Daphne was accosted with a tight hug from behind as she went up for breakfast. She knew a dozen wandless tricks to fend off unwanted assaults, but could recognise the shampoo from a mile off. She had not realised how much she missed the scent.

"Hello Tracey. I see you haven't grown."

"Daffy! I have." Tracey released her grip and gave her a betrayed look. Daphne had been half a head taller than her best friend since they were 11, it seemed that the long summer had done little to narrow the gap. She still made an odd pair with the short, chirpy brunette, but it bothered neither of them.

"If you insist," said Daphne, making a point to look down.

"Anyway," said Tracey, "Where were you last night? I couldn't find you in the common room, so I thought you were sick or something."

"Sorry Tracey, I had to fill in for Draco. It was quite last-minute so I didn't have the chance to drop by."

"Oh, that's alright then."

They didn't make it five paces before Tracey began badgering her. It was precisely why Daphne avoided her at the Feast last night, but she knew that she could not hide from her best friend forever. "So… about that letter you sent me last week, about that meeting your dad made you go to?"

"Yes, I do recall sending such a letter."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well you never tell me about family stuff, Lady Greengrass! So I guess it must be important."

"Perhaps." Daphne would technically not be Lady Greengrass until her father's death or abdication, but the subtleties of pureblood styles and titles had never concerned Tracey. If Lord Slytherin had his way, Tracey's flippancy might well spell trouble in the future, and Daphne made a note to mention this at some point. Tracey, however, did not seem to notice that Daphne was being carried off by her train of thought.

"Was it a betrothal request?"

Daphne choked. That was actually not terribly far off the mark. "No, Tracey, we don't really do those anymore. As I've said before, Teen Witch Weekly is not exactly an authority on modern pureblood traditions."

"What was it then?"

"Nothing much, really. Just have to do a small favour for one of Father's new… associates."

"Oh, alright. That sounds pretty boring."

"You have no idea."

Breakfast was peaceable. Tracey made small talk with their housemates, and Daphne was content to work on her eggs and black pudding in silence. The younger years, who only knew Daphne by reputation, largely avoided her gaze. She exchanged polite nods with Theo. Blaise winked at her with practised naturalness, which Daphne made a show of ignoring. Perhaps a summer of deprivation had inspired imprudent ideas – Italian hot-bloodedness and all. There had been a mistake on that front in fourth-year, which Daphne was keen to avoid repeating. In any case, her eyes had been forcibly set on someone else.

Draco was subdued, which in turn silenced his retinue (not that Greg and Vincent could talk much while stuffing their faces with hash-browns). Draco did not even acknowledge her for covering for him last night, nor did he have anything banal to say about Potter. It seemed that he actually was sick, which surprised Daphne; Daphne had assumed that he had skived off the previous night. It suddenly occurred to her that it was possible that Draco had also given a task by Lord Slytherin – was Professor Snape trying to allude to that? She had not the faintest idea what it could be; despite never having spoken to him, Daphne was quite certain that Potter was not inclined in that way.

Suddenly she felt an odd pang of sympathy for Draco, almost as though they were comrades-in-arms. If her suspicions were true, he certainly was handling it a lot worse than Daphne was. Not that Daphne had a plan for her own task, the realisation of which considerably dampened her mood. She idly nursed her cup of tea until Professor Snape appeared with her schedule, and she had to make off for potions.

Aside from the cauldrons bubbling near the dais, the potions classroom looked exactly the same as it always had: the ingredient shelves filled with jars of herbage and entrails and minerals in translucent preservation solutions, the mouldy blackboard, the polished slates and rickety benches, the shallow dents in the granite floor where students had stood for centuries. Yet it was different, somehow. It occurred to Daphne that for the first time in memory, potions class did not feel grim and foreboding, though she could not quite place why. There was a certain smell in the air… something vaguely flowery, but also musky in an earthy sort of way, that she could not place. It was reminiscent of dozens of plants which Daphne knew by heart, but at the same time could be none of them. She was intrigued.

The NEWT-level class was even smaller than she expected: the four Slytherins (Daphne, Tracey, Draco, and Theo) were joined by four Ravenclaws. There was only one Hufflepuff and one Gryffindor (Ernie Macmillan and Hermione Granger), which was not surprising given that Professor Snape's instruction had been… inegalitarian. Daphne was slightly disappointed that Potter had not made the cut, when the boy himself came tumbling through the door with Weasley. Looking at the way he and Weasley jostled over the spare textbooks in full view of the rest of the class was disheartening, to say the least.

After Professor Slughorn's introduction, he asked about the potions on display and Granger's hand shot up before he had finished his question. After their conversation the previous night, Daphne wondered if Granger even realised how off-putting her overzealousness made her. Perhaps that was something to discuss on next week's patrol. Granger correctly identified Veritaserum, Polyjuice, and Amortentia. No wonder that she could not identify the scent – though Professor Slughorn had not explained this, she had read in her family's potions compendium that Amortentia produced an indecipherable smell for those with confused or obfuscated feelings.

Daphne's heart fluttered slightly at the sight of Felix Felicis, and began racing when Professor Slughorn offered it up as a prize. She was not exceptionally gifted at potions, but she had sensitive magic and meticulous hands, complemented by extensive private tutoring. If she tried her best, she could possibly beat Granger – not that she would particularly mind if Granger bested her, since at least it wouldn't go to Draco. As she was dicing the sopophorous bean, Professor Slughorn squeezed through the rows and approached her bench.

"Miss Greengrass, was it?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good thinking on hydrating the powdered root of asphodel before adding it to your brew. It is known to clump up when stored away for long periods, which reduces its potency," he explained for the benefit of the rest of the class. Daphne could feel several neighbouring students' gazes on her, and did not mind the attention. Even Potter is listening. Good.

"Did your lord father teach you that?"

"I can't exactly remember, Professor, but he must have."

"Yes, yes, that wouldn't surprise me at all! I taught him, you know. I remember it like yesterday, Gerald had a way of handling plants that I've yet to see again. Your House has produced first-rate herbologists since I was a boy, and that was a long time ago indeed," he chuckled. "And of course, potions and herbology go together like bread and butter. It's a shame I missed you on the train, Miss Greengrass, but you must have been busy with your prefect duties."

"Yes, Professor, I was patrolling the last carriage." Daphne had no idea what he was taking about, but she resolved to find out.

"Of course, of course. But you must tell me how your father is another time. Your potion is coming together nicely. Do carry on."

Daphne stole peeks at Granger's potion numerous times over the next hour. When it came the time to present their potions, theirs looked almost identical, and Daphne thought it might come down to a coin flip. Slughorn nodded his approval for them, but Potter outdid them both, with his potion receiving fulsome praise and being bottled up for use by Madam Pomfrey. For the third time in as many days, Daphne had to concede that life was full of surprises.

She was almost disappointed to find that Defence went almost exactly how she thought it would. Professor Snape bore his usual inscrutable expression, and began as soon as the students had filed in.

"I shall be surprised if many of you are able to keep up with NEWT-level work. I am not unaware of the… varied standard of instruction you have received in this subject over the past five years. However, if any of you are now harbouring the belief that Defence against the Dark Arts is a trifling endeavour, I suggest you dispel it, or leave this class immediately." Unlike the other professors, all of whom had to give a similar introduction at the beginning of their NEWT classes, Professor Snape did not need to try to be emphatic. It was simply his default manner of speaking.

"All know that the Dark Arts are insidious," he continued. "What many do not know, or do not care to acknowledge, is that only the most gifted and sedulous witches and wizards may wield the Dark Arts effectively, for they are demanding on magic, mind, and spirit. In consequence, any effective defence must necessarily be just as demanding. I expect you to apply yourselves fully to mastering these defences. You would be wise to do so, lest you find yourself enveloped by forces beyond your power." His hawkish gaze swept across the room and lingered on Daphne's for a fraction of a second. She did not avert it.

"We will begin with non-verbal casting, which you will use for the remainder of your NEWT instruction. From now on, I will not suffer a single uttered spell in this classroom. Put your hand down, Miss Granger. The advantages of non-verbal casting are plain enough not to require reiteration." Granger looked deflated, but also mildly surprised, as though Professor Snape had answered her unasked question.

"You will now be split into pairs, to attempt the disarming charm non-verbally on your partners. Mister Nott and Mister Zabini, step forward. Miss Patil and Miss Granger. Mister Malfoy and Mister Weasley. Miss Davies and Mister Boot. Miss Greengrass and Mister Potter." Daphne stepped forward without even looking at Potter, and without acknowledging Professor Snape's help. He was assisting with her dreadful task in a way that arose not the slightest suspicion, and she would not repay him by giving anything away.

"Focus your mind, attune your magic, and let go of the crutch that is the spoken word. Begin."

After pairing off the remaining students, Professor Snape had vanished the furniture and greatly expanded the classroom with a single flick of his wand. Daphne now stood, wand at the ready, before Harry Potter.