Trigger warnings being with this chapter


To say it was a difficult time for the party to have fallen would have been an understatement, but there really was no good time for anything these days. He was absolutely swamped with homework, arranging and then leading Quidditch practises, and today already he'd sat through two extremely long lectures courtesy of Snape and Flitwick.

Against his better judgement, he knew Hermione was right, and he really would have to attend Slughorn's Christmas party the coming week. He hadn't been looking forward to it at all and as the night drew closer, he'd even began considering writing to Daphne and calling the whole thing off. But when he realised how bad it may damage his relationship with Slughorn if he didn't show, he decided an hour before that he was absolutely, definitely to didn't let himself fantasize about what he could have been doing otherwise, should he have chosen to take the evening off, and decided to suck it up and soldier through his discrepancies. Days and days of revision with no break made his body beg for mercy, the first ten minutes of his shower had just been him standing naked while the water consumed him, restoring his strength to a place where he'd be able to be social again.

No, tonight was going to be fun, he was determined about it. It was a chance to relax and meet new people - exactly like Slughorn wanted. He knew Hermione and Ginny wouldn't have a choice but to be there, and afterall, he'd also have his date to talk to. Tonight had all the ingredients of a brilliant evening, he just needed to keep his positivity going.

The clock ticked quickly and before he knew it, he was making his way into the dungeons to pick up his date. He was in a velvety green suit, though it was a little too big for him as it was something he'd inherited from Sirius, he felt he looked quite nice in it. The plan to meet Daphne at her common room was playing a bit of his nerves, as her words from earlier were beginning to return to him.

"You're a Gryffindor and I'm a Slytherin."

That was the way the stigma went, wasn't it? He, himself, had been guilty of feeding the anti-Slytherin propaganda for years, but in fairness, their house had only caused him trouble in the past. As he loomed through the dungeons and closer to their common room, reality really began occurring to him that he was about to go on a date with a Slytherin. Except it wasn't a real date, and she wasn't a real Slytherin. But still, it was how the situation felt, and it was certainly how it would be seen by others. That could cause them both a bit of trouble, actually.

He wasn't interested in her that way, though he definitely thought she was cute. He just needed somebody to attend with and his mind had jumped to the first available person, after Hermione and Ginny, but he hadn't stopped to think how it would factor into the real world.

Maybe he'd gotten a bit overzealous when he asked her? How would Malfoy react to finding out he was on a date with one of his own? How would the rest of the school react? He could deal with stares and questions, as he had the last six years of his life, but Daphne? Was he really about to subject this shy and timid girl to all of that drama, just because he didn't want to go through asking Luna Lovegood or Katie Bell to a Christmas Party?

As he turned the final corner, anxiety followed him, drowning the sounds of laughter and music from nearby. The Christmas party was being held in the old duelling room, just one turning away - the Slytherin common room being the other turning. He couldn't just stand her up - he had more respect for her than that - but maybe they needed have a proper conversation about it before heading in together?

"Oi, Potter!"

Though the voice wasn't a usual one he dealt with, it's sultry northern twang was recognisable to him instantly. Suppose it only made sense he would run into other Slytherin students down here, but he really wished it didn't have to be dressed like this.

"What do you want, Davis?"

Tracey Davis sauntered to him, blocking his way. She was wearing skin-tight pants and a green dress shirt that looked some sizes too small for her, exposing her midriff and extenuating her already well-endowed chest. She was clearly dressed for an expensive evening, which didn't boud well with Harry's stomach.

"You're looking good."

She worded it like a compliment, but it didn't feel like one. He nodded.

"So do you."

She stopped in front of him, hip cocked to one side and arms crossed. He felt like he was going into a boss battle.

"Sweet little thing Daphne was unable to make your acquaintance this evening... so she sent this fine load-of-women to make up for it."

He blinked at her.

He understood what she said, but was trying to find the joke in it. When he couldn't, his mind was blank.

"...what?"

She cackled and crossed her arms, pushing together her cleavage, which was already popping out of her shirt.

"She stood you up, bro! But then she felt bad, so sent me to be your date instead. Aren't ya lucky?"

He looked her up and down. She definitely didn't appear to be joking, but he also couldn't deduce any other reason why she would be telling him this.

"...I don't want you to be my date."

She cackled again - an irritating sound, like a crow with a smoking habit.

"Tough shit, dickhead! I'm all yours tonight - feel glad, I usually charge blokes for that."

He couldn't handle this. She wasn't telling him the truth - Daphne wouldn't do that, would she? Even if she was so nervous that she wanted to back out, she knew perfectly well what his feelings towards Davis were. And if Davis was lying - which she probably was - and Daphne was indeed still waiting for him back in their common room, put lightly, he didn't have the determination to fight through Davis for her. He'd no investment in her beyond someone to make his awkward situation slightly less awkward.

He staggered back, pushing feelings of annoyance towards her to the very back of his mind.

He was going to enjoy tonight, of that, he was determined. And if that meant he was going to do so without a date, fine. He'd probably just let Slughorn take a clipping of his hair or something, that would get them back on good terms.

So, swallowing his pride, he turned on his heels and began back the way he came. It really wasn't that big of a deal if he didn't have a date, anyway. And could he even be mad at Daphne, when he'd been considering standing her up pretty much every day since making their plans together? No, this wasn't enough to ruin a night over. He was perfectly fine on his own and any discrepancies between them could be fixed the following day in lesson. There was nothing worth getting worked up over.

This was, until he felt an arm snake it's way around his.

"Don't - fucking - touch me!"

He yanked his arm viciously away from Davis, who'd tried joining them together. She actually looked shocked at his aggression, which was good.

She held her hands above her head in a defensive motion.

"Fine, fine! I'll walk next to you, arm's distance, better?"

"I don't want you coming with me!" he half-shouted, hoping his sheer volume could shoo her away like an unwanted cat.

She threw her arms up dramatically.

"Fine, then!" she chuckled. "I won't come with you… But I am on the books as your date, which means if I wanna get in, I'm gonna have to walk with you there and then tail you all night… so we don't have to go together… but I'm still gonna do all of that, capche?"

He glared at her. She looked very determined to get to him. She wasn't the kind of annoyance that could be gotten rid of by ignoring them, as much as he pained it, he knew he'd get further by actually engaging her.

"Fine - look - if you're on as my date, I'll get you in. But after that? You can sod right off."

"Knew you'd come round to me."

Again, she made to interlace her arm with his and again, he snatched himself back.

"Why did she send you, anyway?"

She threw her head back with a hearty, and slightly ominous cackle.

"Ooooh, me and Daffy have a special relationship. We've been together for years… six, I think? I don't know, she keeps up with that, I'm just there. And we've learnt to cover for each other a lot, as she's proving to you."

As soon as the word left her mouth, he began to slow his pace. By the time she'd finished speaking, he'd come to a complete stop, staring at her.

"Together… ?" he repeated. "You don't mean… the two of you are…?"

She smirked.

"You got a problem with it?" she teased, underlying aggression in her tone.

He leapt on the defensive.

"No - god, no - I'm just surprised… is all.."

He couldn't think of two people less suited to be together. Petite and timid Daphne with the macho and mature Davis - they were as opposite ends of the spectrum as two girls could be.

He could let the topic drop, but he couldn't resist digging deeper.

"Wait, didn't you ask me out?"

Davis laughed again, only he got the feeling it was from awkwardness as much as anything else. That was the first time he'd seen any emotion from her other than bulging confidence.

"And you said no, so there's no problem there."

He didn't like her implication. In fact, the thought of little Daphne being caught up in the mind games of this girl churned his stomach to its very core. Somehow, his opinion of Davis dropped even lower.

Together (but not really) they followed the social noises and arrived in no time outside the door to the Christmas party, which Davis was quick to swing open. A breath of hot air hit them and he spelt the butterbeer.

The room was crowded already. Golden ornate lamps hung from the ceiling, which was draped in emerald, crimson and gold hangings, making it look as though they were all inside a giant tent. A team of house-elves were negotiating their way through the forest of knees, and Harry was able to instantly spot a few faces he recognised in the crowd. Light singing accompanied by what sounded like violins issued from a distant corner… it wasn't the kind of place he'd normally visit, but he was determined to maintain his positive attitude.

"Hey, Harry," came a voice as soon as they entered fully.

His mind was still catching up from dealing with Davis; he had to do a double take.

"Neville? What're you… doing?"

Neville was by the door, dressed in a scaled up outfit similar to what the houselves were wearing.

"Professor Slughorn let me work the doors. Worth it to meet the Weird Sisters I figured, ey?" he smiled.

He then noticed Harry's makeshift 'date' and turned to her, bringing up a clipboard.

"Could I get your name, please?"

"Hello, my boy! And who might be this lucky lady be - ?!"

Slughorn was on them the second they'd entered. He pushed Nevile aside and pulled Davis by her shoulder. He seemed to take a second for recognition, then did a small jump back.

"Oh! My, my! Miss Davis, I - I - I don't s-seem to r-remeber giving y-you an invite to tonight! What a l-lovely surprise!"

"I'm Potter's date, aren't I?"

Slughorn glared.

"Harry, my boy! What a… a...a... very-strong-taste-in-women, you have, hmph! Yes, yes… My - if that isn't Myron Wagtail from the Weird Sisters, ahaha, do excuse me!"

As quickly as he appeared, Slughorn vanished back into the crowd.

Harry blinked, his eyes returning to the sultry figure of Davis.

Maybe she was good for something, afterall.

"That's, er…" Neville watched her carefully,"... good enough for me. Enjoy the party, you two."

Though resentful of his wording, Harry nodded to Nevile and ventured into the crowd of people

A lot of faces came in and out of focus around him, some he recognised, some he didn't, but he could sense there was a startling lack of Hogwarts students. Whether this was because a lot of them had bailed already, or there were simply that many additional guests, he couldn't tell, he just knew that it didn't make his situation any more bearable.

He was able to make his way to the food table without incident, hoping Davis would either lose him or decide to pick a fight with someone on the way. But, almost out of spite, she was able to perfectly keep up with him, and was quick to begin snatching up the free food when they arrived out of the crowd.

"At least use a plate…" he muttered.

Mouth full of mini-sausage rolls, she stuck a finger at him.

"Op bein' 'uch a 'ucking poob, kay? It a pardee!"

He shook his head in disgust.

If he could at least find Hermione... He doubted very much she and Davis would get on, which was exactly the plan. With any luck she'd be able to drive her away, or at the very least, the ensuing argument would be fun to watch. Or better yet, if he could put her and Ginny into an argument… that would certainly make the evening more interesting, when a duel to the death breaks out on the dance floor.

Unfortunately, in his zoned out state, his eyes had come to rest again on her cleavage, and by the time he'd realized it was already too late.

"Like what you see?"

His head snapped away. In fairness - he wasn't normally like this - she was just very exposed in that tight outfit.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

And she was on him. As she had done their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, she sealed the space between them quickly, bringing her hand to the rest on the table behind him.

A heavy weight plummeted somewhere inside him. He felt her in his space and out of principle, refused to meet her eyes, but was unable to protest more than that.

"... offer is still on the table, yanno? I'm easy, I can do no strings attached... My dormitory's only two minutes from here," she breathed into his ear.

The hairs on his neck stood up and he felt his throat clog almost instantly. Fighting through hormones and anxiety galore, he pushed words out of his throat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he croaked.

Her face shattered into a cheeky grin and she stepped back.

"Awh, I'm kidding, chill the fuck out."

He deflated - in more ways than one - as he let out the biggest breath of his life. He sagged back against the drinks table.

A knee brushed gently against his crotch.

"Unless…"

He flinched, bringing his hand up and knocking it painfully against the dining table. A few bottles wobbled and a few looks from guests came their way.

Davis cackled like a Hyena.

"A joke, a joke! Sit the fuck down - you'll cause a scene."

He'd never seen someone as crass and upfront about themselves as she was - a fact alone made him want to believe her when she said she was joking. But the same as when they first met, although what she was saying could technically be counted as flirting, he couldn't help but feel threatened by it.

"... If y-you're with Daphne…. then you have n-no right to be acting this way with someone else. Much less a bloke. Much less me."

"I said I was joking."

"You weren't the first time."

She growled at him - it was probably a groan, but he knew what he heard.

"Bro, it's a Christmas party! You're surrounded by famous people, free alcohol and a fit bird. Tonight can go very well for you. So you wanna pull that stick out of your arse and enjoy yourself, or does someone have to remove it for you?"

Reluctantly, he fell quiet.

He really didn't know any way he could fight her. She didn't respect when he said no and flat-out, if it came to it, he was not convinced he had it in him to physically intimidate her. He'd draw the line if she tried anything else physical, but honestly, he was coming up with excuses as to why he hadn't already.

Why was it so difficult to defend himself against this girl?

"Butterbeer, Ramiel Pure or Fire Whiskey?"

He looked up from his seat. She was gesturing to the drinks table. He wanted to take that as a sign of truce, but didn't have the good faith in her.

"Butterbeer."

She passed over a drink, taking one for herself as well, which she opened with her teeth.

"...Thanks."

She raised her drink above their heads.

"Cheers! To new friends, our gracious lord, and the baby jesus on his birthday!"

They clinked their bottles, her more enthusiastically, but as he went to take a sip, he found his crotch growing wet. He leaped from his chair - from where she had just poured a splash out onto him.

"What the fuck are you doing - !?"

She grinned brightly, then giggled with a high-pitch voice, very unbecoming of her.

"Oh, sorry… must have slipped, tehe - !"

He could have punched her. He could absolutely punch the life out of her. If he was any other person, living any other life and this was any other girl, he would ball his fist up and smash it into her shit-eating grin as hard as he could.

But he didn't do that.

He didn't do that, because he didn't hit girls. He didn't hit people in general. But he especially didn't do it this time, because she'd probably beat the shit out of him if he did.

Instead, he balled his fists up as tight as they would go and then squeezed tighter still.

"You've got in, now leave me alone!"

"Oh, don't be like that, Potter!" she shouted after him.

He left her behind. He made his way directly to the Gents - she was an animal, but he hoped she was human enough that she wouldn't follow him there.

Storming into the empty room, he was able to check himself in the mirror, and sure enough, his suit now had a dark, obscene-looking shadow across the front of it. The suit that he had inherited off of Sirius.

"Fucking bitch…" he grumbled.

He pulled a hand towel off the rack and began dabbing it gently over his pants, though the placement of the stain knew it was futile.

How the hell could Daphne have thought leaving him with her was a good idea? Standing him up he could respect - hell, he'd almost done it to her - but how did she think this was any better of an idea?

Cleaning as much of the stain away as he could - which really wasn't a lot - he balled the hand towel into a knot and slammed it into the sink at force. It was all he could do to let off steam. It was beginning to become difficult to keep his annoyance targeted only at Davis, when his heart wanted desperately to blame Daphne entirely for this.

"Oi, careful with that, little brat!"

He hadn't noticed a house-elf bathroom attendee when he'd entered. If he had, he probably wouldn't have been so passionately rubbing his crotch in the mirror.

Embarrassment fueling his anger, he mumbled something akin to an apology, then stormed off again.

He kept his wits about him in the crowd, both in avoiding Davis, but also in searching for his friends. It was entirely possible that Ginny had already bummed the party off, considering how much she'd appeared to care about the last one, but Hermione had been very specific about how important it was they all attended. Finally, through a crowd of irrelevant faces, he spotted a head of bushy brown in a corner. As he approached, he found himself on the receiving end of laughter.

"Harry, have you pissed yourself?"

He glared at her, taking all his strength not to launch into a profanity-riddle tirade.

"I spilled a drink, can you help me out?" he shouted over the crowd.

"What's wrong, the Prince not have a spell for removing urine stains?" she mocked.

He could tell from her tone she'd been drinking already.

"Hermione, please!"

She rolled her eyes playfully, energy which he didn't return.

"Evanesco."

With a wave of her wand, he felt the warm patch on his trousers vanish. There was still a vague outline of where it had been - low-level spells only worked so well, but it at least wasn't as noticeable as before.

"That really wasn't that difficult, did you honestly need my help with that?"

He didn't have the heart in him to snap at her. He wanted to but knew it was pointless aggression and she was among the last ones who needed it right now.

Physically shaking his head clear, he did his best to purge the - as of yet, disastrous - night from his system.

"No, I just wanted to see you... How are you doing? Who're you here with, they enjoying it?"

She scoffed.

"I'm here with Cormac… so a hearty 'no' is my response to that!"

He did a double-take.

"Cormac McLaggan?" he repeated, revolted. "You brought him? The bloody hell did you do that for?"

"Well, I thought he would make Ron the most jealous…" she said with a dispassionate sigh.

"Right…" he shook his head, "...right... the same Ron you knew wasn't even invited to this?"

"Oh - ! I regret it enough already, you don't need to remind me how stupid I'm being!"

Despite her smile, he could tell there was genuine distress in her words. He decided to drop it.

"What about you? Who did you decide on?"

His stomach churned with anger again.

He didn't even want to say it. He didn't even want to admit to her what an idiot he'd been and what an entirely avoidable situation he'd gotten himself into. He wanted to forget all about it and let the night be over with as soon as possible, but his frustration had built to a point where he wasn't able to shut his mouth in time.

"I invited Daphne, thinking it would be nice for her to get out, but she stood me up and sent Davis instead!"

Hermione frowned.

"Who's David?"

He tutted and leaned closer to her ear.

"Davis. Tracey Davis."

"No!" she gasped, dramatically covering her mouth with both hands.

"And now she won't bloody leave me alone - she's fucking horrible, I swear. Split her drink over me on purpose."

She shook her head in disbelief, as though he'd just revealed a life-long, world-shattering bombshell to her.

"God… Tracey Davis…" she exclaimed, mostly to herself, "How are those two even friends... ?"

He thought about repeating what Davis had told him, wanting to add yet more revelation, but decided against it. Partly because he didn't want to complicate the situation further but also partly because he was convinced Davis wasn't being truthful about it.

"No idea. Told her to sod off but she's absolutely adamant, I don't know if she fancies me or she's just being a bully."

She looked at him quizzically, then he remembered, he'd intentionally left out a crucial detail when recounting his first interaction with her to Ron and her, mainly to save himself the embarrassment.

" - she asked me out in our first Defense Against the Dark Arts and I said no. She threw a hissy fit and booted my desk. Now tonight she's being handsy and proper sleazy. Invited me back to her dormitory five minutes in."

She staggered back, shocked. And probably quite drunk, also.

"Harry, you have to promise me you won't get involved with that girl!"

He tutted at her with such ferocity, she might as well have just accused him of murder.

"I have no bloody intention to!"

"Good!" she scowled, crossing her arms."... everything I hear about her is bad news. She's been suspended from school four times since first year! She practically lives in detention with Filch, none of the other girls like her and for once I'd say it's with bloody good reason! Awful, awful person - I don't know how she's still allowed in school, frankly."

She looked out into the crowd, he imagined, hopefully, to try and spot her. With how drunk she seemed, he was suddenly a lot less confident about it being funny if the two got into a row.

He went to say something further, but she cut him off.

"If she is harassing you, Harry, you can always tell a Professor. There are really strict rules against sexual harassment at Hogwarts."

He turned his nose up at her.

"Don't be bloody daft."

Her hand came to his jacket sleeve.

"No, honestly! Men get harassed too, there's nothing shameful admitting it. And if she's… touching you… or trying to get you to go with her… then that counts! Tell Professor McGonagall, it won't matter if she's in Slytherin, there's no way she'll avoid getting in trouble for that!"

He shook his head repeatedly. He wanted to disagree very passionately but wasn't quite sure what about.

"No, it doesn't… work like that..."

"It does!" she squeezed his arm. "Okay, I'll put it this way! If Cormac was here and he started putting his hand on my leg, spilling drinks into my hair and offering me his bedroom, what would you do?"

He brought his chest out.

"I'd absolutely level the twat!"

"And why would you do that?"

"Because - because that's wrong! Jesus, Hermione, that's sleazy and horrible! I'd knock the head off any lad that did that to you!"

"So why should it be any different when a girl does it to a man?"

He desperately wanted to disagree, but couldn't think of the right words. He was sure he was right, that she just simply didn't understand what it was like to be a bloke, he but simply lacked the level-headedness to properly explain himself. This was some deeper-level, subconscious thing he simply didn't have the intelligence nor the current temperament to break down to her right now.

She glared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Fine! If she does it again, I'll tell someone!"

She nodded, satisfied, but still looking rattled.

"Please do, Harry... I know men don't like to feel emasculated, but that's not what's happening. There's nothing wrong with asking for help, you deserve to be heard! Your feelings matter just as much as womens!"

Again, a violent disagreement churned in his stomach. He couldn't entirely explain it, as he agreed with the principle of what was being said, but there was a very specific air about the way she was saying it. Or maybe he was just imagining that bit. But either way, he couldn't ignore how incredibly patronized he felt by this whole conversation.

"Want me to stay with you for the rest of the party?"

He glared at her.

She wasn't trying to be mean or look down on him, but that was quite possibly the worst thing that she could have possibly said to him at that moment.

"Harry?"

"Actually, I think I'll be fine on my own. Honestly."

He couldn't do it. She was making sense - a lot of it, actually, but he couldn't shake the feeling he'd gone from speaking to one extremely demeaning conversation to another. She didn't deserve his temper, so he left. She said something after him, but the noise of the party drained it out as he marched into the busiest group of guests. He couldn't even explain why he was angry, but hearing her talk like that angered him possibly more than even Davis had.

Satisfyingly deep into the crowd, he looked around. There was no sign of Ginny, but again, he didn't think it likely that she would have stayed too long. He spotted a few faces he knew, Cormac had apparently moved on from Hermione ditching him as he stood in very drunken conversation with a pair of extremely disinterested girls, and beyond him, he saw the pretty seventh-year girls whom he'd spotted at the last dinner party, but they looked far too intimidating to approach out of the blue. Nobody jumped out to him as within his conversation level and he simply wasn't drunk enough to begin making friends with strangers.

Just as this thought occurred to him, he suddenly spotted Slughorn again and made a beeline towards him.

Needs must, he supposed.

"Hey, Professor!"

Slughorn turned, face very red, velvet jacket untucked, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other.

"Harry, my boy! Good to see you!"

He ushered him - quite forcefully - into the conversation he was already having.

"Harry, I would like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires — and, of course, his life-partner Sanguini!"

Worple was a small, stumpy, and bespectacled man, who grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically. The vampire Sanguini, who was tall and dark with red in his eyes merely nodded, seeming rather bored. A gaggle of Slytherin girls stood close behind him, looking curious and excited.

"Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!" Worple exclaimed. "I was only saying to your Professor Slughorn only the other day, 'Where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?' Why, it would simply fly off the shelves!"

"Er..." he struggled a smile, "... yeah..."

"Just as modest as you described, Horace!" he cheered.

Beside him Slughorn laughed something fierce, slapping his hands over his great belly.

"What did I tell you! It's not often you get them like him, I tell you!"

"But seriously, now..."— his manner changed, suddenly becoming businesslike — "I would be delighted to write it myself — people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you're prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, totally workable around your schoolwork, of course, why, we could have the book finished within months! And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you — ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay!"

He suddenly looked stern, for his vampire partner had noticed, and began edging toward the nearby group of girls.

"Have a bloody pasty, man... honestly, do get control of yourself..." he said as he seized from a passing elf, stuffed it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry.

"My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea - ! And I think something from your own mouth would be damned-sight better publicity than whatever that Skeeter woman is coming out with... not that you heard that from me, of course... she did give Blood Brothers an exceedingly good review..."

"Well, I'll... erm..." he struggled for an excuse, "... will think about that, definitely."

Harry felt very awkward in his own skin.

He never did enjoy the celebrity aspects of his life - he'd grown to despise them, in fact - but they were currently serving him better than either of his previous two conversations. He'd dealt with people like these for years, he knew exactly what and how much to give them, it was pedestrian compared to dealing with issues like emasculinity, or whatever Hermione had said.

Slughorn came in swiftly to his side.

"Worple will be a very handy person for you to know, Harry. Even if you're not the interview type, soldiering through it with him could easily see you into early retirement! Ah - I should say, as much of a waste for the magical community that would be, of course! Bhahaha!" he turned back to the rest. "Among the best Potion brewer's I've ever taught, Eldred! One would think he had the spirit of Doctor Jekyll himself rooting for him!"

Worple clapped his hands together fiercely, an action so strong it looked like it destabilized the tiny man.

"The Boy Who Lived grows up to be a Potions-Protegee! I can see it!"

"Ah, ah, ah! You'll find the boy is also a ferocious Quidditch player, following tight in his father's shoes - and that he's in early training stages of becoming an Auror, isn't that right, my boy?"

Worple's eyes practically exploded across his face, this time even Sanguini looked vaguely interested.

"Yeah... I mean, don't really know about the Auror stuff as much, anymore... But I'm alright on a broom, we've won a good couple of matches. I just made Captain this year."

"Sanguini! Sanguini! My towel!"

He watched, rather uncomfortably, as the vampire slowly reached into the pocket of the still-as-a-statue Worple, removed a moist-looking cloth, and then proceeded to dab it gently across the man's forehead.

"Harry, my boy... m-my boy..." his voice wobbled, "... you simply must grant me these interviews. I beg of you. Nobody likes a one-trick Kappa but you're about every exception to that rule that has ever existed... I'll split the profits fifty-fifty... no! No! Seventy-thirty, I won't take a penny more!"

"Not looking to become an Auror anymore? Why, Harry, what has brought all this on?"

Though grateful for the interruption, as he really hadn't been looking forward to answering any of that, he was newly put off by how heartbroken Slughorn sounded.

"Well, I just..."

"Remind me what other subjects you're taking, Harry?" he asked urgently.

"Er... Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology…"

"All the subjects required for an Auror, so where has the dilemma arisen?"

"I don't know, I just..." he felt very on the spot. "... well, I've kind of been doing the whole Dark Wizard thing my whole life. Cant help but think there's more out there than risking your life day in and day out, right?"

He smiled as he said this, but all three men looked like he was speaking latin. That, or they were waiting for a big, contradictory 'but...' at the end. When none were delivered, Slughorn smiled with a certain twinkle in his eye.

"Well... Harry here always has an eye for quality, you know! If he can manage to be just about the best Potions student and Quidditch Player I've ever had, whose the say he should limit his world to just one career? As you said, Eldred, nobody likes a one-trick Kappa!"

His words came with a resolution about them that he appreciated, as nobody seemed to be as deliberately staring at him now.

"Thanks, Professor…"

Never had he imagined a situation in his life where one of his Professors was essentially trying to act as his wingman, but he couldn't help but smile over the ridiculous prospect.

"Severus Snape!"

And to his horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air, who looked just as shocked at his sudden arrival as he were.

"Stop skulking and join us for a drink, Severus! I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!

Trapped between Slughorn's arm around his shoulder and his other side being pushed up against Harry, Snape's eyes narrowed down at him.

"Funny, now that you mention it, Professor... Mister Potter has been in my lessons for the past five years now and I never got the impression that I taught him anything."

"Ah! The natural ability then, I should have known!" Slughorn cheered. "He takes right after his mother, he does! Say, Severus, I seem to remember you and Lily being particularly close back in the day, don't you reckon he'd do her proud?"

At the arrival of Slughorn's words, Snape's eyes began burrowing into Harry, as though he had just overhead an embarrassing secret.

"Actually, I -"

"Ah - but it appears I've been stealing you from your date for too long!"

He bypassed Snape entirely to reveal a six-member to their group - and just about the last one he'd been hoping to see.

"Wassup, Professor?"

Davis had caught him up.

"I was just teaching young Harry here about the art of networking, hmph!"

"Oh, yeah, totally," she nodded. "He actually said on the way up he wanted to try and get to know some important peeps here. And said you're the perfect dude to introduce him to that."

As she spoke, she sauntered past the Professors and brought herself to Harry's side, finally getting to interlace his arm with her own and pushed her hand into his moist palm.

He wanted to swear. She seemed to be under the impression that just because they were in front of Professors - specifically his most and least favorite - that that meant he wasn't about to kick off with her again. And unfortunately for him, she was right.

Slughorn slapped his belly again, giving a hiccup-riddled cheer.

"Oh, oh, right you are my boy! I firmly believe what goes around comes around - I look after you all and ensure you're on the path to greatness - and sooner or later, the universe pays me back! Ohohoho, isn't that right, Eldred?"

The two men joined in laughter as Harry watched. He felt a grip tighten around his arm, telling him to comply.

"Yeah… t-thank you for the opportunity, Professor!"

"Awooo it's no trouble my boy, no trouble at all! In fact, if you ever need to worm your way into someone's pocket, you give old Horace a shout, okay? I've contacts all around the world - I scarcely say anything is off the table at this point! Ooh and if you give Eldred his interview...? My boy, the world is your oyster! And that offer goes for the pair of you, hmph!"

Davis cackled next to him. By God, he'd never met a woman more punchable - and he'd met Dolores Umbridge.

"You're too kind, Professor! Gentlemen, might I ask if it's okay I steal my boyfriend for a short time?"

At her words, he tried to pull away but found her arm infinitely stronger than his.

Slughorn laughed merrily.

"Of course, of course, look at me cock-blocking young love! Have at it, the pair of you, don't let us stand in your way! Enjoy the evening!"

The small amount of fight he was able to put up simply wasn't enough and he found himself getting turned around and pulled back into the crowd. With one final glance at the group, he found Snape giving him very deliberate, very worrying eyes.

"The hell was that?" he whispered to her.

She cackled.

"It's called working the system, honey... I can behave when I want to… When it benefits me."

Away from the watchful eyes of the adults, he was finally able to gather the nerve to snatch his arm away. In the middle of the dance floor, they turned to face each other.

"What do you want?"

She considered for a moment, then grinned.

"My face on the ten-pound bill."

He didn't have time to question, however, for as quickly as she'd been able to drag him away, a third party was upon them again. He received a face full of curly, brown hair.

"You stay away from him! I know exactly what you are!" he heard Hermione hissed.

Davis took a step back. Initially, he thought this was good, that maybe another girl being involved did give him some kind of leverage, but then he saw the growing grin on her face.

"Oh, go away, Granger! I'm sure there are some muggles somewhere that need their teeth cleaning... or better yet, a Hungarian athlete that belongs on a register."

"... Hermione, don't."

He didn't need to see her face to gauge her response. He was that worried what she'd do that when she suddenly turned his way, he'd half-gone to duck.

"Harry, come on, you don't have to put up with her."

She tried to take his hand. He snatched it back.

"Hermione, I don't need you sticking up for me!"

She gave him a warning glance. He didn't move.

He couldn't understand it and trying to just annoyed him, all he knew was that if he backed down and went with her, it'd feel worse than staying. What kind of a man could face off against dragons and dark wizards but needed his friend to protect him from a girl?

"Harry, it's okay... ple-"

"Hermione, no. I can handle this myself. You don't have to stick up for me."

She huffed out her cheeks. He couldn't tell if this was from embarrassment on her part or frustration at him.

"Fine, then. Enjoy your evening... the pair of you."

She gave him another one of her infamous death glares then departed into the crowd. As he watched her leave, he was convinced of his mistake.

"What was that about?" Davis laughed.

He didn't look at her.

"Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing. You two got something going on?"

"No, we don't."

She started giving a mighty, all-knowing-sounding chuckle.

"Nahh, I get it now! Makes sense, you and her! I get it, let me tell you - it's always the quiet ones, I tell ya."

He rounded on her.

"Don't talk about my friend like that."

But she didn't flinch back the way Daphne did. In fact, despite the obvious aggression in his voice, she didn't look fazed at all.

She leaned closer, her sultry gaze eating him up.

"What're you going to do about it?"

She was egging him on. She wanted him to do something.

He wasn't going to rise to it. He couldn't. If it was anyone else, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Dudley - heck, even Ron - that pissed him off this much, he wouldn't have hesitated to smack them right in the jaw.

But he didn't hit women. He didn't hit women. He didn't hit women.

"Potter...?"

She came closer, so their noses were almost touching.

"What are you going to do about it...?"

His knuckles turned white.

Nothing. He was going to do nothing. He couldn't do anything if he tried in fact. He couldn't speak, nor even move, every inch of him was screaming with so much rage, so much raw and unfiltered aggression that if he made any response, he'd completely let loose.

Just breath...

Fuelled on by his non-compliance, Davis cocked her head, smiling a predatory grin.

"Good boy. You're learning!" she said jubilantly. "I'll have you broken into shape in no time."

A powerful impact from behind - she had slapped his bum.

"Now go sit down. Mummy will bring you a drink."

He was speechless. Never in his life had he known less what to do. He wanted to round on her, hit her, punch her, kick her, stamp on her, let loose all his built-up rage solely and entirely on her. But he didn't. He couldn't.

He was powerless against her and he realized, finally, that she knew that as well.

Swallowing his pride and everything else, he did do as he was told. Because if he didn't, he knew the consequences that would result weren't worth it. His lessons, his homework, the Quidditch team, his friends - none could deal with him throwing his entire life away over some girl. He wasn't doing it because she told him to, he was doing it because if he wasn't prepared to face Azkaban for the fury he would release upon this girl if he let himself snap.

So, he moved. He kept his eyes down, maneuvered through the crowd, and came out near the drinks table, where he'd originally sat with Daphne, a few weeks back. He sat silently, importantly, trying to bring himself under control.

She was just some girl. Just some dickhead Slytherin who was determined to get through to him. If he rose to it, if they got into a fight, then she'd have that over him. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of breaking him. She didn't fancy him, she wasn't serious about anything this night, she was literally only there to get a rise out of him.

In no time at all, she returned to him. Looking up at her, she pushed a butterbeer into his sweating palm.

"Drink up. A lot of the night still left to go."

She had such a wicked smile. It radiated pure, seething evil. He'd seen that smile before.

"Not got anything to say?"

Beyond taking his drink, he had nothing he could say. Even that, he knew she wasn't being sincere. She was being polite just enough that he would be the dick if he stormed off. He knew her game and he refused to play it.

She came down, closer to his level, evil smile continued.

"I think you mean 'Thank you, Mummy', don't you?"

The rage building in him was so extreme, it took everything in his power and then some to ignore her. He stared forward forcefully, blindly into the distance, as though she were not in his peripheral, as though he couldn't see her getting closer ever still. He just had to shut her out - to disassociate - it would be over soon.

"I think... you mean... 'Thank you, Mummy,' ...don't you?"

Wetness formed in his ear - she was licking him.

His lungs wheezed as the air pushed from his body, but it felt more like his soul was being drained out through the pit of his stomach. He lost the feeling in his upper legs, as though his blood itself was trying to retreat away from her. His jaw twitched, as he tried both to suck in his escaping breath and search for any words that would help him situation. Could he taste pennies?

And he saw white.

It all happened at once - he was too fast to know even what he was doing.

There was a smash of glass, one of his legs became soaked, then he was storming through the crowd. Faces gauped at him, some aware, some not, but all at him.

He purged it all from him. He left Davis behind. He left Hermione behind. He left the Christmas Party behind, he left Slughorn and his precious memories, he left Dumbledore's mission behind. He abandoned all of it. Nothing was worth this. He was worth more than this.

He stormed the corridors of the castle like a robot, not diverting or slowing down, all the way up into Gryffindor tower. Only slowing to mutter the password, he carried on into his dormitory, not making any precaution to subdue noise for his housemates. Some roused from their sleep, most remained still.

Not pausing to undress, he pulled shut the curtains of his four-poster bed and wrapped his hands around his pillow, squeezing it. He pictured it as Davis's face, her stupid grin as she cackled away. His wrists shook after they began to ache from the pain, he pulled tighter still.

Breath got caught in his throat. His pants were becoming sobs, so he refused to breathe. He would rather asphyxiate than cry right now. He wouldn't give her that. He couldn't. He wasn't a pussy.

She was just some girl and he wasn't a pussy.

He wasn't.


A/N This was tough one to write, you guys lemme know what you think!