-born. Glyn would die under the Dark Lord's reign. If his friends tried to protect him, then they would die too. Glyn, Matthew, and Delilah. The sane portion of his mind repeated their names almost like a mantra. Just a group of dumb, innocent students in their early twenties, enjoying life to the fullest…
Unbiddenly, the visage of their corpses was conjured within his mind. Twisted limbs, misshapen and discolored, their organs spilling out of their stomach as blood pooled beneath them. People feared the Unforgivable curses, but most of Voldemort's followers were not even capable of casting such spells, let alone multiple times in quick succession. Few of Voldemort's victims died quick, painless deaths. No, instead they found their bodies wrought by the most foul, malignant curses that mankind had been able to create. Curses that made a mockery of all that was good and decent in the world in the name of causing their target to suffer in the lead up to their death.
Possession was such an esoteric branch of magic that he honestly wasn't sure how the world would look at him when all was said and done. Would he be a viewed as an unfortunate victim? A hapless soul lured by faux promises of greatness? Or a willing pawn of a deranged madman? A malignant scoff escaped Quirrell's lips. The answer honestly didn't even fucking matter. Dead men did not have the luxury to care about perception.
OoooOoooO
"You're late, Parvati. Where were you?"
"Oh, you know how it goes. One minute you're walking back to the dorms and the next, a boy is taking you by the hand and pulling you into his bedroom."
"Harry again, I take it. Is that the sixth time you two have hooked up now? Seventh?"
"Something like that? I honestly stopped keeping track."
"And knowing you, you have no plans to actually date him and see where it goes, right?"
"Pass. He's hot and good in bed, that's enough to satisfy me right now."
"Not boyfriend material then?"
"I wouldn't necessarily go that far, that's just not what either of us are looking for."
"Hmmm."
"Ohhh? Are you thinking of asking him out, Pads?"
"Does Harry really seem like the kind of guy I'd date?"
"I wouldn't dare to presume."
"Well, he's not."
"Are you sure? Like I said, the sex is good, and I know you think he's cute."
"I have this habit of wanting some emotional attachment to accompany my sex, thank you."
"Ugh, fine… I won't pressure you anymore about it. You can save yourself for your one true love you meet reading textbooks in the library."
"Way to jump from one end of the spectrum all the way to the other. No, really, it lends tons of credence to your intellectual prowess."
"Am I wrong?"
"Of course you are. Just how boring do you think Ravenclaws are?"
"More boring than Gryffindors, that's for sure. Which is why you have an open invite from me to the next party we throw. I'm pretty sure there's one planned for the weekend before Halloween."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Huh. Okay. As long as you don't try and hook me up with Harry, I'll come."
"Wow, you really hate him, huh?"
"Not at all! He's just not my type for that kind of thing."
"Well, don't worry about that, there are plenty of boys besides Harry."
"Such as?"
"I know I've mentioned Dean to you. Then there's Daniel, of course, though you might have to fight Rose for him. She's already gotten pretty clingy, though I think that's more one-sided."
"I've only spoken to Daniel Potter twice, and both times for less than a minute. Why would I fight for him?"
"Cause he's cute?"
"Pass."
"Okay, okay… Well, like I said, there's Dean – damn that boy is fine. Nev is cute. Miles. Edwin. Ron. Cormac. The list goes on and on."
"That many? Even for your standards?"
"Even for my standards. I told you I loved my House."
"Hmmm…"
"So, you'll come to the next House party, right? Because I already went to the trouble of talking to the Prefects to make sure that was allowed."
"I'll come, but you better not expect me to jump into bed with any of them."
"It's a party, Pads, you're allowed to talk to people without losing your clothes. I mean, that's not my preferred method but it's not like every Gryff is exactly like me."
"With the stories I've heard, I find that hard to believe."
OoooOoooO
Harry Evans reached up a hand to rub his weary eyes as he snapped another book closed. "No mention of him here either." Despite what he had hoped, the 12th century edition of 'Great Wizards and Witches did not reference Elan Morin Tedronai in anyway, nor had any of the subsequent volumes. Harry's curiosity about the mysterious author that Tom referenced had grown rather rapidly the more time he spent in Hogwarts.
The students were about to enter their fifth week of term, and in that time a sense of normalcy had settled over the castle. There were still wondrous things going on each and every day, but the initial excitement had passed. Harry was rather confident in his belief that he ranked among the top ten students in his year on both the practical and theoretical aspects of magic. Casting spells was just too damn easy for him. Even students whom he had barely interacted with had taken note of how little practice was required of him in order to cast the spells covered in their curriculum. It was that very ease that afforded him the time to be able to put a bit more effort into the theoretical aspects of their studies and find purchase among the top students there as well. Harry knew he was intelligent, but he wasn't quite on Hermione's level, and nor did he have the prior years of study that many from magical families had granted their kids. The extra work he was putting in to read about the theoretical material was allowing him to catch up though, slowly but surely.
Magic was absolutely fascinating to study, but almost in spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was more to magic than what most of the magical world understood. The conversation he had with Tom kept coming to mind. Harry had no illusions that he would be capable of the things Tom did anytime soon, he was only five weeks into his first year after all, but the mysterious man had recommended the teen do two things: Explore Hogwarts, and read 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai.
The unnerving reaction of the woman working in Flourish and Blotts had taught him not to ask just anybody about the book itself, but he figured looking up the individual in question wouldn't be a bad place to start. Given the title of the book, Harry believed he had to have been a magical philosopher, but he could've been involved in numerous other fields as well; hell, the possibility of him being an evil madman was even on the table. Regardless of who he'd been and what he'd done in life, he had to have been great enough to be mentioned in history books, but so far as he had found, the mysterious author's name hadn't even been referenced. Harry tried not to get dispirited given that he had scarcely even scratched the surface of the historical section in Hogwarts' vast library, but it was frustrating to already have sunk hours of work into a project and see absolutely zero results. Tom had given him one hell of a project, that was for sure.
While it was unfortunate to make no headway on his specific task, Harry didn't consider scouring the historic tomes to be a completely wasted effort. There were quite a few interesting individuals that had made their mark on both the magical world and prior to that, the entire world, throughout history. Tissaia de Vries in particular had caught his eye, the Dutch born Headmistress of Hogwarts during a sizable portion of the Hundred Years War. During one of the many conflicts throughout that period, some moronic, French wizard and nobleman apart of the Armagnac faction thought it wise to attempt a clandestine strike on Hogwarts. The attack was a colossal failure, with the assailants failing to even get past the wards before enchanted suits of armor stormed out of a secret passageway to slaughter them all. The blood spilt was not enough to pacify the unbridled rage de Vries felt. The Headmistress was so infuriated by the attack she took a sojourn away from her position at the school to join the warfront. While initially faced with some obstacles during her time with Henry V, when all was said and done, she was the sole reason behind England's utterly decisive victory in the Battle of Agincourt. During the course of the battle, she personally killed the Count that had first suggested the assault on Hogwarts along with his entire male line. Tissaia de Vries was bloody terrifying, but so far, she was Harry's favorite Headmistress of Hogwarts by a wide margin.
A heavy sigh accompanied his somewhat stiff movements as he pushed himself off his placement on the floor. The table and chairs present in the library were far too stiff for Harry's preference, and he didn't know the charms necessary to make them more comfortable, so stretching out on the floor was his temporary solution of choice. "Note to self: look up cushioning charms," Harry grunted, the pain of sitting on the stone ground making itself apparent upon standing up.
The sound of approaching footfalls caught Harry's attention as the books floated back to their placement on the shelves. The large, lumbering individual dressed in black robes with silver and green trim was someone he recognized by sight if not name, and he was staring right at Harry.
"Oh good, you are here. She said you'd probably still be here," the large teen's voice was deep, deeper than any other student's Harry had heard in their year.
"And who told you that?" It was no secret that Harry was a bit more studious than the average Gryffindor, but he didn't think he spent that much time in the library.
"Greengrass."
Now that was a name and face Harry was familiar with. The cute, diminutive blonde girl that he had a brief confrontation with on the train outside of Daniel's compartment; Harry had made a point of paying attention to her sorting on the first day. "Oh?" A cocksure smile sliding onto his face. "She's been watching me, huh?"
The large teen chuckled. "Not exactly, she said she was just in the library and happened to see you on the floor surrounded by books."
"I'm choosing to believe she was watching me," Harry declared confidently, the logical explanation not swaying his viewpoint in the slightest.
At that the Slytherin laughed rather boisterously, and Harry immediately began counting down the seconds until the stern librarian, Madam Pince, arrived to tell them off for making too much noise. "The name is Gregory Goyle, Evans," he said, extending a hand for Harry to shake.
"Pleasure, mate," Harry returned the handshake easily when Madam Pince rounded the corner, an irritated scowl marring her slightly aged features.
"This is a place of quiet study and learning, gentlemen! If you two wish to carry on a needlessly loud conversation, then you will do so outside of these halls!" Madam Pince's eyes were narrowed and her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument.
Harry raised his hands in surrender as Goyle nodded plainly. "We'll leave now, Madam," Goyle remarked respectfully, inclining his head for Harry to follow him.
The two exited the library without another word shared between them, both eager to not provoke the librarian's ire once more. "My bad in there, Evans. I haven't spent much time in there, didn't realize she was such a harpy when it comes to noise."
Harpy was an accurate descriptor in Harry's eyes, from an insulting, hyperbolic perspective at least. The woman in question did possess somewhat pinched, avian features, which, when combined with her ability to hover over and descend upon students she judged as misbehaving, made the comparison a fair one.
"Nah, you're all good," a negligent wave of his hand assuaging the other boy's apology. "I am curious why you were looking for me though?" A single eyebrow arched in question.
"Draco asked me to find you."
"Well now, that's fun," Harry mused, intrigued by what the other teen could want with him.
Harry and Draco had casually interacted on a few occasions since their first meeting outside the Great Hall, but they were largely cursory greetings or classroom exercises than anything resembling actual social interaction. This was a stark contrast to the caustic dynamic that was slowly mounting between Daniel and Draco, but rather Daniel and most of the Slytherins. Sometimes, people just didn't get along, but from what Harry had been able to gather from watching their interactions, their barbed interactions were more a result of House rivalry and bitterness than anything else.
Every House had their pride, and the inter-House competition for points meant that some degree of rivalry was only natural, but it was easily the worst between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. It wasn't anywhere close to being so bad that there was a social pressure to hate someone just because they were in a different House, but in the wake of the war, tensions remained higher than the average year. After all, it was no secret that a fair number of Slytherins had relatives, both close and distant, who were willing participants in the war on Voldemort's side; with even more having relatives who claimed to be unwilling participants. A shadow had fallen over the House of Slytherin, and it was not uncommon to see judgement from other students, irrespective of House, cast in their direction for who their parentage was. A fact that was only escalated by Daniel's arrival to Hogwarts. He served as a perpetual reminder of days past, a symbol of both the war and its conclusion. It was no surprise that his presence would invite enmity from those of ill-intent and embolden the scorn others felt toward the progeny of Voldemort's followers.
The Slytherins weren't exactly victims in these schoolyard conflicts. Though stereotypical to say, their general attitude and behavior contributing to their relative ostracization as much as anything else. Harry had already heard more than his fair share of bigotry being directed towards muggles, muggle-borns, other magical races, and even some half-bloods. Prejudice was not exclusive to the House of Snakes, but it was undeniable that it ran more rampant.
The tenuous relations between their respective Hogwarts Houses made it all the more interesting as to why Draco was reaching out in such a fashion. Whatever he wanted with Harry, it clearly went above and beyond what could be casually mentioned in passing.
"So, if it's alright with you, would you mind following me to him now?" Goyle asked plainly. Malfoy's henchman, for what else could he be described as, was very straight forward in how he carried himself.
A quick cast of Tempus allowed Harry to check the time before smiling at Goyle. "Sure, I've got nothing better to do right now. Lead the way."
Goyle nodded resolutely before he began walking the same path that Harry would use to get down to the dungeons for Potions. "So, why were you in the history section? I didn't think Binns had assigned any homework over the weekend?"
I guess the rumors about him being a complete fool aren't accurate after all, Harry thought to himself, lightly smirking. "The subject interests me, especially in regard to cross-referencing it against what muggles believe to have happened." That was the excuse he had come up with, and he was going to stick with it no matter who asked.
"Not what I expected, but I guess if you enjoy it…" Goyle clearly did not understand, but he was polite enough to let the subject fall to the wayside.
Silence settled over the two teens that was surprisingly comfortable in nature. There were none of the awkward glances or sighs as they tried to force conversation. Goyle was a man of comparatively few words and Harry, well, Harry was just a social chameleon. The halls of Hogwarts were by no means empty on the lazy, Sunday afternoon, and Harry could tell that the occasional pair of eyes followed the hitherto unseen duo as they walked side-by-side. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived and the subordinate of Draco Malfoy, scion of the richest Noble House on the British Isles, being seen together was sure to inspire its fair share of gossip.
Despite Harry's expectations, Goyle did not lead the two of them down into the dungeons proper, where the Slytherin Common Room was known to reside, but instead took them to a side corridor a few levels above the dungeons. Harry was about to ask about where they were headed when Goyle paused next to a tapestry depicting two creatures, both with purple skin and long ears, though with differing kinds of horns protruding from their head, engaging in combat with one another. The tapestry was wonderfully woven, with every detail practically leaping off the fabric.
Harry would have likely been ensnared by the picture for some time, but he noticed Goyle deliberately tapping his wand on specific stones and in a specific order. Upon touching the last stone, the large teen noticed his audience watching him with intent and smirked before slashing his wand downward from his height all the way to the floor. As soon as his wand contacted the floor, the stone bricks began to shift and rotate, revealing an entryway into what could only be described as a lounge. On one side of the room a moderately sized hearth was built into the wall, a couch and a few comfortable chairs seated around it, a low to the ground table placed between them. On the other side of the room was a large, cylindrical table, completely devoid of chairs. To tie in the room a surprisingly ornate, iron wrought chandelier hung from the ceiling. The furniture, while not exquisite in design or material, was well made and clearly meant to be apart of a set.
"Ah, glad you were able to join us today, Evans," the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy carried from his place around the table, both hands upon it as he leaned forward. As always, the teen's physical appearance was immaculate: sporting perfectly fitted, black slacks and a crisp, silver shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms. The slim tie that he frequently wore was noticeably absent, but Harry had never before seen him out of uniform so it might have been expected.
"Couldn't very well turn down an invitation, especially not after you sent Goyle to come find me, now could I?" Harry remarked, an easygoing and genuine smile on his face as he quickly glanced at the other occupants of the room.
On one of the couches lay Theo Nott, a disheveled, black shirt half unbuttoned and completely untucked barely covered his chest, lazily paired with a wrinkled pair of black pants, and to top of the ensemble he was completely barefoot. He still possessed the same heavy bags that were omnipresent under his eyes, and a lit fag was held betwixt his lips. Seated on one of the leather chairs was a girl that Harry recognized due to how distinctive she was, but he hadn't engaged with her even once. Millicent Bulstrode was an eye-catching woman to say the least. She was easily the tallest girl in their year, standing on level height with the majority of the men in the school sans individuals like Goyle. On top of which, she was clearly well muscled, her toned limbs often visible even whilst wearing a dressed down version of the standard uniform. She possessed strong features, with a square jawline, thick lips, and heavily lidded eyes. Her black hair was styled into a slightly long, messy pixie cut, complimenting the dark make-up she seemed to be fond of wearing. While not a 'traditional' beauty given its common definition, Harry knew there were plenty of individuals who found Millicent to be an attractive woman, and honestly, Harry understood why they did.
Noticing how Harry's gaze was lingering on the other occupants of the room, Draco seized the initiative and said, "you're familiar with Nott already, you've just met Goyle, and seated before you is Millicent Bulstrode." The aristocratic teen lightly gestured at the individual in question when introducing them.
"Evans," Nott muttered in greeting, his head hanging off the arm of the couch. Harry had to stifle his amusement at the heir to such a prominent family behaving in a way that conveyed how little he cared about decorum. It was a refreshing change of pace. While not stiff, most pure-blood heirs still tried to carry themselves in a specific way. Nott had apparently set that standard mold on fire.
Goyle strode past Harry and claimed one of the other leather chairs in the room as Bulstrode rose from her chair to stand before him. She had a solid inch or two on him when it came to height, forcing his eyes to angle ever so slightly upward to maintain eye-contact. "So, you're the evil twin, huh? You don't seem that mean to me," a mirth sparkled in the girl's eyes as she assessed him. "But…" she paused for a moment as her tone took on a dangerous note, "how about you duel me, Evans? We'll see if the rumors about you are true."
She was challenging him, and she wasn't even trying to be subtle. Fun… "Oh, and what kind of rumors have you heard?" Harry asked, not backing down the slightest. If anything, his smirk became even more cocky.
There were plenty of rumors circulating about the older Potter twin. Some were of his own creation, with some gullible fools citing that he must have been raised in the muggle world for a reason; the circumstances of his childhood all but confirming a wicked personality in their eyes. Other rumors were not started by Harry but remained undeniably true all the same, such as his status as a hedonistic libertine or how he had a knack for spellcasting few others possessed. Bulstrode's challenge implied that there was some manner of rumor circulating about his dueling prowess, and that was new to his ears. In theory she could have just been making assumptions based around the evil twin jokes, but something about her demeanor told Harry that she wasn't making that challenge lightly.
Bulstrode's grin was almost feral. "All different kinds, Evans, but only one type held my interest."
Harry possessed absolutely zero formal training in magical combat, but he found himself wanting to take up the taller girl on her offer to duel. Some basic combative spells had found their way into his repertoire since learning of magic, and now that he'd been challenged, he couldn't deny that he was curious as to how he'd fair in a fight. Especially a fight against a child of the Bulstrode family, a respected House that was a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who clearly enjoyed the violence.
The Sacred Twenty-Eight did not hold any specialized legal status in the British Isles, but it did come with a certain degree of pedigree, especially among the upper echelons of society. After his first encounter with Nott, Harry had decided to do a bit of research into the other notable Noble Houses in Britain. The Sacred Twenty-Eight were a pretentious lot, but they were, generally speaking, capable as hell. Harry had not even been raised a Potter and he still wanted to live up to the legacy left behind by his parents and ancestors. To be pushed your entire life towards success in the name of your family… it made sense why so many from those Houses strove towards greatness.
Harry still had his personal gripes with the criteria for the Sacred Twenty-Eight, viewing the selection process as both nebulous and ill defined, but he at least had some measure of respect for the accomplishments of the respective Houses, even if he utterly despised individual members of the families.
"I hope I can live up to your expectations," Harry practically purred his response. There was little doubt in his mind that he'd likely get his ass kicked, but he'd rather lose a challenge than retreat away from one.
"If you're going to duel, I'm afraid you're going to have to do it at different location, and at a different time," Draco's voice cut through their standoff easier than a hot knife through butter. While the patrician teen had no authority over Harry, it was clear that Bulstrode deferred to him. "This room may not be as opulent as I might wish, but even still, I won't have you two throwing spells at one another within it." Draco was not asking them to not duel, nor was he even demanding it of them; he was simply stating how things were going to be.
"Your room, your rules," Harry agreed. The room technically did not belong to the Slytherin, but for all intents and purposes it did, so he was not going to quibble over the finer details. Besides, if he claimed a secret room in the castle and invited others to see it, then he'd expect them to obey his rules too, especially when they were reasonable in nature.
"Sorry, Draco," Bulstrode murmured. She didn't seem particularly contrite, but she backed away from Harry immediately all the same, reclaiming her leather covered seat without complaint.
Pushing the eventual conflict with Bulstrode from his mind, Harry moved forward to the table to stand opposite of Draco as the blonde teen began to speak. "Unsurprisingly, I'm sure, I asked Goyle to bring you here for reasons beyond Bulstrode's innate desire to fight everyone in the vicinity."
Laughing lightly, Harry nodded. "I'd assumed as much."
"I think it's fair to say that you and I have a mutual understanding, wouldn't you agree, Evans?" Draco cocked his head lightly to the side, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"There haven't been any issues between us so far," Harry agreed, not even having to exaggerate.
The blonde Slytherin smiled, and Harry couldn't tell if it was fake. "I concur, and to speak honestly, I'd prefer to keep our relationship on its current trajectory."
That suited Harry just fine. The less people he had to worry about cursing down the line, the better in his book. He smiled at the serious teen and said, "that works for me."
"Unfortunately, however, it has become quite apparent that my relationship with your brother, and by extension the majority of his social circle, is not as cordial as I might like."
In spite of his best efforts, Harry burst out laughing at what could only be described as the understatement of the century. "Yeah, Daniel hates your guts, mate."
"I am aware," Draco stated dryly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw both Theo and Millicent try to stifle their own laughter.
"And you want to change this?"
"Very much so," Draco said earnestly, or at least seemingly so. "Despite your brother's beliefs to the contrary, I have nothing but respect and gratitude for both him as an individual, and your family as a collective."
It was Harry's turn to stare at the other teen through narrowed eyes. This was not a topic he enjoyed having brought it up in conversation, especially not with people whose intentions he couldn't quite read.
Seeing the vexation on Harry's face, Draco raised his arms placatingly. "I'm being genuine, Evans. The death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named freed my father from the Imperius curse, and by extension saved the lives of myself and my mother as well." Draco lowered his hands but met Harry's narrowed gaze evenly. "I have accepted that your brother and I shall never be friends, that bridge was burned when we spoke on the train, but at the very least I have no desire to be his enemy."
"And you want me to be an intermediary?" Harry guessed.
"Something to that effect, yes," Draco confirmed with a slight nod as he gestured to the papers scattered on the table before him. Harry moved around to gain a better view and saw what looked like a floor plan, with an assortment of different tables, a list of names, and various notes. "I'm hosting a little event next weekend, and I would like to extend an invitation to you, your brother, and two other individuals of your choice."
"Daniel won't come."
"I was hoping you would be able to convince him otherwise."
Harry didn't answer immediately as he looked at the documents. "A poker tournament?" Harry hadn't been aware the game had made its way into the magical world.
"Not a tournament, no, but five tables of eight will be set up as the primary entertainment for the evening." Reaching under the table, Draco withdrew a deck of cards that he'd been carrying in the satchel he always seemed to have close at hand. Harry was impressed when the teen began to deftly shuffle the cards. He wasn't quite on the level of the professional dealers, but he had more skill than anyone else Harry had seen in person.
"Is poker a popular game in the magical world? You seem pretty familiar with it."
"It is," Theo's rough voice answered from the couch, proving that he was actively listening to the conversation even if his demeanor suggested otherwise.
Though, the ragged teen's contribution to the confirmation was not the most useful seeing as he did not elaborate further on his statement. Thankfully, Draco was ready with a brief history lesson. "Prior to the advent of the Statute of Secrecy, there were a number of gambling card games that magical society enjoyed alongside muggles. The Spanish game known as Primero, the Persian game of As-Nas, or even the French's Brelan."
Harry hadn't heard of any of the aforementioned games and was genuinely quite impressed that Draco had all of them available to reference off the top of his head.
"Magicals quite enjoyed the relative simplicity of the game, with it being a mental game as much as a game of cards, but it especially caught on after an American wizard from Texas invented the two-card variant," Draco continued, unknowingly shocking Harry with the knowledge that Texas hold'em was invented by a wizard. "I take it you have some personal experience playing?"
"Only in some friendly games where the stakes were borderline non-existent," Harry paused briefly, "well, that and the strip version I played at a party last year," he finished with a grin.
Goyle snorted, though Harry thought he was just disguising a chuckle, but even Draco seemed amused. "Well, we won't be betting with our clothes, but it's good that you at least understand the game."
Poker was a game that Harry considered himself to be utterly average at, but he had never played when actual money was involved, so he was probably worse than he thought. "What's the buy in?"
"Given the economic status of those I plan to invite… three Galleons," Draco said, a quill finding its way into his hand. "Should I mark you down as being able to attend?"
The buy in was surprisingly high for school kids, but Harry supposed that someone like Draco would only be inviting those who, like himself, would be able to afford it without issue. "I'm in," Harry confirmed, "but I can't guarantee Daniel will be attending. I can try to convince him, but you two really got off on the wrong foot."
"Well, if he is able to join us, then hopefully it will allow us to be neutral towards one another, or perhaps acquaintances down the line."
"Level with me," Harry said, folding his arms as he met Draco's eyes. "Why are you so intent on making nice with my brother instead of just avoiding him all together? Hogwarts is a big place and you're in different Houses, there's almost no need for you all to ever interact. So, what angle are you playing?"
The atmosphere of the room subtly shifted with Harry's question. Goyle, previously lounging lazily suddenly seemed more alert, Bulstrode more on edge. Only Nott seemed apathetic to the probing question. Draco leveled a discerning stare towards the lone Gryffindor before closing his eyes briefly. "It's a matter of perception, Evans. My father is heavily involved in both business and politics on a local and international level."
Harry nodded along, not surprised by that revelation in the slightest, another byproduct of his research into the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
"As is to be expected of anyone that reaches his level of status and influence, my father has his fair share of enemies in the world; the type of enemies that would jump on any opportunity to attack my father and discredit his reputation." Draco shuffled some of the papers on the table and slid a copy of the Daily Prophet to Harry. "That is from last week."
Harry glanced at all of the obvious headlines, but nothing jumped out at him in particular. "What am I looking for?"
"Page 5," Nott's voice once again chimed in. Following his directions, Harry found an opinion piece on Daniel, filled with conjecture on how his formal return to the wizarding world proper would impact the conditions of their world.
"Your family is referenced in this?" Harry asked, not bothering to read the article in depth at that moment.
"Not by name, no," Draco answered. "However, the supposition of the author is accurate, your brother holds a great deal of social and political sway, even if he is not aware of it."
It took every ounce of willpower Harry had to not grown at that statement of fact. It was irrefutable, but no less moronic in his eyes that Daniel had such power at his disposal for something that happened when they were just infants. "So, you want to course correct your relationship with Daniel before it becomes publicly known that he has a bitter feud with the heir to the Malfoy name?"
"Correct," Draco confirmed, there was steel in his voice. "To this day there are many who judge the Malfoy name because we were victims during the last war; because some of our extended family chose to side with the Dark Lord!" Draco slammed his fist onto the table, the bangs of his hair falling forward over his brow. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him lose is composure. "I refuse to allow my family name to be slandered by our enemies over what is little more than a damn schoolyard feud!"
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. A small part in the back of Harry's mind told him that he should still take the Slytherin's words with a grain of salt, but he actually believed that Draco was being genuine.
Breathing deeply, Draco took a moment to fix his hair and regain his poise. "My apologies for that outburst, Evans. I take my duties to my family very seriously, and sometimes I get caught up in my emotions."
"No harm done," Harry replied, he'd gotten the answer he wanted after all. "So, tell me more about the event itself. The when, where, who, etc."
Seeing the obvious subject change for what it was, Draco seized on the opportunity. "The event will be next Saturday. The games begin at midnight, though you're welcome to arrive early. Hors d'oeuvres and drinks of all varieties will be served throughout the entirety of the night. No live music, unfortunately, but I assure you there will be a wide variation of tracks played over record, as quality of a one as money can buy."
Harry didn't doubt the claim. Magical phonographs allowed for surprisingly good audio quality given that the muggle world had moved on to cassettes years prior and had even recently evolved again to CDs. But that was just how the magical world was. At a glance they seemed ages behind the muggle world in practically every field, but upon looking closer you'd realize that while indeed very different, magic technology and methods were a fair bit more versatile than first appearances would suggest. Well, such was the case for everything but visual recordings, long distance projection, and space travel. In those three areas, muggles were clearly ahead of the curve.
"And the location?" Harry inquired, noting how that very important detail had been left out.
Draco smirked. "You and all other attendees will be informed of the location on the day of. To mitigate the chance that Filch or one of the other teachers learns of our intentions."
A smart decision, if also a somewhat annoying one. "But you do have a location in mind, right?"
"Rest assured, Evans, that I would not be extending invitations if I did not."
Harry was impressed. In a little over a month Draco had secured his own personal, secret room, and had located another room to serve as an event hall that the Hogwarts staff would not be able to find and break up.
"Who else are you inviting?"
"Worried you'll stand out, Evans?" Bulstrode taunted, that same predatory glint in her smile.
"Me? The scion of House Potter? Please, I'll fit in just fine," Harry called back, honestly not concerned in the slightest with his rapport with the other attendees.
"As amusing as I'm sure it would be to toss Evans into a room filled with nothing but Slytherins," Draco started by addressing his fellow House mates before returning his gaze to Harry, "there will be individuals from each of the four Houses in attendance. I am looking to foster connections with multiple individuals, not the Boy-Who-Lived alone."
"But I don't get to know who just yet, do I?" Harry probed once more, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"Consider it a surprise."
"Fine," Harry acquiesced, petulantly dragging out the word like the annoyed teenager he was. "Dress code?"
Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing of the sort, just don't come dressed in rags."
"I think I can manage that," Harry laughed, having far too much pride to ever dress poorly ever since he'd come into some money.
"Glad to hear it," Draco walked around the table to shake Harry's hand and politely gesture towards the door. "I hope to see you, your brother, and whomever you choose to bring in attendance on Saturday."
"Looking forward to it," Harry replied, waving a hand in farewell to the rest of the Slytherins. "See you all around."
Bulstrode leapt to her feet. "Don't forget about our duel, Evans! You're going to fight me whether you want to or not!"
Harry lazily raised his hand without looking back. "Time and place, Bulstrode. Time and place."
The stone entryway closed behind him the moment he exited the secret room. I need to find me a room like that, Harry mused. Prior to his conversation with the Slytherins, he had intended to head back to the common room and enjoy some simple R&R with the other Gryffindors, but his priorities for the day had changed. Despite having just left it for the day, the library seemed like a good place to find some books on dueling. Even if the odds weren't in his favor, Harry had no intentions of making his fight with Bulstrode an easy affair.
OoooOoooO
"Alright, I think I've got it all worked out."
"You finally finished over there?"
"What do you mean, 'finally?'"
"Wood, it's almost two in the morning, and you've been muttering about incorporating Potter into your chaser formations for the better part of the last six hours."
"It's that late?!"
"Now you understand why I used the word 'finally.'"
"Merlin, I had no idea it was so late… what are you still doing awake?"
"I'm studying advanced Charms theory."
"You're one of the best in our year at Charms and you're still studying… what does that say about my chances on the Charms O.W.L?"
"You'll be able to get an A without issue, Wood. I'm studying because I need an O. Professor Loriss almost never allows someone into his Enchanting class unless they've gotten an O on the Charms O.W.L."
"High bar…"
"That's the N.E.W.T electives for you."
"I thought you said you wanted to go into the administration side of the Ministry. Why do you need to take those classes?"
"They demonstrate a certain level of magical and intellectual competence… or in other words, they look excellent on a résumé."
"Hell of a system we have, truly."
"I honestly don't mind; I enjoy the subject material. I may not use most of these concepts in my day-to-day life as much as some other professions, but I enjoy having the knowledge all the same."
"Knowledge for the sake of knowledge… Remind me, why aren't you a Ravenclaw? Oh, right, you're a Weasley."
"I'm going to ignore that jibe. Besides, it's not solely for the sake of knowledge. Though the circumstances in which I could do so are limited, every single one of the classes in Hogwarts could come into play while working for the Ministry."
"How so?"
"Alright, take Enchanting. I earn a N.E.W.T in the subject. It's not a Mastery, but I at least have some level of competence in the subject, and can engage in topics pertaining to it, right?"
"Right…"
"Now, suppose I'm working as an Undersecretary in the Department of Magical Transportation, specifically the office of Broom Regulatory Control since that's a field which you are tangentially connected."
"Okay…"
"Bear with me for a second. Now, as you're well aware there are different laws pertaining to the different classifications of brooms."
"Yeah, racing, leisure, heavy load, etc. It's a pretty long list."
"Exactly, now suppose a patent is submitted for a new type of broom. It's still a flying broom, but the specifics of what its capable of differ from other types, which means it needs its own set of regulations. With a N.E.W.T in Enchanting, I would be qualified to study the broom from a theoretical perspective to determine its function and potential based on how the enchantments interacted."
"Which you could then use as a reference point for determining regulations alongside the physical test itself, I get it."
"Exactly. It's a hypothetical circumstance, but enchanting is a very broad field with a lot of potential applications. It's knowledge yes, but knowledge that could very well prove useful."
"You've put even more thought into your future than I thought…"
"I told you, Wood, I'm going to make sure the Weasley name is known across the world."
"Minister of Magic?"
"Ideally, yes."
"Well then, Minister, I look forward to the day when you can have tea with the Captain of the English National Team following their World Cup victory."
"Let's make sure it happens then, Wood. Not a dream, but a promise."
OoooOoooO
"Let me get this straight," Daniel began, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, "you want me to break curfew to go to an underground poker event that is being hosted by Malfoy of all people?"
"Yep," his dumb, crazy, utterly bizarre brother responded, popping the 'p' for emphasis.
"This confirms it, you've lost the plot, mate."
Daniel was still trying to process the mind boggling, secondhand invitation that he'd just been handed. Draco bloody Malfoy wanted to bury the hatchet between them, and his idea for how to do so was to invite him to break roughly fifty school rules in one evening. The worst part was that Daniel actually wanted to go. Against his better judgement, an evening spent drinking and playing poker sounded pretty damn fun. Daniel had played the game for fun on numerous occasions since it was one of his dad's favorite pastimes, and he would love to test his skills with some actual stakes involved.
The only issue with the entire scenario was it was Draco bloody Malfoy hosting it all! Daniel knew that it was possible for a kid to not be like their parents, but the moment he'd seen the guy step into his compartment, a sneer on his face as he looked down at everyone else around him, Daniel knew he was an arrogant prick just like his father. Lucius Malfoy deserved to be in Azkaban, Daniel believed that with every fiber of his being. He'd seen the way his mum and dad had raged when the results of the trial were announced in the Daily Prophet. They'd had the same reaction when Richard Avery, Hayward Nott, Warren Crabbe, Garret Goyle, and many others were all exonerated by claiming they were placed under the Imperius curse. It was a travesty of justice, and an insult to all of the people they had victimized. And now the children of those Death Eaters were at Hogwarts, many in his year. It was all so fucked up.
"Who all is going to be there?" Daniel lowered his hand to look at his brother. The two of them had managed to snag a couch near the main hearth on one of the upper levels of the common room. Naturally, they were both speaking in rather hushed tones.
"I'm not sure exactly. I tried to ask, but Malfoy was playing things close to the chest," Harry pulled one leg onto the couch. "Which I honestly get, if I was planning this thing, I wouldn't want any info to slip out."
"And did you ever stop to think that maybe it's all a set-up to get us in trouble? And that by not providing any names we wouldn't be able to confirm with others whether it was real?" Daniel knew his brother was incredibly intelligent, but he was also impulsive beyond belief. There was a high likelihood of him being tricked for no other reason than he didn't stop to think, but only because not thinking was more fun.
Harry opened his mouth in protest but then paused, seemingly having an internal struggle. "I admit, I did not consider that possibility, but c'mon, that would be an extremely elaborate plan just to have us lose some House points and get detention for a week."
Daniel rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not even saying that's absolutely what's happening here, but it really wouldn't be that much effort. Plus, I could see Malfoy doing it for the schadenfreude alone."
Harry sat in silence for a few moments, idly twirling that same Galleon between his fingers as he gazed upwards. "I hear you, but I still think we should go."
And there's his impulses getting the best of him… "So, even knowing it's likely a set-up just to get us in trouble, you still want to go?"
"Correct."
"Why?"
Harry smiled brightly. "Because it'd be fun!"
Somehow, his brother's enthusiasm for the dumb and insane was downright infectious. Daniel started to laugh, having no argument against the simple logic that regardless of if the poker event was real or not, sneaking around the castle after curfew would be fun. "Where's Neville? You're convincing me and I need a stabling influence in my life right now."
"Even Morals McGee can't say no to this. Go ahead and get him, I'll shut down any arguments he has to make," Harry started to stand up but stopped himself halfway and leaned back in to whisper. "Oh, but make sure that if you tell him that he's your plus one. We'll assume we're not getting tricked and keep it under wraps, deal?"
"Deal," Daniel agreed without hesitation, the two brothers both rising to their feet. He was almost certain that Malfoy was pulling something, but he'd hold on to that minuscule possibility of the contrary as long as he could. "Who are you bringing as your plus one?"
As if on cue, Harry flipped the golden coin into the air and caught it on the back of his wrist. "Heads I invite Ron; tails I invite Lav."
"That's how you're deciding?"
"Well, I was leaning toward Ron, but this keeps things fair." Harry removed his hand and smiled down at the gold coin. "Fate has chosen the youngest Weasley son on this day. 'What's meant to be will always find a way,' right?"
Daniel had absolutely no idea what his brother was referencing. "Is that meant to be a quote?"
"What? Oh, yeah, just a line from this American song that released back in… March? I think? Or was it February? April? I don't fucking know; song isn't worth remembering aside from that line anyway."
The eclectic and varied knowledge his older brother had accumulated never failed to surprise Daniel. He genuinely didn't understand the way Harry's mind worked. "Alright, so you grab Ron, I'll grab Nev, and we can explain the situation to them too, okay?"
"Solid plan, brother mine," Harry murmured around a yawn before falling back onto the comfortable sofa. "Damn, I'm tired. New plan, you find both of them and bring them back here while I take a nap."
"I would rather lobotomize myself with a broken broom then do your share of the work while you napped." Daniel had never been more serious about anything in his entire life.
"I can see you feel very strongly about this," Harry said, making no move to rise from his prone position. The stinging hex aimed at Harry's leg was more than earned. "Git… I should have never taught you that spell," he grumbled, massaging away the light pain as he rose into a seated position.
"I'll meet you back here," Daniel remarked with a laugh, not waiting for a reply before walking away to search for his other brother.
Finding a lone individual in the Gryffindor common room wasn't a very difficult task. Given that they were all Gryffindors, most students had very little respect for keeping the noise and commotion to a minimum; so more often than not, those doing the searching would walk floor to floor shouting the name of whoever it was they were looking for. This happened roughly once every hour. Daniel was trying to be a bit more discrete given that there were certain individuals he did not want to attract the attention of. Geoffrey Hooper, for example, was a nice enough bloke at first, but he made a habit of obnoxiously bitching about every little thing in the world. Anyone stuck in his presence for more than a minute would be forced to listen to his complaints about anything and everything he could think of.
Then there was Rose Waxen… Daniel wasn't sure what to think about her. On one hand, he really did like the girl. She was a lot of fun to be around and to talk to, and in general he enjoyed her company; on top of it all, she was super cute too. Unfortunately, the girl seemed to have unilaterally decided after their first night that the two of them were a couple. For weeks she had scarcely left him alone despite his polite requests that she do so. Clingy girlfriends weren't a new concept, but given that she wasn't his girlfriend, Daniel thought her behavior was downright ridiculous.
The entire situation was made all the more complicated given that the two of them had slept together their first night at Hogwarts. Neither of them had been quite so drunk when they started losing their clothes to blame the experience on the alcohol, but looking back, Daniel really wished they had clarified their intentions before jumping into bed together. Losing his virginity night one of Hogwarts was an experience worthy of song in his mind, but the responsible part of his brain thought it would've been better for Rose if he'd turned her down. An awkward but necessary conversation was going to happen sooner or later, but he was trying to avoid it as long as possible. Not the most mature response, but he didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings if he could avoid it… undoubtedly a fool's hope at the end of the day.
Daniel was taking his experiences as a lesson to not date girls enamored with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. It wouldn't be fair to Rose to imply his damned title was the only reason she had an interest in him, but he would be lying to himself if he denied that it was likely a contributing factor. Daniel knew that he would never be just another teenager at Hogwarts. The story of his life would always hang over him whether he liked it or not. Going forward, he would just have to ensure he was a bit more discerning about who he let get genuinely close to him. He didn't want to come across as some sort of elitist prick, but he also didn't want people only interested in his fame to hang onto him like parasites. So far, none of the Gryffindors he had befriended had crossed the line where he would call them parasites, but he thought it was a good thing to bear in mind all the same.
Luckily, he was able to find Neville studying at one of the many tables scattered throughout the common room. "Of course you're stuck on potions," Daniel teased, claiming the seat opposite of his adopted brother.
Throwing his quill down in frustration, Neville leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't make sense why I can't brew anything right! I follow all of the instructions perfectly, but not one of my potions has been at even the level of Acceptable! And because of that, I get assigned more essays than anyone in the whole class!"
Daniel tried not to laugh at Neville's predicament, he really did, but it was just too funny not to. Everyone at the top of their class in potions had tried to diagnose what was wrong with Neville's brews: Hermione, Harry, Trinity, Daniel himself, Parvati, everyone, but they still couldn't figure it out. Neville had even gone out of his way to request a prefect watch him brew the simplest potion in their first-year textbook. Amira Barret had been positively dumbfounded by why Nev's extraordinarily simple draught for curing boils instead was a caustic brew that caused anything it touched to burst into purple flames. Amira had been so shocked, she went and fetched Professor McGonagall to share the tale. The Professor had seemed sympathetic to his plight but could offer no advice beyond speaking to Professor Snape. Advice that every Gryffindor within earshot promptly snorted at.
Once it was firmly established that Nev could make the weirdest potions in the world on accident, it became something of a game to the others in their year. Every potions class the other students would all start taking bets as to what his abomination of a potion would actually do. The results so far had been so varied, that no one was even close to being right. Though, Harry had taken it upon himself to start snagging samples of all the potions Nev royally messed up, those that he could safely acquire that is.
The worst part for Nev was that he genuinely understood the theory behind potions. Even Professor Snape understood that and had proven as much when he went on an insult laced rant wondering how Neville could show such passable results on quizzes and essays – 'passable' when translated away from Professor Snape lingo bordered on being a compliment – but still manage to butcher every brew he happened to lay his fingers upon.
"I'm sorry," Daniel said around his fits of laughter, "I really am."
Neville pulled out his wand and cast a quick measuring charm on his parchment. There were plenty of Professors that had students use notebooks for essays and just used word count as a standard counter for length, but Snape preferred to use the length of the parchment as a criterion. And Merlin help anyone that tried to write oversized lines. Snape would burn your essay on the spot and fail you if he thought your writing was too large. "I still need another four inches," Neville grumbled.
"What's this essay on?"
"The various uses of the Bouncing Spider as a potion ingredient," Neville said around the simple spells he was casting to shift the ink on his parchment and restructure his writing. "I've already covered the juice, fangs, legs, and eyes in standard potions…"
Daniel leaned back in his chair, idly tapping his wand against his chin, a bad habit from what he'd been told, but not one he'd been able to stop just yet. "How about the dried variations?"
"Thank you, Daniel!" Neville declared happily, eagerly flipping open a book that Daniel didn't recognize, most likely one from the library.
"How long do you think it will take you to finish? I had come to find you for a reason."
Neville hummed as he picked up his quill. "Ten minutes? Twenty? Give or take a few?" He seemed to weigh it over in his mind before continuing. "Make it thirty, actually. I have to finish writing it, perform spell checks, check for grammatical errors, you get it."
"Yeah, I get it," Daniel agreed. "Well, come find me on the upper floors near the hearth when you're done. Harry and I want to talk to you about something."
"Will do," Neville said, already turning his attention back to his essay.
Daniel was the first to arrive back at their designated meeting spot by a fair margin. With nothing else to do he pulled out the advanced DADA textbook he'd checked out from the library. It was mostly a theory book on the nature of counter curses and the difficulties in applying them. None of the subject matter would likely show up in his first-year curriculum, but he was at the top of the class in DADA already, so he had no qualms about reading ahead.
Many people assumed that Daniel must have had some manner of special instruction prior to entering Hogwarts, but his mum and dad really hadn't taught him that much. Compared to muggle-borns he had a lot of extra knowledge, but his greatest advantage over everyone else was little more than some extra defensive and offensive spells in the event that violence broke out. To cast those spells, he had to be a bit ahead in theory and practice, that was true, but it wasn't like he'd been trained since he could walk. Frank and Alice had been determined to give their sons as normal of a life as possible given the circumstances. Daniel was a competent student because he was studious and genuinely tried to apply himself. That was the big secret of his success.
It was actually annoying that people assumed he had prior schooling and training when his results weren't even that spectacular. Granger was ahead of him in theory and Harry seemed to master spells more quickly than anyone; but no one implied they were anything other than gifted students of magic. Though, it actually was a bit odd that they were both so skilled given that neither of them were aware of magic until a few months prior. Students raised in the muggle world being prodigious was not an unheard-of phenomenon, but that wasn't to say it was the norm either.
Daniel did not have to wait too long before he was joined by both Harry and Ron, the two of them were caught up in their own discussion and only briefly greeted Daniel before continuing.
"I mean, I guess we could find a place to practice, but why are you so eager?" Ron asked, claiming one of the cushions for himself.
Harry sat upon the arm of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he held his chin in hand. "I just think it would be really useful. Plus, it becomes part of our curriculum starting next semester, so getting a leg up could only help us."
That little detail was enough to clue Daniel in that they were talking about dueling. He didn't question his twin's sudden interest in it. Harry was a mercurial individual with eclectic interests. Any given day he could show up to the common room ranting about Merlin knows what and it would just be another day sharing a House with Harry Evans.
"Alright, I'm in. Hell, I'll even ask my brothers if they have any tips for us, including the ones not at Hogwarts. You've never met my brother Bill, but he was Head Boy his seventh year, and he won some amateur dueling tournaments before he graduated." Ron smiled proudly as he recounted the achievements of his older sibling. "And that's just Bill, the others are bound to know some things as well."
Seeing the opportunity to possibly mend a broken bridge even further, Daniel interjected himself into the conversation. "You know, Harry, if you're interested in dueling, I happen to know of two licensed aurors who might be able to give you some tips."
"Bloody hell, are you joking?" Ron asked, sitting up with interest blazing in his eyes. "Aurors don't participate in dueling tournaments, but they're the best when it comes to combat! How do you know them?"
Harry's face had gone blank at the mention of Frank and Alice. Daniel knew his mum had been sending Harry letters, but from what she had mentioned, he hadn't replied even once. That was about what she expected given how the reunion had gone, but she'd admitted that she had been hoping for more. The theory Daniel had was that Harry wanted to open up to Alice but was too stubborn to do so. At the café they'd seen the real Harry, the one that was angry but also willing to listen and engage with her, even if it was only in relation to the stories she told about their dad; but when they were separated by time and distance, the embittered and hurt side of him took center stage. It wasn't exactly the informed opinion of someone who had studied psychology, but he was confident in it all the same. Daniel knew it wasn't his place to force his brother to accept Alice back into his life, even though he absolutely thought he should, but that didn't mean he couldn't provide gentle encouragement now and again.
"My mum and dad, the Longbottoms, both became aurors during the war," Daniel explained, "and I know they've taken the tests to maintain their license even though neither have been active duty for some time."
"Wicked," Ron's amazement was plain to see. "If they could give us some tips about how to train, that'd put us head and shoulders above everyone else in our class, maybe even our year!"
The two twins met one another's eyes as Ron continued to talk in the background. Daniel knew it would be hard for his brother to ask for their help. He'd very pointedly gone out of his way to be entirely self-reliant since re-entering the magical world; but if he wanted their advice, then he was going to have to write to them himself. Maybe it was a tad selfish on his part, but Daniel wanted his entire family to get along. Harry was an odd bloke, but even in the brief time he'd known him, Daniel had truly come to see the guy as his brother… Hell, he loved him. He didn't think it was wrong to want to see his brother by blood grow closer to his adopted family.
"I know it wouldn't be quite the same as having them instruct us in person, but you'll write to them, won't you Daniel?" Ron eagerly asked.
Daniel was about to answer in the negative when Harry cut in. "I'll do it, Ron. I'm the one that wants help after all."
There was none of the fierce anger present in his voice that Daniel had heard that day in The Nook. Impassivity wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was an improvement over rage.
Ron seemed to pick up on his friend's demeanor as well. "You sure, mate? You don't have to if you don't want to. Seriously, no pressure." Daniel respected how quickly Ron was willing to back off the entire idea given Harry's apprehension. He was a good bloke.
Harry waved off the redhead's concerns. "No, no, I'll send them a letter. You're right on the money about the quality of advice they might be able to offer. Still shoot your brother a letter as well. I imagine a curse breaker has to have some pretty esoteric knowledge available to share."
The two best friends became embroiled in their own conversation once more, politely choosing not to pull Daniel into it once he made his intentions to keep reading clear. Even while reading, Daniel noticed the subtle, piercings glances Harry kept directing toward him. Apparently, he'd offended his brother with his prior suggestion. Damn… Fortunately, his twin had enough tact to save what would likely be an argument for another time and place.
By the time Neville arrived, Harry and Ron had jumped between six separate topics, and Daniel had made it halfway through another chapter in his book.
"Sorry that I took so long," Neville apologized as he snagged an unused pillow and fell onto the thick rug in-between the sofa and the hearth.
"No worries, Nev, Snapes essays are brutal," Ron assured him.
"Even I won't make fun of you for running late with that as your excuse," Harry agreed, a small grin in place. Harry and Neville couldn't help but tease and heckle one another every time they were in the same vicinity, but over the course of the weeks they'd spent as Housemates, Daniel thought their banter had become more friendly and less pointed. They weren't best friends by any means, but there was far less heat in most of their interactions than shortly after they first met. It was a welcome change.
"Small mercies," Neville mumbled before shaking his head and rising to a seated position, though still on the floor. "So, what did you all want to talk about?"
Daniel was prepared to explain the situation in a calm and rational manner, outlining his thoughts on the entire scenario before asking Neville and Ron for their opinions. Harry, on the other hand, had different plans. "Saturday night, poker event hosted by Draco Malfoy. You in or out?"
"What?" An eloquent and entirely understandable response in Daniel's opinion.
"Are you in, or are you out?" Harry repeated his question, the same smile present on his face.
"I'm in," Ron declared, leaning back into the couch after realizing the important parts were settled in his mind. "I'm still not convinced that Draco isn't a slimy git, but I love poker so I'm in!"
Daniel had to make sure the guy knew what he was agreeing to. "There's a three galleon buy-in, Ron."
"I'm out." Ron's tune changed rather quickly.
Harry threw a pillow at Ron's head. "No, you're still in. I'll pay your buy-in, and in exchange you can pay me back a bit if you win. You aren't allowed to say no."
"I guess I'm in then," Ron laughed, launching the pillow back.
The sound of Harry and Ron repeatedly tossing the pillow at one another combined with their laughter overrode the silence of Neville's deliberation until he spoke. "I'm in too."
"Really?" Harry and Daniel's said in perfect unison, their voices practically melding into one.
"Yeah, really," Neville confirmed, his eyes flickering between them.
Daniel was left with his mouth agape as Harry whistled. "Mister Goody Two-Shoes himself consenting to breaking a dozen school rules in one go?" He then wiped away a fake tear and leaned forward to clap Neville on the shoulder. "I am so proud of you."
"You're not going to show up just to snitch, are you?" Ron asked, just as taken aback by Neville's decision as they were. Daniel didn't think Neville would pull something so underhanded but given that he was normally pretty rule-oriented, he didn't begrudge the other teen the question.
Neville recoiled ever so slightly. "Do you all really think I'd do that?"
It was Harry that answered him with a little half-shrug. "I mean, I could see it. I'd hope you wouldn't, but…" He trailed off; the unspoken thought still understood by all.
"Huh." Neville seemed taken off guard that their perception of him had such behavior as a possibility.
Daniel wasn't sure if it was hurt present in his adopted brother's eyes, or just shock, but he was going to help him out of it either way. "Neville isn't going to snitch on anyone, right Nev?"
"Of course not!" He declared, rising to his feet. "If I thought you all were being especially stupid, then I might try and stop you, but I'm not going to lie about coming and then tell a teacher!"
A smile lit up Daniel's face. Neville could be a bit uptight now and again, but the guy valued loyalty a hell of a lot more than he valued any rules. That was just one of the reasons Daniel loved him so much. "Never doubted you for a second."
"I like this version of you, Nev," Harry remarked, now looking up at the tall, standing teen. "Where have you been hiding him for the past few months?"
"He's been here the whole time, you just happen to bring out the worst in people," Neville replied, chuckling as Harry pointed at his heart and mouthed the word 'ow.'
Daniel took it upon himself to metaphorically sober them all up and remind everyone of the potential outcome where Malfoy was just looking to get them in trouble. Only to be followed by Harry's counter arguments as to why he didn't think that was the case. It had taken them a needlessly long amount of time, and the route was utterly nonsensical, but eventually Daniel thought they had all arrived at a place of equal information dissemination.
"You're right, that is a possibility," Neville murmured, stealing the seat Harry had temporarily vacated to get some water.
"Doesn't mean it's a likely one though," Ron said, chin cupped in hand. Daniel and Ron weren't that close, but after a month of knowing him, he'd realized the teen really enjoyed staring into fire while trying to puzzle things out in his head.
"I, for one, think it's well worth the risk."
Daniel couldn't keep the amusement out of his sigh. "So you've said, Harry. Four times now."
"Just want to make sure you're all aware."
Ron hummed lightly. "Suppose we were caught, what would our punishment be?"
"Our House points would probably enter into the negatives," Neville supplied.
"But no one cares about House points in Gryffindor, so that really doesn't matter," Harry countered, adding a mark in favor of attending the supposed event.
"We'd all get detentions for sure," Daniel added, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Have any of you all had detention yet?"
"Not in Hogwarts, no, but in the muggle world detention really isn't so bad. Boring, but that's about it." Why was Daniel not surprised that Harry had gotten detention before?
Ron jumped back into the conversation and said, "Fred and George have gotten detentions loads of times. There's no way it's that bad. Plus, this outcome is predicated on the idea that we get caught. Just because it's fake doesn't mean we can't get away."
Clapping his hands together, Harry gestured towards Ron with a self-satisfied smirk. "See? Worth. The. Risk."
"Seconded," Ron didn't hesitate. Daniel doubted he'd ever been swayed not to go.
"I third that."
And just like that, Daniel as the sole one not to cast a vote. He was pretty happy the others had elected to go. From minute one he'd been interested in attending, real or not, because it seemed like it would be fun; but he would have been remiss in his job as a friend if he didn't point out to that they could, and likely would, get in trouble for going.
The three teens all looked at the lone man left in anticipation. "I've always been in favor of going," Daniel said, eliciting a mix of laughter and snorts from the others.
"Well, with that settled," a mad glint had entered Harry's eyes, "all that's left is to plan how we're going to get past all the roaming teachers, prefects, and that bastard Filch…"
As Harry launched into a crazed scheme involving the liberal use of fire and flour, Daniel couldn't help but wonder if scenarios like these were the types of shenanigans that his dad, James, had gotten up to when he was at Hogwarts. Alice didn't like to talk too much about the Marauders – the name James and his friends had claimed for themselves – as a whole because of Sirius Black's inclusion, but the few stories she had shared spoke of impossibly dumb stunts, plans that didn't have a single ounce of coherence, and a level of sheer dumb luck that was matched only by their drive to have fun. Daniel had no idea if the quartet of himself, Harry, Neville, and Ron were anything like his dad's, but at that moment, he felt a sense of kinship with his long-deceased father like he never had before.
Hope we live up to your legacy, Dad… Daniel did not speak the words aloud, he didn't have to. A small part of him knew that somewhere, somehow, James Potter was looking down on his two sons with pride.
