Chapter 26 – Potential Conflicts
Bearing bad news to the Dark Lord was sometimes a hazardous prospect. It was never a simple matter to determine just how displeased he would be and whether his displeasure would manifest itself in a way which included physical punishment. Having said that, he was not known to punish indiscriminately, understanding that followers who were motivated by conviction were infinitely more useful and effective than those motivated by nothing more than base fear. And though he was not above using the Cruciatus to punish some underling who had failed, such punishments were only reserved for those who had done so egregiously. However, the mercurial nature of his moods created just enough uncertainty that one could never know exactly what form his displeasure would make itself known.
Often, the threat of violence and punishment was more effective than the actual committing of said violence. The sight of the Dark Lord seething in anger was an awesome sight, and many a follower had felt somehow reprieved when his famous anger remained physically unexpressed.
In addition to this the Dark Lord had a particular way of regarding those—particularly those of his inner circle—who had failed him. It was an expression which seemed to suggest that failure was an enormous imposition on the plans of a man who, after all, only desired to put the world back on its proper axis, and ensure that his followers received their due from the world. When this was added to his praise, which was often lavish, when his followers were successful, he had a pretty powerful motivational tool to ensure compliance with his commands.
Unfortunately for one Lucius Malfoy, that exasperated and longsuffering expression had been directed at him more often than not since the Dark Lord's return, and all because of an ill-conceived plan which had backfired spectacularly and resulted in the destruction of an heirloom which the Dark Lord prized. To this day Lucius still did not know what had been so important about the diary, but the Dark Lord's displeasure upon learning of its destruction had earned him his first—and only—session to date under the agonies of the Cruciatus. Working his way back into the Dark Lord's graces had been arduous, but seemed to be bearing fruit.
But now he had to report another failure, and given the Dark Lord's sometimes unpredictable moods, Lucius was uncertain as to whether this was to be considered a significant failure or merely a minor inconvenience. And the failure was not even his own!
Stalking through the halls of the Death Eaters' base of operations, Lucius seethed at the continuing incompetence of his only son. Draco was a disappointment. In fact, he was such a disappointment, that Lucius had toyed with the idea of siring another heir, for certainly his current heir was nothing like he would have expected would result from the joining of his own august bloodline to that of the Blacks—a family with a long history, steeped in Pureblood tradition. How such a failure could have occurred Lucius was not certain, but it had and to be truthful, he was not certain what to do about it.
In short, Draco was nothing like a true Slytherin should be. Draco was in fifth year now, and by Lucius's own fifth year, he had already been starting to take the reins of leadership in Slytherin house as scion of one of the most prestigious families in Britain. Draco… well, he was ambitious enough, but had very little talent or will to do anything to realize his ambitions. Instead of true Slytherin cunning, he had a disturbing tendency toward Gryffindor-like brashness, not to mention a rather overt confrontational style. And though he had plenty of loyalty towards his father and the Dark Lord, Draco did not know the meaning of hard work, or understand that it went hand in hand with ambition and cunning, all of which would allow one to realize their goals. And as for intelligence… No, Draco was anything but a mix of the houses—or at least he was not a mix of the good traits of the houses, and at this point, Lucius was uncertain that he was a worthy heir to the Malfoy name and legacy.
Shaking his head angrily, Lucius stopped and collected himself; it would not do to appear before the Dark Lord with anything other than a calm dispassionate demeanor. The Dark Lord had an almost supernatural ability to detect weakness, and Lucius had no desire to be set down once again when he was just beginning to regain the favor he had once enjoyed. The problem of Draco would have to wait.
The room into which Lucius entered had been dubbed "the throne room" by those denizens of the house, and though Lucius could not claim to know the mind of the Dark Lord, the term was very apropos. It was long and spacious, with windows on the far wall to allow in the natural light of the day. The chair in which the Dark Lord sat, which was itself situated on a low raised dais, was ornate and high-backed—and likely transfigured from something else. The room was empty when Lucius entered except for the Dark Lord, a circumstance which was highly in Lucius's favor. His fellow Death Eaters were also adept at sniffing out blood in the water, and Lucius had no desire to report his son's failure before an audience.
"Ah, Lucius, welcome," the Dark Lord greeted him as he approached the throne.
Lucius bowed with respect before returning the greeting, noting that the Dark Lord appeared to be in an uncommonly good mood. That would undoubtedly be to his favor.
The Dark Lord, perceptive as he was, noticed Lucius's observation. "Plans are moving forward, my friend," he said with aplomb. "There are a few important things which need to be seen to in order to further our plans. But they shall be taken care of in due course."
Although Lucius knew that the Dark Lord had been preoccupied with Potter since the confrontation in the graveyard the previous spring, he knew better than to ask—the Dark Lord would favor him with the needs of the moment when the timing was appropriate. Everything else was irrelevant.
"I believe, however, that you did not come here to discuss our future plans," the Dark Lord continued. "Today was the day that your son was to report back to you, was it not?"
"Indeed, you are correct, My Lord," Lucius responded with a bow. "Draco approached Potter yesterday after his group's meeting. Potter rebuffed him, apparently with the Headmaster's approval, saying that it was an invitation only club."
In truth, Lucius suspected that Potter had done more than rebuff Draco, and his son had suffered another humiliation at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived, given the tone of his letter. Still, Draco's failure was uncertain enough that Lucius felt it better to stick to the facts, rather than wander off into conjecture. That and it would lessen Lucius's shame if his conjecture was true.
"Ah, so Potter did refuse young Draco entrance to his little club. Pity."
"I apologize for my son's failure, My Lord."
The Dark Lord just waved him off. "There was only a slight chance that the Potter brat would be shortsighted enough to actually allow it. The information on exactly what he is teaching his friends and some insight into how powerful the boy truly is would have been useful. It is, however, not essential."
This, more than anything, was what frustrated Lucius about being uncertain of his position with the Dark Lord. Before his fall and subsequent return, Lucius would have known that the Dark Lord was not truly concerned about Draco's task. Now, however, he could not take the chance. It was good to know that this would not be held against him. In that, at least, he could be secure.
"Useful, perhaps, but surely it does not matter," Lucius said instead, moving past the issue of Draco's failure. "Potter is only a boy, regardless of how he manages to cheat death. He can only put the inevitable off for so long. Surely his time will come.
"Ah, but you forget, Lucius," the Dark Lord rebuked him mildly. "On several occasions the boy has defied me and survived when he should have been defeated.
"And before you say that the first was his meddling mother's doing, you are likely correct. However, I cannot help but suppose that something about the boy himself aided in his salvation, whether it was his magic, or something else which sets him apart. It would be foolhardy to suggest that Potter is only a boy and is not special somehow—he most clearly is, and he will require delicate handling.
"Beyond that, nothing I have been able to find has allowed me to uncover how exactly he was able to survive my killing curse that night. Add to that the fact that the boy met me at wand point and was completely outclassed, and still managed to survive. And that does not even take into account the confrontation in the boy's first year, and all the things he has managed to survive since arriving at Hogwarts. Whatever it is that allows him to continue to defy me, I cannot lower my guard. He must die the next time we meet—there is no other outcome possible."
"Very well, my lord. Is there anything else you would have my son do?"
"Nothing specific at this time," the Dark Lord said after some thought. "He should watch them whenever possible and report back whatever he is to discuss of their strengths and weaknesses, including anything he is able to determine of the club's curriculum."
"And the house traitors who are involved in Potter's circle?" Lucius asked. "Should he attempt to… remind them where their true loyalties should lie?"
"Again, there is little point in it now. Though we cannot allow members of my house to fraternize in such a manner with Potter indefinitely, now is not the time to make noise. Let them become complacent for now. Of course, that does not mean he should not begin asserting his authority over the entire house, much as both you and I did when we attended Hogwarts."
Lucius could not completely suppress the grimace at the Dark Lord's words. He had been relieved at first, as he doubted Draco had the talent and ability to truly bring the blood traitor Slytherins under control. Undoubtedly, he was equally incapable of taking a leadership role in Slytherin, for that matter, and that lack would become painfully apparent if he was directed to attempt to do so.
Unfortunately, his reaction was not missed by his perceptive companion.
"I understand that you have some… reservations about your son, my friend."
"I confess that I do," replied Lucius. "He is nothing that I would have expected in a son of mine, and shows an almost distressing incapability toward anything resembling cunning."
"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said, "but he also displays a proper attitude and a fervent loyalty to our beliefs. His energies need a little direction, but I believe that he will be acceptable if that direction is provided. Bring him before me when he returns for winter break and between us we will attempt to educate him better."
A wave of his hand indicated to Lucius that their conversation was at an end, so he bowed and retreated from the room. A letter would need to be written to Draco, and he had other tasks with which he was assigned. It was good, he reflected, to have the Dark Lord back. Those years in the wilderness without him had seemed empty and purposeless. It was good to finally be directing their resources toward a common goal. The Wizarding world would soon be theirs for the taking.
Though the days after the club's tournament were quiet, the behavior of Roger Davies, Head Boy and newly christened nemesis to one Harry Potter, was notable in the lack of any of his previous animosity toward Harry. Though nothing was ever said within the hearing of any of the students, Harry and his friends were almost certain that their speculation about the intentions of the Headmaster and Davies's head of house had been true. His generally subdued manner and intense avoidance of the group suggested that the meeting had resulted in his being reminded quite pointedly of the position he held and the fact that his overtly hostile behavior toward any student would not be tolerated. Though Harry passed him in the halls several times, Roger did not deign to acknowledge him, keeping his gaze resolutely away. In fact, though Roger was in many classes with Fleur, and even sat close to her in a couple, he was as studious in avoiding her as he was Harry. So in light of that fact, Harry was certain the animosity was not lessened, just hidden.
This shunning, of course, was not at all unwelcome to the pair in question—in fact, they felt rather cheerful in his lack of his focus on them, something they had desired all along. Furthermore, when he failed to show up at the Defense Club the next week, they heaved their last sigh of relief, as they had discussed removing his name from the list of club members should he attempt to attend again. His absence rendered their intentions unnecessary, a fact with which they were gratified, as the removal of the Head Boy from the club could carry some political ramifications within the school.
What they did not anticipate was the increased attendance at the next club meeting—which included even a couple of Slytherins among their number. It appeared that the events of the tournament had made the gossip rounds of the school, and suddenly many were eager to be included in what would undoubtedly be a great benefit of added study, especially since the first three months of the school year had been essentially wasted by their erstwhile Defense Professor.
Harry, along with Hermione and Fleur, were careful in vetting every student who requested admission—particularly the Slytherins, though they were assisted by Daphne and Tracey—but in the end accepted all applicants. The new members brought their overall numbers to greater than fifty, and included a larger portion of upper years from other houses who, up to that point, had remained skeptical of the club and had not been persuaded to join.
In direct contrast to the first months of the school year, Defense once again had become a class to anticipate rather than dread. Whatever could be said of Dumbledore, the man was a consummate teacher, who was comfortable in a classroom and showed a certain flair for explaining the lessons, guiding the students, or simply ruminating upon some obscure or theoretical idea. It was a revelation for the entire school, none of whom had ever seen him in a classroom, and also served to make him more… human, in a way, and certainly much more approachable than he had ever been before. The students in the school had largely grown up with accounts of the man's exploits, particularly those related to Gellert Grindelwald. They were familiar with the Headmaster, the defeater of the previous Dark Lord, and the man of many names and titles, and as such, the revelation that he could teach and teach well was a revelation to some, regardless of the fact that he had always attempted to be available to all students.
As for the other classes, well they continued apace, for the most part as they had all year. The excitement was building for winter break and the Yule Ball, and though that was sapping some of the students' attention away from their studying, life at the school seemed to continue much as it had.
Finally, with respect to the group of friends, Harry and Fleur's discussion and subsequent amorous activities—or as amorous as they had gotten to that point—had cemented in both their minds that they were making progress with one another, after little progress had been seen before. They both felt more comfortable and at ease with each other, and each, in their own minds, was well on the way to considering the other in a more intimate manner.
This, of course, led to more overt shows of affection, especially in their propensity to hold hands whenever they walked through the halls, and what had become a ritual for them to kiss each other goodbye when the time came for them to part.
Their greater comfort and affection with each other went largely uncommented upon by their friends, though it certainly did not go unnoticed. A little gentle ribbing, of course, was the order of the day and unsurprisingly, it was the Weasley twins who were the most overt in their teasing. They took to staring at Fleur in mock dreamy expressions whenever the two were present, which they claimed was what Harry looked like whenever he looked at the beautiful French witch. Harry, by contrast, was content to be somewhat smug at the fact that Fleur was on his arm, to the envy of just about every boy in the school. This did nothing to silence the teasing, but it did allow Harry to respond in kind.
Daphne Greengrass was well aware of the effect she had on boys. With her slender figure, blue eyes and long flowing black locks, she was the epitome of a beautiful young girl just stepping over the threshold into the realm of womanhood. Even her average height was a benefit as she was not too short, and not so tall that she towered over others—boys by and large, she had noticed, seemed a little skittish around girls who were taller than they were. She had always known that she was blessed with good looks, but if seeing her own countenance in the mirror was not enough to inform her of her appealing countenance, then the glances she often received from the young men around her would have made the fact unmistakable. Of course, this was a blessing as well as a curse, as she attracted the attention of those she would otherwise prefer to have avoided. In particular, Malfoy had been after her for most of the past year to "dispense of her favors" as any good young woman should when confronted by the interest of such an impressive specimen of Pureblood virility. The fact that he was all but betrothed to the sycophantic Pansy Parkinson apparently did not figure into Draco's calculation of what he considered to be proper behavior.
Unfortunately for Malfoy, Daphne's parents had always taught her that she deserved as much respect as a Malfoy or anyone else, and she did not believe that spending time as his plaything was in any way respectable. This did not even take into account the fact that regardless of his blond hair and generally pleasant features, she found his sense of entitlement irksome and his attitude disgusting. Malfoy, when she took into account everything about him, was repulsive and Daphne could not imagine herself favoring him with anything other than her contempt.
Luckily for her, he was also completely ineffectual, with a much higher opinion of his abilities than he had any right, which was something of a blessing. A truly competent Malfoy with his attitude and bloated sense of his own worth would be a truly dangerous phenomenon. She had repeatedly informed him of her lack of interest, and though she had to admit that he was remarkably persistent, he lacked the skills to truly affect her, regardless of his bluster.
A particular illustration of this state of affairs played out the Friday after the tournament. It was late and Daphne, having spent most of the evening in the library researching for a Charms assignment, was on her way back to the Slytherin common room before curfew. She had just entered the corridor in the dungeons which led to her destination when Malfoy, accompanied by Parkinson—his favorite puppy—stepped from a side corridor and confronted her.
"Well look if it isn't Greengrass out after curfew," Parkinson sneered in her usual manner.
Daphne rolled her eyes. Snape could not have picked two more useless prefects had he tried. "I still have ten minutes, in case you're having trouble telling time."
Pansy sneered and appeared ready to retort when Draco interrupted her. "Shut up, Pansy," he commanded. "I need to speak with Daphne alone for a moment. Wait for me at the end of the hall."
Clearly he expected to be obeyed, as he turned away and completely ignored Pansy, focusing his attention on Daphne instead. Parkinson, presumably used to such rude behavior from Draco, directed a glare at him before thrusting her nose in the air and stalking off in a snit. For Daphne, the fact that he had called her by her given name was an indication that he was about to favor her with his attentions once again. She suppressed a sigh, knowing that it would make this interview even worse should she show any of her exasperation.
It was, therefore, something of a surprise when he did not immediately launch into his normal spiel of how she should show her proper respect for her betters, and direct her attention at him personally. Instead, he regarded her in silent contemplation, much more thoughtfully than he had ever done before, especially with his impetuous nature. It concerned her, if she were to be honest with herself.
"I'm rather disappointed in you, Daphne," Malfoy finally said without preamble.
Allowing herself nothing more than an arched eyebrow, Daphne merely stared at him.
"You've never shown the proper respect for your superiors," Malfoy continued, "but you've always at least associated with those worthy of your own stature. In the past few weeks, however, you've started to show some definite blood traitor tendencies."
"Perhaps I already had them and just never showed them," replied Daphne with some impudence.
Malfoy appeared to consider that for several moments. "Well, you do hang around with Davis a lot." Tracey was a Halfblood—one of the few in Slytherin house. For those who cared about such things—which was not the entirety of the house, contrary to popular belief—she was only accepted because her father had also been a Slytherin and was a member of society of some wealth and influence, regardless of the fact he had married a Muggleborn. Should Tracey's younger brother also be sorted into Slytherin, and he would start Hogwarts next year, he would be accepted on the same basis, though as the heir, he would undoubtedly have a leg up on Tracey.
But Malfoy had continued to speak on over Daphne's ruminations. "Still, she's acceptable to a certain extent I suppose, regardless of her mother." He spat the last word with some vitriolic contempt. "But you've kept your associations to those within the house for the most part, and even when you've spoken to those outside the house, at least you've kept it to those who come from acceptable backgrounds, for all that some of them are blood traitors."
"Malfoy," Daphne interrupted what was rapidly becoming a rant, "I don't exactly need your permission become friends with anyone. It's not like I've ever listened to anything you had to say before."
"Maybe not," said Malfoy, "though we still need to discuss that shameful behavior at some point."
At this, Daphne did roll her eyes, not caring if the little prick noticed it or not. "My 'shameful behavior' as you put it is none of your concern."
"Look Greengrass," he said, his change to her surname a sure sign that he was becoming frustrated with her, "I just want to point out that things are different now. Hanging around with Bones and Davis might be acceptable, but throwing your lot in with Potter is sure to come back to haunt you. I'd think twice before continuing to hang around with him and his crew."
"And what if I'm getting close to him for my own purposes?" Daphne asked. "We are the house of the cunning and ambitious, you know."
"We are," Draco agreed, his face assuming a mask of false pleasantry. "But there are some others who would be much better to 'get close to'."
"Like she'd want to get closer to pond scum like you," another voice rang out through the hallway.
Daphne smiled as Tracey approached them, her eyes fixed on Malfoy. He, in turn, had turned his displeased gaze on her, though it was clear that Tracey was not fazed by it in the slightest. The animosity between Tracey and Malfoy was almost legendary in Slytherin house. Tracey considered him a pampered prince and an ineffectual dolt continually clinging to his father's coattails, an opinion which was certainly not grounded in anything other than the truth. For his part, Malfoy thought Tracey to be an upstart mongrel, only grudgingly accepted due to her father's wealth. The fact that Tracey was considered to be quite plain and took no thought to her appearance—though Daphne was aware that Tracey cleaned up rather well when she took the trouble to do so—did not help engender positive feelings in one so image obsessed as Malfoy.
"Of course," Tracey continued, pouring fuel onto the fire; she loved to rile Malfoy up, "our esteemed housemate wouldn't know cunning if it walked up and punched him in the nose."
"No one asked for your opinion, Davis," Malfoy snarled.
"I'm well aware of that," responded Tracey airily. "You ought to know by now that I'm not concerned about waiting to be asked for my opinion."
"You'll be shown your place." With that, Malfoy pointed ignored Tracey and turned his attention back to Daphne. "This is what you get when you hang around with the wrong sort, Daphne. It's been overlooked in the past, but times are changing. You had better start thinking about that."
"Look, Malfoy, we're all aware that you're really talking about that idiot whose arse your father is always kissing. In case you weren't aware, the Greengrasses remained neutral in the last war, and I expect we will continue to do so."
Though he flushed with anger at the derogatory comments toward the Dark Lord, Malfoy kept his temper. "Your hanging with Potter seems to be changing that stance."
"Who I am friends with does not affect our political policies," Daphne retorted. "My father is head of house and he will continue to make the decisions for my family. I have joined Potter's group for my own reasons. My father is aware of my actions and is unconcerned by them."
Malfoy sidled closer to her and spoke in an earnest manner. "There will come a time when neutrality will no longer be tolerated. Regardless of what your father chooses to do, you can be insulated if you take the proper stance now. It wouldn't hurt to be seen on the arm of a Pureblood of good standing either."
With that statement, Malfoy's eye raked across her form with a lascivious leer, causing Daphne to experience a slight shudder. As always his gaze caused Daphne to feel the need to bathe, as she could almost feel the grime that the boy's expression produced.
"A Pureblood of good standing," repeated Tracey with a derisive snort. "You know, Malfoy, you have all the subtlety of rutting she-dragon."
"Methinks Mr. Malfoy here is a lot more Gryffindor than Slytherin," Daphne responded with a sly smirk.
His countenance reddening with anger, Malfoy appeared ready to retort when Daphne decided to cut him off and end the confrontation. "Why don't you just bugger off, Malfoy?" she sneered. "You haven't intimidated me in all the time we've been here. And even if either of us weren't able to take you out before, now that Potter is teaching us, you're just a gnat buzzing around and annoying us."
"Besides," Tracey continued, "it's clear that you barely know one end of your wand from the other. So unless you want your glorious Pureblood image to take a beating, I suggest you leave us alone."
"You'll pay for this," Malfoy growled. "Both of you."
"Well, I think we'll just take our chances," Daphne said negligently. "But you're welcome to try any time you like."
For a brief moment, Daphne thought that he would lose his composure, but whatever was holding him back, he appeared to gain control over himself quickly.
"It seems like we will not receive our chastisement today," said Tracey, evidently seeing what Daphne had seen. "Shall we?"
Daphne motioned to her friend to precede her, and the two left a red-faced Malfoy behind without a second glance. They walked down the corridor toward the common room and, seeing Parkinson skulking near the entrance, Daphne decided to get in one final dig.
"You'd better go and see your boyfriend, Parkinson," she said with a smirk. "He's having a bad day."
"And for that matter," Tracey chimed in, "you may want to give him some loving—I think he's starting to stray."
Pansy threw them a dark look before she hurried off down the hallway in search of her paramour. Tracey sniggered, ensuring, of course, that the rapidly retreating girl heard her, before shaking her head and turning away.
The common room was quite busy, as was typical for a Friday night, with pockets of students sitting in groups chatting, playing games, or even a few who were studying, though that group consisted primarily of upper-year students for whom NEWTs were looming large. The two, by unspoken agreement, made their way through the common room and towards the stairs which led to the dormitories—they both found the common room a trifle depressing, with its dark, almost gothic décor, and the unrelieved darkness, not to mention the company which was often present. The dorms were not a lot better, but at least they were private for the most part, and could be brightened by their own choices of decorations.
The girls' dorms were open and spacious, with curtains separating each girl's bed and private space. It was to Daphne's area of the room they retired, after confirming that no one else was present—Pansy was obviously off with Malfoy, while Bulstrode was nowhere in evidence. Hopefully, they would remain undisturbed for some time.
"So, I only caught a little of what Malfoy was saying," said Tracey, her bluntness refreshing after Malfoy's clever—or what he considered clever—innuendos. "It didn't sound like his usual speech."
"It was different," Daphne replied, frowning. "That bit about being seen on a Pureblood's arm was the first time he raised the subject."
"That's different."
"And troublesome. Most of the time he's pretty transparent. What could he be up to?"
"Oh come on, Daphne, use your head," exclaimed Tracey. "Ten days ago he all but demands to be included in the club, and walks off in a snit when Harry told him to bugger off. Yesterday, I heard that he was giving Zabini grief about the club, and today he accosts you about it and hardly even puts any effort into trying to get into your knickers. Seems pretty plain to me what he's up to."
Daphne frowned. "You think he's trying to make trouble for us? On daddy's orders?"
"Though I obviously can't say for sure, I know for a fact that Malfoy doesn't wipe his arse without daddy's permission. I figure he was ordered to try to get into the club—though really they were stupid to go about it the way they did. Or maybe that's just Malfoy's stupidity fouling things up—I don't know. But now, after he's been refused, he's blathering about associating with the wrong sort to the Slytherin club members."
"I think you may be right," Daphne said, thinking about what Tracey had said. They had discussed briefly Malfoy's attempt to get Harry to allow him to enter the club, but at the time they had both brushed it off as his standard stupidity and not worth further thought. His behavior since then, however, while not overt, was still troublesome.
It was nothing less than they had expected, though, Daphne mused. For someone of his ilk, any fraternizing with Potter or any Gryffindors would be seen as a betrayal. With Malfoy's imagined stature in his own house, he would clearly see it as his duty to bring the traitors under his thumb. The fact that most of the rest of the house had basically ignored their membership in the club—and the fact that they had actually gained a couple more members!—rendered Malfoy's opinions largely irrelevant. If anyone other than Malfoy had cared about what they were doing, they may have had a real problem.
"So what do you think we should do?" Tracey asked.
"Tell Harry about it, and ignore the little ponce," Daphne responded with an offhand shrug. "Harry will likely want to pull his liver out through his nose, and we'll have to reassure him that we aren't afraid of Malfoy."
"Damn it!" Tracey exclaimed, with a certain gleeful gleam in her eyes. "Watching Malfoy's liver emerge through his nostril would be so entertaining. Don't you think we could let Harry do it? Even just a little?"
Laughing, Daphne shook her head. "How do you pull someone's liver out through their nose 'just a little'?"
"I'm sure Harry could find a way," was Tracey's response, which caused Daphne to laugh even harder. Tracey was blunt and forthright, and had a rather wicked sense of humor, which were all things that Daphne liked about her.
"Malfoy was right about one thing," Tracey continued in a much more serious tone. "The days of being safely neutral might be over."
"I know," responded Daphne quietly.
"Have you heard anything more from your family?"
Shaking her head, Daphne responded, "Not since the last letter from my mother. You?"
"They won't bother," Tracey scoffed. "They know that dad won't give them the time of day, considering what they think about mum. That doesn't mean that we won't be a target, though."
Daphne nodded glumly. Malfoy had not had the wit to see it, but one of Daphne's reasons for aligning herself with Potter was that she hoped that she would be able to gain some form of protection for her family by her association with him. On the surface, her family would still maintain the neutrality which had protected them in the first war with the Death Eaters, but in reality, this was the first step in the Greengrasses joining the side of the light. Of course Harry was still too young to offer them his personal protection, but he rubbed shoulders with the likes of Dumbledore, Sirius Black, who she was certain would become a force in their world, and the Delacours. None of those names were to be taken lightly.
Tracey's reasons were similar, though her family's situation was drastically different due to her mother being a Muggleborn. At least in the Death Eaters' eyes, the Greengrasses were suitably Pureblood. That would give them a reprieve, something which Tracey's family did not necessarily have.
"And what if Harry finds out that we've not been completely upfront with him?" Tracey asked.
"I can't believe that he'd tell us to get lost," Daphne responded. "Besides, we haven't been untruthful with him—we just haven't told him everything. As Slytherins, we're allowed to conceal things. The whole 'house of the cunning' thing, remember?"
Tracey laughed. "That's such a useful out!"
"It is!" Daphne said with a grin. "But maybe I should tie myself to him a little tighter," she continued. "I'm sure I could get my dad to propose a marriage contract with him if I asked him to."
"I think you will have to wait in line," was Tracy's dry response. "If anyone's got the inside track into being the second Mrs. Potter, it would be Granger."
"He's the last of his line," Daphne answered, a trifle defensively. "He could have three wives as easily as he could two. And beside which—I like him. I think that once he was trained properly, he'd make a rather good husband, even if I was only one of three."
Tracey turned a serious gaze on Daphne, and reached out to take her hands, speaking with some concern. "Daphne, you should be really sure about this before you take such a step. Yes, Harry seems to be a good person, but you don't really know him. We've only hung around with him for a couple of weeks. Don't rush into anything."
Smiling, Daphne moved to reassure her friend. "I'm not really serious, Tracey. I do like him and I know I might have a shot, but things are a bit too early at this stage to consider that kind of move.
"But you have to admit the political advantages are enormous. I'd gain full protection for my family if I had an alliance with Potter through a betrothal. And he'd be gaining access to my family's resources and connections."
"True, but you're my friend and I'd prefer that you didn't sacrifice yourself when you may not need to do so. Give it some time and consider the implications before you commit."
By unspoken agreement they moved on to other discussion topics until Tracey announced her intention to go to bed much later that evening. Lying in her bed after her friend had gone to her own, Daphne considered the situation and Tracey's words. Her friend was right, Daphne knew, but a part of her could not help but imagine the thought of being on Harry's arm. He was a good person—she knew that instinctively—and she knew that it would be very easy to allow herself to fancy him. The growth spurt he appeared to have had in the past few months had also helped, allowing him to fill out a little from the scrawny boy he had been when he had arrived at Hogwarts. And more than any of these factors, Daphne was certain that Harry had a big enough heart for both of them, and more, if things went in that direction.
Daphne also knew that though nothing had been said in any of the letters she had exchanged with her family since she had joined the club, her parents would not have missed the possibility of having their eldest betrothed to Potter. It was something they would almost certainly be discussing once she returned home during the holidays.
But despite all this, there were two things in particular holding Daphne back—a blonde and a brunette. Fleur was already his betrothed, and the woman was absolutely gorgeous—though she knew that Harry was not completely shallow, it was also evident that the blonde would have no trouble at all keeping him interested. And whereas the relationship between the two had seemed to be stuck in neutral for the first few months of the school year, it appeared to have blossomed in the past few weeks, lending credence to the theory that they were quickly becoming used to one another, and that their affection for each other was growing.
And as for Hermione, well she was one of his first friends in the Wizarding world—or one of his first friends at all, if the rumors Daphne had heard were at all correct—and Daphne suspected that their relationship was profound. She could have Harry in her thrall with little effort, if only she would give herself the trouble.
Where did that leave Daphne? She knew she was attractive, though not on the same level as Fleur, and she knew that she was pleasant and intelligent company, though she did not have the emotional attachment which Hermione possessed. That did not necessarily mean that the attachment could not be forged, but it did leave her at a distinct disadvantage in the near future.
And what of Ginevra Weasley? Daphne considered herself very good at reading others, and she knew that Ginny had her sights set on Harry, regardless of the existence of any other girl. Even Ginny had a greater familiarity with Harry.
Daphne knew Harry had a big heart. But it would be more than a little daunting to contend with so many factors at once, and Daphne was not certain that she even wished to attempt it. The possibility for heartbreak appeared to be high unless she were to attempt to attach herself to him as nothing more than a business merger. But she wanted more from life and marriage than that.
Sighing, Daphne rolled over and, after bunching up her pillow, determined to allow herself to fall asleep. The situation with Harry would work itself out and Daphne knew that Tracey's advice about not rushing into anything was good. She would just have to get to know him better. Then she would know how to act.
Harry's reaction to Malfoy's actions was not far off from what Daphne and Tracey had predicted it to be. The little twit had done his best to make life miserable for Harry since he had arrived at Hogwarts and frankly, Harry had just about had enough of it.
But now he was harassing Harry's friends, and making things difficult for them, and for a young boy who had grown up with no friends due to the efforts of his cousin, he had learned the benefits of having friends and was determined to protect them. Upon hearing Tracey and Daphne's story, his first inclination had been to hunt the prick down and use his head for target practice.
It did not help that their disclosures had been made after the conclusion of the last club meeting before winter break, and rather than teach anything new, Harry had contented himself with reviewing what they had already done and admonished the club to keep up their practice over the holidays. As a result, he was feeling quite energetic and restless. He found that he was quite eager to repeat the lesson that Malfoy just never seemed to learn.
Fortunately—for a certain blond ponce, perhaps—the two Slytherin girls who he was rapidly coming to consider friends, assured him that they had no need of his protection.
"Harry, why have you been teaching us?" Tracey asked bluntly, neatly cutting off a head of steam which Harry was beginning to accumulate.
Blinking his eyes, Harry looked at the brunette Slytherin who had interrupted him, desperately trying to come up with an answer. Unfortunately, he had been so focused on Malfoy and his impending humbling, that it was taking him a moment to reengage his brain.
"He's teaching you to defend yourselves," interjected Hermione, taking pity on Harry and answering in his stead.
"What does that have to do with hexing Malfoy to Hogsmeade and back?" asked Ron who was standing nearby and listening intently to the conversation. Trust Ron to back him up, Harry thought—Ron was perhaps the only one who disliked Malfoy more than Harry did himself.
"It's rather obvious, brother of ours," one of the twins piped up.
"Since Harry is teaching them to defend themselves," continued the other, "they need to use those skills and defend themselves against Malfoy."
"Exactly," said Daphne. "Otherwise, he'll never respect us. We'd just be targets when Harry isn't around if he's constantly leaping in to defend us."
"Like the idiot has ever learned a lesson anyway," Harry grumbled.
"True," answered Daphne. "But I think the lesson, even if it is not absorbed, is likely to mean more from us than it would from you. Malfoy already knows that you can kick his butt!"
"Not like that's ever stopped him," Harry muttered.
"Another thing you need to consider," said Tracey, "is that any of us was more than a match for him before we joined the club. Now that we've been attending for a while, he'd be even more overmatched. Trust us, Harry—we can handle ourselves when it comes to Malfoy."
Though he complained a little more, Harry grudgingly admitted that they were right. The git would still bear watching though—Harry would not put it past him to attempt to ambush his friends in some manner. If he tried that tactic, Harry would be all too happy to ensure he required the attention of Poppy Pomfrey.
"There, Tracey, I told you he could be reasonable," Daphne said in a sly tone.
"I'm not the one who said he'd want to remove Malfoy's liver."
"Through his nose, Tracey," was Daphne's lighthearted reply. "You have to remember that part. And after all, you were the one who said he might be able to do it 'just a little'."
A gleam in his eye, Harry interjected, "You know, that is worth considering…"
"All right, that's enough," Fleur interrupted, but though she attempted to affect a frown, Harry could easily see the mirth in her eyes. "If you teach the jerk a lesson the professors will almost certainly be obliged to put you in detention, even if they don't like the creep any more than you do. You'll just have to hold your temper."
"Yes dear," said Harry with a smirk, allowing himself to be led toward the exit.
"You are so henpecked," said Ron with a snigger.
"Maybe I am," was Harry's good-natured response, "but you wish you were."
As they departed, Harry was amused to see the contemplative expression on Ron's face, and he did not miss the redhead's last words.
"I don't know about that, but it does appear to have its advantages."
Among the disadvantages to having a betrothed, however—not to mention, it appeared, to being part of the Wizarding world—was the necessity of being known to society, and as Harry's family had generally been prominent for many years, his engagement to Fleur was a general topic of discussion. Add to that his elevated status as Boy-Who-Lived and the mystique of Fleur being Veela—who were almost unknown in Britain—and the curious bordered sometimes on the intrusive. Though Dumbledore had ensured him that his mail was being screened by the castle's house elves, Harry understood that his mail sometimes numbered in the hundreds, from simple well-wishing cards, to requests to meet, to proposals of business, as though a teen of fifteen had anything to do with business.
The day after the club meeting, a letter arrived which put all this into focus for Harry, and he did not really like where it was headed. It was a letter from Fleur's father, suggesting—though perhaps it was a little stronger than a mere suggestion—that they hold a ball on New Year's Eve, so that Harry and Fleur could be introduced to British Magical society as a couple. Needless to say Harry, as a young teen, and already having a ball to attend before he left Hogwarts, was not exactly enthralled with the idea.
"Another ball?" he demanded, once he had read the offending letter. "Why would we need to go to another ball?"
To his side, Fleur sighed. "Harry, magical society is not precisely…"
"Modern?" Hermione piped up.
"Exactly," Fleur responded with a smile at Hermione. "British society is stuck in the… I believe you would call it Regency period, or maybe even the Victorian."
"Well, it depends what you mean," Hermione interrupted, her voice taking on her familiar lecturing tone. "The official Regency Period started in 1811 when George IV decided that his father, George III, was unfit to rule. He ruled as Prince Regent in his father's stead until George III died in 1820, and from that time forward as the actual king. However, the term Regency Era, often refers to a longer period, from the late 1700s, until George IV's brother William—who was king after George IV—died in 1837, and Queen Victoria's reign began, which, of course, was the start of the Victorian era."
Glazed eyes and perplexed looks appeared the order of the day after Hermione's long-winded explanation wound down and Hermione, suddenly realized that she had fallen into old habits and lectured them all, went crimson with embarrassment.
"I liked Jane Austen as a girl, and researched that stuff so I could better understand her books," she mumbled.
Harry, who was sitting beside her, pulled her into a one-armed hug, and affectionately kissed her cheek. "Don't ever change, Hermione," he said, amused to see her suddenly shift into a bashful state.
The rest of the group were all smirking at her, and Hermione, noticing this, rolled her eyes and once again became businesslike. "The Magical world is more Regency than Victorian, from what I've seen," said Hermione. "Though it's a little different from that too. Makes sense, I suppose, considering the Magical world had been separated from the Muggle world for several centuries before. The Magical world does not have the same level of societal rules or the concept of propriety which existed at the time of the Regency era, but the attitudes seem similar to a degree."
"I get it," said Harry. "We are a couple hundred years behind Muggle society. What of it?"
"Part of the rules of society back then was the idea of being known to society, or being introduced," Hermione continued the explanation. "It was regarded as a necessary rite of passage into adulthood as, if you were not 'out', or introduced to the world at large, you could not participate in society. This is similar, I would guess, as it will introduce you not only as future head of House Potter, but also Fleur as your future lady. In many respects this introduction to society was very important to the future of the person, or couple, as the impression they created was remembered."
"And as a member of a family which has been influential for many years, this will set the tone for your future dealings with the elite of British society," continued Fleur. "France is the same in many respects, and the Magical world in general is many years behind the Muggle, partially due to the very conservative ideologies which pervade the magical world, but also because Magicals are longer lived than Muggles. A person has longer to remember the way things were when they were young, and this coupled with the conservative mindset makes us much more resistant to change."
"What of Muggleborns?" Harry demanded. "They come from a completely different world."
"True," said Fleur, "but Muggleborns are also not highly regarded in most parts of the world, though Britain is certainly at the extreme end of the spectrum. Purebloods as a rule do not trust Muggleborns and their new and radical ideas, and as they essentially rule the Magical world, newcomers either must fit in, or live in the Muggle world."
"They're right, Harry," chimed in Ron who had been listening to the discussion. "You know my family is not well off. But even so, we are considered higher on the societal scale than a Muggleborn family, as we are Pureblood. Still, even though I am higher on the social scale that a Muggleborn, I don't belong to the same social strata as the Potters and unless we kept our friendship after Hogwarts, we wouldn't rub shoulders socially with you because of the differences in our wealth."
Hermione, it appeared, was outraged. "So as a Muggleborn, I won't have the same opportunities as Purebloods?"
"That's not completely true," said Ron. "There are many Muggleborn successes. They are always looked on with a certain measure of disdain, due to their origins. But you already knew this."
"I did," said Hermione as she bit her lip in thought. "But I always thought that there was the opportunity for advancement if I was willing to learn and work hard."
"There is," said Fleur. "But there will always be that divide, and some among the Purebloods will never accept you because of your origins.
"Then that would be like the land owners versus the merchant class in regency times," said Hermione slowly, apparently in deep thought. "Gentlemen farmers were considered part of the higher class while merchants, even if they were very rich, were looked down upon due to the origins of their wealth. Even if they purchased their own estates and became landed, merchants faced a long road before they were truly welcomed. A merchant could anticipate his descendents finally being accepted without the stain of being 'new money', but not until four or five generations had passed."
"That's a good analogy," said Fleur. "But even within the gentlemen class, there were differences which are analogous to Magical society today. The Weasleys, for example, are considered to be among the humblest of the Pureblood class, which would put them on the level of small estate holding gentlemen of the Regency era. Technically, they are socially even with their richer counterparts, but in reality, a wide gulf divides them. Harry, with his background and family, would be on the wealthy end of the spectrum, analogous to the wealthy of the gentleman class, or perhaps even to the level of minor nobility. To a certain extent, it's wealth that matters, as well as pedigree."
"So the Weasleys are the Bennets, while the Potters are like the Darcys?" asked Hermione.
"Exactly," said Fleur with a grin. She then winked at Hermione's incredulous expression and said, "I enjoyed Jane Austen as a girl too. Not all old Magical families disdain Muggle culture and literature, you know."
"What of women?" asked Harry. "In the Muggle world it's only been in the past seventy years or so that women have begun to close the equality gap with men."
"In that subject, the Magical world has always been ahead of their Muggle counterparts," said Fleur.
"It probably has to do with the fact that a woman can hex your bits off if you suggest that she's inferior," joked Ron.
"Actually, that's part of it," agreed Fleur with a grin at the young redhead. "As far as anyone has ever been able to determine, there is no correlation between gender and magical ability. Add to that the fact that for many hundreds of years witches were the more visible of magical practitioners, and for many years were the main potions brewers, makers of certain charms, among other things. It has made for relative equality between the sexes."
It made sense from a certain point of view, Harry supposed. And he was not truly opposed to the idea of a ball—in fact the idea of being close to Fleur for an evening was quite appealing, the closer they became. It was just the thought of being on display, as he thought of it, which did not appeal to him.
"Oh come on, Harry," Hermione interrupted his musings with a measure of mirth, "you're not going to go all Mr. Darcy and refuse to dance, now, are you? I wouldn't think that Fleur can be described as being not handsome enough for you."
Laughing, Fleur composed her expression into a haughty air of disdain and said, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me!"
The two girls broke down in laughter and though Harry was not familiar with the obviously quoted line, never having read the book, the implications were obvious. He grinned back at the laughing girls, saying, "I would rather think that she would be saying that about me."
"Oh, you're more than merely tolerable," Fleur replied while putting an arm around his waist. "I think you'll do just fine."
Harry grinned back at her. "So what you're telling me, in a roundabout way, is that I don't really have a choice"
"Oh, come on, Harry," said Fleur with a smile. "You always have a choice. But surely a night of dancing with me is not too much of a punishment."
Harry smiled and looked at her with some affection, before executing a rather elaborate bow. "May I have the honor of escorting you to your father's ball, Madam?"
"I think that would be unavoidable, as it will be in our honor."
"Maybe so," said Harry, "but I'd prefer not to take the chance of your being snapped up by some other, much less dapper, young man."
Ignoring his obvious attempt at conceit, Fleur smiled and place her arm in his. "I would be more than happy to accompany you, good sir. I thank you for favoring me with your attention."
Updated 06/28/2013