I own neither Harry Potter nor Star Wars. I promise to do nothing with other people's characters they wouldn't have had them do themselves. Of course, for Star Wars, that means I could have the Force create, through a virgin birth, the whiniest Chosen One conceivable in fiction.
It seemed incredible to the students of Hogwarts how quickly the winter months passed. After Christmas, the classes seemed to switch into a higher gear as the teachers upped the pace to prepare the children for the end of year exams. When the 'Jedi Class' had first started, it had quickly escalated to a fairly popular, if informal, club. After the break, it had settled into something more resembling a study group. Interest had died down considerably when it became known that the Jedi would not be teaching them how to use lightsabers. Harry and Toma taught meditation techniques to any who were interested. Most of the students who tried it quit after not receiving instantaneous results. It was now mostly a place for students from different houses to gather and study together in a more noise-tolerant environment than the library.
Sitting at his desk, Dumbledore reflected on the year so far with satisfaction. The Stone, of course, had been destroyed. The headmaster was glad his friend had come to his senses about the matter, however reluctant he was in the end. With the Stone no longer threatened, of course, there was no longer any need for the third-floor trap. Fluffy, the Cerberus Hagrid had lent to the defence of the Stone had been removed from the school, but the remaining protections stayed in place. The monitoring charms he had placed throughout the area were allowed to lapse. The ban on the area was still in effect, though, and would be until the traps could be dismantled during the summer.
Potions was now one of the more interesting classes, instead of one of the most feared. It seemed that Professor Snape quite enjoyed teaching now that he was being forced to do so properly. Dumbledore noted that it was still sometimes a struggle for him to be fair to all his students equally, but he also knew that true change is never easy and always takes time. Like most abrupt changes, there was an initial burst of energy, in this case, fueled by the extreme consequences of failure. This was followed by a mellowing and stabilizing into a new norm. The potions master's behaviour was not nearly as friendly as it was when the 'new' potions class format had begun, but neither had it yet descended into the hostile environment it was at the start of the year. Dumbledore had noted the slight lapse, but the conditions were still so much better than they were prior to his intervention that he allowed it to pass without comment. He continued to monitor the situation but was still well pleased with the results. He knew Voldemort was still out there, but with the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone, there should be no reason to fear the Dark Lord's return to the school.
In the heart of the forbidden forest, a grey wolf sat in a clearing. It had once belonged to a pack but was now alone. No other wolves would even dare approach it. Its eyes glowed red as it stared unblinking in the direction of the Hogwarts castle. It couldn't see the school through the trees, but the castle beaconed to him. He could feel the pull of it, like a magnet sliding towards a slab of iron. What would they have done with the Stone? The wolf asked itself. The spirit within it had replayed the events of Christmas over and over for months. Voldemort knew the Stone was his best chance to return to his full strength, and he refused to let it go. With his attack at the Granger house at Christmas, the old fool would have had to return the Stone to Hogwarts. It was just a matter of finding where in the castle Dumbledore would hide it. As the Defence professor, Quirrell had played a role in the protection of the Stone, and Voldemort thought it likely that Dumbledore would again place his trust in the obstacles that had, after all, not yet been breached. He had probably found a replacement protection for the troll that was Quirrell's contribution, but there was none cleverer than Voldemort. He would triumph.
Too bad the students aren't allowed dogs as pets, thought Voldemort. The wolf body was swift, powerful, and elicited fear on sight. All good traits for a dark lord. He was almost tempted to stay in the wolf's body, enjoying the swift freedom and enhanced senses of the canine. If only a wolf could use a wand, he would have. Oh well, needs must, Voldemort thought. With a yelp, the wolf dropped dead as the spirit of Tom Riddle abandoned it and flew through the forest. The wraith weaved its way through the trees as it flew towards the castle.
The wards of the ancient fortress were strong and had anyone else tried to breach them, they likely would not have survived. Voldemort was not just anyone, though. He had not idled his time away during his seven years of tuition at the school and had explored the structure of the wards in greater detail than any of the headmasters since the founders. Weaving a trail between layers, he dipped under a weak spot and was in.
He couldn't just go find the Stone in this form, however. Not only would he draw far too much attention to himself, but he also could not physically interact with items as a mere vapour. He needed another host. Quirrell was perfect, but somehow Dumbledore had discovered him. He wouldn't be so timid this time. Upon breaching the castle walls, he came across the last partner he ever would have thought of. Coming up from behind, he entered his victim's body. He could force the body to do his bidding, with the body's true owner having to take a horrified back seat as this stranger controlled their actions, but it was far less draining to the Dark Lord if he had the host's willing participation. Determined to succeed, he began to communicate with his host and started negotiations. Oh, really? He thought as he pondered the concession the man had asked of him in exchange for his willing partnership. Yes, that could work. I could do that. It would only have to last until I can make a body of my own, and then he shall die. Until then, yes.
"But they're Gryffindors!" Tracey Davis whispered to Daphne Greengrass. She and Daphne were up late one Saturday night in the common room, having as quiet a discussion as they could. Some things they couldn't even whisper about in their beds without the other girls in the room eavesdropping and this discussion was too dangerous to risk that. Daphne's best friend Tracey was a rarity. A Slytherin half-blood, she was heavily discriminated against in the pureblood dominated dormitory. The only thing that kept the abuse from spilling into the halls of the school was Professor Snape's ironclad rule that Slytherins do not air their dirty laundry in public.
"Yes, they're Gryffindors," Daphne answered, "but they've never held my being Slytherin against me. Besides, Hermione is really nice when you get to know her."
"But I thought you two were rivals for the head of our year," Tracey exclaimed.
"Rivals, yes," Daphne said, "but friendly ones. I like her a lot, but I still have every intention of yanking the top grade away from her. Besides, I have a personal reason to stay friends with them."
They were discussing The Golden Trio, as Professor Snape sarcastically called them. Draco Malfoy was less complimentary, dubbing them Scarhead, the Mudblood, and the Squib. Malfoy was well aware of the lengths Neville's family went to prove he was a wizard and loved to point it out.
"But your friendship with them has brought you more trouble than your friendship with me has," said Tracey. "What reasons do you have?" Daphne checked the common room again to be certain they were truly alone.
"Look," she told her friend, "It's no secret that Lucius Malfoy is shopping around for someone to betroth to Draco." Tracey looked disgusted at the thought.
"We're twelve!" she hissed.
"I know," Daphne responded, "and I have no intention of doing anything until I'm a good deal older, but if I don't do something soon, I won't have a choice!"
"If he asks," Tracey replied, "just tell the little toerag to buzz off."
"It's not that simple," the pure-blood girl explained. "Draco is a pure-blood, as am I. Both of us are from old families. If anyone asks for my hand, it won't be Draco doing the asking, and it won't be me who is asked anything. If they set their eyes on me, Draco's father will propose on behalf of his son to my father, and that proposal will be attached to a great deal of gold."
Tracey's eyes widened at the thought of her friend essentially being purchased for the arrogant Malfoy boy.
"A betrothal?" she asked. "But I thought Pansy already had Draco locked into something with her? She hangs onto him enough."
"She'd love to," Daphne explained, "and is desperate for it, but it's nothing official. The problem with Pansy is that from a marriage standpoint, I present a much more attractive business merger for Malfoy than she does."
Tracey wrinkled her brow in confusion. The years she'd been friends with Daphne had not been enough to prepare her for the brutalities of being a girl in a pure-blood family. Daphne's parents had been remarkably tolerant of Daphne's friendship with the half-blood girl, but would not have allowed any discussions detailing politics or betrothals to take place.
"What do you mean?" Tracey asked.
"It's a simple matter of influence and wealth," Daphne said. "Pansy's fathers owns companies that deal mostly with shipments of goods between major cities by portkey. The furthest away his company does any business in is France. My father is the head of a coalition of companies that supply rare potions ingredients and creatures around the world. There's no question who the Malfoy's would rather merger with."
"But that's business," Tracey protested. "What does that have to do with marriage, and why would they want to do that when you're only twelve?"
"Marriage is business for pure-bloods," Daphne said, a sad look in her eyes. "Draco's father wouldn't just be purchasing me for Draco, he'd be linking himself through any children Draco and I had to the Greengrass fortune. He'd also be establishing business links with all of the companies that my father is invested in, which is worth even more. They have to move fast, though, because if I were to become betrothed to someone else first, they would miss their chance. I would gain protection that not even the Malfoy's could workaround."
"What if you just dated Potter?" Tracey asked. "Wouldn't that protect you? It wouldn't be as… permanent."
"No, simply dating isn't going to be enough to stop Lucius Malfoy," Daphne answered. "Boyfriends can disappear, and if the boyfriend was standing in the way of a business merger, it wouldn't even raise eyebrows among my father's crowd. I wouldn't even bet on whether it was Draco's father or my own that made him disappear, either."
Tracey smiled at this, knowing how invested in his businesses Daphne's father always was.
"Besides," Daphne continued, "it's not Potter that I have my eye on."
"Not Weasley?" Tracey exclaimed, shocked at the thought.
"No, silly," Daphne responded, giggling. "I'm talking about Neville!"
"Longbottom?" Tracey said, mentally evaluating the boy. "I can see that. He's definitely come out of his shell since he's come to Hogwarts."
"Yes," Daphne confirmed. "He really has. His Grandmother has also taught him really well in etiquette, and he knows enough to keep his head down in a storm. He's not afraid to stand up for what he believes in, though."
"How are you going to do this?" Tracey asked.
"I'm going home for the Easter holidays," Daphne explained. "I'm going to talk with my father and explain how much better for his businesses it will be for me to be betrothed to Neville rather than Malfoy. He might get more gold upfront from Mr Malfoy, but Neville's Grandmother will want a lot less influence over Father's businesses. In the end, I think that will appeal to him more. If he agrees, he'll approach Madam Longbottom with a request for a betrothal contract, and with luck, she'll agree."
"Isn't that a bit… backwards?" Tracey asked. She knew how traditional the pure-blood families were about the proper etiquette being followed.
"Yes," Daphne answered, "and that's probably going to be the main obstacle for my father. I don't think it will be a major one, however. Father wrote to me, and he said Draco's father has already made a few inquiries about me in the last few months. Father thinks he was trying to establish an initial claim on me. Father seemed less than impressed with Draco's grades, however, and you know how much value Father puts in marks."
"Neville should be fine in that regard, then," Tracey said. "I know he's in the top ten of the year, and probably only behind Granger and Potter in Gryffindor."
"Yes, he's in third in Gryffindor," Daphne confirmed, "and sixth overall for the year counting all the houses."
"What does Neville think about all of this?" Tracey asked.
"Wellllll…" Daphne responded, sounding unsure of herself for the first time that Tracey could easily remember. "I haven't really asked him about it yet."
"What?" Tracey asked, shocked that Daphne hadn't even discussed it with the boy yet.
"Neville is really noble and is incredibly sweet. If I explained all of this to him, he'd probably propose to me on the spot just to save me from Malfoy. While that's all romantic and everything, this really needs to be taken care of on our guardian's level. If Neville took the initiative, his Gran would veto it instantly, and so would my father."
"You're right," Tracey said. They had both met Neville's Gran several times at official functions of the Greengrass house, and the old bird was stubborn as a rock if she thought she was being manipulated for any reason. "Well, let me know how it goes with your father, and good luck!"
"Thanks, Tracey," Daphne said. "I know it's not been easy in Slytherin for you, but I'm glad you're here with me. There's no one else I can talk to about this stuff." The two girls hugged, then went to bed.
"Father," Daphne asked, "can I talk to you about an especially important matter?"
Albrecht Greengrass was seated at his desk in his office. His daughter was standing before him with a serious expression on her face. She had returned home on break from Hogwarts two days previous. Albrecht loved both of his daughters very much and had missed his eldest more than he would admit. He placed his quill back in its holder and slid the letter he was writing off to the side of his organized desk.
He never allowed clutter in his office. Albrecht excelled at anything to do with business, but he despised multitasking. When he was speaking with someone, be they family, employee, or business rival, he almost always focused purely on the other party. In his opinion, one of the highest insults he could deliver was for him to be working on something else at the same time they were speaking. It signified that they were not worth his time. If he respected someone, his attention should be entirely on that conversation.
"Of course, Daphne," he answered. "I must say I've been very pleased with your marks this year. You're setting the bar fairly high for your sister, and I look forward to seeing her match your performance."
"Thank you, Father," Daphne acknowledged. "I wonder if we could have a conversation about my future?" she asked.
"Of course," he answered. "What aspect of your future did you wish to discuss?"
"A betrothal," she answered.
Albrecht's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as he pondered what might have brought up this topic. His daughter was studious and responsible, and unlikely to have fallen for some boy's line. She surely knew that there were political consequences even for bringing this subject up with him. A betrothal offer would traditionally come to him from the father of the potential bridegroom, not from the potential bride herself.
He turned from her, took a bottle of Craigellachie Speyside Single Malt and a tulip-shaped snifter from a shelf behind his desk. He slowly poured a small measure into the glass, then replaced the bottle of scotch back on the shelf. Picking up the glass, he swirled the liquor around, allowing himself the luxury of breathing in the aroma of his favourite drink as he considered her request.
As he performed this ritual, Daphne stood before his desk with her hands behind her back. Her posture and body language told him far more about the conditions that prompted this discussion than her words alone could have. Her back was straight, and her chin was up, signifying that she had confidence in her decision to broach this subject with him. Her eyes were clear and calm, signifying that she wasn't being coerced into persuading him. She wasn't smiling but was holding a straight, serious expression, indicating that this wasn't some crush gotten out of control. Whatever else this conversation might entail, she was here of her own will and was serious about the reasons behind the request.
"To whom?" he asked.
Daphne dared not breathe out a sigh of relief. The possibility of her father dismissing this out of hand was probably about 50/50, which would have meant that she would have been prohibited from ever bringing it up again.
"Neville Longbottom," she answered.
Her father's eyebrows lifted in surprise, as his daughter named the last person who was socially suitable for her that he would have expected.
"Longbottom?" he asked. "Madame Longbottom hasn't said a word about this, let alone made a proposal. To be honest, there have been some inquiries concerning you, from Paschal Nott and Madame Zabini, as well as several from Lucius Malfoy, but I decided you were too young to be locked into a betrothal just yet."
"I don't think a merger with the Malfoy, Nott or Zabini families would be nearly as influential or profitable in the long run as one with the Longbottoms, Father," Daphne said. Albrecht leaned back in his chair and regarded his daughter.
"I think it's clear that this conversation was prompted by the news that Lucius Malfoy has been sniffing around, Pet," the elder Greengrass said. Daphne's cheeks blushed slightly, but she did not deny it. "While I normally would love to engage in a perfectly executed political manoeuvre with you, why don't you skip that and let me know the real reason you want a betrothal with Longbottom."
Daphne looked at him, and he saw her stoic mask slip a little. He sat back and enjoyed his scotch as his daughter proceeded to explain her thoughts and defend her reasoning.
Augusta Longbottom sat opposite Albrecht Greengrass in her parlour and studied her guest. He had just asked her to offer a betrothal contract for his daughter Daphne from her Grandson Neville. That it was the father of the daughter proposing this was even more a shock than the idea of a match between those particular youngsters was. For one of the Sacred 28 families to break tradition to offer a daughter spoke of political manoeuvrings with an unprecedented speed requirement. If this were going to happen, it would have to happen soon.
"Blinky," she called. An elderly house-elf appeared next to her.
"How may I be of service," Blinky asked, with a bow of his head.
"Tea for two, please," the Longbottom matriarch ordered.
The ritual of afternoon tea would give her some time to consider the request. Blinky delivered a tray with a cream-coloured teapot and cups on plates, adorned with gold filigree patterns. Finger sandwiches and biscuits were layered on a serving platter and set on the small table between Augusta and Albrecht. Blinky poured the tea and then left.
Augusta Longbottom had maintained the family fortune since her husband had died twelve years before. Her son Frank was supposed to take it over but felt it was important to serve the wizarding world as an Auror before taking up his family duties. He met Alice in Auror training, and they were married only a few short years before Neville came along. Augusta was never more pleased than to be a doting grandmother to her first grandchild. Having to go into hiding was quite inconvenient for the Longbottom matriarch. As soon as the scandalous affair with the Potters had removed the requirement for them to hide like mice, Augusta insisted that they return to Longbottom manor without delay.
As it turned out, their return was premature. Augusta had taken poor Neville out for a long walk in his pram when Frank and Alice were attacked by death eaters in a brazen broad daylight attack. If the Aurors that Frank had managed to summon had not arrived when they did, she and Neville would surely have been subjected to the same treatment upon their return.
This tragedy had not only required Augusta to raise Neville herself but had also shaken her confidence quite badly. As Neville grew, it was clear to her that he took far more after his mother than his father. She never deliberately pushed her grandson to become a clone of Frank, but the pressure was there regardless.
She had been pleasantly surprised to find that he was doing extremely well in all of his classes. It was clear that this was at least partly due to the influence of Harry Potter. She hadn't considered offering anyone a betrothal contract as of yet, but she certainly wasn't opposed to the idea. She had been married under a betrothal contract herself, and it had certainly worked out for her. She finished her cup of tea.
"I believe, Lord Greengrass," she said, "that we have a deal."
"Betrothed?" Neville asked, panic in his eyes. Daphne and Neville were sitting with her father and his Grandmother in a small conference room at Hogwarts, having recently returned from the Easter break.
"Yes," confirmed his Grandmother. "I'm sure this is unexpected, but this merger represents a fantastic opportunity for both of our families."
Daphne looked at Neville, knowing that the abrupt revelation would have shocked the boy. He stared back at her, hyperventilating slightly. She watched as he closed his eyes. His breathing suddenly slowed, and the panic left his face as abruptly as it had arrived. She recognized the application of the meditation techniques Harry had taught Neville and silently thanked the strange Jedi. If Neville had given into his panic and fear, her father could back out of the betrothal claiming offence.
Augusta was also staring at Neville and was growing nervous. She had trained Neville for years on etiquette and was concerned that he might panic and scupper the entire deal.
Neville, shocked at the sudden change to his future that his Grandmother had just dumped into his lap, was quite a bit more intuitive than his Gran generally gave him credit for. He knew exactly how close he was to offending Albrecht Greengrass, and quickly applied the Jedi meditation he had learned from Harry. He certainly was not against the idea of a betrothal to Daphne. He simply wasn't expecting this at all.
"It would be my honour," Neville said, standing and bowing to Mr Greengrass. The adults smiled at him, and he locked eyes with his betrothed.
"With this promise," he said to Daphne, adhering to the formalities, "I offer you the protection of my house and my allies to uphold your honour and safety."
Neville took a small, silver ring with a diamond bracketed by two smaller emeralds from his Gran and placed it on Daphne's finger. She smiled and gave him a hug.
The betrothal of Neville Longbottom to Daphne Greengrass was the talk of the school for a solid month. It invoked the entire range of emotions from the student body. Jealousy and rage came mostly from the Slytherins, who could not believe Daphne was going to marry a Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy was beyond furious. His father had promised him Daphne, and she had slipped out of his grasp in the only way she could! To lose her to Longbottom, though, was simply unbelievable. He couldn't touch her now, of course, without risking backlash from the other pure-blood families.
The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were mostly neutral and/or supportive, depending on how close the individual student was to either member of the newly off the market couple. The Gryffindors were mostly supportive of Neville, with the exception of a small, but vocal minority who felt Neville had betrayed them by taking a snake for a bride. The constant analysis and discussions were only halted by the arrival of the end of the year exams.
Daphne had just finished her charms exam, which was thankfully the last exam of the year for her. She felt she had done an exceptionally good job, but whether it was enough to edge out Hermione for the top position in their year was anyone's guess. Forcing herself to appraise her performance honestly, she felt confident she had solidly taken second place, but that Hermione had locked the top spot. She'd have to work even harder next year.
She had taken to avoiding most of her housemates due to the fallout from the betrothal. Excepting Tracey, most of the girls thought she was defecting to the Gryffindors. Meanwhile, the boys either thought she had slipped away from a betrothal with one of them or also thought she was defecting. She had gotten used to taking out of the way paths to get from place to place, so when all of her housemates left the Charms corridor to go to the Great Hall for dinner, they all turned to the Grand Staircase. Daphne, however, knew of a winding staircase at the other end of the corridor that very few people used. It was right next to the corridor that Headmaster Dumbledore had forbidden them to enter at the beginning of the year, but he hadn't said anything about the stairwell being out of bounds, so she slipped off alone to make her way to dinner.
Daphne was almost to the small, winding stairwell when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. Her assailant spun her around, and she found herself face to face with Argus Filch.
"Now I've got you!" he cried out, leering at the young girl.
"Let me go!" Daphne yelled. "What do you want?!"
"What were you doin', snooping around here?" the old caretaker snarled. "That corridor is off-limits to students!"
"I'm just walking by it, you imbecile!" Daphne protested. "I haven't been in it!"
Her shoulder was starting to hurt from the way the old man was holding her arm, but she was more angry than afraid so far.
"We'll just see about that," Filch said. He marched Daphne down the forbidden corridor until they reached a door. The caretaker looked both ways for any observers, then placed his hand on the lock. A slighting grinding noise was followed by a click, and the lock was opened. Filch opened the door and noted that, for whatever reason, the giant dog was no longer on guard duty. Filch shoved Daphne in and closed the door behind them.
Daphne was starting to get extremely nervous. No one liked Filch much, and he had the 'creepy old man' warning ringing loudly in the young girl's mind.
"If you don't want students in here," Daphne asked in a trembling voice, "then why did you bring me in here?"
As she asked, she was backing away from him, trying to keep her distance as she moved around him. If she could complete her arc around the room, she could make a break for the door.
The caretaker took no notice of the girl and walked to the centre of the room. He examined a wooden trap door set in the floor and worried about the missing dog. With a limberness that belied his years, he squatted down to get a closer look at the door. Where is that blasted dog? he thought. . He was coming to the conclusion that the Stone may have never been brought back here. Still, he had committed to the attempt. He would never know if he didn't try, and he'd always wonder if he turned back now.
"I need you," Filch said, his voice hard and cold.
Daphne's eyes went wide, and she ran for it! She had nearly made it back to the door when she was yanked off of her feet and went flying back to Filch, spinning in the air to face him! The old man's hand was outstretched, and he caught her by her neck, holding her with her feet a foot off the floor. Her breath was ragged and rasping as she struggled to breath.
"But… You're a squib!" she croaked, astonished that the old man had performed a wandless, silent summoning of her from across the room without even trying hard.
Filch glared at her, his eyes turning red as he continued to hold the struggling girl aloft.
"Not anymore, Missy," he whispered at her. He caught the latch of the trap door with his foot and kicked it open. "My master has a use for you," he said. Dangling her over the dark hole, the trap door had revealed, Filch smiled at the terrified girl. "Happy landings," he mocked and dropped her into the darkness.