NOTE: If you read Chapter Three within the first couple days of it being posted, you might want to go back. I revised it heavily. Ginny's POV was removed and the dialogue at the Gryffindor table was expanded.
#############
Daphne stood at the back of the Slytherin Common Room. Beside her, Tracy leaned against the rough stone wall with her arms crossed. She had taken off her robes, and with her uniform sleeves rolled up, half her tattoos were on display. Blaise was elegantly sprawled on a black leather armchair nearby. Astoria stood away with her back to them, staring into the fireplace. Despite it still being summer, their common room was underground in the dungeons and always cold, so the fire was lit. A sixth year Slytherin, Manfred Harper, sat in another chair. He was a brown-haired boy with a healthy tan and light blue eyes. Daphne didn't know Harper well, but she remembered more than a few bigoted comments from him.
The other four years, each at least twice as large as the combined upper years with the first years being the largest of all, filled the open area of the common room. The room was long and low-roofed. At one end was the study section with book cases along the walls and 8 large tables. The other end, where Daphne was standing, was the lounge around the large fireplace ornated with carved snakes. The entrance to the common room was in the middle of one of the walls, and across from it were the stairs down to their dormitories. Along the top of that wall were large round windows that were half submerged into the lake so that, during the day, the entire room was bathed in green light.
When the house made it to the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeons, everyone realized that they didn't actually have any prefects, so no one knew the password to get in. Fortunately, the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's house ghost, showed up to allow them entrance. He then directed them to split into upper and lower years and wait for Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House.
The door swung open and Slughorn bounced into the room. He was a large, rotund man – completely bald and with a large, waxed moustache. Despite his advanced age, he always moved by bounding or bouncing, and even when standing still he was constantly bobbing and fidgeting with his hands.
"Good evening, students!" he called as he entered and Daphne smiled a little bit. Professor Slughorn was a nice, if absent-minded, old man, and would make a much better head of house than Snape ever could. Then she remembered Snape was dead and her stomach lurched uncomfortably.
Slughorn beamed at the younger students. "Could you all hold on one moment while I speak with your older housemates?" he asked, but turned towards the upper years before anyone had a chance to protest. He bounded towards them. "Welcome back! I'm glad you returned." He smiled at them all and Daphne glanced around. Astoria had turned around and was now scowling at Slughorn.
"Now, as you've noticed, we are without prefects," Slughorn continued and shook his head. "Not one of them has been allowed to return, so I was hoping a few of you could step up and –"
"Not interested, sir," Astoria interrupted. "Is that all?"
"Er, yes, well," Slughorn said, flustered. "I also wanted to talk about the Quidditch –"
"May I be excused?" Astoria asked, interrupting again.
Slughorn opened and closed his mouth and few times and he started pulling on his moustache, but he nodded. "Yes, by all means, Miss Greengrass," he said, but Astoria was already moving towards the stairs that led down to the girls' dormitories. The rest of the room stared at her as she left.
Slughorn turned to Daphne, who was looking at the ground with a red face. Astoria may not have internalized the lessons on proper manners as thoroughly as Daphne had, but she had never been this appallingly rude, especially not to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.
"Miss Greengrass?" Slughorn asked. Daphne looked up at him, and saw his eyes only contained concern. "Is your sister alright?"
Daphne's eyes fell to the ground again. "I – don't know, professor," she said. "We haven't spoken in some months."
Slughorn clasped and unclasped his hands. "Well, my office door is always open," he said quietly, then clapped his hands together. "Now, as I was saying… what was I saying?"
Blaise coughed to hide a laugh. "Er, prefects, sir?" he offered.
Slughorn beamed at him. "Right, I need some students to act as sort of unofficial prefects," he said. "You know, show the new students around, lend a hand if they need it, that sort of thing."
"No patrols?" Blaise asked. Slughorn shook his head. "And do we have access to the prefect bathroom?"
Slughorn blinked. "Er, I'll have to check, but I don't see why not," he said.
Blaise nodded. "I'd be delighted to," he said and got to his feet.
"Fantastic!" Slughorn said and enthusiastically shook Blaise's hand. He looked at Daphne and Tracy, then to Harper. "Anyone else interested?"
Tracy and Harper shook their heads. Daphne looked at the lower years – especially the first years. Despite there being so many of them, they were very quiet. A few of them had paired off and were whispering together, but most were either glaring at each other suspiciously or cowering from said glares. Daphne remembered her own first night in the Slytherin Dungeons – curiously looking around the room where her parents had spent their own years in school and giggling with Pansy and Millie about how cute Cedric Diggory was at dinner.
"I'll do it," Daphne said and looked back to Slughorn, who beamed at her. She immediately regretted speaking – she had never dealt with children before, except for Astoria, and look at how that turned out.
"Wonderful!" Slughorn said and turned to Blaise and Harper. "Now then, we also need a Quidditch Captain. Both of you were previously on the team, are either of you interested?"
Harper raised his eyebrows. "I'll let you take this one, Zabini," he said. "I don't want my name down as the captain of the worst team in Slytherin history."
Blaise shook his head. "I don't care enough to be captain," he said.
Harper scowled at him. "Fine, I'll do it, but you better not have that attitude on the pitch," he said and turned to Slughorn, who was patting his pockets for something. "And I'm playing chaser."
Slughorn looked up at him and smiled. "It's your team now, Mr. Harper," he said. He pulled a badge out of his pocket and handed it to Harper. He turned to Daphne and Blaise. "Unfortunately, you two will have to do without badges, as you won't be official prefects. Miss Davis, Mister Harper, you are excused."
Tracy pushed herself off the wall and nodded to the others. "See you downstairs," she said to Daphne. She left down the same stairs as Astoria descended, and Harper left down the other set.
Slughorn turned to Daphne and Blaise and leaned in slightly. "Now, let's see if we can get these kids to relax a bit," he said in a low voice before he turned to face the rest of Slytherin house.
#############
Harry, Ron, and Neville dragged themselves up the steps from their common room to the dorm. Gryffindor Tower was one of the four highest towers of Hogwarts – the other three being Ravenclaw Tower, the Astronomy Tower, and the Lost Tower which had been rendered inaccessible for 600 years in every way by magic. The walk from the Great Hall wasn't as long as it could've been thanks to the myriad shortcuts Harry knew, but the extended meeting Hermione had with the large First Year group, which she insisted all prefects, and Harry and Neville, attend, had dragged into tedium.
"Ron," Harry said as soon as he was sure he couldn't be heard in the common room. Maeve was back on his shoulder and preening his hair. "Why did your girlfriend tell the munchkins that I could teach them how to fly?"
Ron winced. "Sorry, mate," he said. "You know how she gets sometimes when she has an idea."
Harry blew out a slow breath. "Boy, do I," he said. It wasn't the first time Hermione had volunteered his time without telling him.
"It was nice of you to set aside a time for lessons," Neville offered.
"I only did that so they wouldn't be constantly bugging me to take them to the pitch," Harry said and scratched his forehead. "Remind me to talk to Hooch about that." Madam Rolanda Hooch was the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, and responsible for scheduling the pitch.
Neville nodded and they reached the top of the stairs. Ron stepped forward, opened the door, and they were hit by the loud sounds of hip-hop coming from an enchanted turntable on Dean's windowsill. Seamus and Dean sat at the table, each with a bottle of beer in hand and a couple empties off to the side.
"Boys!" Seamus called. "About time you got up here!"
"Close the bloody door," Dean said. "You want the whole tower to hear?"
Neville quickly closed the door. Harry grinned and joined the two men at the table. The Gryffindor Boys dorm room was a large, circular room at the top of Gryffindor Tower with five beds. Beside each bed was a window showing views of the Hogwarts grounds, and in the center of the room was a round table. Another door led to their bathrooms and showers. The carpet, curtains, and bed hangings were crimson red, and all the wood was a rich chestnut. Their trunks had been brought up, along with what looked like six cases of beer and a case of fire whiskey.
Neville looked from the pile of alcohol to Dean and Seamus. "You know, I should report this," he said. "How'd you get it up here, anyway?"
"Abe helped us," Seamus said with a shrug. "He's head of house, figured he'd have final say."
Dean winced. "Besides, we thought Head Boy had a private room," he said.
Neville raised his eyebrows. "Why would you think that?" he said and approached the table. He waved his wand and summoned a beer.
"I figured with how much everyone wanted it, there must be some perks," Dean said with a shrug.
"This is a boarding school," Neville said. "There are no perks, only responsibilities." He took a sip of his beer. "I get to use the prefect bathroom."
Harry nodded. "That's a pretty nice perk," he said and turned in his seat to Ron, who was standing at the door. "You alright there, mate?"
Ron hung his head and took the last seat. "Don't tell Hermione," he said and summoned a beer. The others laughed. "She'll kill me for drinking on a school night." He looked at Harry. "And you."
Harry shrugged. "So, we won't tell her," he said and took a sip of his beer.
"What took you guys, anyway?" Seamus asked. "Did the First year's introduction really take that long?"
"With Hermione doing it, yeah," Harry said.
Neville nodded and turned to Ron. "I'm sorry, mate, but she's going to be a nightmare this year," he said.
Ron sighed and leaned back in his seat. He furrowed his brow and nodded. "I'll stock up on sugar quills," he declared. Harry laughed while the others gave them confused looks. "They're her favourite. She's going to be going through a lot of them."
Neville shook his head and looked around the room. Then he jumped to his feet. "My plants!" he yelled and bolted to his trunk. He threw it open to rescue the plants he had stored in it for transport.
Dean laughed and turned to Harry. "Hey, I was thinking about your goals for the year," he said.
"What's this now?" Ron asked and turned to Harry. Neville looked up from his trunk, also confused.
Harry hurriedly took a sip to keep from answering immediately. He hadn't told his closest friends about his list of goals, despite having thought it up within a few days of deciding to return. He wanted to win the Quidditch Cup because he loved the sport and it would be an honour to have his name on the cup again. He wanted to be an animagus because his father and Sirius were, and he'd have access this year to McGonagall, one of the few masters of the art. And he wanted to make out with the hottest girl in school. He figured most boys at Hogwarts would agree with him, but for him it represented something different.
He wanted a chance to be a normal teenager, and making out with the hottest girl in school was the most normal teenage boy goal he could think of. He had not told his friends. He knew Hermione would not approve and he hadn't told Ron because they didn't really talk about girls, except in the vaguest terms. The only girl Ron had ever seriously thought about was Hermione – as he had told Harry one night after the battle – and Harry had been into Ron's sister for the past two years. Neither was particularly keen on discussing either with the other.
Harry's reasons for not telling Neville were slightly harder to confront. If Harry was to be completely honest with himself, he was intimidated by Neville. It started when Harry returned to Hogwarts before the battle and was first greeted by a new Neville – a Neville who stood tall and walked proudly. When they met up with the rest of Dumbledore's Army, they looked to Neville for direction, not Harry. Neville had stepped into his own and Harry could not be prouder of him. However, this came with the acute awareness that Neville was a decent, humble, kind man, and Harry would have to be blind, or blinder, to not realize how attractive his friend had become. Harry was an inferior romantic prospect in almost every way, so he had never mentioned witches while they got closer that summer.
Seamus raised his eyebrows to Harry. "You didn't tell them?" he asked. Harry shook his head. "Can I?" Harry shrugged and Seamus turned to Neville and Ron. "So, about half an hour into our train ride, this wanker barges into our compartment –"
"You don't have to tell a story," Harry protested.
Seamus rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll skip to the end," he said and drew himself up haughtily. "'This year, I only care about three things'," he said. Harry scowled.
"That's not necessary, either," he said.
"It's pretty good, though," Dean said with a smirk.
"'Number one, I'm going to win the Quidditch Cup'," Seamus continued dramatically and raised a finger. "'Number two, I'm going to be an animagus. And number three, I'm going to make out with the hottest girl in school."
Dean and Ron burst out laughing, while Neville turned to Harry. "Is that why you were sitting with Greengrass?" he asked.
Dean sobered first. "You're going after Greengrass?" he asked. "Mate, she's a blood purist."
Ron shook his head. "Don't worry, she's different," he said. "Right, Harry?"
Harry flipped Ron off. "You guys didn't talk to her," he said. "No blood purist would talk about an elf like she did."
Dean scoffed. "Right, and all the glares and sneers were what?" he asked. "Part of a play she was rehearsing?"
Harry frowned. "Was she bad to you, too?" he asked.
Dean nodded. "She wasn't the worst, but yeah," he said and took a sip of his beer. "I'll admit she's fit, but she's a blood purist bitch."
Harry resisted the urge to glare at Dean as he digested what he said. He thought back to previous years and how Daphne acted. It didn't look good, he could admit, as he remembered her laughing and sneering at some pretty awful things. But he also could not connect the disdainful girl of previous years with the sweet and meek woman he had met that afternoon.
"You shouldn't say that, Dean," Ron said. Harry looked at him in surprise. "The war changed everyone. I think she deserves a chance."
Harry blinked. "You think she might be alright?" he asked.
Ron shrugged. "Like Hermione said, you don't like bad people," he said.
"But if you just want to make out with the hottest girl in school, there are others," Neville said.
Seamus raised his eyebrows. "You sure? Greengrass is up there," he said. The others looked at him in confusion and he rolled his eyes. "I spent eighteen years pretending to be straight, I got pretty good at it. I can tell if a witch is attractive or not."
Neville nodded. "Daphne's definitely top five, but Susan Bones is the hottest," he said.
Harry, Dean, and Seamus looked at each other. "Neville, do you have a list?" Seamus asked, trying to keep from laughing.
Neville rolled his eyes. "No, I pay attention," he said. "None of you would hang out with me until Fifth year, I spent a lot of time watching people."
Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Dean averted their eyes. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm not interested in Susan," he said.
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" he asked. "Girl's hotter than hell."
Harry scratched his forehead and avoided looking at Ron. "She's a redhead," he mumbled. Dean nodded and tapped the side of his nose.
"No, she's not," Ron said. Harry looked at him, confused. Susan Bones was definitely a redhead, he knew that for a fact. "Her hair's blue now. We saw her on the train."
Harry started. "What?" he asked. "Why? What happened?"
Neville laughed. "She coloured it blue," he said. "It looks good."
"Oh," Harry said with a furrowed brow. He hadn't considered Susan at all, besides acknowledging that she was attractive.
"And we've come full circle," Dean declared and pointed his bottle of beer at Harry. "You need to talk to Ginny."
Harry started, wondering why Dean wanted him to patch things up with their mutual ex-girlfriend, and how that applied to their current conversation – besides the fact that Ginny belonged to the discussion of hottest girl in school.
"I've been trying to convince him to do that for four months," Ron said and shook his head. "She's fucking pissed at you, mate."
Harry hung his head. "I know, I know," he said. "I'm just – I don't know what to say."
"Well, how about this?" Dean asked and leaned forward. "You want to win the Quidditch Cup. Ginny's the best player in school and remember sixth year's game against Hufflepuff? With McLaggen?"
Harry thought back and winced. Ron, their keeper, had been incapacitated for the game by poison so Harry had to substitute Cormac McLaggen. McLaggen was a nightmare to play with and Harry didn't finish the game because the older boy had knocked him out with a beater's bat.
"I'm not following," Ron said.
"We need Ginny as assistant captain," Dean said. Harry and Ron frowned at him. "You need someone to make in-game calls while you're busy looking for the snitch so something like McLaggen doesn't happen again."
Harry felt the cold ice dagger in his guts. Dean was making a lot of sense. "Why her, though?" he asked, knowing she was the best choice. "Why not Ron, or you?"
Dean raised his eyebrows but Ron answered. "He's right, mate," he said. "Ginny knows the game better than anyone else. She's wanted to be a Quidditch player since she was six."
Harry hung his head again. "Fuck," he groaned. "You're right. And I should do it before try-outs."
"When are try-outs?" Seamus asked.
"Saturday, ten to twelve," Harry said. He had coordinated it with Abe and Hooch previously. "You going to come out?"
Seamus shrugged. "Thought I might," he said. "You said I flew pretty well in sixth year."
Harry nodded. "It was honestly down to you and Dean when I needed a sub," he said. "But Dean was better on penalty shots." Dean smirked at Seamus. Harry glanced at Dean's gloved hand and frowned. "is your hand game legal?"
Dean looked down at his prosthetic hand and flexed his fingers. They had a range of motion far beyond a flesh and blood hand – it was grotesque to behold. "No," he said. "But I have one that is."
Neville returned from carefully arranging his plants along his windowsill in the most optimal way – which had taken several minutes to determine – and sank into his chair with a groan. "You guys are going to be talking Quidditch constantly, aren't you?" he asked.
Ron laughed. "Sorry," he said. "At least there's no league right now." The English Quidditch League usually ran from March to October, but had been cancelled this year for obvious reasons. The league coming back the following year was in question, too, as so many players had been killed or imprisoned.
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Why are you happy about that?" he asked.
"It's the first time in 87 years the Cannons aren't bottom of the tables," Ron said with a grin. The Chudley Cannons were Ron's Quidditch team and were incredibly and profoundly awful at the game. "Technically true is still true."
Harry shook his head with a smile and drained his beer. After a moment's consideration, he summoned another, and the friends continued drinking and laughing into the night.
##########
Once again, Daphne hadn't slept well. She was exhausted by the time she got to bed, but all told she only got a few hours of fitful dreams. The previous day had been difficult in so many ways and every moment replayed in her mind over and over through the night. When she did fall asleep, she'd had anxious dreams of accusatory glares and whispers. She lay awake and questioned every choice that brought her to this point, of being almost entirely alone surrounded by people who, at best, tolerated her presence.
She watched her green wall hangings slowly lighten with the dawn. She grabbed her wand from under her pillow to check the time. It was just before six, and she couldn't go to breakfast until 7:30 since she and Blaise had to escort the First Years. She rolled over and closed her eyes, hoping for maybe a couple more minutes of sleep before she had to get up. The First Years hadn't relaxed at all the night before, despite Slughorn's best efforts. They had continued to be scared and suspicious – a few had even glared at Daphne and Blaise when they were introduced.
After a few minutes, Daphne gave up on trying to sleep and rolled out of bed. The room she and Tracy shared wasn't large, but they each had their own desk and a porthole looking out into the lake. It was square with a thick green carpet that didn't quite keep the cold of the stone floor from Daphne's bare feet. She made her way through her morning rituals with a growing sense of nausea as she faced the spectre of the student population again.
When she returned from the bathroom, Tracy was up and slowly grabbing her uniform from her trunk. "Good morning, Tracy," Daphne said and Tracy grunted in reply. "Did you sleep well?"
Tracy snorted and ran a hand through her hair. "No," she said. "You?"
Daphne shook her head. She took out her wand and checked the time – it was just after seven. "I'll see you at breakfast," she told Tracy, who just grunted tiredly again. Daphne left their room and ascended the steps leading up to the common room.
There were a few students waiting in the common room, but Daphne didn't see any of the First Years. She took a seat inn one of the armchairs and, knowing she had a few minutes to herself, pulled out her wand.
Glacius, Daphne thought, and an icy chill ran from her chest down her arm into her wand. The water in the air started to crystalize and combine and, soon, a large snowflake-like ice crystal was suspended in front of her.
"That's pretty," said someone behind her. Daphne started and, with her concentration broken, the crystal fell and hit the coffee table in front of her. It shattered. She turned to see Harper smirking at her. "Sorry. How'd you sleep, Daphne?"
Daphne carefully kept her face blank. "I slept well, Mr. Harper," she said evenly. "And yourself?"
Harper smiled. "Please, Daphne, call me Manfred," he said, then shook his head. "Make it Mannie, I hate Manfred."
Daphne squeezed her hands together tightly on her lap. "If it's all the same to you, I will stick with Mr. Harper," she said.
Harper smirked again and shook his head. "Same old Ice Princess," he said. "I'll see you around, Greengrass."
He turned and left the common room. Daphne looked at the melting ice on the table – Harper's familiarity infuriated her. They had never before spoken and he had no right to assume any sort of companionship. She supposed he assumed that, as fellow upper years in a depleted house, they would have some sort of acquaintance, but his introduction left much to be desired. With a sigh, she recast the charm and watched the ice and frost that formed along the ebony table.
Blaise groaned loudly as he approached. "Isn't it already cold enough down here, Daphne?" he asked as he rubbed his arms.
Daphne winced as she looked up. She vanished the ice, but a slight chill remained in the air. "Sorry," she said hurriedly. "How did you sleep?"
Blaise shrugged as he cast a warming charm on his sweater. "Well enough," he said. "It's a blessing to have my own room. Shame you and Tracy have to share."
"I do not mind," Daphne said. She wasn't lying – it had been comforting to have Tracy there. She looked at the clock on the mantle piece above the fireplace – it was almost 7:30. She looked over to see a group of first year's in the open area. "Is everyone here?"
Blaise nodded. "Well, everyone who wasn't here last year," he said. Daphne confirmed that quickly. Most of Slytherin's older first years were here the year before, though a few muggleborns and half-bloods who could not attend had been sorted into their house. He looked at her. "Well, have at it."
Daphne blinked. "What?" she asked.
Blaise raised his eyebrows. "I only volunteered so I won't get in trouble for using the prefect's bathroom anymore," he said. "You actually want to do this."
Daphne resisted the urge to glare at Blaise, then she stood up and approached the group of first years. "Good morning," she said and tried a smile. Most of the children grumbled or glared, but a few looked grateful she was there. "I hope everyone slept alright." No one spoke up. She quickly made a headcount and confirmed the only students missing already knew where they were going. "Come along, it's time for breakfast."
She led her charges from the Slytherin Dungeons to the Great Hall. The Slytherin Dungeons, like the other house common rooms and dormitories, were hidden from the rest of the school. It was in the labyrinthine basements – in the part dedicated to potions and, once upon a time, actual torture dungeons. It was not a pleasant part of the castle, though Daphne personally loved that it was always cold. She glanced over her shoulder at the students – all of them looked nervous and frightened of their surroundings. Blaise was taking up the back of the group to make sure no one got separated.
"I hope you're all hungry," Daphne said loudly to the group. "We have a wonderful breakfast here. Our elves are some of the best cooks in the world."
"Will it be as good as dinner last night?" one boy asked. Daphne looked back and saw he was rubbing his stomach.
She smiled at him. "Not quite, I'm afraid," she said. "Last night was the Entrance Feast, to celebrate the new school year. We have several more Feasts through the year." The boy's face fell at this news. Daphne tried to remember his name. "But don't worry, breakfast is always delicious."
"Will there be bacon?" another boy asked.
Daphne nodded. "There's always bacon," she said. The two boys beamed at her.
Daphne took the first years to the Entrance Hall by the usual path. Generations of Slytherins moving between the two places had determined the easiest way. There were other routes through the halls and secret passages that were quicker, but those involved difficult climbs or dangerous slides. Many students from different houses were passing through the Entrance Hall to breakfast, and many of them stared or whispered at the Slytherins.
Daphne ignored them and got the first years situated at their table. She and Blaise sat down close enough to keep an eye on them and she poured herself a cup of tea. Blaise assembled his breakfast.
"You're good with them," he noted.
Daphne looked at the first years and nodded. They were still very tense, but food seemed to be calming them down. "Thank you," she said.
They ate in silence for a few moments before Blaise started to look at Daphne carefully. "Have you been alright, Daphne?" he asked.
Daphne blinked. She wasn't, but she also wasn't sure how much she wanted to share with Blaise and she certainly didn't want to get into it over breakfast. "It's been a difficult year," she said.
Blaise reached over the table and grabbed her hand. Daphne looked down at it in surprise. "I know we were never close, Daphne," he said. "But I always liked you more than the others. You were never – vicious, like them. I hope we can be friends this year." He squeezed her hand and removed his.
Daphne dropped her eyes to hide her blush. "I think I would like that, Blaise," she said and smiled at him. He smiled back. Then she sighed and cast her eyes down again. "I was sent to a safehouse for the war. I – this past day is the most social interaction I've had in a year." She shook her head. "And Astoria isn't speaking to me."
Blaise looked down the table, where Astoria was eating alone, and frowned. "Why is that?" he asked. "You were so close before." Daphne quickly explained the situation and Blaise shook his head. "She will forgive you, you know that, right?"
Daphne shook her head. "You don't understand how angry she is," she said.
Blaise was about to respond, but saw Tracy approaching. "Good morning!" he called. Tracy grumbled and sat down beside him. She poured herself some tea and made a bacon sandwich. "Not a morning person?"
Tracy glared at him through a suppressed yawn. "Mornings were invented by the devil to punish mankind," she said, then sighed in satisfaction as she took a sip of her tea. "Don't tell me you are a morning person?"
Blaise waved a hand. "Depends on the morning," he said. "This morning, I am excited. I have been greatly looking forward to returning to class."
"I am curious, why did you return?" Daphne asked. Blaise raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "You seemed comfortable in Italy and I know you have enough money for tutoring."
Blaise nodded. "But I wanted to come back," he said and looked around the Great Hall with a smile. "I truly love this castle; it broke my heart to leave it."
Tracy swallowed a bite of her sandwich. "You're not worried about the Slytherin thing?" she asked and, also, looked around. A few people glared at her.
Blaise shrugged. "Love is worth it," he said. Tracy snorted and returned to her breakfast.
Soon, Slughorn walked down the table, handing out schedules. Tracy and Blaise received theirs with little comment, but Daphne spoke up when the professor turned to her.
"Sir, I was hoping to enroll in Defence Against the Dark Arts," she said. Tracy and Blaise looked up from their schedules in surprise.
Slughorn tugged at his moustache. "Ah, well, you weren't in the class for your sixth year, were you?" he asked. Daphne shook her head. Slughorn blinked. "It's highly irregular, but if Professor Abe agrees…"
"We have his class first thing," Tracy said, pointing at her schedule.
Slughorn nodded. "You should speak to him now, then," he said and waved his wand over a parchment to transcribe a schedule. "I'll put the class in your schedule for now, but speak to me if Professor Abe doesn't allow you a place and we will find something else for you."
Daphne accepted the parchment with a nod. "Thank you, sir," she said.
Slughorn nodded and excused himself to go prepare for class. Daphne turned to look for the new Defence professor and saw that he was almost done handing out schedules to the Gryffindors. She turned to Blaise. "Can you show the first years to their class?" she asked him.
Blaise nodded. "Why're you taking Defence?" he asked.
Daphne shook her head. "I'll explain later," she said. "I need to catch the professor."
Daphne dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and stood up. She turned to the Gryffindor table and her heart leapt in her chest when she saw Professor Abe was speaking with Potter and his friends. She had tried not to think about the Boy Who Lived or his green eyes or the photo out there of him shirtless.
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked as she stopped a few feet away. The old, large man turned to her. "My name is Miss Daphne Greengrass, and I was hoping to enroll in your seventh-year class."
Abe stared down at her. "You didn't take it sixth year," he said. "What were your OWLs like?"
Daphne schooled a wince and averted her eyes. "I received an Acceptable, sir," she said.
Abe didn't speak for a moment, then nodded. "You can sit in today," he said. "Talk to me after class."
Daphne was about to thank him, but was interrupted by Granger's shrill voice. "What do you mean, you aren't taking Defence?" she asked loudly.
Daphne and Abe turned to see she was addressing Potter. Weasley and Longbottom were also staring at him incredulously. Potter looked at Abe and, for a moment, his eyes caught Daphne's. Then he fell into a quiet argument with his friends.
"Thank you, sir," Daphne told Professor Abe, who nodded and left the Great Hall. Daphne walked back to the Slytherin table, wondering why Potter would drop his best class.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry groaned as he watched Hermione scan his timetable, with Ron looking over her shoulder. "I told you, Hermione, I want to relax this year," he said. He hadn't told her about his three goals, but he had still gone over the idea that he wanted to try and be a normal student. "The Dark Arts are not relaxing."
Hermione looked at him and worried her lip. "I know, Harry, but you have so much talent in the field," she said and shook her head. "You could easily get a mastery if you wanted."
Harry sighed and scratched his forehead. He had a bit of a headache from the beer the night before, and they hadn't gotten to bed until late. "I don't want to be Harry Potter, Defence Master," he said. "At least, not right now. Right now, I want to be Harry Potter, Quidditch Captain and Gryffindor student."
Hermione huffed. "I think you're being irresponsible," she said.
"Relax, this is Harry," Ron said. "They'd give him a Defence NEWT is he asked for it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I was more thinking I could always take the test later if I wanted to," he said.
Neville raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you in trouble with the goblins?" he asked. "How would you pay for tutoring?"
Harry turned to Hermione with a grin, who rolled her eyes and handed back his schedule. "So, instead of Defence, you're taking Creatures?" she asked.
Harry nodded while Neville's eyes bugged out. "Creatures?" Neville asked. "Why? It's the worst class."
Harry grinned. "Think about it, no one takes Creatures," he said. "It'll just be me and Hagrid hanging out with animals. Tell me that doesn't sound great."
Ron raised his eyebrows. "That's a good point," he said and looked at his schedule with a frown. "No, I don't want to drop Divination."
Hermione huffed while Neville turned to Ron. "You're still in Divination?" he asked. "Why? An easy O?"
Ron shook his head. "No," he said and scratched the back of his head. "I just – I really like the classes with Firenze, yeah? I like the way he talks about magic being this, like, cosmic thing."
Hermione looked at her boyfriend. "You never mentioned this," she said with a frown.
Ron shrugged. "You hate Divination," he said. "I try not to bring it up."
Hermione squeezed his hand and stood up. "Come on, we should grab our books," she said. Ron got up, grumbling.
"See you around, mate," Neville said as he, too, got up.
Harry nodded absently as his friends left and looked down the Gryffindor table. He was the only seventh year who remained seated. He took a sip of his tea and looked up at the enchanted ceiling. He grinned; the weather looked perfect for flying.
##########
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Hey gang, here's the newest chapter. I think I'm getting into the swing of things here. I'm figuring out the sort of pacing I want. It's slow, but that's intentional. I admit my first version of the last chapter was incredibly slow, as several reviews pointed out to me. By the way, shout out to the one reviewer who accused me of wasting their time. I can only hope I've accomplished that task here, as well.
Okay, I'm not going to talk about politics here, this time. I'm talking about sports. This story does have a Quidditch focus. Winning the cup is Harry's first goal for his last year, and there are going to be many scenes revolving around the sport. I realize that fandoms are, in general, a nerd space, so sports are often not celebrated. It surprises many people when they find out that I love sports, because I am definitely not the type. Without getting too much into it, during a very low point in my life my local sports team went on a miracle playoff run. Two of the best ways, I think, to get out of a depressive period is through community and having something to be excited about. Sports provided me with both of those.
So, yeah, I like sports, and because I like sports, I don't like Quidditch, because the Hag Queen does not like or understand sports. I think she has admitted the reason why the rules of Quidditch are ridiculous and don't make sense is because she cannot make sense of most sports, so she wanted everyone to be as confused as she is. In a previous story, I changed the rules to remove the seeker, so it was much more of a combination of hockey and basketball. I think that's still a better sport, but I am going to try, here, to keep the canon rules and make Quidditch an actually all-around interesting sport instead of a chase between two seekers with an irrelevant basketball game in the background.
And before you bring up the Quidditch World Cup where Krum catches the snitch but doesn't win, consider the idea that Krum was really stupid in doing that. I've had many arguments about this, but I maintain Krum should not have ended the game. Yes, the Irish chasers were much better than his own, but Krum had effectively removed the Irish seeker from play. This is Quidditch, where we're told that games can go on for days or even weeks, and Krum ends the game because they're 160 points behind? At least give your teammates a chance to catch up, bro. I hope the Bulgarian wizarding media crucified Krum for that blunder. This is an example of how the Hag Queen does not understand sports.
Anyways, I hope everyone has a Happy New Year, and may 2021 be better.
