Harry loved Hogwarts. The walls composed of stone slabs that looked like it took ten men to put in place, the tapestries that depicted battles lost to time, the portraits hung on the walls that provided somewhat interesting conversation. He had settled back in to the Slytherin dorm room quite nicely. None of his housemates had tried to talk to him, which was always an added bonus. He'd stowed his trunk, and then was off into the castle under the cloak.
He had to talk to Dumbledore. He was alarmed by Umbridge's speech, and what it meant for his home. He couldn't imagine a world where Hogwarts lost its inherent magic, but it sounded like Umbridge would do her best to try to stamp it out. He knew the way to Dumbledore's office by heart. He'd been a regular visitor since his first year.
The gargoyle was in its usual spot, massive and unflinching. It's horns curled into the air, and its beak was sharp as ever. It's scaly tale sat on the floor, primed to whip out at any intruders. Although it was stone, he felt its eyes following him as he approached.
"Can you tell Professor Dumbledore that I'd like to talk to him?" Harry asked.
The creature didn't have any reaction, but after a few seconds it moved out of the way for him, revealing the spiral staircase behind it. Harry moved up it, and was confronted by a door. He knocked on it three times.
"Come in, Harry," a voice called out.
He opened the door, revealing the headmaster's office. Bookshelves were overflowing, and magical trinkets were scattered around, along with a pensieve in the corner. Dumbledore's desk was filled with papers, and various instruments. The man himself sat behind the desk, a quill perched in his hand.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked.
"Professor," Harry said in greeting. "I was wondering when we'd start our tutoring sessions again. I missed them this summer."
Dumbledore sighed, and ran a hand through his long hair.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I could've done more to see you this summer, but alas, fate had other ideas."
"I saw the Daily Prophet, but I didn't read much into it. What was that trial all about?"
"Someone framed Mr. Longbottom for selling illicit goods. The ministry found records of the purchases during a raid in Knockturn Alley. It was a serious accusation, and I spent the better part of June and July assembling his defense."
Harry took in the information without word.
"As for our sessions, I believe you have a choice to make." said Dumbledore, putting down his quill.
"What choice?" Harry asked.
"As you know, we have a new professor. And I'm not talking about Grubbly-Plank," said Dumbledore, scowling. "She is going to make my life very difficult. I have reason to believe she had a hand in Mr. Longbottom's set-up."
Harry nodded, waiting for him to continue.
"Should we continue our sessions, it would put a marker on your back. We have been able to hide your tutelage so far, but it would not remain the case. Professor Umbridge will put me under scrutiny, and examine my interactions with both students and staff. We shall be found out. Unless," he paused. "You should decide not to continue."
Harry didn't even consider it.
"I think you know what my answer will be," said Harry.
Dumbledore smiled.
"I expected nothing less, but I had to give you the opportunity. We shall begin today, and I will expect you to return weekly. I've heard from Tom that your spellcasting is improving," he said, mirth shining in his eyes. "He said he's had to buy more flour this summer than he'd had to in three years."
"I think we shall shift our focus to duelling. It is a skill that you will need in the coming times, and I can proudly say that not even Professor Flitwick is as qualified to teach it as I am."
Harry didn't need to be reminded of Dumbledore's prowess. He knew this was a remarkable opportunity, even more than he'd hoped for.
"But," Dumbledore continued. "We must talk business first. How was your health over the summer?"
"I've still had more good days than bad, but I can feel it getting worse. I started brewing my own potions, though." said Harry.
Dumbledore sighed.
"That's very dangerous, Harry. I would ask you to revert to Professor Snape's."
"Yes, sir."
"I have done some more research. The ministry might have occupied most of my time, but I have my tricks," he smiled in satisfaction. "I am growing ever closer to locating the Resurrection Stone. I expect to have it by the end of the year."
Harry couldn't believe his luck. He nodded dumbly.
"Do you think that will improve it?"
"I'm not sure. It could make it worse, but I plan on relinquishing the wand soon afterwards"
"I couldn't ask you to do that."
"And you haven't," he changed the subject. "I have a favor to ask of you."
Harry's curiosity was piqued.
"A favor?"
"Yes. As we've established, Professor Umbridge is here to make things difficult. I will not put the same marker on Mr. Longbottom's back as I have on yours. I cannot take an active role in his protection. That being said, I can't do nothing. I'm asking you to look out for him, Harry. There is no one else I'd trust to protect him over you."
Harry considered his request.
"I'll do it."
"Use attention to your benefit. The hat put you in Slytherin for a reason. And, I must say thank you. Shall we begin?"
Harry flexed his arms, excitement gleaming in his eyes. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the room widened, and cleared of clutter. It continued to grow until it was the size of an amphitheater, leaving the two of them at center stage.
"I think this shall be sufficient," said Dumbledore. There was a wicked look in his eye. "I will go easy on you."
Tracey was back in the Slytherin girls dorm, much to her discontent. She loved magic, and her classes, but she hated her classmates. And this room was a reminder of everything she'd had to endure as a halfblood in Slytherin. The curtains on the beds, the paltry desks and dressers, the shared bathrooms, she hated all of it.
Most of her housemates had already dropped their stuff off, and were out socializing in the common room. She assumed they were either talking about their clothes, or how much they hated non-purebloods. Those seemed to be the only subjects that they had any interest in. How much money they had, and other people's blood status.
She'd wished for four years that she'd been sorted into a different house, and she had no reason to assume it wouldn't be the same for a fifth. With her mother's death, one word had been playing into her mind, ringing between her ears, even as she went to sleep. Alone. Because, that's what she was. She had no one. Not at Hogwarts, and not outside of Hogwarts. She was an outcast in the world, and it all could've been different if the sorting hat hadn't put her in Slytherin.
Maybe if she was in Hufflepuff, she'd have friends to walk her through her emotions. If she was in Ravenclaw, her housemates would be researching the five stages of grief on her behalf. If she was in Gryffindor, she'd find inspiration in the way others led their lives. Instead, she was in Slytherin, where very voice that followed her had scathing remarks, and she feared to go to sleep at night, wondering if her housemates would have any sick jokes for her to wake up to.
She breathed out, resigned. The weight of her mother's locket felt snug on her chest, as if comforting her. She sat on her trunk, not quite ready to unpack. She pulled out the locket, rubbing the silver between her fingers. It was warm, kept up by her body heat. It was her last treasure, the only thing she had left of her mother. She didn't trust leaving it out in her dorm. She'd wear it at all times, hiding it from the cruel hands of her housemates. She hid it, letting it rest under her shirt.
It looked like only one other person had yet to come to the dorm. All but two of the beds were claimed, and she took the one closer to the door. A lone window was above it, giving a view into the Black Lake. It cast an eery green glow into the room.
The door opened, and she flinched. She quickly turned towards the intruder, and was dismayed to see the face of Daphne Greengrass. Her white blonde hair was straight ever, kept prim and tidy. Her red lips stood in contrast against her pale skin. Her nose was sharp, and her eyes were an icy blue. Tracey thought she looked like royalty, and she had the clothes to match. She wore expensive black robes, keeping up with the latest fashion trends.
Tracey couldn't stand her.
"Look what the cat dragged in," said Tracey. She paused when she saw the look on Greengrass's face. It was murderous.
"Davis. I'm glad I caught you. I've been meaning to have a conversation with you."
She must know.
"I don't know what for," said Tracey. "It can't be for friendly advice."
Daphne closed the space between them. The air was electric, the intensity of their emotions infusing it with magic. Both girls were ready for a fight. They were standing eye to eye, their noses almost touching.
"I heard your mother died this summer," Daphne whispered. "Good riddance."
Tracey was beginning to see red, barely controlling herself.
"My mother was twice the witch you'll ever be."
"Did you know?" Daphne asked.
"Did I know what?"
"Did you know that your foul mother is still killing Astoria, even from beyond the grave?"
Tracey remembered clutching her mother's body, waiting for any response, any warmth.
"What did you say about my mother?" she asked.
"I said she was foul, disgusting. The earth where she's buried will be forever tarnished by her disease!"
Tracey drew back her fist, and punched Daphne underneath the eye. She fell to the ground, stunned. Tracey kicked her hard in the stomach.
"Don't fucking talk about my mother, you bitch!"
Daphne gasped for air on the ground, she clutched for her wand. Tracey stomped on her wrist.
"Of course I knew," she continued. "Unlike your family, mine didn't keep secrets!"
She knelt beside Daphne, leaning close to her face. A bruise was forming over her eye, and her nose was bleeding.
"What," said Tracey. "Cat got your tongue?"
Tracey tenderly tucked a strand of Daphne's hair behind her ear.
"I've been meaning to do that for four years," she said. "Fuck you, Greengrass."
Daphne snatched at words.
"You halfblood-"
"Halfblood? What does that matter? You're the one on the ground," Tracey laughed. "Where's your pureblood superiority now?"
Tracey left Daphne in a fetal position, and quickly gathered her things. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep in the dorm tonight, or for the next few. She should've controlled her temper. She had just made things very dangerous for herself. What she would do to have friends at a time like this. She practically ran out the door, but caught herself.
She entered the common room casually, surveilling the area. The rest of her year were at the couches beside the fireplace. They didn't even glance up as she strolled past them, adrenaline still scorching through her veins. She reached the common room entrance, and let out a long breath.
She hoped Greengrass's pride would prevent her from telling anyone. It would make things easier for the both of them.
Daphne picked herself up off the floor, blood dripping from her nose. Her eye was swelling up, and she knew she had to put a glamour on before it got worse. Her stomach hurt, and she stumbled into the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. The pain lessened slightly, but she was worried about bruising and internal bleeding. She would be making a trip to the Hospital Wing. She looked in the mirror, assessing the damage.
Her eye was black, and her nose slightly crooked. Dirt from Davis's boot trailed up her wrist, and her robes were torn. Blood was crusted around her lips, and she leaned over the sink to wash her face. She examined herself again, and cast the necessary charms to cover up her injuries. It wasn't perfect, but it would pass until she got to the Hospital Wing. She walked heavily down the stairs, into the common room.
Her friends waved to her, and she smiled lightly as she made her way past them, her face turning to a grimace as soon as she was out of their sight.
She couldn't believe what Davis had done to her. The ease in which she'd moved. Daphne hadn't even had time to pull her wand before she was on the ground. The gall she'd had to talk about her family as if they were as disgusting as she. Davis and her mother were to blame for Astoria's curse, and Daphne would make sure that their dues were paid.
The dungeons were cold, even in the heat of the summer. The cool air felt good against her hot skin, taking some of the pain away. She felt numb, as if she was in a dream. The colors around her seemed muted, and the only thing keeping her grounded was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Before she knew it, she reached her destination.
Beds lined each wall in the Hospital Wing, their crisp white sheets screaming of sterilization. Everything was kept in pristine condition, exactly to Madam Pomfrey's high standards. There wasn't even a speck of dust on the stone floor. Daphne should know, she was often tasked with cleaning it.
Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, but Daphne knew she wouldn't be far away. She walked to the potions cabinet, and ran over her checklist. She took an anti-bruising potion, a blood-replenisher, and an organ-fortifier in quick succession. She'd had enough training to be sure in her decisions, and she didn't foresee any lasting repercussions from her fight with Davis.
She could feel the potions work immediately, an itching sensation overtaking her eye, and a warmth spreading in her stomach. She'd need help with her nose, and maybe her wrist. She ran over excuses to tell the matron, and decided on saying she'd fallen down the stairs.
"Madam Pomfrey!" she called out.
She heard a shuffling from the other room, and the matron presented herself.
"Daphne," she smiled warmly. "How is my protege doing?"
"I have fallen down some stairs, and I require assistance in setting my nose."
Madam Pomfrey was on her in a flash, casting diagnostic spells.
"I've already taken the required potions, and I assure you that I am fine."
"Your nose is broken, and your wrist is fractured," she tutted. "How exactly did this come about? I've never known you to be clumsy."
"I suppose we all have our moments." Daphne replied.
"Quite so, dear." said Madam Pomfrey. "Come, we can use this as an opportunity for learning."
She gently led Daphne to a bed, and had her hold her arm out. Daphne felt a sharp twinge of pain as her wrist protested.
"What spell would you use to fix this?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
Daphne thought about it.
"I would assume the statuto?"
Madam Pomfrey shook her head softly.
"Close. I will use that for your nose, but your wrist is in better condition. We can skip setting it, and jump straight to a mending spell. Loco constituo," she waved her wand over Daphne's arm.
Daphne could feel her wrist compress, the fracture fusing back into bone.
"I'll tell you what," Madam Pomfrey said. "Would you like to try your nose?"
Daphne nodded. Madam Pomfrey pulled her in front of a mirror. Her eye was completely healed, the bruising gone. Daphne raised her wand, pointing it at her nose.
"Paro statuto," there was a crack, and Daphne winced. A fresh spurt of blood came out of her nostrils, and Madam Pomfrey vanished it quickly. "Loco constituo."
And her face was back to normal.
"Thank you." said Daphne.
"I'm glad you came straight here, Daphne." said Madam Pomfrey.
Daphne felt a surge of warmth for the matron. Madam Pomfrey was by far her favorite of the Hogwarts staff. She had been studying under her for years, and she felt their relationship transcended the student-teacher dynamic.
"While I am here, might I ask what my schedule will be for the term? I would like to advance as quickly as possible."
"Are you still set on becoming a healer?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll have you work Tuesday and Thursday nights. Under my supervision, of course."
Daphne smiled, but faltered. There was something else on her agenda. She felt it was best to let Madam Pomfrey know about the nature of Astoria's curse, seeing that she would be providing her care. But she really didn't want to. Thinking about it made her stomach hurt worse than when Davis had kicked it. Madam Pomfrey noticed her shift in mood.
"Is there anything else, dear?"
Daphne decided that she would have to be vulnerable. The feeling was alien to her and quite uncomfortable.
"Yes," she said. "I've found out more about the nature of Astoria's curse. And I don't know what to do about it."
"Why didn't your parents inform us of this?"
"Astoria has required more attention this summer. They were probably preoccupied," Daphne defended.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. She went to the other room, and came back with a sheet of parchment.
"What did you find out?" she asked.
Daphne gathered her breath.
"It was placed on her by someone. Someone who died," she said. "My parents said that our hopes of a cure died with them."
Madam Pomfrey looked horrified.
"They didn't!"
Daphne was buoyed by her reaction.
"There is still hope?" she asked.
"Of course there is," said Madam Pomfrey. "Do you have any more information?"
"No. Nothing that could help with the logistics."
"We have been operating on the assumption that the curse was cast long ago, just dormant in your family. This changes things," said Madam Pomfrey.
"Can you help her?" asked Daphne.
"Not anymore than I'm already doing. There are only three people in this castle with knowledge of these types of curses."
"Who?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore is an expert in all forms of magic. I'm sure he'd be able to help."
Daphne's face belied her feelings towards Dumbledore.
"Fine," said Madam Pomfrey. "The other is Professor Snape."
Daphne could work with that. She trusted her Head of House.
"I'll talk with him this week," said Daphne. "But for now, I think I can speak for my parents in saying we'd like to leave the Headmaster out of this."
Madam Pomfrey frowned, but didn't say anything.
"Who is the third?" Daphne asked. She wanted to cover all avenues.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head, and gave her a wry smile.
"I can't tell you. I can't break confidentiality."
Daphne nodded.
"Thank you so much."
"Anything for you."
Daphne left the Hospital Wing, almost forgetting why she'd went in the first place. But Davis was in the back of her mind, plans brewing. Astoria was more important than any rivalry, and her vow was in the forefront of her thoughts.
The first night at Hogwarts passed without incident. Harry woke feeling well-rested, and was ready to start classes. He'd had to wait an entire summer to be back in the castle, and he looked forward to returning to business as usual. He had his usual breakfast in the Great Hall, substituting coffee for earl grey. He sat away from his housemates, and enjoyed being left alone. He saw Professor Snape handing out schedules, and prepared himself to have a draining interaction.
The moment was nigh, and Harry wouldn't stand against it.
"Potter," Snape hissed. "Your schedule."
"Thank you, Professor." Harry nodded.
Snape didn't hand over the parchment.
"Do not inconvenience me this year, Potter. I have to put up with enough of your stink as it is."
"I shower every day, Professor." Harry sniffed. "You could try it."
"Silence. You do not fool me, Potter. I cannot fathom what the Headmaster sees in you. All I see is a sickly little boy, shadowed by his own ego."
Snape dropped the schedule on the ground, leaving it for Harry to pick up. He heard snickers from down the table as he leant over. He dusted the parchment off, and looked over it. He groaned. His first lesson was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the Gryffindors no less.
He hadn't had time to think about what Dumbledore had asked of him, and it looked like he was about to be thrown into the deep end. He glanced at the staff table. Umbridge was overlooking the students, a great toad on top of a rock. She was practically bursting out of her pink robes, and it looked like at any instant a long tongue would dart out of her mouth and run over her stout face.
He gathered his things, and left the Great Hall. He'd get to the Defense room early, but it was worth avoiding the rush. He still had around half an hour before the rest of his peers would move in, and he aimed to give more thought to his predicament.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had obviously been arranged to Professor Umbridge's specifications. The decorations were all tacky, pressed flowers in frames along the walls, and the desks were charmed light pink. It looked like she had attempted to make the classroom seem warm and inviting, and failed miserably.
Dumbledore wanted him to protect Longbottom. Longbottom was known to be timid, but also unwaveringly brave. Harry suspected that he would do his best to avoid confrontation with the ministry appointed professor, but it might be a lesson in futility. There was only so much abuse one could take before they snapped, and then it would be Harry's job to come in and take the heat. For now he would just observe
He heard another person walk through the door, and was unsurprised to see Professor Umbridge. She did a double-take, and eyed him suspiciously, before catching herself. She plastered a sweet smile onto her face, and spoke.
"Good morning, what might your name be?"
"Harry Potter, ma'am."
"You are early, Mr. Potter. In the future, I would request you come with the rest of the students. Us professors need time to prepare our lessons!"
"I'm sure you do, Professor Umbridge. Next time I'll keep that in mind."
"Thank you," her smile grew. "You all are going to be my first lesson,"
"I'll count myself lucky, ma'am." Harry said, returning her smile. Stroking her ego might do him good.
"How sweet." Umbridge replied.
"How are you finding the castle so far, Professor?"
Umbridge's smile lost a hint of its sweetness.
"It takes me back to my own Hogwarts days," she said. "Though I must admit, I am disappointed with the standards of teaching. It's something I aim to improve."
Harry nodded, actually agreeing with her. The mere presence of Snape was enough to justify her claim, though he doubted she'd be much better.
"Well, I'm looking forward to the lesson today," said Harry. "I'll let you get set up."
Umbridge went to the chalkboard, and started jotting down instructions. Her handwriting was exactly as he'd expected, as tacky as the decorations. She wrote in loopy, almost childish cursive. Students began filtering in, and Harry watched as Neville Longbottom took his seat, flanked by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He looked tired, slumping in his chair, and there were bags under his eyes.
His own housemates took their seats, Malfoy and his cronies overtaking the back of the classroom. Millicent Bulstrode sat in the front, and Tracey Davis also isolated herself. The rest of the Gryffindors were already seated, and Umbridge cleared her throat to signal for attention. The chatter quieted down, and the focus shifted to her.
"Good morning, class." she said.
There was a muted chorus of "good mornings" directed back at her.
"Now, that just won't do. When I say 'Good morning,' I expect you all to reply, 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' Let's try that again. Good morning, class!"
"Good morning, Professor Umbridge." the class repeated.
"Thank you," said Umbridge. "Now, wands away and quills out, please."
The class half-heartedly followed her instructions.
"We will be doing a reading from Defensive Magical Theory, your required coursebook. I trust you all have it?" she asked.
There was a muted chorus of affirmations.
"Now, class," said Umbridge. "Just as with greetings, I expect you all to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge.' Do you all have your books?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge." the class replied.
Harry was pleasantly surprised. She might be useless, and was obviously a turgid teacher, but so far didn't seem to be too dangerous.
"It has come to my attention that your instruction in this subject has been woefully lacking. My class will use ministry-approved, proven techniques to catch you all up to where you should be." said Umbridge. "It will be theory based, and will instruct you on the basic principles of defensive magic. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge." said the class, but Hermione Granger's hand was in the air.
"Yes, miss…"
"Granger. Hermione Granger. I've read though the coursebook, and I had some questions about its aims."
"Well, allow me to explain. After this year, I expect you all to grasp the theory behind defensive magic, the scenarios in which it can legally be used, and to put into context its practical use."
"But there's nothing said about practicing spells, Professor."
Umbridge chuckled.
"Of course not. Why on earth would we need to use the spells, Miss Granger?"
Granger looked taken aback, as did the rest of the class. Harry wasn't surprised. If the ministry was taking a more active role in Hogwarts, neutering Dumbledore's influence would be one of their top priorities. Taking away spellwork and replacing it with squeaky clean theory would do just that.
"Because there's a practical portion of our OWLs? Because this is a class about learning to defend ourselves?" Granger said in a shrill voice.
Umbridge waved her concerns away, but her posture was starting to tense. Harry looked at Longbottom, who seemed like he was barely controlling his frustration.
"If you study the theory hard enough, I'm sure your practicals—which will be in a controlled setting—will be easy for you all, the bright young things that you are."
"And what of defending ourselves?" another Gryffindor piped up.
Umbridge was losing control.
"What would you need to defend yourselves from?" she snapped. "This is a school, a place of learning."
"What about outside of it?" Granger asked.
"You have all been led to believe that the world outside is a dangerous place," said Umbridge, looking pointedly at Longbottom. "This all baseless fear-mongering. The crime rates are lower than they've been in twenty years, thanks entirely to our wonderful Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Minister of Magic himself."
Longbottom finally spoke, his soft voice not belying the anger on his face.
"Maybe because they are preparing for something." he said.
Umbridge rounded on him.
"Preparing for what, exactly, Mr. Longbottom?" she asked, her nose quivering.
"I don't know," he said. "Lord Voldemort's return?"
The class gasped. Umbridge looked furious.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom." she gestured around the classroom. "You all have been lied to."
"You have been told a certain dark wizard has returned," she laughed. "From the dead. This is a lie,"
"It is not, Professor." Longbottom said, his voice still as soft as a pillow. "I saw him."
Umbridge ignored him.
"A most dangerous lie, designed to spread fear amongst you, and amongst us. I assure you that the Ministry of Magic can guarantee that this dark wizard is as he has been since 1981. Dead, and never coming back!"
She looked straight at Longbottom.
"Detention, my office tonight at eight. Class dismissed!"
No one wanted to stick around. The students were in the hallway, moving as quickly as they could. Harry watched as Longbottom was protected by Weasley and Granger, almost as if they were forming a barrier between him and the rest of the students. Draco Malfoy, however, wasn't discouraged.
"Oi, Longbottom!"
"Sod off, Malfoy," snarled Weasley.
Malfoy wasn't perturbed. The rest of the students stopped, intrigued by the latest confrontation between Malfoy and the Gryffindor trio.
"Made a fool of yourself in, there didn't you? Showing the world your true colors?"
"Get away from me, Malfoy," said Longbottom, his lips thin.
"I'm glad that the standards of this school are finally being raised. No time for the likes of you," said Malfoy.
"Maybe someday they'll be no time for the likes of her, either." he continued, gesturing towards Granger.
Weasley got in his face, shoving him.
"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" he asked.
"Oh, you know," said Malfoy. "Mudbloods."
Both Weasley and Longbottom reached for their wands. Harry remembered what Dumbledore had asked him to do, and he knew this was the moment he'd been waiting for. Longbottom would have it much worse than detention if he got caught throwing curses around the halls. He stepped forward.
"Didn't daddy teach you manners, Malfoy?"
Malfoy looked behind him, and was taken aghast.
"Potter?"
Harry slowed down, savoring the moment.
"Or does this stupidity run in the family?"
Malfoy's focus immediately shifted, forgetting about Longbottom.
"Know your place, halfblood!"
"To me, at least, it seems like you only know three words. 'Father,' 'halfblood,' and 'mudblood.' I assume your stunted vocabulary has to do with years of inbreeding?"
The surrounding students laughed. Malfoy's control of the situation was dwindling. In a last ditch effort to salvage it, he drew his wand. Harry smiled.
"What do you think you're going to do with that, Malfoy? Don't you remember second year?"
Malfoy paled, and let down his wand. His face brightened as he looked over Harry's shoulder. Umbridge had left her classroom, drawn by the sight of students clustered in the hallway.
"Well, what do we have here?"
Malfoy's wand was in his robes before anyone could blink.
"Professor, Potter was threatening me." he said calmly.
Umbridge looked over Harry, seeming conflicted.
"I guess that will be detention, Mr. Potter. Tomorrow, eight PM sharp."
Harry nodded, offering no words of defense.
Umbridge looked at the body of students.
"All of you should be off," and she turned to Harry and Malfoy. "Including you two. I don't want to see anymore fights, outside my classroom, or anywhere in this school."
Harry assured her he would take her advice, and left. But, he noticed one person in the crowd was staring him down. He caught the eye of Tracey Davis, and walked past her.
Tracey was excited. What she'd witnessed could prove to be a great boon. To think that there could be someone in Slytherin who shared her opinions, someone who was hiding right under her nose. The last time Harry Potter had crossed her mind was when his name was called out for the Sorting Hat. She'd spent years with him in Slytherin, but couldn't recall any conversations with him. They'd occupied different social circles, though she realized that meant neither of them had a social circle. She hadn't even known there were other halfbloods in Slytherin, though that could be because no one would ever admit it.
The way he'd beaten Malfoy at his own game had made her smile with glee, his cutting words reminiscent of her own revenge on Greengrass. But, she knew both incidents would incur retribution. It might be mutually beneficial for her and Potter to become friends—they could offer each other some modicum of protection.
She was buzzing as she took her seat in Transfiguration, doing her best not to stare at Potter. The other Slytherins were doing much the same. Everyone had been surprised by his interference, the openmouthed expressions on the Gryffindor's faces had been stunning, but even better were the dumb faces of her housemates. Nobody stood up to Malfoy like that.
She wasn't even listening as McGonagall started her lecture. She was shattered from her reverie when McGonagall noticed.
"Davis, would you care to join us?"
"Yes, Professor, sorry."
"That will be two points from Slytherin."
It said a lot about the current state of affairs that she didn't even receive any dirty looks. They were learning about vanishing spells, and Tracey couldn't even turn her snail translucent. She noticed Potter had already finished, no trace of the snail on his desk. She bent over and continued to work, glaring intensely at the gastropod.
The entire class looked up when there was a knock on the door.
McGonagall rose from behind her desk, and waved her wand, opening the door. Professor Snape strode in, looking like a bat from the dungeons.
"I beg your pardon, Professor McGonagall, but I must remove one of your students at once."
"Very well," she said. "Will you return them?"
"No, our business will take longer than this lecture. Davis," he pointed at her. "Come with me."
Tracey didn't think twice before standing up. She didn't want to provoke Snape.
"Your homework is to keep practicing the vanishing spell, Davis. See to it that your performance rises next lesson." said McGonagall.
That drew snickers, but McGonagall's glare was enough to shut them up. Tracey followed Snape out the door, and dodged a leg from Greengrass. She didn't even give the girl a look. Snape led her through the castle, down to the dungeons and into the potions classroom. He took her past where they worked, and into his office.
"Sit down, Davis." he said.
He pulled an envelope out of his robes, and handed it to her. It was addressed to her, from Gringotts.
"Sir?"
"Davis, do you really think it would not come out that you mother is dead?" Snape's gaze softened. "Hogwarts offers help to students in your position. I'd assume that letter is your mother's will."
Tracey's good mood was in the bin. She turned the envelope over in her hands, working up the resolve to open it. She ran her finger under the lip, tearing it open. Here eye's scanned over the document, ignoring the legal jargon.
"Hang on," she said, looking up at Snape. "This can't be right."
"How do you mean?"
Tracey was staring at the sheet of paper in her hand, her eyes wide.
"It says she's leaving me three-thousand galleons… that's a small fortune."
Snape grabbed the paper from her, and looked over it himself.
"Gringotts doesn't make mistakes." he said. "That money belongs to you."
Tracey once again felt like her world was in turmoil. Three-thousand galleons was enough for them to live comfortably in the muggle world, enough for them to have had a nice house instead of that awful flat. Why hadn't her mother used the money? It could've saved them years of pain.
It probably could've helped her last longer than she did, Tracey thought. Maybe even cure her of the illness that had ravaged her health for Tracey's entire life. She felt betrayed, as if her whole world was a lie. The locket felt heavy against her chest, its weight seemed to have multiplied by ten. What was her mother thinking?
"I'm sorry, Davis. For what it's worth, I've seen a lot of people in your position, not just students." he had a far away look in his eye.
She looked at Snape with anger in her eyes, but it quickly faded. She had enough enemies as it was, and he was only trying to help.
"Do you mind?" she asked, asking for the paper. Snape gave it to her without a word. She tucked it into her bag, and let herself out of his office.
This would change a lot of things in her life, and she knew she should be looking forward to it. But, she couldn't help but feel disheartened. She had to stop wishing for a better past, she couldn't change a thing about it. She still wished more than anything that she could. She couldn't change the past, and she couldn't see into her mother's head. She wasn't able to when she was alive, why would that change when she was dead?
Harry's first day of classes went splendidly. The incident with Malfoy had only improved his mood. Transfiguration was a breeze, and Herbology was almost always soothing. They had just potted and trimmed some of the greenhouse's Bubbling Ferns. He'd gotten looks in the common room, but so far no one had been brave enough to actually say anything to him. He would take the peace while it lasted.
His second day went much the same. Care of Magical Creatures had its introductory lecture, and they hadn't worked with any animals. The only other class he'd had was History, and like all the other students, he used it as a nap. Binns's voice had the remarkable quality of white noise, and Harry thought he got better sleep in there than he did in his bed.
All that was left on the agenda was detention with Umbridge.
When he thought of her, he almost laughed. Her control of the class was pathetic, and she was only detracting from the Ministry's goals at Hogwarts. How it was decided that she would be the one to take the position was a conundrum. It was woefully thought-out, and Harry aimed to take advantage of it.
He would take the heat off Longbottom by doing exactly what Longbottom did, to the extreme. Longbottom had struggled to contain himself, even during the first lecture. If Harry acted out even more than he did, it would take all the attention off Longbottom.
He pulled on the cloak, heading towards Umbridge's office. He took the scenic route, appreciating Hogwarts' long hallways, the breeze that travelled down them, causing the torches ensconced in the walls to flicker. The scenic route would give him time to think.
He had so many memories here. Images flashed through his head, getting the cloak on Christmas in his first year, and the note from Dumbledore that came along with it. Finding out what that meant for him. Fighting Draco Malfoy beside the portrait of Sir Cadmington in his second year, showing him that he was not someone to be bullied. Going to the Hospital Wing in his third, and taking the first batch of potions that kept him alive. Arguments with Snape, the soft touch of Madam Pomfrey, the gentle voice of Dumbledore, telling him that things were going to be okay.
He was struck by the importance of what he was doing. Voldemort was back, and the world didn't want to admit it. The ministry was turning itself into a villain through its own inaction, and people like Umbridge were allowing this to happen. Anything he could do to change it, he would. Even if Dumbledore hadn't asked him to, he would.
He found himself outside Umbridge's office, right on time for detention. He knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Umbridge.
He opened the door to the most garish room he'd ever seen. Every inch was decked out in hot pink, or lavender purple. Frills and lace covered every surface, and porcelain plates with images of cats were hung up on the walls. It was absurd, like a shrine to elderly tastes.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter." she said with a smile.
Harry remembered how yesterday's class went.
"Good evening, Professor Umbridge." he replied.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked.
"Yes, please."
She poured him a cup, and sat him down in a straight-backed chair.
"Now, Mr. Potter," she said. "What Mr. Malfoy said yesterday is a very serious accusation. I am aiming to make my classroom—and this school—an open and welcoming environment. Could you explain the circumstances of your threat?"
Harry took a sip of his tea. It was sickeningly sweet, saccharine in flavor. He wouldn't play his cards just yet.
"I'm sorry, Professor. There's no excuse for my behaviour," he said. "Draco had just insulted my heritage, and my temper flared."
"Your heritage? From what I understand, you come from a noble and respected family."
Her words hit Harry the wrong way.
"I know Professor," he said, thinking of his mother. Everyone he'd met who'd known her had nothing but glowing things to say. What right did Malfoy have to imagine himself better than her? "That's why I took offence."
"I hope this doesn't happen again, Mr. Potter. Next time I will be forced to resort to a harsher punishment."
"You can count on me, Professor."
"Well, I won't keep you. You are free to go," she said.
Harry's eyes widened.
"That's all?" he asked.
"Yes, dear. You seem to be an exemplary student, according to your grades in other classes. We all have our mistakes, though I expect to see improvement in your behaviour."
She shooed him out the door.
The next time Harry had detention with her, he was sure it wouldn't be as friendly. The walk back to his dorm wasn't filled with rumination, just humor at the absurd situation he was in. He didn't take the long route this time, preferring to get back as quickly as possible. He had neglected to put on the cloak, though curfew was around the corner. His pace quickened, and he wasn't aware of his surroundings. He thudded into a girl near the common room, sending her sprawling across the floor. Her bag had spilled open, and papers were everywhere.
"What do you think you're doing?" snarled Daphne, picking herself up. "Watch where you're going!"
She turned to see thin air, Harry having vanished under the cloak.
Daphne needed a distraction. After her eventful first night, she'd done little to further her goals. She'd been unable to find time to talk with Snape, having been busy with her first classes. Every second that passed she felt guilt. Astoria needed her to do this. She'd had trouble focussing in her classes, with the smug face of Davis around every corner. Ideas of revenge were getting harder to ignore, and though her physical wounds had been healed, her confidence would take longer to recover.
She was trying to write an essay for Arithmancy, but it was proving harder and harder to find the words to express her thoughts. The Slytherin common room was never a lively place, but even the drone of light conversation was disrupting her concentration. Every word spoken caused her to look over her shoulder, and lose her place in the essay.
She'd had enough. She packed her things, and marched to the third year dorms. She was going to see Astoria. Her sister was lounging on her bed when she came in, reading a book. She looked up at Daphne, and a small smile came to her face.
Her sister looked very different from Daphne. She had auburn hair, almost always done in a loose ponytail, and a rounded face. Dimples rounded off her cheeks, and her demeanor was warm and relaxed.
"Do you need help with your homework?" Daphne asked.
"No," Astoria said. "But I'd love to take a walk with you."
She jumped off the bed, throwing her book onto her pillow. Astoria moved with liveliness, and on days like this, no one would ever suspect she was ill. The sisters set off, and agreed to go to the Astronomy Tower.
"Have your first days met expectations?" Daphne asked. Astoria chuckled.
"Will you ever start talking like a normal person? It's always so formal with you," she said. "Classes are classes. Nothing's changed."
Daphne ignored her sister's jibe.
"Bored already?"
"Not bored. Everything is just really normal," Astoria declared. "You've had Defense, right?"
Daphne huffed.
"That teacher will single-handedly ruin my chance of an OWL in defense. She won't oversee any practical magic. It's all going to be theory."
"Ugh," Astoria wrinkled her nose. "Any chance it's only for you guys?"
"She seemed quite intent on 'Going back to basics.' I should think that wouldn't change, regardless of year."
They had made it to the spiral staircase that seemed to wind into the sky.
"Some people just know how to take the magic out of magic," Astoria said with an ugly look. "I heard Draco got in a fight."
Daphne frowned.
"With Potter. I hadn't even heard him talk before. I haven't seen Draco so agitated in ages."
"Serves him right. The ponce needs a kick up the arse."
"Astoria, Draco's a friend. I don't want to see him upset over someone like Potter."
"I don't understand why, though. Malfoy is an idiot."
"You've made your reservations clear, and you know where I stand on the matter." said Daphne. Astoria kept going.
"And what do you mean, 'Someone like Potter?' You said for yourself that you've only heard him talk once."
"It was enough to form an opinion."
"You can be blind sometimes, Daph."
They both paused, having reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. The Hogwarts grounds rolled out over their vision. It was evening, and the setting sun lit up every portion of the scene before them. The Quidditch pitch was immaculate, the metal hoops glinting. The stands were dwarfed by the Astronomy Tower, and they could see onto the field. Even in the summer, smoke reliably came out of the chimney in Hagrid's hut, and the Forbidden Forest stretched out as far as the eye could see. Daphne decided not to continue their topic, and took her sister's hand.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
Astoria knew what she meant, and sighed.
"Much better than the end of last year. I'm glad I was able to come back to school."
"I will remind you not to overexert yourself."
"I'll do my best, but it's not something I can totally control."
"I know."
And the two fell into silence. Daphne wasn't going to tell her about her promise. She knew her sister would appreciate it, but the disappointment of having her condition control Daphne's life would be hard to bear. Astoria had suffered enough disappointment in her life, and Daphne didn't want to add to it. If she made breakthroughs, that would change.
"I should probably get going. I told some friends I'd study with them. Curfew's coming up." said Astoria.
Daphne let go of her sister's hand.
"Remember to ask me if you need help. With anything," said Daphne.
"Always." said Astoria.
She left, the noise of her footsteps gradually receding. Daphne followed, taking one last look at the grounds. The Astronomy Tower was hardly the most secret place in Hogwarts, but it was definitely one of the most beautiful. She felt lighter, spending time with Astoria always made her feel better. She walked through the castle, down into the dungeons. The stretch of wall that housed the common room was in sight, when she was flung to the floor. Her bag burst open, the pages of her Arithmancy essay scattered across the floor. She caught a glimpse of black hair.
"What do you think you're doing?" snarled Daphne, picking herself up. "Watch where you're going!"
But no one was there. She looked both ways down the passage. Silently, she fixed her bag. Luckily, her essay was undamaged, but it was a pain putting the papers in order. She stated the password, and the bricks moved to reveal the passage into the common room.
She surveilled the room. Her friends were in their usual spot by the fireplace. Davis was sitting alone in the corner. Suddenly, she had the answer to her problem. She went to the fireplace, and tapped Malfoy on the shoulder.
"Draco," she said. "Can I speak to you privately?"
He nodded his assent, and they moved away from the group. Daphne didn't beat around the bush.
"I heard something about Davis."
A/N: I'm just getting back into writing after a few years, so I apologize if my writing is a little clunky. I'm hoping that will get ironed out over the course of this story. It's been said that I'm jumping between scenes pretty quickly, and I agree. As the characters move closer to each other, I'm planning on the scenes blending together, so I ask that you stick with me through the mud. Let me know about formatting, spelling, or grammatical errors and I'll try to keep up with editing them.