Public Service Announcement from your Uncle Hufflepunk: Don't be a fucking fascist.
Daphne had had five defence teachers so far, one for each year she took the class. The rumour that there was a jinx on the post had been confirmed that summer by Potter in an interview. She barely remembered Quirrell first year, except for his awful stutter. Lockhart had been their professor second year, and had been the first time Daphne was let down by someone she idolized. Lupin, in third year, had been a good teacher – personable and knowledgeable – but he was a werewolf. Daphne was shocked he had been allowed to work with children. Moody had scared her, but that made sense, considering he turned out to be a disguised Death Eater. Umbridge, in her OWL year, hadn't even bothered to teach and killed any interest Daphne still had in the class. She had had to study hard to even scrape an Acceptable on the exam.
Daphne and Tracy entered the classroom. Professor Abe was sat behind his desk examining a parchment and nodded at them as they entered. They took seats towards the back of the half-filled class. Daphne looked around the room – every year the professor would choose a new classroom and personalise it to fit their teaching style, or lack thereof. Disappointingly, the desks were organized similarly to fifth year with Umbridge, but the many hot pink decorations were mercifully absent. The walls were instead bare; the only personal effect of the professor's in the entire room appearing to be a single framed picture on his desk facing him.
A few more students entered the class and took seats and, with another nod, Professor Abe stood up. "Looks like we're all here, so let's get started," he said and walked in front of the blackboard. He waved his wand to shut the door.
Zacharias Smith, a beanpole skinny blonde Hufflepuff with dark eyebrows, looked around the room. "Where's Potter?" he asked.
"Five points from Hufflepuff," Abe said. "If you have something to say, raise your hand and I will let you speak, understood?" Smith glared at Abe but nodded. "Right, my name is Professor Abe and you will call me Professor Abe or sir." He looked around the room. "I'm supposed to be teaching you defence against the dark arts, but I have a feeling you lot don't especially need a lot of direction there."
Daphne realized that most of the class had probably fought in the war and shrank into herself. She thought that many would have run or hid like she did, but, when she thought about who had returned, it appeared she was in the minority.
"But I still have to do my job," Abe continued. "And while you may know how to fight, your theory is, quite frankly, shit. I reckon at least a few of you want to pass your NEWT, so we'll start there." He pulled out his wand and waved it at the black board. The word "Shields" appeared at the top, while the rest of the board filled with diagrams and equations. "Now, pop quiz, what do the wand motions for all shield spells have in common?"
Daphne blinked. She knew this – all protective magic invoked the number five, some say for the five spirits, so all shield spells have five separate wand motions. She glanced over at Tracy, who looked confused. Only Granger and Terry Boot, an athletic Ravenclaw with brown hair and a narrow face, had their hands up to volunteer an answer. Abe called on Boot, who gave a similar answer to what Daphne was thinking, and continued his lecture with a sprinkling of questions.
Daphne was surprised at how well she was following along. She had spent a lot of time reading this past year, when she wasn't an anxious mess about the state of the world, but none of it had been defence related. Then again, shields were technically charms, so her knowledge from there carried over into the lecture. She did not volunteer an answer to any question, but Abe called on her anyway and, when she got it right, gave her a wink. Daphne was, in that moment, distinctly reminded of the late Headmaster Dumbledore and she almost gasped out loud when she remembered another book she had read that year.
In Daphne's opinion, Rita Skeeter was a garbage person who profited off of ruining lives, but she had read her book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, like everyone else. Daphne didn't believe every word written, but the broad strokes were probably true and, unless she was very much mistaken, Professor Abe was Aberforth Dumbledore, the late headmaster's estranged younger brother. Daphne tried to focus again on the lecture – the professor's personal life was none of her business – but she couldn't help but wonder if Abe's refusal to go by Dumbledore was proof of Skeeter's claims.
After the lecture wrapped up and the rest of the class left, Daphne approached the professor, who had sat behind his desk again and was taking notes. He looked up at her.
"Greengrass," he said and put down his quill. He stared at her for a moment. "You seemed to follow along alright."
Daphne nodded. "Thank you, sir," she said.
Abe leaned back in his chair, continuing to examine her. "I'm going to be honest, Greengrass," he said. "You're a year behind the rest of the class, and I don't have the time or concern to catch you up. You're going to fail your NEWT."
Daphne lowered her eyes. "I – I know, sir," she said. Abe raised his eyebrows. "I don't need my Defence NEWT. I have no interest in a career involving the dark arts in any capacity."
Abe nodded. "As long as you know that, you can stay," he said and returned to his notes.
Daphne stood there for a moment. "Sir?" she asked.
He looked up. "Is there something else?" he asked.
"Er, no," Daphne said. "But – I can continue the class?"
Abe frowned. "That is what I said, right?" he asked.
"Yes, but –" Daphne started.
"But what?" Abe interrupted. "You can stay in the class. That's what you want, right?"
Daphne stared at the old man. "You – don't wish to know why?" she asked. He shrugged and returned to his notes.
"You may go, Greengrass," Abe said.
Daphne nodded uncertainly and left the room. To her surprise, Tracy was waiting in the hall and fell in step with her. "Is he letting you stay?" Tracy asked.
Daphne looked back at the defence room with a small frown. "He is," she said. "He just wanted me to know that I won't get my NEWT."
Tracy frowned at her. "Why're you in the class, then?" she asked.
Daphne averted her eyes. "After everything that happened, I – I think I have to learn this," she said and shook her head. "It may be silly to take a class just to learn, but…"
Tracy nodded. "I get it," she said, then looked at her appraisingly. "Daphne, did you want to fight?"
Daphne started at the question and did not respond for a moment. She had asked herself the question countless times and she still didn't have a solid answer. In the safehouse, her primary concern had been Astoria's safety, so she never let herself seriously consider fighting. When she thought about the matter after the war ended, she knew that it wouldn't have been realistic. She was decent at charms, but the rest of her spellcasting was fair, at best. She hadn't qualified for NEWT transfiguration, either, so she had had to stay in divination and history just to fill out her schedule in sixth year. Besides her subpar abilities to survive, she loathed the idea of violence and would gladly go her entire life without seeing blood again. Just hearing about the horrors of the war over the wireless was enough to give her many sleepless nights.
But, in the completely abstract sense, once you stripped all of that away, Daphne had wanted to see the Dark Lord defeated. The Dark Lord had disgusted her in every way, but especially in how he revealed the cess pool that was her entire world. Over night, family friends turned into vicious terrorists targeting their fellow wizards for something as petty as blood purity. Daphne had been trained, from a young age, to quash whatever anger she might be feeling, which served her well over the past several years as, below the fear, the events she was watching made her very angry.
But, instead of saying any of this, Daphne focused on maintaining a blank face. "I was not given the option," she said.
Tracy raised her eyebrows at the non-response, but shrugged. "What else do you have today?" she asked.
Daphne took out her schedule and consulted it. "I have potions in an hour," she said and frowned. "I should have lunch now." Between 6 am and 4 pm, there was always food available in the Great Hall, as various classes tended to be scheduled based on arcane purposes rather than practical, and thus didn't allow for a standardized lunch time.
"I'll join you," Tracy said and they turned down a hallway that led to the Great Hall. "What did you think of Abe?"
"He's very knowledgeable, if a bit – brusque," Daphne said and Tracy snorted. "You know him?"
Tracy nodded. "He ran the Hog's Head, in town," she said. Daphne started – she had never been to the Hog's Head Public House but she knew its reputation. It was the single seediest, dirtiest building in Hogsmeade and many rumours flew around about its dangerous and dark clientele. She remembered a few of the boys had tried to go in sixth year and had almost been hexed out by the bartender. "I went there some over the summer. He's good people."
"You would frequent a –" Daphne started in disgust, not quite knowing the proper word for such a dirty and despicable establishment.
Tracy turned on Daphne and narrowed her eyes. Daphne took a step back. "The Hog's Head's a dive, but it's a good place," she said. Daphne nodded with wide eyes and Tracy winced a bit. "Sorry, just – I like it. You don't talk bad about a person's bar."
They turned and continued walking. "Is it still open?" Daphne asked, as an olive branch, after a few moments of silence.
Tracy nodded. "Abe was training some folk to take over the day-to-day operations while he teaches," she said and shook her head. "They're alright, but the way he tells it, they're completely useless."
Daphne frowned. "I don't understand, he has a mastery and a respected name, why would he run the Hog's Head?" she asked.
Tracy side-eyed Daphne with a smirk. "You pieced that together, yeah?" she asked. Daphne nodded. "Word of warning, never bring up Headmaster Dumbledore around Abe. I saw him take a man's pinky for making a crack about it." Daphne's eyes widened in horror and Tracy waved a hand. "Don't worry, he gave it back."
"So, it's true, then?" Daphne asked. "About the duel and their sister?"
Tracy shrugged. "Seems that way, but I never brought it up," she said. "I like my fingers." Daphne giggled behind a hand. "I did actually ask him why he owns the Hog's Head, though. Apparently, back in the '70s, it was a hangout for Voldemort sympathisers." Daphne shuddered at the use of the Dark Lord's nom-de-guerre. "Abe used polyjuice to take the place of the bartender and gather information for the Light and discovered he actually liked running the bar, so, he kept on doing it."
Daphne looked down and worried her lip a bit. "But – why?" she asked. "He could've done so much with a mastery, why would he settle for owning the Hog's Head?"
Tracy shrugged. "He liked it," she said. "Besides, the place continued to have a sketchy reputation. He'd pass info onto the aurors regularly and he was a godsend during the war."
Daphne nodded vaguely, still wondering how Abe could've been satisfied with such a lowly life. But, at least, he was now a professor at Hogwarts, which was definitely a step up. She glanced at Tracy. "Do you have plans after this year?" she asked.
Tracy glanced back and shrugged. "Not sure, might go for hit witch," she said. Hit witches and wizards were part of the Department of Law Enforcement, and were the rank-and-file beneath aurors. As such, the requirements and training were much less intense. "How about you?"
Daphne shook her head. "To be honest, I never expected to need a job," she said.
"What do you mean?" Tracy asked with a frown. "Aren't you loaded?"
Daphne shook her head. "The Dark Lord – took everything from my family," she said, and tried to avoid thinking about the fact that the wizarding world had been destroyed thanks to Greengrass gold. "We don't even have the manor anymore."
Tracy stopped walking and turned to Daphne. Daphne stopped, too, startled. Tracy looked Daphne straight in the eye. "I'm sorry, Daphne," Tracy said. Daphne furrowed her brow. "I – I lost my home, too. It sucks."
Daphne blinked rapidly to try and get her eyes to stop feeling so wet. The loss of her childhood home had been difficult. Greengrass Manor in Kent had been a jewel of wizarding Britain – the glass and stone greenhouses were unique in the world for the sinuous and plant-like architecture that was reminiscent of Art Nouveau, despite predating the style by several centuries. As well, the Greengrass menagerie had once been renowned throughout the magical world. By the time Daphne was born, none of the large and dangerous creatures remained, but they maintained a sizable collection of small and easy to care for magical beasts, and the family had still had strangers contact regularly to see both the greenhouses and menagerie. This had all been destroyed by the Dark Lord and his forces. Daphne had not returned to the site, instead trusting Vonny's report on the matter.
"Thank you, Tracy," Daphne said. "I'm sorry, too. It must have been difficult to lose your home."
Tracy nodded, then let out a breath through her lips and continued walking. "Come on," she said. "Maybe Blaise'll be at lunch."
#####
Harry had had a pretty good first day. Potions had gone well – his goodwill with Slughorn had overpowered his sudden mediocrity in the subject since he could no longer rely on Snape's old potions book as much. He had felt more embarrassed than normal for his flubs since he was acutely aware Daphne was in the class, and was equally aware that Blaise and Ron were watching him intently for his reactions around the blonde woman. Neville, thanks to some secret tutoring by Slughorn the previous year, had managed a place in the class for seventh year but was still too anxious to delight in Harry's awkwardness. Harry still didn't know exactly what to think about Daphne, but he definitely knew he wanted to talk to her again.
After potions, they had transfiguration, and Harry got his first good look at blue-haired Susan Bones. Susan had a round, cheerful face and bright brown eyes, and, to be honest, the blue worked for Harry. He wasn't as reminded of Ginny when he saw her, and he could fully appreciate the fact that she was a very attractive woman. The class itself had gone well – Harry had read up on transfiguration since he decided to become an animagus. He had never loved the class, his temperament didn't allow for the long periods studying dry theory the subject demanded, but the idea of transformation fascinated him. As a child living under the stairs and wearing his larger cousin's worn-out castoffs, he had often wished he could transform his surroundings, possessions, and relatives. With magic, he could, but it was really hard and he could also fly and turn invisible. Regardless, he confirmed with McGonagall after class that his animagus training would begin the following week.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville made their way through the halls back to Gryffindor Tower after dinner. Harry's good mood was destroyed when he spotted Ginny and Demelza Robbins – another chaser on the Gryffindor team – walking up ahead and he remembered his decision to talk to her. He glanced at his friends with a wince.
"Hey, I'll, er, see you guys at the tower," he said. Hermione frowned and he nodded towards Ginny.
"Are you actually going to talk to her?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded and she beamed. "Harry! I'm so proud of you!"
Neville rolled his eyes. "Don't get too excited," he said. "It's about Quidditch."
Hermione turned to Harry with a furrowed brow and Harry scratched his forehead. "We, er, need an assistant captain," he said. Hermione's face fell and she started to scowl.
"Unbelievable," she said under her breath. "At the very least, don't lead with that."
Harry nodded. "Right," he said, fully having intended to lead with it. They were getting pretty close to Gryffindor Tower. "I should catch her." Maeve, on Harry's shoulder, recognized an awkward situation approaching and flitted over to Ron, who she had taken a liking to.
Harry ran ahead of his friends and approached his ex-girlfriend. Before he could think about not doing it, he called her name. She turned around and glared when she saw him.
"Harry," she said evenly and turned back around.
"Ginny, wait," Harry said. "I wanted to talk to you."
Ginny turned back around and stared at Harry. She held this stare long enough that Demelza eventually just wandered off awkwardly and Ron, Hermione, and Neville caught up and passed the ex-couple, pretending not to be watching closely.
"Fine," Ginny gritted out.
She turned and walked down another hallway. She unlocked the first door with her wand and opened it. It was one of many, many abandoned classrooms that populated Hogwarts. According to Hermione, the growth of Hogwarts was far more organic than planned – rooms, hallways, chambers, and laboratories were added as needed by more than a millennium of wizards, witches, elves, and goblins. In addition, magical people tend to be proud and many would not think of reusing a room created by a predecessor, unless they had a personal connection to that predecessor, resulting in broad swathes of the castle that were abandoned for no real reason other than redundance. It did, however, make the castle a fascinating place to explore and provided many places to be alone.
This classroom appeared to have at one time been a transfiguration room. Ginny turned to Harry with her arms crossed. "Well?" she asked.
Harry's brain suddenly went blank – he realized he had zero plan for how he actually wanted this to go. "Er, right," he said. "I, er, I was wondering if you wanted to be assistant captain?"
Ginny continued staring at him for a moment, then slapped him across the face. It stung.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter?" Ginny demanded. Her eyes were narrow and angry, and her hair seemed to take on a life of its own, considering how much it was moving. "I don't hear a fucking word from you for four months and that's the first thing you say?"
Harry resisted the instinct to touch his stinging face. This is why he didn't want to talk to Ginny. She was angry. "Right," Harry said. "I'm sorry."
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "We have one fight –" she started, then stopped herself. "Wait, I can't even call it a fight, because you didn't even try. I brought up one problem, one thing, and you run away. I learned that we had broken up from my mum, for Merlin's sake! Do you know how…" She shook her head with a sneer. "No, you don't, or else you wouldn't have done it."
Harry took a deep breath. He could feel himself getting angry. "You said you couldn't forgive me," Harry said. "To me, that's ending things."
Ginny glared at him. "I wanted you to convince me," she said. "I wanted you to at least try, but you didn't. Not even a little."
Harry stared at her evenly. "You wanted me to fight," he said.
Ginny kept her glare. "I didn't think it was too much to ask," she said. "You're a fighter."
Harry kept his stare for a moment, then sighed and found a desk to lean against. He looked at Ginny. "I couldn't fight you, Gin," he said. Her eyes softened for a moment, then hardened even more. He hadn't called her that in months, not even in his head. "I – I didn't tell you this, things were so weird between us, but in the forest, before Voldemort killed me, I thought of you." He felt tears gather at the corner of his eyes and he wiped them with his knuckles. "It was a conscious choice. I wanted you to be my last thought on this Earth, because I loved you. I still do."
Ginny's glare had softened, but she remained angry, if a bit uncertain. "So why didn't you try?" she gritted out. "Why did you –" Ginny stopped talking when Harry sighed heavily.
He had been trying so hard not to think about how tired he still was. His sleeping habits were better and, without the fragment of Voldemort's soul stuck to his forehead, he wasn't constantly irritable, but he was still exhausted. His shoulders dropped and his head fell – he didn't know what to tell her. He didn't know how to explain that he loved her but he wasn't what she needed and she wasn't what he needed.
Ginny glared at him again, then she shook her head. "When are try-outs?" she asked.
Harry looked up at her. "Sorry?" he asked.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "The team, when are try-outs?" she asked.
"Er, Saturday morning," Harry said with a frown. "Does this mean…"
"I'll be assistant captain," Ginny said. "Merlin knows I should've made captain."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "That sounds like insubordination," he said.
Ginny scowled. "Bite me, Harry," she said and left the classroom.
Harry continued leaning against the desk and let out a long, drawn out breath. He touched his red cheek where Ginny had slapped him and figured he was lucky to have only gotten away with that – her bat-bogey hex was infamous.
######
The following morning, an owl found Harry sat in the Great Hall at breakfast. The seventh years didn't have class until later in the morning, but Harry found he couldn't sleep much past seven these days. Neville, Hermione, and Parvati were eating with him – the other boys were having a lie-in. Harry groaned as he recognized the owl as coming from Gringott's, but he still accepted the letter and offered the bird a bit of bacon, which it refused and Maeve snatched instead. Harry opened the letter and scanned the multiple sheets of parchment it contained.
Neville swallowed a bite of oatmeal. "What's the damage?" he asked.
Harry winced. "Just under 5000 galleons," he said and stuffed the parchment away in his bag.
Parvati looked up from the Daily Prophet she was reading. "How're you dealing with that, anyway?" she asked. Harry grunted inquisitively around a muffin he was biting into. "During the summer, you were always busy with the goblins. How're you dealing with that now?"
Harry raised a finger as he struggled to swallow his food, but Hermione responded instead. "He hired a goblin to attend the meetings in his stead," she said and rolled her eyes.
Parvati raised her eyebrows. "You're paying a goblin to help the goblin's steal your money?" she asked.
Harry shrugged and tore at his muffin paper. "They're going to get it, anyway," he mumbled. "This way seems simpler for everyone involved."
"Most people would be worried about the prospect of being destitute," Parvati said, glaring at Harry.
Harry shook his head. "Sorry, I just figure that if I need money down the line, I could just sell an exclusive or something," he said.
"Right, I guess you don't really have to worry about being broke," Parvati said and rolled her eyes.
Harry smiled tiredly. "One of the few perks of being famous," he said.
A few minutes later, Ron, Seamus, and Dean joined them and, once everyone had had a cup of tea of wake up, they started discussing what to do before charms. Hermione immediately said she was going to work on their defence assignment and nobody else wanted to do that.
"How about football?" Dean suggested. Over the years that they had all been classmates, they had had a handful of pick-up games. It was always Dean's suggestion. "Three on three?"
"Mate?" Seamus asked and looked towards the ceiling, which was showing the drizzling skies.
Dean shrugged. "We'll play inside," he said. "I can think of a dozen hallways big enough."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dean," she said. Her voice was pained. "That's against the rules. You know it's against the rules. You're talking to the head boy and girl about breaking the rules."
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to punish me?" he asked.
Hermione huffed. "No, but I would at least expect you not to put me in this position," she said. "McGonagall entrusted me with keeping order and I don't want to disappoint her."
Dean averted his eyes and looked thoroughly chastened. "Right, sorry," he said. "I guess I didn't think about that."
Hermione nodded and grabbed her bag. "I'm going to the library," she said.
Ron stood up, too, and grabbed another croissant from a basket. "I'll join you," he said, and grabbed his bag.
The two left and Harry turned to Dean and Seamus. "Are we still playing?" he asked.
Dean made sure Hermione had left and smirked. "Of course," he said.
Neville rolled his eyes and also stood up. "I'm going to the greenhouses," he said. "I didn't get a chance to visit them yesterday. I'll see you in charms." He, too, left.
Dean looked at the remaining Gryffindors. "Two on two?" he asked, hopefully.
Harry turned to Parvati, who shrugged. "Sure," she said. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I do like to keep fit; I just don't like flying."
The four ate the last bites on their plates and went to a hallway on the second floor that was, indeed, wide enough for a small football game, and out of the way of the active parts of the castle so they shouldn't get caught. Maeve flew from Harry's shoulder to a nearby doorframe and went to sleep. Harry transfigured a scroll into a football and they played Dean versus Seamus, Harry, and Parvati, which they determined to be the only fair teams. Dean was having a lot of fun bouncing the ball off the walls to get past them until, right after he kicked to score on Seamus, one of the doors in the hall opened and Luna stepped out, just in time to get hit in the side of the face by the hard leather ball.
Luna staggered a bit, but didn't fall. Everyone rushed over, but Dean reached her first. "Jesus, Luna, I'm sorry!" he said. "Are you okay?"
Luna shook her head to chase away the stars in her vision. "I am unsure," she said. Dean brushed the hair from her face and she smiled. "Oh, hello, Dean. How are you?"
Dean winced when he saw the large red mark on her face. He touched it gently, then lowered his hand. "You're not bleeding, are you?" he asked and she shook her head. "You should go to the hospital wing, that might bruise."
Luna nodded and took Dean's hand. "Thank you, Dean," she said. "I'll talk to you soon." She dropped his hand, turned to Harry, Parvati, and Seamus, nodded at them, and left.
Harry turned to his roommate, who was staring after the Ravenclaw. "You two, er, got close at Shell Cottage, yeah?" he asked. In the later parts of the war, Luna and Dean had sheltered with Ron's oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur, at their cottage in Cornwall.
"What?" Dean asked, and shook himself from his thoughts. "Er, yeah, I guess." He shook his head. "Still have no idea what the girl is thinking most of the time."
Harry glanced at Seamus and Parvati, who both nodded solemnly, and back at Dean, who was looking back at where Luna just was.
"Fuck!" Seamus said, looking at his watch and rushing towards his bag. "Charms starts in three minutes!"
The four of them were out of breath by the time they reached the charms room on the fourth floor four minutes later. The door was closed and, after taking a moment to compose themselves and for Maeve to settle on Harry's shoulder, they opened it. Professor Filius Flitwick stopped mid-sentence and glared at them from atop his stack of books he used to look above his lectern.
"I'm glad the four of you decided to join us," Flitwick said. "That will be five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Please find a seat."
The four glanced at each other and took seats at the back of the class. "What's with him?" Seamus whispered to Dean, who shrugged.
"Gentlemen!" Flitwick called, glaring at the two men. "While I am sure your conversation is fascinating, this is neither the time nor the place. Five more points from Gryffindor."
Seamus, wisely, chose to shut up at that point and Flitwick continued his lecture. The charms professor, who stood three feet tall and was rumoured to be more goblin than human, was far more severe than in previous years. Hermione and Neville had reported that he had been stressed out that summer from his new deputy head duties, but apparently it was taking a heavier toll than Harry had expected. Fortunately, more of the professor's previous personality shone through as he continued the lecture and got more excited about his vocation. He had even squeaked excitedly when Tony Goldstein – a tall Ravenclaw with wild brown hair and glasses – asked a particularly insightful question about the link between preservation charms, the subject of their lecture, and petrification curses.
Harry enjoyed the class. Charms was often thought of as the bread and butter of a wizard's abilities and, as such, their entire year was in it. Harry rarely felt as magical as he did when he was floating objects around in the mid-air or conjuring birds from nothing, and theory wasn't as necessary to excel in the spellcraft as in transfiguration. Besides, it is commonly said that there are only two types of spellcasting – transfiguration, and everything else. Harry's deep knowledge of curses, hexes, and jinxes from defence transferred over into charms, as the spells often shared the same basic theory. They had often learned harmless joke jinxes in previous charms classes and Flitwick was a former duelling champion.
The lecture wrapped up and Hermione immediately descended upon Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Parvati. The other three retreated quickly, leaving Harry to suffer Hermione's recriminations for losing house points alone. He made it down the hall with her, half-listening, before he officially stopped caring and announced he had to use the bathroom. He ducked into a side hallway before Hermione could respond and sighed in relief when he saw her huff in annoyance and continue walking with Ron and Neville. He leaned against the wall for a moment and wondered why Hermione still cared about the house cup.
"Hey Harry!" someone called from the charms hallway and Harry groaned, expecting it to be a fan. He looked over and smiled when he saw Susan with Ernie McMillan, a curly-haired Hufflepuff whose pompousness would be annoying if it wasn't so earnest.
"Susan!" Harry replied and pushed himself off the wall. "Ernie!"
"Harry, old boy!" Ernie said and grabbed Harry's hand as he approached the Hufflepuffs. He pumped it vigorously in a facsimile of a handshake. "How are you? Sorry we didn't get a chance to catch up in potions yesterday, but you know how it is on the first day."
Harry chuckled and noticed Susan stifle a giggle. "I've been okay, mate," he said. "How are you two doing?"
"Really good," Susan said with a bright smile. "I'm so happy to be back."
Harry grinned. "Me too, I'm really excited for this year," he said.
"We were going to work on that transfiguration paper," Susan said and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You should join us."
Harry winced slightly. "No thanks," he said. Yesterday, McGonagall had assigned them two rolls of parchment about complex conjuration and Harry did not want to even think about it until after try-outs.
"Do you have any plans for this dreary Thursday, then?" Ernie asked.
Harry shrugged. "I might go by the kitchens for some food," he said.
"The kitchens?" Susan asked. "Why?"
"I like elves," Harry said. "And I just skipped out from one of Hermione's lectures, so I'm going to avoid her for a little bit."
Susan giggled. "Would you like some company?" she asked.
"Nah, you should work on that paper," Harry said with a wave of his hand. "I'll see you guys around."
Susan's face fell. "Okay," she said. "I'll see you around, Harry."
Ernie shook Harry's hand again. "Have a good one, Harry," he said.
Harry nodded at them again and walked down the hall towards a secret passage leading to the basement. After a moment, Maeve pecked Harry hard on the cheek.
"Ow!" Harry said and looked at his bird, who stared back. "What the hell was that for?"
Maeve shook her head and flew off, leaving a confused Harry.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Hey gang, so I actually had this chapter pretty much finished and ready to go more than two weeks ago. Then the world exploded.
I am not American. I've visited several times and had a great time, and almost every American person I've met has been a pretty decent and reasonable person, but I don't really like America. America's an imperialist nation that has intervened so drastically in foreign affairs that it's now just a matter of fact that they are involved in multiple armed conflicts across the world for pretty sketchy reasons. In addition, the idea of American Exceptionalism is so fucking weird to me, and it is so rooted in so much that America produces culturally. But, then again, I consider almost any form of nationalism to be pretty stupid and misguided.
With all of this being said, the events of January 6, 2021 shook me to the core. Witnessing a mob of fascists and white supremacists storming the US Capitol in an attempted coup spurred on by the goddamn President is probably the most insane thing I have ever seen. I… still haven't really wrapped my head around the idea that someone carried the confederate flag through the halls, much less that 5 people died and that was probably the best-case scenario. Like I said, I don't really like America and I think it's been a while since they could authentically claim to stand for democracy, but I do believe in the power of symbols, and the US Capitol is a symbol of democracy and freedom, regardless of if that's true or not.
So, I've been thinking a lot about this, and, since I'm a writer and therefore a narcissist, I've been thinking a lot about how it affects me. I've kind of alluded to this before, but I think that fan fiction is silly and kind of pointless. That's what I really love about it – this is a hobby with virtually zero stakes and I can just sort of goof around and play with characters and relationships. And, especially with the pandemic, with everything closed and social events cancelled until TBA, it's really nice just to have something relaxing and low stakes and chill.
But then the world exploded, and I had to confront my priorities. I spend a fair amount of time on this story – I think about the class schedules and the geography, and exactly which background characters it would make sense to have in each class, and the little moments the background characters will have to differentiate themselves, and really, I don't mind doing this. I see this as a hobby – something to think about when I don't want to think about anything else.
I… don't really know where I'm going with this. And don't worry, I'm not going to stop writing this, I'm still enjoying writing it. I guess I'm thinking about moral responsibility, or creative labour, or something. I'm not expecting, like, validation or a conversation here. I guess I'm just feeling like I could be doing something more important than writing silly fanfic, but I also know that I won't stop writing silly fanfic because the world is a fucking nightmare hellscape and I want to be happy.
Anyways, kisses!
Hufflepunk
