Author's Note - This is the revised version of chapter 3. If you read the previous version, the changes are as follows: Ginny's POV is removed, the history lesson is removed, and the dialogue at the Gryffindor table is expanded. Sorry for changing it.
Harry stopped at the threshold to the Great Hall. He had visited the castle since the battle, but he hadn't wanted to face the hall where he ended the war. For a moment, visions of that long morning superimposed themselves over his eyes. He saw the lines of bodies and wounded, the blown-out windows and walls, the rubble that crushed half of Ravenclaw table. He blinked, and he was back in the present. The Great Hall was repaired and looked no different than usual.
Almost.
Harry knew where to look for the scars. Magic was a great thing, but it wasn't perfect. The stone was very carefully put back together and the elves had tried their best to disguise the repairs, but he could see the lines in the stone walls and window frames where they had been fixed.
Still, the Great Hall filled him with awe. It was easily twice as large as the already-massive Entrance Hall, with five long tables – four in a line for each house, and one at the end of the hall, facing the rest, for the teachers and faculty. The walls were carved grey stone and they reached high into the heavens, as the ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to replicate the sky outside. Tonight, the sky was clear and the Milky Way flowed bright across the stars that shone down.
Neville nudged Harry out of his thoughts. They had gotten closer over the summer – mostly out of necessity, at least on Harry's part. After all, Neville could hang out with Ginny and Luna, and the once-shy boy had turned into a popular man, as he had been consistently busy with social engagements. Neville made time for Harry, though, even just to grab a quick drink at the end of the day.
Harry let out a tired breath and tried a smile. "I'm good," he said. "You?"
Neville nodded. "It's good to see things back to normal," he said.
They found seats across from Ron and Hermione, with their backs to the Slytherin table. Harry looked over his shoulder and noticed that, as expected, many Slytherin students either decided not to return or were not invited back. There were half as many children at the table for the house of snakes than at any other. His attention was turned back to his friends when he heard Neville's muffled laughter and plates rattling.
"It's a double sorting?" Ron asked with a groan. He had dramatically collapsed his upper body on the table, pushing golden platters – tragically bereft of food – around with his long arms. "But I'm hungry now!"
Hermione grabbed the cuff of his robe and dragged him back up to a sitting position. Ron let her. "It's a double cohort First Year, remember?" Hermione explained and pulled out her small beaded clutch.
It was a fancy accessory that did not go at all with the dowdy black scholastic robes they had to wear for feasts. Fortunately, the rest of the time they could get away with their uniform, and they didn't even need to wear those on weekends. Harry didn't understand why the Hogwarts robes hadn't been updated in 200 years. Magical people still wore robes, but fashion had moved on. Modern robes looked much better than what they were forced to wear. He glanced down at his own robes and grinned to himself at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge pinned there.
"I know, but weren't half of them here last year?" Ron asked. "Wouldn't they have been sorted?"
Hermione rummaged in the clutch, her arm digging further and further into the tiny handbag. It was enchanted to make it many times the size inside than out, and still light as a bag of feathers no matter what was in it. It was a remarkable feat of magic and too useful an accessory to leave behind because of something as petty as a mismatched outfit. She had carried all of their necessary supplies in it during their Horcrux Hunt. Now, these included snacks for Ron, and she pulled out a granola bar for her boyfriend. Ron kissed her on the cheek and devoured it.
"A lot of them were muggleborns," Neville said. "They couldn't make it last year, and all the purebloods that showed up were just shoved into Slytherin. I don't think the Sorting Hat was even used." The others looked at him in confusion. He shrugged. "I missed the Feast. I tried to curse Snape as soon as I saw him."
Harry smirked. "Good man," he said with a nod. Neville grinned back.
Harry had been surprised when he was first told that almost every muggleborn student that was supposed to start Hogwarts the previous year had survived the war. As Hogwarts had a list of every prospective student's address, he thought they would be easy pickings once the Death Eaters took over the school. However, the once and current Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who had taken over duties between when Dumbledore was murdered and his murderer was made Headmaster, knew that her days in that office would be numbered. She and the trusted staff had worked feverishly that summer to make sure that every muggleborn family they had on record was as safe as they could be. Then, before she was forced to hand the keys to the castle to Snape, she destroyed the records. They had had a hell of a time tracking them all down again to invite them back.
"What did you get up to today, anyway?" Ron asked, turning to Harry. Ron had finished his granola bar and Hermione had rejected his requests for another one.
"Not a lot," he said with a shrug. He glanced down the table at Dean, Seamus, and Parvati. Despite fighting together in the battle and the overtures over the summer, there were two distinct cliques in their year of Gryffindor: Harry's Adventuring Crew, and the normies. Neville had drifted between the two groups, not belonging to either, like a sad balloon, until Fifth year when he firmly ensconced himself as one of Harry's stalwart companions by the traditional means: almost dying because of one of Harry's stupid decisions. "Hung around with Dean, Seamus, and the Patils for a bit."
"How are they?" Neville asked. "I haven't talked to them yet."
"They're good," Harry said with a nod. He looked over his shoulder at the Slytherin table again, where Daphne had sat down with Tracy and a laughing handsome man who looked a lot like Blaise Zabini, but Blaise had never showed as much emotion as this man. "Then I, er, sat with Greengrass for a bit."
"Greengrass?" Hermione asked acidly. "The blood purist?"
Harry winced. He had forgotten how much Hermione had been bullied over the years by Pansy Parkinson and her friends, who included Daphne. Hermione was the most talented student to attend Hogwarts since the Late Great Albus Dumbledore, and she happened to be muggleborn. Many blood purists took issue with this, as it proved that their stupid and bigoted worldview was stupid and bigoted, and chose to tear Hermione down rather than suffer the indignity of self-examination.
"I… don't know about that," Harry said. Hermione nostrils flared. "Look, I know she was part of that gang, but do you remember her actually doing anything? Because I don't." He shook his head. "I can only remember her laughing."
Hermione glared at him. "She still laughed," she said.
Neville glared at McGonagall, who was sat at the head table in an ornate chair, watching her charges benevolently. "I can't believe McGonagall let any of the snakes back," he said.
Harry looked at the head table. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was far more relaxed than in previous years. The old witch had been the Professor of Transfiguration, Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmistress, and had her lips perpetually pursed in anger and disappointment at the student population she was forced to endure. McGonagall still had her hair in a bun, but it was much less tight and severe than it was. With her skin less stretched out, her face much softer. Not to mention that she was now smiling at the students, rather than her former disciplinarian glare.
Beside her sat Aberforth Dumbledore, the late Headmaster Dumbledore's estranged younger brother. Harry had been shocked to hear that summer that Aberforth, or Abe, as he preferred to be called, was taking the job as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and actually had a Mastery in the field, mostly because of the man's brother's barely veiled comments about him not knowing how to read. The three-quarter-century wounds from the duel that killed their sister had run deep in both brothers, and Abe had refused to work at the school under Albus. Voldemort had put a curse on the Defence professor position so that no one could remain employed more than a year – either through scandal, retirement, or death. The curse had died with Voldemort, so Abe was probably safe.
Hermione huffed. "She vetted them, remember?" she reminded Neville and herself. They had discussed it with the Headmistress at their meeting with her as Head Boy and Girl. She looked over at the Slytherin table. "Besides, you said only Fifth year and up actually did any of the torturing, and there are hardly any of them left."
Harry turned to scan the table and he could only count five upper year Slytherin students, including Daphne, Tracy, and Blaise. He turned back to Neville, who was determined not to look at the rival house which had practically, and then literally, made his life a living hell at Hogwarts. The Longbottoms were an old, respected Pureblood house that happened to be of the opinion that purebloods weren't actually that great in comparison with the magical world at large. Many of the more extreme purebloods, of which a good number were Slytherin, took umbrage with this idea and, though the Longbottoms had never lost their wealth or status, they had been shunned and derided as blood traitors. Neville had the misfortune of being one of the slower students in class, which wasn't helped by his grandmother's insistence he use his almost-vegetative father's wand instead of one matched to him by a wandcrafter.
The Slytherins had bullied and attacked Neville for being an idiotic squib further disgracing his once proud family through six years of school. This past year, when the Dark Lord's lackeys took over and the Slytherins turned into Junior Death Eaters, their harassment almost immediately turned deadly. Neville had been attacked with intent to kill, on the train, by Crabbe and Goyle. The previous year at Hogwarts had been a fight for survival from the first minute, and many of his foes had been wearing the silver and green ties now adorning the children at the dinner table.
Harry didn't want to push his friend, but he thought Neville was being unfair. The students left were innocent of any crimes and he knew it. And, besides that, the students at the Slytherin table were kids. Kids can be cruel and kids can hurt, but Harry could not see them as being responsible for any of the horrors he had lived through. Even Draco Malfoy - a former Slytherin classmate, former Death Eater, former attempted assassin, and forever nemesis of Harry's - had been forced to make decisions he didn't want to by those older and more powerful than him. Be that as it may, Draco had been punished for his role in the war. He had made decisions and taken actions that led to people being hurt or killed, and had been of-age during the latter parts of the conflict. To Harry's amazement, Draco had never participated in any violence, so his sentence was much lighter than any other branded Death Eater.
"Slytherin's not all bad," Harry said. His three friends looked at him in shock and alarm. Neville raised his hand to feel for a fever and Harry swatted it away. He glanced back at the Slytherin table. "Look," he pointed. "Tracy is a Slytherin." He looked at Neville. "You like Tracy." Neville's eyes widened and he turned to the Slytherin table. Harry looked to Hermione. "And she's a muggleborn, who is sitting with Greengrass, proving your theory about her blood purist-ness wrong."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That doesn't prove –" she started, but was cut off by Neville.
"Holy shit," the wholesome boy said. The others looked at him. He was staring at Tracy. Harry looked over to see Blaise catch his eye with a laugh on his lips. Harry and Neville turned back to their friends with pink faces.
"Tracy is Davis," Neville said.
Ron blinked and chuckled. "Er, yeah, mate," he said.
Neville shook his head. "No, sorry, I – I didn't realize Tracy from the Hog's Head Party was Davis from Slytherin," he said. He looked over his shoulder and frowned. "I guess I never noticed her face because of the hair."
Harry nodded. He hadn't recognized Tracy at first, either. The Hog's Head Party was the first celebration after the battle and revellers had taken over the streets of Hogsmeade. Abe, who was at that time the proprietor of the Hog's Head Public House in Hogsmeade, a shithole dive if there ever was one, unearthed twenty kegs of lager he had spirited away from the often-thirsty Death Eaters. Harry met Tracy there and didn't recognize her until hours into their libations. His memories of Tracy Davis at Hogwarts were of her alone no matter what, face hidden behind a curtain of flat auburn hair, which had often been changed against her will into garish and unflattering colours. Tracy from the Hog's Head Party, however, had her hair cut short which revealed an impish face and mischievous smile. She had been a laugh, and Harry remembered Neville talked to her alone for half the night.
Neville shook his head again. "Yeah, Tracy's great," he said. "I can't believe I didn't recognize her. I never pegged her as a Slytherin at all."
Harry side-eyed his friend with a small smirk. Neville had mentioned Tracy a few more times than necessary since the party, but would clam up if Harry pushed it at all. Harry had tried to get him to at least owl her, but Neville had refused on the excuse that there was too much to do to try and make a new friend. It was frustrating – Neville was the bravest guy Harry knew and he was being a coward.
Harry was about to say something to the effect of, "Well, if you actually owled her, maybe talk to her sober, you'd have known that," but the side doors to the Great Hall opened and the diminutive Professor Filius Flitwick, with a severe scowl on his face, lead the First Years into the room.
Ron let out a whoop and clapped at the sight of the massive crowd of small children, knowing it meant the feast would be that much sooner. Others, thinking this was some new tradition, joined in one by one until the whole hall was applauding the First Year children. Harry grinned at the kids – they all looked so nervous and embarrassed and small. He had never been that tiny.
Once the applause died down, Flitwick placed the Sorting Hat on a stool in front of the head table. The Sorting Hat was an ancient leather wizards' hat with a wide brim. The story goes that, in the 10th century, the four founders of Hogwarts – Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw – would pick apprentices among the witches and wizards that would journey to Hogwarts for tutelage. The founder's era ended with the famous duel between Gryffindor and Slytherin. In the aftermath, Slytherin had fled, Hufflepuff was dead, and Ravenclaw was a recluse living alone in her tower. Gryffindor remained in the school but he retired from teaching, entrusting this task with the brightest of his former students. He wanted to ensure Hogwarts survived past him and to honour the glory days of the school. He spent several years convincing Ravenclaw to perform two more acts of magic: the enchantments of the Hogwarts Charter – which is still in use to this day, albeit heavily amended – and The Sorting Hat, with which students were sorted into the four houses, each named for one of the founders.
The Sorting Hat gave a cliff's notes version of these events in the form of song for the benefit of the First Years, along with a call for unification, and the Great Hall once again burst into applause. Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster, began calling the unhoused students alphabetically to be sorted by the Hat. No one besides the student in question knows what the Sorting Hat tells them, and Harry knew the conversations could get quite involved. Harry was kind of proud of the fact that he was one of three 'hat stalls' – sortings that take longer than five minutes – in the past hundred years, as the Hat could not decide between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione was close, with the second longest of their year and lasting longer than four minutes, as the Hat wanted her in Ravenclaw.
The sorting ceremony is long and tedious, and Harry had often wondered how the faculty remained engaged throughout the whole thing. He was watching it a bit more closely than normal. Over the summer, Harry had spoken with the Sorting Hat, who turned out to be pretty talkative. Harry had never been comfortable with his own sorting. He had pretty much begged the Hat not to put him in Slytherin, as by that point he had met Draco a few times and already hated him. The Hat had revealed a few things, mainly that it doesn't work the way most think it does. The Hat doesn't look in your head and decide whether you're smart, brave, evil, or other. Instead, the Hat tries to decide which of the founders would have most liked to teach you. Harry's obstinate refusal to go to Slytherin would have amused Godric, despite Salazar's eagerness for, even reluctant, parseltongue students. The Hat admitted freely it wasn't the best system, but it couldn't deviate from what it was enchanted to do.
Through the sorting, Harry tried to figure out why kids were going to their houses. A lot of the more miserable-looking kids were going to Hufflepuff, and a lot of the kids going to Slytherin immediately became miserable. The Hall began to build with whispers, though anyone who whispered close to their section would be subject to a sharp shushing from Hermione and an apologetic shrug from Neville and Ron. Harry's stomach gnawed with hunger. Those pumpkin pasties had been a long time ago.
Finally, the Hat sorted the last few students to Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, and Flitwick carried the Hat and stool back to the side room. McGonagall stood and cleared her throat.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, everyone," she said with a smile when the room quieted down as much as a room filled with almost three hundred hungry children and teenagers could. "I am sure you are all starving and parched, so I will save announcements for the End of the Feast. For now, please enjoy."
She waved an arm and the empty platters on the tables filled with food, courtesy of the small army of elves who served the school. Harry's eyes fell on a plate of bloody steaks and he grabbed three. He swore he had an orgasm with the first bite and decided he should visit the elves in the kitchen.
"So, you sat with Greengrass?" Ron asked, between bites of chicken. Ron had learned, after years of recriminations from his mum and his girlfriend, not to speak with his mouth full. He had a gleam in his eye Harry didn't trust. "What did you even talk about?"
Harry shrugged. "Not a lot, we mostly just read," he said and turned to Hermione, who looked like she did not want to engage on this topic. "I was reading that Alfredsson book on the Patronus connection."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh? How is it? It looked really interesting," she said. She had accompanied Harry to the bookstore when he bought the book. She had wanted to read it so badly she almost bought a copy for herself before Harry promised she could borrow it after he was done. She was eagerly awaiting that day.
"It really is," Harry said with an earnest nod. "The way he talks about magic – I've never even thought of it like that before. Like it's a fire, or something, that feeds and grows."
"So, you and Greengrass didn't talk about anything?" Ron cut in before an intellectual conversation could start. Hermione glared at him and returned to her Yorkshire pudding.
"She complimented Maeve," Harry said. He rolled his shoulder, missing the already familiar weight of his familiar. Animals were not allowed at feasts, so Maeve waiting for him in his dorm room. It had taken most of the carriage ride and all of Harry's stash of beef jerky to convince the stubborn bird. "But she kept pretty quiet. Tracy came in later, though."
Neville's head snapped up. "You talked to Tracy?" he asked. "How is she?"
Harry blinked and bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. "She's good," he said. "We only spoke for a few minutes and she spent most of it laughing at the articles."
Neville, Ron, and Hermione stifled laughs. The articles in the Witch Weekly had been a great source of amusement for them – especially the string of testimonials from anonymous wizards talking about their magical nights with Harry Potter.
"It's weird that Greengrass and Tracy are sitting together, though," Neville said, glancing over his shoulder. Harry looked over, too, at the backs of the two witches in question. Beyond them, he caught Blaise's eye again, and turned back. "They weren't friends at all."
Harry frowned and resisted the urge to look at the women. "I'm not sure they are friends," he said. "It seemed tense between them."
Hermione huffed. "No surprise there," she said. "Greengrass was awful enough to me, I can't imagine how it must be to sleep in the same room as her."
Harry felt a sinking feeling in his chest. "Was she really so bad?" he asked.
Hermione looked him in the eye and nodded. "You're right, Harry, she never did anything," she said. "But – her attitude and the way she looked at me – like I was less that nothing. I know exactly why she thought that."
Harry averted his eyes to his plate. "Oh," he said.
"What does it matter, anyway?" Ron asked.
"I just – I thought she was different," Harry said and, this time, indulged in his desire to look at Daphne. He turned back and shook his head. "The way she was talking about her elf made me think – "
"Her elf?" Hermione interrupted.
Harry nodded. "I mentioned Dobby, and she talked about her elf. Vonny, I think," he said. "She talked about him like she cared about him."
Hermione looked past Harry to the Slytherin table. "Really?" she asked. "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, she's either a great liar, or she really loves the little guy," he said. Hermione nodded but kept staring at the Seventh Year Slytherins, her brow furrowed.
"Do you know what she did last year?" Neville asked. "She wasn't here and she didn't fight."
Hermione finally tore her eyes away and rolled them. "She was probably in some villa on the continent with her lord father and lady mother," she said.
Ron frowned and shook his head. "No, I think her parents are dead," he said. "I remember hearing about it on the Wireless, like, way back last September. They were executed for hiding muggleborns."
Neville raised his eyebrows. "The Lord and Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass were hiding muggleborns?" he asked.
Ron nodded. "I know, it's weird. I think that's why it stuck in my head," he said and turned to Hermione. "Maybe her parents hid Tracy. Maybe Greengrass was helping them."
"Maybe," Hermione conceded. "But when did the Wireless ever tell the truth back then?"
"Still, might be worth looking into," Harry said with growing excitement. He clapped his hands together and grinned. "How about it? 'The Mystery of the Ice Princess'!" The others stared at him. "You know, a mystery! Like old times!"
"Harry," Ron said and reached across the table to grab his brother-in-all-but-blood's forearm. "You're an idiot." Neville covered up a laugh. "The mysteries in old times were terrible."
Harry hesitated. "The early years weren't so bad," he said.
"I was petrified by a giant snake for 4 months," Hermione pointed out.
"And I still have nightmares about that damn acromantula pit," Ron said.
Neville turned to him with wide eyes. "Is that why you're so scared of spiders?" he asked.
"No, I was scared of them before," he said. "The old days were scary and I don't want to do that again."
"Besides, I won't have time," Hermione said. "Between Head duties, NEWTs, and applying for masteries I'm going to be far too busy to help you chase girls, Harry."
Blood rushed to his face. "What – " he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "What are you talking about?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please, Harry, you're obviously interested in her, for whatever reason. Probably your libido," she said. Ron and Neville burst out laughing as Harry glowed bright. "I'm not happy about it, and if something comes from it, she and I will be having words. But, if something happens between you two, I'll know she changed." Harry blinked and she sighed. "You don't like bad people, Harry. If you like her, then that means there's something to like."
Harry smiled warmly. "Thank you, Hermione," he said, regretting the fact he was sitting too far away to give her a hug.
"But," Ron cut in. "If I ever hear about you shagging a blood purist, you're dead to me."
Harry laughed through his embarrassment. "Don't worry, mate," he said. "The Dark Mark's a turnoff."
At the Slytherin Table, Daphne picked at her food and tried to ignore the stares and glares of the other houses. She glanced down at the First Years – not one of them was happy about being sorted into their house and all of them were suspicious of each other and the older snakes. They all knew what happened last year, that their house tried to destroy Hogwarts.
Daphne's eyes were drawn to Astoria for a moment. Astoria was sitting as far from Daphne as possible, on her own. She was the only Fifth Year Slytherin left in the school. The friend she had been staying with, Janice Cradwick, was a Ravenclaw. Astoria looked healthy and she had gotten some sun, but Daphne was reminded of how Tracy used to be – alone and angry. She chewed the inside of her lip, trying to decide how to speak with her sister, but turned her attention back to her year mates.
Blaise had been regaling them with stories from his year abroad in Italy. It had been easy to tune out after the third description of an excellent gelateria in Palermo. She had accepted that he was her formerly severe classmate. He had the same excellent grooming and manners, and there were shades of the same dry wit he had sometimes displayed. There was just a lot more of him now. She hoped he would calm down soon. He was exhausting.
Daphne glanced over at Tracy, who was also picking at her food. Tracy had barely eaten the entire feast. The only time all day she had been a little bit animated was when Potter was in their compartment. Other than those few minutes, Tracy had been sullen and quiet.
"But enough of my adventures!" Blaise said. Tracy breathed out a quiet sigh of relief and Daphne stifled a giggle. "I have a question for the two of you." Daphne and Tracy gave him their full attention. "Why have the two most gorgeous wizards in this school been staring at you all feast?"
Daphne looked at him in confusion and Blaise nodded behind their backs with a smirk. Daphne and Tracy turned around to the Gryffindor table, and Daphne saw Potter and Longbottom suddenly turn around. Her face burned red as she turned back and stared at her plate.
Tracy laughed, but it sounded forced. "Our own Ice Princess here has sunk her claws into The Wonder Boy," she said.
"Tracy," Daphne said, more sternly than intended. Tracy looked at her and raised her eyebrows. Daphne's face went red again, but she didn't apologize. It wasn't funny and Tracy shouldn't make jokes about it.
"Well, there seems to be a story here, in any case," he said.
Daphne shook her head. "We sat together on the train," she said. "That's it."
Tracy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and I was there. Potter's for sure into you," she said.
Daphne didn't respond to this. She didn't want to talk about it, but Blaise picked it up. "Why so certain?" he asked.
Tracy grinned. "It seems that Potter has a bit of an elf fetish, and when Daphne mentioned hers, he couldn't keep his eyes off her," she said. "He must be angling for some weird threesome."
Blaise laughed loud and Daphne's face glowed red. "Tracy!" she squealed.
Tracy sobered herself and turned to Daphne. "Daphne, relax, I'm joking," she said and turned to Blaise. "It was actually kind of sweet. Potter mentioned this elf that saved his life, and Daphne started talking about her elf. He was giving her the most amazing look." She sighed and turned to Daphne. "If a man gives you a look like that, it means he's falling in love with you."
All of the blood rushed from Daphne's face and pooled into her feet. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She started shaking her head. That was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.
"Oh, we three should have been friends so long ago," Blaise said, wiping the mirth from his eyes. "So, what about Longbottom?"
Tracy turned from Daphne. "We shagged," she said with a shrug.
This declaration pushed Tracy's insane idea Harry Potter was in love with her from Daphne's head. Her body tensed as she expected someone to say something – any mention of Longbottom at the Slytherin table in previous years was met with long diatribes against Gryffindor's Squib. The news that Tracy Davis had sex with him would have resulted in a violent outcry.
Blaise grinned. "Oh, I should have been friends with you so long ago," he said. "How was that?"
Tracy glanced over her shoulder again and bit her lip. "It was good," she said. Daphne blushed and Blaise grinned wider. "He was obviously inexperienced, but completely selfless and attentive." She shook her head. "He's a moron, though. He didn't recognize me, and he hasn't written."
Daphne's eyes widened. "He didn't recognize you and you had… relations with him?" she asked.
Blaise raised his eyebrows. "'Relations'?" he asked and Tracy snorted. "Look, Lady Greengrass, if Neville Longbottom wanted to shag me, it wouldn't matter if he didn't know me from Merlin, I'd go for it."
Daphne felt a sinking feeling in her chest from being addressed by her late mother's title, as well as the unfamiliar prickling of anger. She averted her eyes back to her plate to avoid glaring at the man.
"Blaise?" Tracy asked carefully. "Are you gay?"
Blaise laughed and rolled his eyes. "No, bambina," he said. "I am bisexual. There are so many beautiful people in this world, it would be a shame to limit myself. I trust neither of you have a problem with this?"
Daphne looked up at her plate and caught Blaise's eyes. He looked a lot more like his old, cold self. She shook her head. Blaise raised his eyebrows skeptically, but didn't argue. Blaise and Daphne were both part of the pureblood society that controlled Wizarding Europe for the past 200 years, and pureblood society did not look upon 'deviancy' kindly. Or that was the official line. Behind closed doors, pureblood men could commit any sort of deviancy or debauchery they wished without risking their social clout, but women and children were expected to strictly behave within proper social boundaries. Daphne, as a little girl, was taught that homosexuality and gender nonconformity were wrong.
In the past couple of years, Daphne had looked beyond her immediate culture. The pureblood society of Britain threw their lot in with the Dark Lord from the moment he reappeared, and they were on the cutting edge of the destruction of the Magical World. She started reading about other wizarding cultures, both around the world and the ones that preceded pureblood society in Britain, and many of them accepted or even celebrated all forms of gender and sexual expression. They argued that a spellcaster's magic is at their most powerful when it is the truest expression of that spellcaster. For this reason, self-knowledge and self-acceptance are very important to many magical traditions, and this goes hand in hand with self-expression of all kinds.
"When did that happen?" Tracy asked.
Blaise shrugged. "Since I was twelve. No one ever asked, so I never told," he said and shook his head. "The heteronormativity of England amazes me. You all just assumed I was straight."
Daphne looked at Blaise. She remembered him being connected with four or five witches through the years – he was attractive and there was something appealing about his indifference – but no wizards. She suspected he hid it to maintain his position in Slytherin, but she didn't call him out.
"Back on point," Blaise said. "When did you and Longbottom happen? And how come he didn't recognize you?"
"It was after the battle," Tracy explained. She pushed some peas around on her plate. "Once we finished the immediate – work, we celebrated. Abe opened up a pile of kegs and we partied in Hogsmeade. Longbottom was already kind of drunk when we started talking and, well, I don't exactly look like I did, do I?"
Blaise shook his head. "I like the new look, though," he said. "Very militaristic."
Tracy smiled and rolled her eyes. "Anyway, we started talking and we kept drinking and one thing led to another," she said and looked back over her shoulder.
Daphne looked over, too, and caught Potter's green eyes for a moment. She turned back to Tracy who was picking at her food again. "He hasn't written?" she asked.
"Nope," Tracy said hollowly.
Blaise shook his head. "I never expected Longbottom to be an asshole," he said. "I'm sorry, Tracy."
Tracy nodded. The conversation continued, more stilted that before, through the rest of dinner and dessert. The remnants of the puddings disappeared and Headmistress McGonagall took to her feet.
"Once again, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," McGonagall said. Someone at the Gryffindor table clapped and soon there was applause from all four tables. Daphne joined in, despite her conflicted thoughts. "To our returning students, welcome back. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have our school reopen and rededicated solely to the mission of education witches and wizards. This past year has not been easy for any of us."
Daphne's breath hitched and she felt the stares and glares from the other students anew. "I want to remind everyone that there is no student in attendance or faculty on staff without my personal invitation to return," McGonagall continued. "Everyone responsible for what we have been through has been punished, and those remaining are innocent of any wrongdoing. Be that as it may, I urge every student to remember that the rules in place this past year are no longer. Students will not be attacked, either physically or verbally, for their heritage, and any such incidents will be investigated and the perpetrators punished. I hope I have made myself clear, because I do not like to repeat myself."
McGonagall briefly reprised her disciplinarian role as she glared at the student population. A few people gulped. She then slipped back into the kind smile that didn't look right on the witch's face. "We have a number of changes to our staff. First off, I, Professor Minerva McGonagall, am the new Headmistress and I will be retaining my role as Professor of Transfiguration," she said. The hall erupted in whispers, but Daphne wasn't surprised. The Headmaster or Mistress traditionally taught a class, the only reason Headmaster Dumbledore did not is that he had two other jobs as the heads of major governmental bodies. "Sybill Trelawney has decided to retire after 17 years as Professor of Divination. Firenze will now be teaching that class, and has requested to not be referred to as 'professor'." She nodded towards the end of the table, where a handsome centaur was speaking with the Professor for Care of Magical Creatures, Rubeus Hagrid, who was himself part-giant. "Muggle Studies will now be taught by Professor Terrence Hill." A short balding man with glasses stood up and waved. "And Defence Against the Dark Arts will be taught by – " McGonagall stopped and took a deep breath. "Professor Abe."
The hall burst out in whispers and laughter as the old wizard next to McGonagall stood up. He was tall and thickly built, with a bushy grey beard. His eyes were narrowed and wary as he surveyed the tables, but there was something about them that was familiar to Daphne.
"Professor Abe will be taking over as Head of Gryffindor House," McGonagall said, once the Hall quieted again. "And Professor Flitwick will be the new Deputy Headmaster. Finally, the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, as always, and our custodian, Argus Filch, has provided an extensive list of all the items that are banned on the castle grounds. Anyone who wishes to read the one thousand and twelve item long list can find it pinned to the door of Filch's office. And now, I believe it is time for bed. Classes begin in the morning, please report to the Great Hall by 8 o'clock to receive your schedule from your head of house."
She clapped her hands together and stood up, and the rest of the Hall followed suit. Daphne kept her eyes firmly ahead as she and the rest of Slytherin trooped across the Entrance Hall to the dungeons which housed their dormitories. A few people hissed as they walked by.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Okay, if you read any author's note, read this one, especially if you are LGBTQ.
I have something to say about LGBTQ content. I like it. I myself am LGBTQ and I believe it's important to tell these stories and have this representation. So, I am going to be trying my hardest to do this. The key word here is 'trying'. I am LGBTQ, but I am a straight-passing bisexual man, and I have only become fully comfortable with this identity in the past 6 months. My life experiences, thus far, have been overwhelmingly heterosexual and my perspective is still fairly heteronormative, maybe even more so because I have denied my identity for so long. I say this because, while I want to tell these stories, I know I will make mistakes. So, I urge anyone reading this to let me know if they feel my representation of any group to which they belong to be inauthentic or offensive. I say this within the context of LGBTQ, since that is important to me, but this also refers to my female or POC characters.
Also, I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll have any major trans characters. I have so much respect for trans people, a major source of my fiery hatred for J.K. "Hag Queen" Rowling is her hatred of trans people, but I am hesitant to include a major trans character. First off, and this could just be my previously mentioned heteronormativity or Rowling's TERF-ness, but I cannot think of a character within this story that could authentically be trans. Second, while I feel somewhat comfortable telling stories about sexual identity, I am very cautious about misrepresenting trans people. And, while I could make a secondary character trans, that might be too close to tokenism, which I hate. I don't know, I'll think about it.
Okay, now then, this chapter was a journey. As I stated at the top, I revised this chapter and removed a POV that I really liked but wasn't working. My thinking was as follows when I originally wrote this chapter, "I really like Ginny, but she has nothing to do in this story for another couple of chapters. Maybe if I make her a POV character, I can start exploring her story alongside the main action." I am going to say something that George R.R. Martin is too much of a coward to admit: too many POVs really fucking bog down a story. Like, fuck man, the amount of stuff I felt the need to explain so that my Ginny with her specific mindset and goals and situation makes sense was too much. And then I realized she still had almost nothing to do for another couple of chapters. Whatever, I tried something and it didn't work, so now things are going to stay focused with these two POVs, which still almost feels like too much, but I'm committed now.
I'm going to admit something here, something I've alluded to before: I don't really edit these chapters before I post them. Like, I proofread them, but I don't really sit down and make sure that everything I have is motivated and it all fits together alright. This revised chapter is the first time I actually slept on a chapter before I posted it, because I did not want to make the same mistakes. I am sorry that I made major changes to this chapter. I will try not to do it again.
This is still slow, I admit, but I feel like there's a tighter focus and a lot more character work here. I'm still trying to figure out how Neville fits into the dynamic, but I'm getting there. I was actually kind of surprised at how easy it was to write Hermione, because I'm going to let you in on another secret. I don't really like Hermione. She has never been my favourite character - she starts as the most annoying kid in class and she never quite outgrows that for me. I don't know, maybe I'm just salty because in the movies she gets the star treatment while Ron is relegated to comic relief sidekick. I've said before, and I stand by it, Ginny is my favourite HP character but Ron is the bestcharacter. I seriously love the boy and nothing turns me off of a story faster than Ron-bashing, unless I'm looking for a laugh. I could seriously go on about how much I love Ron, but I'll spare you. DM me for an essay. I want to like Hermione. I like strong, opinionated, smart women, but Hermione never really did anything for me. Now that I think about it, it may be because Hermione is the Hag Queen's stand-in character. Or it may be because Hermione's final conclusion when she encounters an unjust institution (house elf slavery) is to blame bad actors within that institution rather than the institution itself. I haven't read Deathly Hallows in a while, but the way I remember it, after being mocked incessantly by the text and the characters throughout the series for wanting to abolish slavery, Hermione decides that slavery isn't actually wrong, the problem is bad slave owners. I have my own thoughts on house elves, I'm trying to fix them a bit in this fic, but Hermione's framing and ultimate resolution of their abuse is so... liberal. Before you yell at me, I'm a leftist. If you want to yell at me about that, go ahead, but please don't accuse me of being conservative.
I like these author's notes. I like talking to you guys. You really listen, you know? If you don't like these huge blocks of text about my personal thoughts on the politics in Harry Potter, then tough shit. Skip them.
