Chapter Sixteen: Christmas

Christmas, Daphne had been reliably informed, was meant to be fun. Family, merriment, the odd argument and too much food before falling asleep with a good book and a Gobstones tournament. Sounds perfect, right? Well, what she was treated to, was arguably the worst Christmas she had ever had. Melissa Greengrass had taken it upon herself to invite every single member of the esteemed Greengrass family and some of her family. Daphne hated the Rookwoods.

There were odd glances, more than usual, and she suspected that the news about Harry had extended to more people than those who walked the corridors of Hogwarts. It was hardly surprising. Emille Roomwood, Melissa's cousin, went on a long rant about the abhorrent amount of muggle-borns in her office at the Ministry as Mopsy served the Christmas Pudding, all the while glaring at Daphne as if she had put the muggle-borns there. It was enough to make Daphne want to drive her fork into the woman's narrow, squinty eyes. In fact, it was only that image that made her able to not scream in her face as Emille said things like "they don't even know what they're talking about! It's not their fault, of course, but you would think they'd do some damned research."

Beatrice Rookwood, the matriarch of the clan, had snorted at this and added, "it's their breeding. They're lucky to even know magic exists."

I'm sure they feel super lucky having to deal with people like you.

Astoria was, as usual, perfect. Pulling on a smile that Daphne had come to learn was entirely false, despite being utterly convincing, she managed to juggle Rookwood and Greengrass alike. She impressed where she had to, flattered where she should and laughed where she believed necessary. Beside her, Daphne had sat sullenly not saying a word fearing that her temper — which was at the very edge of its limits these days — did not overflow. These were not the type of people who forgave easily, and forgot even less readily.

In fact the only good thing about Christmas Day had been the presents Mopsy had arranged at the bottom of her bed. There were the usual misjudged family gifts from those who felt they ought to buy her something. A set of robes that were far too tight — no doubt a thinly veiled hint from her aunt — a voucher for Flourish and Blotts from her mother, and assortment of odds and ends from uncles and cousins.

Yet, next to the small pile of goods from her family, sat another pile from her friends. The first of its kind. Daphne had sat for a while, just looking at it, not wanting to unwrap them but just appreciating their existence. Whilst she may have been friendly with some people from Hogwarts they had never thought to buy her gifts, and she likewise had returned the lack of festive cheer.

Ron had bought her a set of quills, attached with a note that said they'd: be good for all the ruddy homework we're doing. Hermione, a girl Daphne really hadn't been expecting anything from, had sent her Heidi Grimshaw's Complete Guide to Arithmancy's Secrets. It was a book the pair of them had gushed about when discussing their homework a few weeks ago. Tracey had sent her a new Gobstones set — having commented before on how battered Daphne's were, in part because she was thoroughly useless at the game despite enjoying it — and the menu to the Chinese takeaway they had ordered from a few days prior. The memory made her smile as she set it aside on her desk.

She had picked up the next present, expecting it to be from Harry, but was surprised to see the small tag reveal the same Neville Longbottom. Above his name he had simply written Thank you. The wrapping paper fell away after Daphne tore it apart to reveal a small potted plant in a large bell jar. Within the jar rain was pouring and tiny clouds gathered. A tiny note at the base of the plant read Moly. Daphne recognised the name as something she had used in Potions, crushed Moly leaves. She had never imagined the plant itself would be so beautiful. Its black steam stretched towards the clouds in its jar, white petals blooming beneath the tiny rain storm.

The plant was rewarded with pride of place on her bookshelf, looking beautiful next to all the cracked spines. She had spent longer than she cared to admit watching the tiny clouds clear and a small sun pour light onto the flower, which basked beneath it. It was enchanted to give the flower exactly what it needed, ensuring that it would be in bloom whenever it could be and that it never died. Daphne made a mental note to pick something up for Neville before she returned to the castle as she turned to Harry's presents.

It was a small collection. There was the copy of Crippling Curses and Counter-Curses, which she had commented on at Grimmauld Place, a bookmark inscribed with her initials and its dark emerald leather decorated with silver stitching, a rune decryption set that she had had her eye on for months, and a photo within a black and silver frame. Within the confines of the frame waving up at her and smiling were the entire DA, minus Colin Creevy who had excitedly insisted on taking the photo during their fourth session. Tracey was next to Ron and Hermione and at the centre, his hair a mess as always, was Harry beside a smiling Daphne. With the photo came a small note.

So you know we're not always so far away. Merry Christmas, Daph.

Love,

Harry

Daphne spent longer than she would ever tell anyone looking at the photo before placing it next to Neville's plant. It could sit there for a day, she thought, not wanting to let it rest in plain sight much longer for fear of what her mother would do with the identities of the DA so readily to hand. Melissa Greengrass was far too busy organising her day of family-based merriment to care about her daughter after all.

The gifts had been a welcome distraction until she had been summoned downstairs to be greeted by her entire wretched family. The day had been truly horrific and Daphne, despite her best efforts, had been dragged into a conversation about whether or not muggle-borns were born stupid or if they were deliberately dense. Rich from a woman who Daphne knew full well had failed all but three of her final years exams at Hogwarts and only had a job because her name was Rookwood.

A reprieve from her life at Greengrass Manor finally came in the form of Tracey's tryouts. Scouts from the Caerphilly Catapults, Falmouth Falcons and Wigtown Wanderers would all be there. The 'there' in question was the Holyhead Harpies' stadium, who had been announced as the host for this year. Entrants were sent portkeys, so the plan was for Daphne to head to the Davis household before they were to leave at 9:34 and tag along that way. Harry and Ron, along with some of the other Weasleys and no doubt some extra guards, would be apparating.

Daphne checked her reflection in the mirror on her wall, critiquing it as she always did. Her blonde hair was darker in the winter than summer, when the light made it shine a colour she mildly liked. She had tied it in a loose ponytail before applying a minimal amount of the various products Astoria was always recommending to her. She settled with the reflection as it was and headed downstairs. To her bemusement and confusion, Astoria was waiting for her and with no magazine or breakfast in sight this time.

"Thought Trace could do with the moral support," she said by way of explanation. "Mum thinks I'm going to Penelope's, so we're in the clear."

"She'll kill you if she finds out." Daphne informed her, knowing better than to argue.

"Then it's a good thing she won't," Astoria shrugged, she was wearing her dark hair in a tight bun and had decided upon a set of flattering periwinkle robes for the occasion, complete with a thick hat and a knitted dark blue scarf. She completed the look with a bag on her back and a school book under one arm. "I'll head back ten minutes or so before you, then we'll look like we came from different places. And don't look at me like you've never done this before. Now, aren't we on a schedule?"

"You're intolerable," Daphne muttered, but grinned at her sister as they headed for the fireplace.

"Yet you love me, so who's the real fool?"

"Do you want to come?"

Astoria simply bowed her head and passed Daphne the floo powder. Emerald flames, whirling grates and a smooth exit later found them stepping into the Davis family living room.

Tracey was sat on her sofa, her jaw clenched and clad in the Quidditch robes Montague had sorted for her as a substitute player. Her mother was watching her, a worried expression etched onto her kind face, while her father sat awkwardly next to her as men his age often did during times of emotional turmoil.

"Ah Daphne," Clara Davis said, seizing on the new visitor to help provide some form of joy into her daughter's tortured face. "You're just in time. And you must be Astoria, I assume?" Astoria nodded and extended a hand, which Clara shook. "Daphne told us all about you on her last visit. It's lovely to meet you."

"You too," Astoria beamed, "sorry for the surprise. I just thought it'd be good to come, you know, moral support and all that."

"The more the merrier," Jason entoned, still looking at his daughter like she might explode.

They were not there long, a fact which Daphne was grateful for as the conversation was about as pleasant as troll boggies. Tracey continued to stare at the floor, her eyes swirling with nerves, while Clara Davis did her best to act as if everything was normal while shooting worried glances at her daughter.

In fact, the portkey's usual alarming jerk of the naval was a welcome reprieve and within an instant they vanished from the muggle living room and appeared before a huge stadium. The colours of the Holyhead Harpies adorned every surface and the flags blew quite viciously in the harsh winter wind. If this were a match day the path to the stadium would be rammed with people, all being hailed by merchants of every flavour selling memorabilia of all varieties. Today, however, the road was empty save for a few families.

Just in front of them was a bored looking wizard with thinning hair and bushy eyebrows. He stared at them impassively before pointing to the bucket of portkeys beside him. There was an empty tin can, an old boot, the handle of a bicycle and an old umbrella. Jason Davis, a cheery smile on his face, placed the brown paper bag they'd been given into the pile.

"Sign here," the wizard intoned, thrusting out a clipboard and quill. "All of you."

They took it in turns and when Daphne, who was the final one to sign her name, passed it back to him the man let out a dull hum of acceptance before picking up a battered paperback and finding his page again. Jason muttered something about job satisfaction as they walked away down the long path to the stadium. The nearer they got, the more nervous Tracey was becoming. She kept fiddling with the cuff of her robes and chewing at her lip, her eyes darting feverishly around until she saw a mop of bright red hair, a beaming grin and the small group standing waiting for them.

Ron and Harry waved, while beside them a young witch with blonde hair, a round face, and paler skin even than Daphne looked at them cautiously. A little bit further away, chatting to Lee Jordan, were Fred and George Weasley. Only Mrs Weasley and Ginny were conspicuous by their absence and Daphne wondered exactly how that conversation had gone and suspected it had not been what anyone could call 'good'. Still, they were there.

There were the usual formal greetings between parents, the mysterious witch who Daphne assumed was one of Harry's guard, and the others. Tracey gave Ron a tight hug, which lasted a second or two longer than any hug she had ever given Daphne, before a disembodied voice announced that tryouts were about to begin.

"Good luck!" Daphne, Ron and Clara Davis called after the fleaing form of Tracey as she followed the sign labelled 'tryouts'. The rest of them headed up into the stands which were only partially occupied by families. Some, like the Knots and the Warringtons, Daphne recognised — others were a mystery. Sat in a separate stand were the scouts from each team, all wearing their respective team colours and chatting happily among themselves. All except one man, who wore a thick set of purple robes and sat well away from the rest of the crowd.

"Who's that?" Daphne asked Harry and Ron, pointing to the man.

"No idea," Harry shrugged, hardly surprisingly given his general lack of Quidditch knowledge outside of the games he played and listened to occasionally on the wizarding wireless. "Looks a bit weird though."

"That's Augustus Neil," Fred said, as he and George joined them, "the scout for the Harpies. No wonder they're hosting this year."

"Didn't know the Harpies needed youth players," Ron commented with interest, leaning forwards to get a better view. "Haven't they got their own academy for all of that stuff?"

"Clearly they're not doing the business," Fred said.

So much for minor teams. Daphne hoped that Tracey had not spotted Neil, who was looking intently at a small gaggle of girls congregating at the end of the pitch. Tracey, who was making her way out onto the pitch, the regulation broom in her hand, looked petrified but managed a small smile as she looked up at her family and friends. They were not hard to miss as they were by far the largest group there.

"Wonder if he'd talk to us about sponsorship deals," George added, grinning. "It'd be great to get a big Quidditch team on side."

"The Cannons are here too!" Ron protested.

"We said a big team, Ron, or did you forget the Canons were utterly useless last year?"

"And the year before that," chimed in George.

"And the year —"

"Alright," huffed Ron, slouching down in his seat.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud whistle and a tall, dark-skinned woman in Quidditch robes striding out onto the pitch. She barked out instructions and the would-be Quidditch players were separated into teams to perform passing practice. Her name, Ron informed Daphne when she sent the hopefuls onto timed laps of the pitch, was Esmee Jones — the mother of Harpies captain Gwenog Jones and a famous player in her own right. Apparently.

Tracey was acquitting herself rather well as the day went on. Throughout the session people were let go, at the end of each drill they watched as Tracey's dreams hung in the balance and were promptly kept alive as Esmee told Tracey to play in more and more drills.

"How's things?" Harry asked, as Tracey and thirteen other girls and boys of varying ages were split by their preferred positions and tasked with performing their roles perfectly in a mock game against one another. "I mean, at home?"

"Not great," she admitted, the others had moved closer to get a better look, all except the woman who had accompanied them who kept her distance at the back of the stand. Daphne had the horrible feeling that she was watching her, but whenever she looked over the woman was always watching the entrances to the stand. "Mum doesn't approve of you or Tracey, I haven't even told her about Ron. Can you imagine how she'd react if she knew I was friends with the Weasleys? Christmas was awful. She had her family 'round, it was horrible."

"The Rookwoods?"

"Yeah, barrel of laughs they are. The only good thing was Gasper didn't come. Dad banned him from the house because he was a Death Eater and mum still won't let him in. It's about the only decent thing she's done all holiday. She even let Umbridge in on my first day back, that was a treat."

For the next five minutes or so she caught Harry up on everything that had happened at Greengrass Manor. From Umbridge's little interrogation, to thanking him for his presents, and the snide remarks about Tracey. The only thing she didn't mention was the not too subtle dig about just why she had ended up in the hospital wing. She didn't really fancy upsetting him on one of the only times he was allowed to leave the house.

"So she knows about the DA?" Harry asked when she had finished, only interrupting once to say thank you for his own presents and to promise to let her know when he found a game he wanted to go to. "Umbridge, I mean."

"Yep," Daphne said, sadly, as Tracey refused to be dummied yet again by the opposition Seeker who was trying desperately to bait Tracey away from her dogged pursuit of the Snitch. "So we're going to have to be careful, really careful. People should probably start summoning doors like I do and get Hermione to take down the list of names in there. We can't exactly have it lying around."

"Good idea."

"We could do with getting rid of her really," Daphne carried on, "for good. She's not helping anyone and I dread to think what she'll do if she actually manages to get rid of Dumbledore."

She had begun concocting an idea of how best to get rid of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It wouldn't be easy, but she had identified the few people whose help she needed. The only problem was Harry. She knew he would not like her plan, for it meant others putting themselves in harm's way. He'd be quite happy to do it himself, of course, but that was the issue. He wouldn't work. And he had a thing about protecting his friends.

"Well we can't, can we?" Harry said, moodily. "We're stuck with her."

"Maybe not," Daphne admitted. She had toyed with not telling him, keeping it to herself and just doing it anyway, but Harry didn't strike her as the type of person to welcome such behaviour with open arms. In fact, he'd probably stop speaking to her altogether. A few months ago, that would have been no problem, but time changed things. "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

"Why not?"

"Because," she sighed, not wanting to say the next words that were to come out of her mouth. Words that, if she got it wrong, could well stop them from being friends. It was a thought she'd had while concocting this plan, the thought that had made her tell him and the thought that had almost made her drop it completely. The trouble was she couldn't. Not because of what Umbridge had said, not entirely, but because of what she could yet do to Harry.

"It involves that blood quill."

"No."

"You don't even know what the plan is yet," Daphne said, patiently. Harry was looking at her with a mixture of dread, fear and utter defiance.

"I don't need to know, if it involves that thing, I don't want to know."

"Look, it won't work any other way, alright? She's got Fudge wrapped around her finger, so we need to show him what she's doing. Deluded or not, no Minister would condone the use of that thing on students." She faltered, before adding, "at least, not the right students."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, still cautious but at least he didn't' look as though he wanted to explode anymore.

"She's going after people she knows won't talk or even if they do it doesn't matter, that's why you're the obvious target. But it won't just be you for much longer. So, why not get her to target the people we can use. I've thought of a couple that might work, Longbottom for one and Susan Bones."

"Just say I agree with you on this," Harry said, bewildered. "Why those two?"

"It's about who they're related to," Daphne explained, "Augusta Longbottom is well-liked, respected and because of his parents it'll be easy to get the sympathy vote." she carried on speaking hurriedly before Harry could protest, she had suspected he wouldn't like any mention of Neville's parents. "And Susan's aunt is Madam Bones. If we can get Umbridge to be stupid enough to attack her neice, Fudge won't know what hit him. Then, of course, there's me."

"You?" Harry almost shouted.

"Yes, me," Daphne said quickly, gripping his hand tightly to get him to quieten down. Ron and the others didn't look over, but the mysterious witch was now openly watching them with interest. "Bones comes from a famously law-abiding family, the Longbottoms love Dumbledore and so, obviously, that leaves the traditional purebloods. And as far as I can see, you've got no other Slytherins willing to do this. So yes, me. They may not like me much, but my mother, as she keeps reminding me, is still one of them.

"When it's all done we go to a magazine and the board of governors, sell the story, get it out there and before you know it Fudge is drowning in negative press and parents desperate to keep their children safe. Especially if one of the children she is torturing is a pureblood Slytherin just like a lot of them are."

"No way, this is stupid. It's one thing her attacking me with that thing, but you lot —"

"Harry, she's only going to get worse. Dumbledore won't last forever and once he's gone do you really think she won't dish that out on a regular basis? By then, the Minister wouldn't believe any of us anyway."

"That doesn't mean you should have your hand cut open," Harry shot back, vehemently.

"It does if I can get rid of that bitch," Daphne snapped.

"Then we do something else."

"What else? Umbridge feeds off being in control, we've got to make her think it's all her idea. Then we use it against her. It's the only thing that'll work. I know you don't like this, Harry. Really. I do. But think about it for a minute. We'd all know what we're getting ourselves in for, that's far more than you knew. If it means we get rid of her, surely a few scratches are worth it?"

Harry was silent for a moment, staring at the pitch which had long since become a scene Daphne was no longer living. She was staring instead, intently, at Harry. Hoping that she hadn't made a mistake in telling him, or in revealing that her mind was capable of thoughts he so clearly abhorred. Ambition and courage didn't always follow the same paths.

"And how would we even do it?"

"I don't know yet," Daphne admitted, "the obvious thing is to get them, us, to say something about Voldemort. That got a rise last time."

"I don't like it," Harry continued, still refusing to look at her.

"I know, but it's all I can think of. She gets a kick off of hurting people and the way I see it she's been too quiet for too long. Sooner or later someone's going to get hurt, we might as well make sure it's only people who know what they're signing up for."

"Why did you tell me?" He asked, finally letting his emerald green eyes meet hers. She felt her heart skip a beat as he looked at her, partly out of fear of what he might see but also something else, something she didn't quite understand.

"Because no matter how much I want her gone, I know you'd never forgive me for lying to you." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, if you really hate this, really don't want me to do it, then I won't. I promise. But she will only get worse, Harry. I know it, you know it, everyone in the DA can see it. She's going to close us down, get rid of Dumbledore and then who knows what? I just… I just want to stop getting any worse."

"I'll think about it," Harry answered eventually.

"That's all I ask." They sat in silence for a long moment, neither one too keen on looking at the other. Their eyes were drawn to the mock match. Tracey was zipping around faster than Daphne had ever seen her and the opposing Seeker, who for the first part of the match had been leading the way as Tracey had no doubt intended, was now doing all he could to keep up. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Tracey dived. The other Seeker hurtled after her. They shot towards the ground, a tiny glint of golden light flashing inches away from Tracey's outstretched fingertips.

A bludger hurtled towards them, hit hard by the opposition Beater who had seen what was just about to happen. The other Seeker pulled up, avoiding the bludger, but Tracey, who was mere feet from the ground, rolled so that she was hanging on her broom upside down. Her mother gasped and Ron swore loudly. Tracey snatched out with her free hand as she righted herself and the whistle of Esmee Jones blew shrilly around the stadium.

Daphne's heart, like many of the others, was in her mouth as she sprinted to the front of the stands to make sure that Tracey was alright. The Snitch was clutched in her left hand as she slowed to stop and jumped off her broom, landing gently on the ground. A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she looked, not at the scouts, but at her parents who were gawking at her, frozen in their seats.

Ron, like Daphne, had hurried forwards to get a better look and was whooping happily. The rest of the players were joining Tracey on the ground, only the opposition Seeker looked thoroughly put out but the rest of them were patting her on the back and cheering.

"Blimey," Ron said, once he had stopped screaming himself hoarse. "That was mental. I knew she was good but…"

"I'd like to see Malfoy do that," Daphne smirked, watching on as her friend shook hands with Esmee Jones, a look of shock and adoration on her face. Esmee Jones, Daphne knew, was one of Tracey's all time favourite players and judging by the way she was talking to Tracey, Esmee liked what she'd seen. Over in the other stands the scouts were muttering among themselves, all apart from the purple-robed wizard who had disappeared from sight.

"That idiot wouldn't even know how to do that," said Ron. "Imagine his face when she comes back a professional Quidditch player." His grin spread even wider across his freckled face. He was looking down at Tracey in a way that she had never seen him look before. Daphne wondered, idly, if he knew what that look meant or if he was even aware he was doing it.

"You should say something," Daphne said quietly, so that Fred and George, who were clapping nearby and loudly telling the set of parents next to them that they knew Tracey, didn't hear. "To Tracey. I don't think she'd say no."

Ron's smile vanished in an instant, replaced by an open mouthed, wide-eyed gawking.

"What do you… I mean… I'm not… D'you think?"

"Yeah, just do yourself a favour and don't look like that," Daphne said, fondly, gently extending a finger and shutting his mouth for him. "You look a little deranged, sweet, but weird. Try actual words and say how you feel, because trust me Ron we all know."

Ron gulped. But was prevented from saying anything else by the arrival of Harry, Jason and Clara Davis, and the Twins. Though as Harry looked at him his ears, which were so obviously his tell, went a deeper scarlet than Daphne had ever seen them go before.

"I think we can go down," Clara informed them all, pointing to a steady stream of parents who had begun making their way onto the pitch. The boy who had been Tracey's opposite number was receiving a rather stern telling off from a man Daphne assumed was his father. Oh to be a Quidditch dad, she thought. He'd probably got close to a career himself, no doubt been a Seeker too, and pushed his son to follow in his footsteps. It was a story as old as the sport itself.

By the time they arrived out onto the pitch, the scouts were beginning to mingle with the players. None of them, sadly, went anywhere near the boy Tracey had beaten but a few were interested in the Beater that had tried to stop her. Augustus Neil was in deep conversation with Esmee Jones, while a few of the other scouts were talking animatedly to Tracey.

"We'll give you all the latest equipment," one was saying, "best broom money can buy."

"And the worst team money can buy," another shot, "ignore him, they only play kids when they have to, you wouldn't get a future there. But with Puddlemere, we've already got one of the best young keepers in the league and we're looking for a Seeker just like you in a few years."

"Yeah, right, like you'll get rid of Channel," snapped the third, a dark haired witch with a pinched nose. "If you want a future Miss Davis, then the Arrows are perfect for you. We're currently working on setting up the greatest academy the league has to offer."

"With no players," shot back the Puddlemere scout irritably. "Setting up is another way of saying you'd be their only decent player."

"Alternatively," Clara Davis said, in a voice that reminded Daphne all too much of her own mother. "You could simply inform us of your names, interest, and the details of your proposals by owl and give my daughter some time to enjoy herself. We will reply in due course. Now, if you don't mind."

All three scouts recognised that their time was up and faded away, one of them, the Arrows scout, begrudgingly went to the other young Seeker who looked as though they might cry.

"That was amazing!" Tracey's dad yelled happily, hugging his daughter when the scouts weren't looking. "You were amazing. That thing you did, the roll thing, that was incredible. God, I'm so proud of you!"

"Well done," Clara said simply, keeping a watchful eye on the scouts still milling around. Then she added, more warmly this time, "your father's right, you were incredible."

"I'm right?" Jason repeated, smirking at his wife.

"Shut up."

"No, you said it, I'm right."

"About our daughter."

"Still right though," Jason pointed out, tipping Tracey a wink who just rolled her eyes, apparently used to her parents' antics.

Clara rolled her eyes in mock exasperation before Jason opened his mouth to say something else. What though, Daphne could never be sure as, thanks to the cover of her parents' mock argument, Tracey had moved slightly away from them and was whispering to Ron. Both looked as nervous as the other and after a long moment of awkward muttering they walked away from the group, only a few feet but enough to no longer be overheard.

Both Harry and Daphne watched on with interest, even Fred and George who up to that point had been trying to chat up one of the scouts Clara had sent packing, looked over before pressing the unfortunate man further.

"I'm just saying it's the first time in twenty years, isn't that right, Trace?" Jason asked loudly, before noticing that his daughter was not at his side as he had thought but instead talking to Ron, who at this point was grinning widely. "Oh. Did you know about this?"

"Hadn't a clue," Clara smiled.

"And is he… you know, one of the none horrible ones?" Jason asked the group at large, looking from his wife, to Daphne, to Astoria and then finally to Harry.

"The best," Harry said simply, unable to hide his own grin as they all watched Tracey and Ron, presumably now taking their first steps towards something other than platonic Quidditch chats, embrace. It was a sweet moment that would have gone on longer if it weren't for the whistling and cheers from Fred and George. Both Tracey and Ron sprung apart, suddenly aware that they were not alone but in fact on a Quidditch pitch full of people.

The shouts of 'Ickle Ronniekins has a girlfriend', which Daphne was sure would have rung around the stadium with boisterous ease had they not been in close vicinity to Tracey's parents, did not burst from the twins lips. Instead they simply smirked and winked at Ron, who knowingly sighed but did not lose the grin on his face as he and Tracey rather awkwardly joined the rest of them.

After that there were the usual goodbyes and farewells, promises of letters and exchanges of hugs, as Daphne, Astoria and the Davis' made their way back to the portkey. Though not before Augustus Neil and Esmee Jones were able to take Tracey to one side and say in all seriousness that they would like her to fly for Gwenog Jones and the other Harpies next week. It was not a surefire offer, but it was enough to get the lifelong Harpies fan that was Tracey Davis to beam even more than she already had been.

Once they had returned to the Davis household the celebrations were, unsurprisingly, raucous. Astoria, who had only intended to stay for a few minutes after the tryouts, was happily dragged into ordering takeout. Indian this time, Jason's favourite, and chatted happily to both of Tracey's parents about muggle life, updated Clara on pureblood society, and told them everything she knew about Ron — which thankfully wasn't a lot, aside from the obvious which once Clara heard the name Weasley she knew too.

That left Tracey and Daphne pretty much to their own devices and once Tracey had stopped jabbering excitedly about the Harpies, how it was going to work and what the hell she was going to do if she actually got through their try-out, did the topic come around to Ron.

"So, what did you say?" Daphne asked quietly, keeping an eye out for any lull in Tracey's parents' conversation. "Did you ask him?"

"Sort of," Tracey admitted, a little bashfully. "It was weird. We were just talking, and I said, you know, that I liked him and everything and then he said it back and then he said something about Harry being right. So, I obviously mentioned you, and then I dunno, he laughed and then hugged me and that was when, well, everyone else noticed."

"We already noticed way before that," Daphne told her. "Your folks were pleased though."

"God that's embarrassing."

"Only a little," Daphne grinned, "it could be worse, they could've been my mum. Can you imagine?"

Tracey laughed, "Don't know who'd be worse, Harry or Ron? Boy Who Lived or Blood Traitor." Tracey paused, as if trying to imagine Melissa Greengrass exploding at either option.

"I think she'd rather Ron at this point," Daphne said, "and that's saying something. She'd probably say I was trying to restore good old-fashioned common sense to the lot of them, finally drag them out of the gutter. Merlin, only knows."

"Well, guess you can't now." Tracey grinned, somewhat smugly.

Daphne rolled her eyes, but could not begrudge Tracey. It was about time something went right for her. If only that same luck could transfer to her, then that would be fantastic. But she could still see the look on Harry's face at her plan to get rid of Umbridge, and it was not one she cared to see again.

"Just got to sort you out now," Tracey continued, as girls who recently find love often do.

"Merlin's beard, you sound like Tori. Can you at least wait a day before examining my lack of a love life?"

"I wouldn't say lack."

"Absence then?"

"You never know until you try," Tracey pointed out, careful to keep her voice down as a momentary lull fell across the table. "I know you don't really, you know, like…"

"People?"

"Some people," Tracey corrected, "and that you've not exactly had any luck."

"You try being the heiress of a wealthy but judged family and see how it works out," Daphne muttered bitterly. "I'm the social equivalent of spattergroit."

Dating within Slytherin house was impossible, and finding love outside of the hallowed dungeons was barely any easier. Any boys that had shown an interest had either been after her money or scared off by Draco and his little gang of gargoyles. Daphne had long since resigned herself to the fact that love, fancying or general Hogwarts-based romance were things that happened to other people. And, if she was honest with herself, she quite liked it that way.

"Well, you can, you know, date someone who doesn't care about money." Tracey suggested, with the air of someone who had a very particular 'someone' in mind. A name that Daphne had a funny feeling she knew.

"No."

"Why not? He clearly likes you."

"No way," Daphne said again. "He's cute and everything but I don't like him. Not like that, I mean I don't really know him."

"You hang out with him every day," Tracey laughed, astonished. Something stuck in Daphne's brain. Okay. Different name then.

"Wait, you're not talking about Neville?"

"What? No. God, no. I mean, he might have the hots for you, that plant was really sweet. But, I was talking about Harry."

"Harry?" Daphne repeated. It was like the world had stopped. She wanted to object, wanted to say that it wasn't true and it wasn't. Not really. It couldn't be. They were friends, good friends, sure, but friends. They had been thrown together by chance, a happenstance of fate and good fortune and drifted together like two sticks thrown in a whirlpool. Sure, she'd joined the DA, but after that it was just, well, luck. They didn't like each other, not like that.

"Why not? He's smart, funny, kind, you clearly get on and you literally lived with him for a few days a couple of weeks ago."

"And? So what?"

"I'm just saying you could do a lot worse." Tracey shrugged, she looked like she was going to stop, but then, sadly, continued talking. "And he won't care about your money because, let's face it, he could probably buy a small country. The Potters' are supposedly stupid rich, so that's that sorted. He likes you, enough to trust you with all that stuff about…" she paused, checking Astoria couldn't hear. "Sirius."

"That's all well and good," Daphne said, bluntly, "but I don't like him. Not like that. So, what good is all that? We're just friends, alright?"

"Okay," Tracey nodded, "but I would've said that about Ron a few weeks ago, maybe you should think about it."

Daphne was saved answering by the doorbell ringing and food arriving. She was saved talking more about it because eventually she had to go home and face Melissa Greengrass' wrath for staying out all day. But, as she settled into bed that evening, her thoughts finally attempted to marshall themselves and answer the questions that Tracey, in all her irritating supportiveness had asked.

The answer… she continually found was annoyingly, devilishly complicated and one which she could not keep straight in her mind. Every time she thought Tracey was wrong, she remembered him lying on the Room of Requirement's floor or the look in his eyes when she had pitched her plan for Umbridge's downfall.

Sleep eluded her, just as the answers she sought to convince herself were true did too.