Chapter Twenty-Three: Predictions, Precautions and Parkinson

Sirius Black smirked at his godson.

"I told you it'd go well. Didn't I say it'd go well Remus?"

Tucked away in the Room of Requirement, Harry had just spent the last half an hour filling Sirius in on his date with Daphne. Or rather, dates. Since Hogsmeade they had spent almost every day together. Sometimes studying, like they always used to, but most of the time just talking. About anything and everything. Walking around the lake, playing chess in the Room of Requirement away from the prying eyes of fellow classmates. DA sessions were becoming more and more difficult as Harry found himself lost just looking at her and then tearing himself away when someone asked a question.

"After a fashion," said Professor Lupin, who was sitting a way away from Sirius at the kitchen table. He looked tired, more so than Harry had ever seen him before. He'd come in halfway through his chat with Sirius and had rolled his eyes at Sirius using the old mirror he had always shared with James

"Your exact words," Lupin said, stifling a yawn, "were: 'I bet that damned Greengrass girl fancies him.'"

Harry sniggered, Sirius, for his part, looked mildly affronted. "Same thing."

"How is her mother taking it?" Lupin asked, darkly. He too knew Melissa Greengrass, or back when he'd known her Rookwood, and had paled when Harry had told him Daphne's last name. Apparently, she was an ardent defender of Umbridge's work classifying werewolves as dangerous. "I can't imagine that she is thrilled."

"She's not, but she's not kicked Daph out of the family." Yet, he added in the privacy of his own head. "So that's something."

"Better than my mother." Sirius commented snidely, his eyes drifting up to the landing where his mother's portrait hung. Across the table, Lupin's eyes narrowed.

"From what I remember of her she was every bit as bad as your mother, Sirius. Never actually a Death Eater, of course. But she didn't exactly turn her husband in either. I know he was innocent, naturally," he added quickly, "but nevertheless, it would have been something had she tried to break the Imperius curse. Even gone to the Ministry. It seems a strange time to change her tune."

"It was different then, Remus." Sirius countered, trying to inject some positivity into his voice. "If she'd have done any of that Voldemort would've burned her house down. With her inside it."

"Even so, I'd be careful there, Harry."

"Daph doesn't trust her either," Harry told them, remembering the rather difficult conversations he'd had with Daphne about her mother. They were never very long and often ended with stony silences. Malfoy had, as usual, got into her head mentioning her mother in the Three Broomsticks and ever since Daphne was convinced something wasn't right. She just wasn't sure what it was. Harry, who hadn't exactly taken to Melissan Greengrass, wasn't about to argue. He'd always hoped that whoever he ended up with, he would have an easy relationship with their parents, but apparently neither of their relatives were destined to like them. He didn't want to think how Uncle Vernon would react if he ever took Daphne to Privet Drive.

"Smart girl," Lupin commented. "She always was very bright, a little lacking in confidence academically, but bright."

"She had plenty of confidence when she came here," Sirius chimed in. "But speaking of Hogwarts, how's Kingsely settling in?"

"He's a bit different to Umbridge," Harry smirked. Their newest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was the embodiment of training over textbooks and their lessons had become much more akin to what Harry had been doing in the DA. Desks were cleared to one side and students were told to practice curses and counter-curses until the end of the lesson when the two most suitable students, as selected by Kingsely, would face off against each other.

It was never the most confident, in fact Kingsely had a habit of picking a different pairing every week and using their strengths and their weaknesses to demonstrate to the class what the best techniques were. It never felt like bullying, but as Kingsely kept saying, there were times when you couldn't back away from a fight.

"I think that's what Dumbledore wanted," Sirius nodded. "Someone from the Ministry so they're not going to invade again, but someone who will actually teach you lot to defend yourselves."

"And, of course, there's Madam Bones to consider," Lupin added calmly. "Dumbledore's trying to get her to join the Order. She's always said no. I can't say that I blame her. She blames the Order for getting her brother killed. I think he's trying to show her that we can protect people, if they give us the chance."

"Amelia's always been very close to her niece. Smart move really and it leaves her free to focus on that bitch's trial."

"You always call her Amelia," Harry noted.

"Knew her back when I was an Auror with your dad," Sirius explained, the shadow of a long-forgotten smile pulling at his lips. The gaunt face suddenly seemed to breathe with an old life. "Amelia came up just before we did. She was tight arse then too. Fair, but to the point. Stakeouts were a nightmare. All she wanted to do was talk about the job, advancing, where she thought the department could improve. I wish I could've seen her face when they took me to Azkaban."

The life seemed to fade, replaced with the same sour expression that gripped him whenever he spoke about the Wizard prison. Remus shot his friend a concerned glance, but Sirius just shook his head. "Still, she's done good work." He continued. "It's Amelia who convinced Mad-Eye to teach at the academy for so long. I dread to think how anyone but Alastor would've dealt with Tonks, nevermind turn her into an actual Auror."

"She would have made an excellent Minister." Lupin sighed. "An Auror and experienced on the Wizengamot. She'd have been perfect."

"She's running though right?"

"Yeah, shame Malfoy won't let her win," Sirius spat. "The snake's bribing everyone to vote for that… oh, what's his name?"

"Runcorn," Lupin answered, with equal distaste.

"Who?" Hogwarts had been kept relatively oblivious of the political upheaval at the Ministry since Fudge's sacking. The Prophet had instead been running Harry's story about Voldemort returning. It was earning him more looks in the corridor than ever. Random people were coming up to him telling him they believed him. He didn't know what was worse. Being ignored or unable to get to Charms through a crowd of people. Either way, it was good to finally be believed.

"Albert Runcorn, he works for Yaxley."

"The Death Eater?" Harry asked incredulously.

Sirius grunted his ascension, apparently not deeming Yaxley's name worth his time. "How the Ministry ate up his bollocks story about being Imperiused I'll never know."

"He's been sidelined ever since," Lupin continued. "He still has all his land and gold, but has been doing his level best to remain anonymous in Magical Transportation. Runcorn works there too. Apparently, they're very good friends." The words were chewed out of Lupin's mouth as though he was being forced to eat two-week-old fish. "The Runcorns are an old family, Albert's a minor member of the Wizengamot. Not an especially dark family, so people will happily vote for him. And he says he's a fan of you, Harry."

"Me?"

"Oh yeah. He's been telling anyone who'll listen 'I always believed Harry Potter.' 'We need to start taking the You Know Who threat seriously.' That kind of thing." A sigh escaped his lips. He looked every bit as tired as Sirius had told Harry he was. Every fibre of his being radiated overwhelmed exhaustion. "Utter nonsense, naturally. But convincing. People want a decisive leader, the exact opposite of Fudge and Runcorn's playing his part."

"Not to mention it mirrors what Amelia is offering. It's just like last time. That's how Yaxley got the job, remember Remus?" Lupin smiled thinly, but there was no mirth there. The fact that Yaxley had ever managed to be Minister still baffled Harry. "Interesting they're going for Runcorn though. You'd think Voldemort would fancy a Death Eater in charge."

"Not if he wants to stay hidden," Harry said. "Better for everyone to think they're voting for a neutral. Not too Dumbledore, not too Voldemort, but who'll protect them. Then they'll trust him and when Voldemort shows up, he can put an actual Death Eater in charge. Or just, I dunno, Imperious this Runcorn bloke."

"That girlfriend of yours is rubbing off on you," Sirius grinned approvingly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Well, guess we'll find out. There's more families being contacted these days. Only a matter of time before we all actually just admit he's back."

"At least we still have time," said Remus, rather sagely. "Better to be able to see it coming than be taken by surprise."

They continued like this for the next hour or so, with the conversation drifting back to Hogwarts and Sirius questioning Harry all about Daphne before being teased by Lupin about his many girlfriends at Hogwarts.

They were not the only people discussing Voldemort or Harry. On the other side of the castle, tucked away from prying eyes, Professor McGonagall was, as she had often found herself these days, in the Headmaster's office. Times were that she would rarely report to the Headmaster, unless there were student concerns, but since she had become Potter's mentor in Occlumency Albus Dumbledore had taken a keen interest in what she had to say.

"He's progressing well," Professor McGonagall told the Headmaster, as she always did. There was no lie to it either. Potter was performing admirably with what little instruction she could give him. It was getting to the point where he was mastering the material almost as quickly as she was. It was a welcome change from occasionally frustrating performances he gave her in her normal classroom. Transfiguration, she had to remind herself, was not for everyone.

"And there are no more visions?"

"Less visions," Professor McGonagall admitted. "I fear Albus, that the boy will always have some kind of a…" she hesitated, wondering again just what it was exactly. "Connection," she decided, "with He Who Must Not Be Named. Why, is beyond me, but the lessons are helping him. They're vague, without structure, whereas before..." They both knew exactly what Potter had seen at Christmas.

"That is something," Albus said rather forlornly. "I had hoped that we would be able to prevent it entirely. But it seems that I was wrong." He watched her over his steepled fingers, as if to see if she would agree. When she didn't speak, he continued. "But we must persist. If only for Harry's sake. I cannot imagine daily dreams of Voldemort are terribly conducive to a good night's rest."

Professor McGonagall kept her face completely blank. She greatly respected Albus, even admired him, but she wished he would not joke so readily about Potter's fate. And, the longer her lessons with him went on, she also wanted, no needed, to know more. The connection, whatever it was, wasn't random. There was a reason Potter was seeing things no other wizard should ever have seen, could ever have seen. A window into the mind of a wizard like You Know Who was both a comfort and curse. Perhaps Ablus feared, like she had grown to, that the darkest wizard of their time was becoming increasingly aware of this connection.

"Has there been any news about his whereabouts?" Professor McGonagall asked, deciding to steer the conversation away from Potter.

"Severus believes they are hiding in Rookwood Manor," Albus told her. "Which is a name I am becoming far too familiar with. You remember Melissa Rookwood?"

"Married into the Greengrass family?"

"The very same," Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I suspect that she may have been contacted by her brother. After all, why not use Harry's connection with her daughter against him?"

"She should be removed from Slytherin house," Professor McGonagall said, as she had done on countless occasions. "It is not safe for her there. We've done it before. Houses should be the students' homes, Albus. They should feel safe."

"The fact remains, they are students, Minerva." These words were said with much less friendliness than usual. There was a steel to them, a cold reproachfulness. It was not the first time she had heard it. If Albus had one flaw, it was his insistence on second chances. If Professor McGonagall had her way, she would have insisted that the Davis and Greengrass girls were instantly removed from Slytherin house. But, as she was becoming increasingly aware, it was not up to her.

"Students, most of whose parents, are currently gallivanting around dreaming up new ways to murder Muggles." Professor McGonagall snapped hotly. "I've seen them, Albus. They avoided her for weeks, ostracised her. Now they're bullying the poor girl. Why else would they do that?"

"Some have joined Harry's defence club," Albus pointed out. "Perhaps the consensus is shifting. I repeat, they are students. They are easily swayed. We must give them the benefit of the doubt. I fear we all played our part in making Voldemort who he is today, I will not have the same prejudices affect those under my care."

"It is not prejudice, Albus." Professor McGonagall bristled. "It's a reasonable precaution."

"Nevertheless, until we are informed of actual wrongdoing, I see no reason to remove Miss Greengrass from her dormitory." Albus said with finality. "I have, of course, asked Severus to keep a watchful eye on her since she and Harry began courting."

Professor McGonagall didn't argue. There was no point. Once Ablus had chosen a course of action there was little to actually dissuade him from it. For all his genius, there was still a Gryffindor burning bright inside him. "Very well, if that's what you think is best."

"I do," Albus nodded, picking up a sherbet lemon from the small selection on his desk and unwrapping it slowly. "We live in unusual times, Minerva." He was still examining the sherbet lemon minutely, as if checking to see if it were an imposter of some kind. "Very unusual indeed. I had never foreseen... but perhaps it will work in our favour. Love, after all, is our most powerful weapon."

"You think it's love?"

"I think it could well become love, yes." Albus answered, with his usual serene smile. "Why else would someone like Miss Greengrass put herself in such a position? She is well aware of the potential dangers in even befriending Harry, I know because I asked her as much after the arrest of Dolores Umbridge. I could see even then that there was something more to their friendship. It is strange, certainly, but not unfortuitous. After all, the love fought for is often that which is felt most keenly."

Professor McGonagall did not need to ask exactly what Albus was talking about. The sadness in his bright blue eyes, which flashed there only for a moment, was the same she had seen whenever he spoke of Grindelwald. Few knew of Albus' true feelings towards the man who so many compared to You Know Who. Fewer still believed them to have been reciprocated.

"I fear we must simply wait," Albus sighed. "Wait until the pieces are in their place." He finally popped the sherbet lemon into his mouth and smiled. "Until then, please continue to inform me of any progress Harry makes with his training."

The meeting was over. Albus didn't say it in as many words, but he never did. He had a terrible habit, as brilliant people often did, to assume that once he was finished with a conversation, so was everyone else. Professor McGonagall had wanted to push Albus about the Department of Mysteries, or even try again to convince him that the Slytherin Common Room was no place for the girlfriend of Harry Potter. But she resigned herself to waiting and simply bade him goodnight before disappearing down the revolving staircase.

Had she known how right she was to fear for Daphne Greengrass's safety, perhaps Professor McGonagall would have been more insistent. Perhaps she would have demanded they go to the dormitory that evening, retrieve the girl and place her in another house for her own protection. But she didn't. Instead she returned to her office, marked essays, corrected the same errors she saw year after year and went to bed with a good book and her favourite tartan nightgown.

In the dungeons, Daphne Greengrass was not having what could be described as a relaxing evening. It had started well, the library with Harry, then a catch up with Tracey before going to bed and drawing the curtains around her. As she had done almost every night since receiving her mother's letter, she examined it closely, desperate for a clue or a phrase that could point her in the direction of what her mother actually meant. And, as she did every night, she put the damn thing away, cursing her mother, pure bloods — even herself — and all Death Eaters.

She expected, as most people do when they go to sleep, to awake the next morning. Perhaps be interrupted in the middle of the night desperate for the toilet, or even wake up too warm and throw off the sheets in a fit of temper. What she didn't anticipate was the triumphant scream, throwing back of the curtains around her bed and the sight of Pansy Parkinson, livid with pent up rage and anguish, holding her wand.

"What are you doing?" Daphne asked, quietly, eyeing her wand in Pansy's balled fists. Behind Pansy, Tracey was being held in a headlock by Millicent Bullstrode, while the remaining occupants were conspicuous by their absence. No doubt Pansy had banished them.

"Teaching you a lesson, Greengrass." Pansy spat. "You think you're so clever, lording around with Potty. Think you're better than us, don't you? Just cause Potter's dumb enough to even look at you. I mean, you, what's there to like?"

Behind her Millicent giggled. Her chest swelling with misplaced pride, Pansy continued to gloat. "So smart, so clever. Bet you didn't see this coming, did you?"

"I mean, I did." Daphne said, rather bored, though her heart was hammering in her chest. Tracey had gone a very worrying shade of purple as her fingers dug into Millicent's tree trunk arms. It must've been like trying to fend off a troll. "I imagined you'd want some kind of revenge after I embarrassed you in front of darling Draco." Pansy twitched. "So that's what this is about. He finally dumped you, didn't he?"

"None of your business!" Pansy shrieked. It was quite alarming.

"Do us all a favour, put that down, tell your little pet to let Tracey go, and I won't tell Professor Snape that you're threatening other students." It was pretty difficult, keeping her voice level, trying to sit up slowly so she could get closer to Pansy, and keep half an eye on Tracey to make sure the poor girl didn't pass out.

"No."

"I won't ask again, Pansy."

"I've got your wand," Pansy said, stupidly, as if Daphne had somehow not noticed her holding it. "See," she waved it around in her large fist. "You can't do anything, anything! Now who's clever, eh? Wait 'til Draco sees this."

With a swift snap, Daphne watched helplessly as Pansy's impatience got the better of her and the wand, which had so far managed to survive being held in a vice-like grip, was snapped in two. Tracey gasped, trying to fling herself forwards but only managed to get as far as the edge of her bed before Millicent pulled her back painfully.

"I wouldn't have done that if I were you."

Pansy scoffed, but looked more worried than confident. Stupidity was one thing, blind loyalty another, but even the most enterprising of idiots could notice when the prey wasn't acting as it should. In Pansy's mind, Daphne should no doubt be on her third round of tears. Screaming, begging, maybe even clutching at the vestiges of her snapped wand. What she shouldn't be doing was reaching beneath her pillow, standing up very calmly, and pointing the exact same wand straight into her face.

"Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to keep my wand in my bedside table?" Daphne asked, scathingly. "Where any idiot could find it."

A good person would probably have asked Pansy to call off Millicent. In fact, Harry, Daphne was sure, would have already been bargaining. He'd have said something compelling, got Tracey released and then given a big speech about how Pansy should leave them alone. And Daphne might've done, before they'd all spent months threatening her, ignoring her or down right insulting her.

So instead of all that she simply flicked her wand and wordlessly sent Pansy flying off her feet and crashing into Tracey's empty bed. Millicent let go of Tracey, fishing in her robes for her wand, but Daphne simply said quietly, "Expelliarmus," when the girl finally reached it and watched as it sailed into her hand. Millicent faltered. "Try anything else, and I'll make it my personal mission to put you in the Hospital Wing for a month."

Pansy was staring at her horror. A quiet rage was boiling inside Daphne. She wanted to find Pansy's wand, snap the damn thing and then curse the girl until she resembled something found in an Egyptian tomb. Watching as the girl tried to claw her way back to her feet, Daphne could almost hear her rage telling her to strike, telling her that the stupid girl would've done the same to her so what did it matter.

"Stop," Daphne moved her wand from Millicent, who was by now trying to move as quickly towards the door as she could without running, and aimed it squarely between Pansy's eyes. "This ends now, alright? I understand you're upset about Draco, whatever has happened, I'm sorry. But that's not my fault."

"Yes it is!" Pansy spat. Behind her, Tracey had managed to snatch up her own wand and had stuck it right in Millicent's retreating back. "He said, he said…" tears had formed and were beginning to cascade down her cheeks. "He said, if I couldn't even jinx you, when you didn't even know I was going to, what good was I to him? He said I was stupid, said he'd only started talking to me because his father wanted our money."

"So why not go jinx him?"

"Because it's your fault!" Pansy screamed, she had given up trying to scrabble up off the floor and had sagged into a crying heap. "I was… I was happy." She hiccuped. "We were happy. He was going to ask me to be his girlfriend soon. I know he was."

"You mean you weren't already?" Tracey asked stunned. Even Millicent, who had been desperately trying to figure out a way to get Tracey's head back in between her arms, stared at Pansy in sheer confusion. "But what about all that stuff I heard you two did in the —"

"He just told everyone that so it would make him look cool," Pansy told them, thankfully sparing Daphne from hearing the details of Malfoy's fictitious sexual escapades. It was not an image she ever wanted to picture. "We never did anything, he said he wanted to wait. Wanted it to be perfect."

"Sounds like Daph did you a favour."

"She has a point," Daphne agreed. "You could've wasted years on him and for what? He didn't love you, he probably didn't even like you."

"Which is a shame cause you seem like a really decent person," Tracey said sarcastically. Even in the dim light of the dormitory, Daphne could see that her eye was swelling. Presumably Millicent had punched her.

"Not helping," Daphne said, returning her gaze to Pansy who by now was a broken wreck on the floor. It was almost heart-breaking. Pansy had never really excelled at anything. Her magic was at best second-rate, her popularity was garnered through a mixture of fear and because she was close to Malfoy. Everything about her relied on him and she had told countless lies for him, hurled insults, laughed at his jokes and always, always supported his bigoted, stupid monolging. And for what? To be kicked out as soon as her face didn't fit?

And the worst part was, she'd go running back if she could. How could Pansy be the enemy if the person she was hurting the most was herself?

"Sorry."

"Look, you'd given him everything, right?" Daphne asked, trying to sound more sympathetic than she felt, given that Pansy had just woken her up by strangling her best friend and snapping what she believed to be Daphne's wand. Thankfully, ever since Daphne had threatened to do the same to Pansy's wand, she had transfigured a twig to look exactly like her wand and been putting it into her drawer at the end of each day. It was paranoid, she knew, but paranoia was just basic preparation if the fears became realities.

"And you'd have never questioned anything. In fact, you never did, did you? You just ate up everything he had to say. Why wouldn't you? Malfoy is a famous family, you get in there and you're set. Fame, fortune, your own title. Everything. Who cares if you have to laugh at the same stupid jokes or tell some third years you've done…" she looked at Tracey who grimaced. "Stuff with him. So what?"

She hunkered down, lowering her wand and looking into Pansy's tear stained face. "He meant everything to you and you just didn't to him. I didn't do that, Pansy. It was always there, he just hid it well."

"But what do I do now?" It was asked so quietly that Daphne was the only one who heard exactly what she said.

"I don't know, that's up to you," she smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring, friendly way. "But surely that's better than letting him make all the choices?"

Pansy sniffed. It was not pretty and Daphne quickly conjured a handkerchief for her and passed it to the poor girl. "I wish you were wrong."

"In a weird way, same," Daphne said, "it'd have been more fun to just hex you." Tracey snorted in the background. "But you can't let him win. If you want to carry on doing this dance with me because you hate me or because you think I shouldn't date Harry, fine. I don't care. But do it for you, not because you think hurting me will get you back in his good books."

"I didn't," Pansy sniffed, despite having blown her nose loudly while Daphne was talking. "He said I shouldn't do anything to you. I think that's what did it really. Even then I couldn't get it right."

That was interesting. Malfoy would never have normally passed up any opportunity to see Daphne hurt. Funny time to become an angel of peace rather than the irritating demon for despair. "Did he say why?"

"Just said you'd get what's coming sooner or later," Pansy shrugged.

That fitted worryingly with what he'd said back in The Three Broomsticks. A tight ball of dread was knotting itself together in Daphne' stomach, and it was only getting tighter. She tried to ignore it and instead said, "well, there's no point hurting me then, is that? I'm sure he's right. No doubt someone somewhere will hex me."

"It's your amazing people skills," Tracey said helpfully.

"Really? I always thought it was because they were jealous of my good looks," Daphne said sarcastically, though she noticed Millicent nodding along rather sadly and without a shadow of irony.

"I mean, at this point, you dating Harry's just a bonus really."

"Do you two ever shut up?" Pansy asked, though she looked as though she wanted to laugh along.

"Not really, you get used to it." Daphne stood up and extended a hand to Pansy, keeping her grip firmly closed around her wand in the other hand as she did so. Reluctantly, Pansy took it and Daphne helped the girl to her feet. They stood there for a moment in a rather awkward silence, the memory of what had just happened almost playing like one of those muggle films Tracey loved in front of them.

"I still don't like you," Pansy said eventually.

"That's fine."

"And I... we're not friends."

"Also fine."

"But," she hesitated, "I'm sorry."

Daphne smiled. "Don't worry about it. It was just a twig."

"Yeah, better than an actual broomstick." Tracey said sullenly. She had never forgiven Malfoy for the breaking of her broom, even if the Harpies had given her the use of one of their brooms ever since they'd officially signed her up over Christmas. Nott was so excited there were rumours he was going to drop Malfoy for their game against Ravenclaw the following week.

"That wasn't me," Pansy said hastily.

"That was Crabbe." Millicent offered, rather sullenly, finally recognising that there was going to be no more snapping of wands, holding of hostages, or even the trace of fight to be had.

"I knew it'd be one of them!" Tracey seethed, completely forgetting to continue pointing her wand at Millicent and turning to Daphne, her face going red with fury. "Of course it was Crabbe, look at him. The evil, treacherous, little cockroach. He can't even fly a broom properly! I'll kill him. I'll bloody kill him! That arse!"

"My point is," Pansy said, trying to cut across Tracey before she could explode into a full tirade. "I am sorry. You didn't actually break my wand, I guess I shouldn't have tried to snap yours. I'll… you're okay."

"What an absolute prick!"

"Thank you. I'll reserve judgement on you." Daphne said quietly, realising that Tracey was not going to calm down any time soon.

"I'm going to feed him a bludger!"

"I think that's fair enough," Pansy said, rather sheepishly. She then broke Tracey's screaming fit to say: "Millie, why don't you go get the others. I think we should all get some sleep."

It would be said later on that Daphne had hexed Pansy into submission, and that Madam Pomfrey had spent two weeks trying to figure out how to change her head back from being a lion that breathed fire whenever anyone went near her. In fact, by the time Daphne awoke the next morning, the rumour mill had already churned out several different versions of what had happened. None of them were true, of course. That was the thing with rumour. If it was true, people didn't want to tell anyone. Lies were far more interesting.

Harry found out from Parvati Patil, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and a very distressed Neville Longbottom, who apparently told him that Daphne had turned Pansy into a newt and threatened to throw her into the Slytherin fireplace. He had asked her about the next evening as they strolled back from his Quidditch practice, where Daphne had been watching on from the stands with Tracey doing their Charms homework.

"It was nothing, don't worry. And no, I didn't turn her into a newt. It was… interesting."

"Only you would call being woken up at three in the morning by a crazed Parkinson 'interesting'," Harry laughed, rather fondly. His hair was sticking up even more than usual thanks to the wind that had been howling across the Quidditch pitch that evening. "Did she really snap your wand?"

"She thought she did, I've been keeping a fake one in my drawer for about a month."

"Why?"

"In case Pansy decided to break it," Daphne shrugged. "Technically, I did threaten to break hers first, so it's partially my fault."

"And you're all good now?"

"I think so," Daphne nodded, "she's not tried to jinx me again, if that's any help. I feel bad for her really. Imagine being so in love with Malfoy you try and break someone else's wand for him dumping you." She gave a shiver of disgust. "We're not friends, I don't think we'll ever be friends. But it's nice her not fawning over Malfoy every five seconds. And I've only heard her call one Hufflepuff a mudblood this week, so that's progress."

"Is it?"

"Usually it's five by Tuesday," Daphne said sadly. "And by now Bulstrode's tried to shove Kashvi's head down a toilet."

Kashvi Ahuja was a half-blood Indian Slytherin first year who Malfoy had taken an instant disliking to and had basically convinced Pansy it would be a good idea to make the poor girl's life a living hell. Her family had moved to England when Kashvi was about four, according to Tracey who took a great deal of interest in other Slytherin half-bloods. The Ahuja's were a respected magical family, but her father had been cast out for falling in love with a muggle woman. Much like Tracey's own mother. Before Tracey had been friends with Daphne, she had been covertly teaching Kashvi how to cast drying charms on her hair.

"This," Harry began, "is what I always thought all Slytherins were like."

"How foolish you were."

"I know," he grinned, "and now my girlfriend's one. I think if you'd told me that a few years ago I'd have said you were bonkers."

Her heart flipped. He had never called her his 'girlfriend' before. It was like their first kiss all over again. Only somehow better. Every part of her seemed to bristle with excitement and happiness, and want to burst with jubilation. They had never really talked about it, he'd never once said anything. If she was honest with herself she'd been starting to wonder if he ever would. Not that he wasn't interested, she knew he was, but if he would ever want to label it. People sometimes didn't. Boys especially. She just wanted to grin stupidly and drag his face towards hers, but instead she managed to contort her goofy grin into a small smirk.

"So I'm your girlfriend now?"

"Erm," Harry stopped dead. Had Daphne not felt as though her heart was about to melt, she'd have laughed. "I mean. Er." He was staring at her, his mouth opening and shutting as he tried desperately to fill in the blanks. "If you. Well. If… if you want to be?"

"No, I just thought I'd hang around you for no real reason. Of course I do, you prat."

This time there was no stopping herself, she leaned up and kissed him, letting herself smile into it. There was a small thump as his Firebolt hit the grass and he wrapped both arms around her waist, kissing her back more passionately than he had ever done before.

"That settles it then."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I think it does."

They kissed again. At the steps to the castle, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were watching on in mild bemusement. Alicia and Katie were both saying how cute it was, while Fred and George were taking bets on when the pair would come up for air with Ron and Tracey. Angelina, after rolling her eyes at her fellow chasers, carried on inside. None of them found out who won the bet.