Wednesday, 15 September 1993

Hogwarts

Catherine's response to Mary's rather hasty letter regarding her classes thus far, the incident between herself and the younger Slytherins, and Snape's detentions (the Latin ones, not the Veritaserum ones), arrived on Wednesday at breakfast, along with Professor Flitwick's note agreeing to arrange a Dueling Club. Apparently it would be no trouble at all for him to institute something on the model of the Charms Club, held, perhaps, on opposite weeks, and he was more than happy to do so.

Mary opened Catherine's scroll eagerly, but her face fell as she realized that the situation might be far more serious than she thought – or rather, she could make it mean more, if she wanted to. The basic gist of the letter was that Patronage was the foundation of modern Magical British society, from inter-house relationships to the Ministry to the Wizengamot. Regardless of whether individuals or houses claimed a formal Patron-Client relationship (and some did – Crabbe and Goyle, for example, had become clients of Malfoy during the 1980s) everything still functioned on an unspoken system of favors and protection, where the stronger or richer or more influential granted advantages and protection to their lesser counterparts in exchange for loyalty.

The favors went both ways, with Patrons helping their Clients, and demanding the occasional repayment, be it voting a certain way on a particular law or hiring one of the Patron's other Clients for a Ministry post. They didn't have to be so blatantly political, though. Horace Slughorn, the former Head of Slytherin, had, Catherine said, established a formidable unofficial Client Network, trading introductions for Quidditch tickets and generally facilitating interactions among his various 'acquaintances.' Mary couldn't help but see a certain degree of similarity in her recent experience with Flint and his helping her out with the Rhees incident in exchange for that as-yet-undetermined favor.

She was suddenly struck by the impression that Slytherin House seemed to mirror the political world of Magical Britain a lot more this year. Whether that was because the politicians had been Slytherins or Slytherin House was deliberately preparing its students to deal with the outside world, and why third year was apparently the time for such revelations, she couldn't say.

As for the idea of sponsoring a muggleborn, or taking a muggleborn on as a client, Catherine insisted that that practice had gone out of vogue nearly a hundred years prior. It was so neglected in recent generations that to revive it would likely seem progressive to the younger pureblood families, though most of the Old Families would probably see it as an ultra-traditionalist move (the thing about having a thousand years of history, as Mary was learning, was that almost every political position she could think of had been 'traditional' at one point or another). The progressives would probably, Catherine thought, be mildly offended by Mary's dusting off the old formal structures to govern a friendship between an eleven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old, but, she added in what Mary could only assume to be a vaguely sarcastic tone, it wasn't as though Mary had to worry about being hexed by progressives in Slytherin.

The analysis of the pros and cons of such a move went on for more than two feet, summed up with the statement, "I think you should do it. It's a flexible move, in that it can be spun in any direction once you get a feel for how the wind is blowing, and taking that kind of step marks you out in the political world as both savvy and unpredictable. It's never too early to start cultivating your reputation."

'Cultivating your reputation' was a theme Catherine had been pushing for months, now. It had begun at the beginning of the summer, with a stack of old Prophets, and an analysis of the various forces affecting Mary's position in public opinion. Apparently she had started off on a pedestal, due to her fame as the Girl Who Lived, but had taken a flying leap off of it by getting sorted into Slytherin and announcing herself as a Parselmouth. The fact that she had done nothing to discourage her reputation as the Heir of Slytherin was variously interpreted as tacit acknowledgement of the title, disdain for it (as though it were too ridiculous to address), and even a publicity stunt (as the added ambiguity supposedly made her even more compelling as a public figure).

On the whole, Mary had been pleased to find that she had managed to successfully tarnish the Golden Girl image Dumbledore seemed to have been developing on her behalf before she arrived at Hogwarts, but Catherine was dissatisfied. She kept saying that Mary needed to start actively developing a public persona, rather than leaving it to the whims of the media, but Mary really couldn't care any less what they were saying about her. She would rather, of course, that they not talk about her at all, but apparently that wasn't an option.

Still, out of all the suggestions Catherine had made regarding Mary's reputation, befriending Dave and making an "official" unofficial Patronage offer was probably the least disturbing. Others had included a press conference regarding the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets; letters to the editor of the Prophet addressing some of their more outlandish claims as slanderous; arranging to be seen at specific shops, or in the company of specific individuals, in order to give the impression that she was politically aligned with their families' views; and of course actually attending her peers' pureblood tea parties. Mary hadn't wanted to risk the first two plans backfiring, she wasn't sure what her political views were yet, let alone whether they aligned with anyone else's, and the parties were dreadfully dull.

She set the (rather long) scroll aside in favor of reading the Prophet's editorials over Lilian's shoulder. She clearly had a decision to make, and she would have to think about it more before approaching Dave, either way.

Several responses to the letter Hermione said was written by Emma had been printed, their contents ranging from tirades against Dumbledore, to personal attacks against Emma for writing in anonymously, to well-reasoned arguments for more Ministry oversight of Hogwarts, to others writing in with their own complaints about the country's primary educational facility (Binns, the food, Binns, the DADA Curse, and Binns were a few of the favorite topics), to a long, meandering letter whose only purpose seemed to be pointing out that this sort of Hogwarts-bashing session came around every few years, and never seemed to result in any changes.

Mary hadn't had time to do more than skim the page when she and Lilian were interrupted by a pair of rather irate-looking Weasleys.

"Potter," one of them said, stalking up to the Slytherin table in full view of the hall.

"Moon," the other greeted Lilian, equally coldly.

Lilian squinted at their chests for a moment before responding. "Hi George!" she said brightly, looking directly at the first twin, then the second as she said, "Fred. What's up?"

The boys' reactions were enough to tell Mary that Lilian had managed to get their names correct on the first try. She did a bit of a double-take at her friend before peering more closely at the red-headed terrors herself, trying to see what had given them away. There was a faint glimmer of a large, illusory 'G' opposite George's Gryffindor crest, and an 'F' on Fred. She smirked, wondering how long they would last.

"That!" Fred practically hissed.

"What spell did Granger use?" George demanded.

Fred, as was their habit, picked up where his twin left off: "We are not going through another day like yesterday!"

"You've been like this a whole day already?" Mary asked, sniggering and wondering why she hadn't heard before.

"Yes," George grumbled. "She's labeled us somehow!"

"Wait – can't you see it?" Lilian smirked.

"No. And we can't get rid of it without knowing what spell she used!" Fred nearly shouted in clear frustration.

The girls took their time laughing at the twins' predicament. It was clear that the illusion was fading, even as they watched, but neither of them was about to clue the boys in. Finally, Lilian recovered enough to say, "And you can't see it! That's brilliant!"

The twins simply stood, glaring furiously, arms crossed.

"Why should we help you?" Mary asked, as coldly as she could, given her amusement.

That obviously wasn't the answer the Weasleys had been expecting. Their jaws dropped open in concert. "Why shouldn't you?" Fred asked, clearly bewildered.

"No, Liz's right," Lilian corrected them. "Why should we? Why the hell would we want to piss off our friend to help a pair of morons who turned Jeanie into a catgirl and kidnapped Liz for three days?"

"But –" George tried to object, but Mary talked over him.

"C'mon, Lils. We're going to be late for class." They weren't, but it was as good an excuse as any to leave the stunned Weasleys behind them, at the mercy of the other Slytherins' sidelong glances and vicious taunts. Their housemates would hardly barge into an ongoing conversation or conflict, but once it was over, the boys would be fair game. They had to have known they were entering enemy territory by approaching the Slytherin table in the first place. They were lucky it was breakfast – most of the upperclassmen were absent before lunch.

They struggled free of the bench, snagged up their bags, and Lilian linked her arm through Mary's plastering a superior smirk across her face. "Let's."

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Several hours later, after lunch, a free period found Mary and Lilian in an abandoned classroom, chatting and practicing the first few 'Sneaking Spells' Snape had taught them. He had made it very clear that most third-years' magic was powerful enough to manage OWL-level effects: it was simply their magical precision and mental stamina that was lacking. To that end, they were to practice until they could manage each spell 'at least competently, if not expertly.' Not one of the young Slytherins had given any sign that they would dare slack off. Not only was Snape still a rather intimidating Head of House, but given the Troll Incident in their first year, they were convinced that their lives might one day depend on these spells.

"Odorem negate!" Mary snapped, directing her wand at her freshly-soiled Herbology gloves.

The greenish charm hit the target, but when Lilian bent close for an experimental sniff, she made a face. "Still a bit whiffy."

"Maybe dragon dung is magically resistant," Mary groused, irritated by their lack of success.

"I don't think so," Lilian laughed, casting her own charm at the gloves. "Just powerfully smelly," she added, taking another sniff and wrinkling her nose.

"Let's try the Whisper Charm for a while instead," the younger girl suggested.

"What was the incantation again?"

"Quivox ad parmae," Mary cast, pronouncing the words carefully as she concentrated on Lilian. "Can you hear me?" she asked, jumping up and down when she failed to hear her own voice in her ears. That was a good sign it had worked.

Lilian repeated the charm before whispering, "Yes!" in response.

"It works! Sounds like you're right be- oh, bugger," she swore as the effect wore off. She heard Lilian giggling in her ear for a brief moment before the sound moved back to its natural position and volume.

Both girls cast it again. "What should we talk about?" Mary asked, laughing a bit herself. Something about the Direct Whisper Spell practically demanded they talk about secret things.

Lilian seemed to agree. "Hmm… How about Hermione and the Time Turner?" she suggested.

Mary groaned. She had given the issue some thought since Lilian had mentioned it over the weekend, and she was no closer to reaching a conclusion. "You still want to try to convince her to use it to research stuff about me and the Dark Lord?"

Lilian shrugged, renewing her Charm. "I want to convince her to use it more in general. If she just so happens to use it for things that will be useful for us in the long run, even better."

The younger Slytherin considered poking at the 'us' comment, but thought better of it. After their last two years together, she didn't doubt that Lilian and Hermione would be by her side if and when the Dark Lord came looking for her. "I still don't know if it's a good idea," she whispered back before casting her own spell again. "I mean, Hermione can be kind of scary intense. I mean, just think about the – quivox ad parmae – think about the Veritaserum thing. Or what she's like with revising, or signing up for all the classes in the first place." The Charm wore off, but she didn't bother casting it again. "Do you really think it's a good idea to convince her to break more rules and give her time to get even more… obsessive?"

Lilian shrugged. "She's going to have to learn to control herself eventually, right? Might as well start when she's already having detentions with Professor Snape every week. If anyone can drum sense into her frizzy head, it's him."

"I thought you didn't trust him," Mary whispered, without the spell.

"Trusting him to teach Jeanie right from wrong isn't the same as trusting him to find the right answers and keep us involved with… everything," Lilian hissed back, rolling her eyes. "Independent confirmation, remember?"

Mary conceded the point with a shrug. "Yeah, but… I just worry about Maia. You know her."

"Curiosity killed the Catgirl?" the older girl smirked.

"Well… yeah."

Lilian laughed humorlessly. "That's the problem, Liz – I do know her. And I know at the rate she's been going the last few weeks, she's going to work herself right into the ground trying to follow the rules and get through all her lessons and homework and now this thing with the twins… It's not just about what we'll get out of it, you know. It'd be for her own good, having a bit more time for things like sleep."

"Well, yeah," Mary said darkly, "but you're assuming she'd actually use it for things like sleep."

"All right – think of it this way, then: What's the worst that could happen? She exhausts herself three times as fast and drives herself into the ground by the end of October instead of around winter hols? She'll learn her lesson sooner rather than later, and still have most of the year to do whatever, but, you know, in moderation."

Mary shook her head. "That's not the worst that could happen. That's like, the best that could happen. The worst would be… I don't know. Maia getting obsessed with the Dark Arts, or blowing up the Time Turner and getting lost in time, or getting arrested for breaking whatever laws she decides don't apply to her next or something!"

"We wouldn't let that happen!"

"How would we stop it? We already don't see her very often, and if she's living every day three times over, that's twice we wouldn't be with her."

Lilian looked stymied for a moment, but she quickly rallied and changed tracks. "It doesn't matter. That won't happen, anyway. I trust Hermione, and I'm surprised by how little you seem to. She's our friend, and we owe it to her to point out when she's not acting in her best interests."

"I – That's not! – Of course I trust her! I just don't think it is –"

Lilian cut her off ruthlessly. "If she was really your friend, if you really trusted her, you wouldn't be worried about her falling to the Dark Arts. You're practically accusing her of being like Riddle, you know. I can't believe you would even say such a thing! I hope you never say it to her face – it would crush her, knowing her first friend ever thought so little of her!"

Mary hesitated. Was that true? She hadn't meant to say anything like that – Hermione was nothing like the boy from the Diary. The Ravenclaw was her first friend too, and… was she being a bad friend, worrying about Hermione being tempted by forbidden knowledge?

Lilian's face took on a sympathetic expression as she continued. "Look, I know it's hard for you, trusting people after the childhood you've had, but Jeanie's a good person. I trust her not to do anything that's really bad, even in the pursuit of knowledge. And I think deep down you know you want to believe in her too."

"I… Okay," Mary relented. She did trust Lilian's judgement. Lils and Maia were the two people in the world she trusted more than anyone else, and she hated that Lilian would think she didn't trust that Hermione was a good person at heart. Did Hermione think the same?

"Really?" Lilian smiled hopefully. When Mary nodded hesitantly, the taller girl wrapped her in a quick hug. "Good. I'm so happy for you. It's really brilliant, you know, that you can still see the good in people, even after everything you've had to deal with these last few years. I know it must be hard. But you have to remember, Jeanie and I are here for you."

"Thanks, Lils."

"So you'll help me talk to Jeanie? How about Friday, after Snape's class?"

Mary hesitated, but looking at Lilian's face, full of excitement and hope, willing her to trust Hermione, she couldn't say no. "Let's wait and find out when Quidditch practice is, first."

The older girl beamed. "Great! I knew you were a good friend." Then she cast a quick tempus and made a little 'eep' noise. "C'mon! We're going to be late for Arithmancy!"

Thursday, 16 September 1993

The East-Northeast Tower

Thursday was notable for two reasons: first off, the new Quidditch training schedule was posted on the notice board: Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday after dinner until curfew, and Sunday mornings from six to noon. Their first practice would be that very evening, which realization all of the third-year players greeted with a groan. Lilian had a tendency to leave her homework for the last minute, and Draco, rather like Hermione, started early, but never really considered it 'done,' working on it sporadically until it was due. They would now have to rush to complete everything they'd meant to do that evening during their free periods.

Mary, in contrast, had finally caught up with everything assigned over the past week, maintaining the same furious pace she had set for herself when faced with the detentions for fighting. Living with the Dursleys and the Urquharts, she thought, had taught her nothing if not efficiency. This meant that she was rather at loose ends during her morning free period, as Lilian joined Hermione in the library for once. Rather than sit around watching them work and be accused of gloating by her fellow Slytherin, she was wandering the halls again, wondering if it was worth heading out to the grounds only to have to turn around and come back for lunch.

Deciding that it probably wasn't, she headed up to the Owlry instead. It had been a few days since she had visited Eirene. She nearly tripped over Dave Rhees sitting on one of the top steps. The fact that he looked rather like he was trying not to cry was the only thing that stopped her yelling at him for lurking on a spiral stair. Instead she gave him her best unimpressed eyebrow.

"You know, this is about the worst place in the school to come if you want to be alone," she pointed out after fetching her owl from her perch. The brown and white brindled bird preened her hair as she casually traced the long lines of her flight pinions.

"It was working out pretty well until you came along," the boy grumbled.

Mary sighed. "I've been meaning to talk to you. Come walk with me, and I'll show you a better spot."

He didn't look like he really wanted to, but perhaps he had been bothered by others trying to access the owls, or perhaps he felt like he owed her for her intervention the last time they had come across each other, because he hauled himself to his feet anyway. Mary set off without another word, owl on her shoulder and boy trailing behind.

It wasn't far to one of her favorite spots in the castle – a little balcony overlooking the lake halfway up the East-Northeast Tower. She had found it her first year, before they decided that it would be best if the girls were never alone, for their own safety. It was visible to the Divination classroom, so it was hardly ever used for clandestine snogging sessions, but it was open to the air and made for a good place to get away from the crowds for a while, which Mary would be the first to admit was something she often craved. She sat on the railing that surrounded the balcony with her back to the tower wall, wrapping her inside foot firmly around its support as the other dangled in the open air. Eirene took off with a joyful hoot, showing off by dive-bombing the sparrows on a lower roof.

Dave, after giving Mary a look that clearly said he thought she was crazy, sat cross-legged on the floor of the balcony, his back against the other railing so that he could see her as he spoke.

"What did you want to talk about?" Resentment still permeated his tone.

Mary shrugged. It was harder than she had expected, to bring up the topic of patronage with a kid she had hardly spoken to. "How are you liking Slytherin House?"

The boy snorted. "Honestly?"

She nodded.

"It's bloody awful," he admitted, his expression torn between anger and fear, as though she might hex him, or tell the House about his moment of weakness.

She smiled ruefully. "Someone tried to trip me down the main stair my third week. And then there was some kind of hallucination potion and that god-awful Hysteria Hex – I was just about convinced they were going to kill me."

"They like doing this thing that's like getting bitten by a whole nest fireants," Dave said, holding out a swollen hand. "And there's a hex that feels like you're getting pinched all over, and one that makes it so you can't talk, and one so you can't stop talking, and I hate it. I don't belong here. I wish I'd never come."

Mary cast the counter to the Stinging Hex on his hand, and he watched in amazement as the swelling went down. "You do belong here," she added quietly. "At Hogwarts and in Slytherin. The Hat is never wrong," she smirked.

If anything, Dave looked more downcast at that. "The Hat said I should be in Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor, since it's brave to want to excel in this world as a mudblood."

"Don't use that word," Mary snapped.

Dave jumped. "Sorry, geez."

"Hermione does that sometimes, using it for herself like it's no big deal, but you have to understand, it's like calling someone dago or pikey. Maybe worse, because there's a lot of purebloods who act like muggles are just animals, and muggleborns aren't any better."

The boy glared mutinously at her. "Not really makin' the argument for Slytherin, are you, then? Since that's what they all call me."

"Maybe I'm not trying to, ever think of that?" she snapped back. "Slytherin house is full of bigots and entitled little shitheads who've been told all their lives that they're better than everyone else because they've got magic or family history or money or all three. And the important thing is, none of the others are any better. They're just less honest and more politically correct."

Dave snorted. "Told you I don't belong here at all."

"You do, though," she argued. "You've clearly got as much magic as any of your class. And you belong in Slytherin every bit as much as I do. I bet you'd end up here, you know."

"Why would you do that?"

"Are you not the kid who spent all day at Diagon pumping me and my friends for inside information to give you a leg up once you got here instead of running around like a little maniac and marveling at the fact that magic exists?" she asked rhetorically. "Slytherin is not just for entitled little berks, you know – it's for the kids who are going to succeed against all the odds, and get whatever they want by whatever means necessary."

"Yeah? Well, what if what they want is me leaving school?"

"You're missing the point, Rhees. What do you want?"

Dave smiled a little sadly. "To learn magic – to learn everything about magic – and prove to that squib-head Wretchley that I'm a better wizard than he ever will be. And someday to be rich and famous and powerful, obviously."

Mary couldn't help but laugh at that. "Um… do you know what a squib is?" Dave shook his head slightly reluctantly. "It's someone born to a wizarding family who can't do magic. Like the opposite of a muggleborn."

"Oh." Dave turned that bit of information over for a moment. "I guess that's much more insulting than I thought."

"Probably," she nodded. "But not more insulting than mudblood."

"So if they call me a mudblood, I can call them a squib?"

"Well, it's rude, and probably not true, if they've made it into Hogwarts, but as far as insults go, I think it's fair."

"Okay, then. Woah!" he exclaimed as Eirene finally grew bored of hunting the smaller birds and returned to the two humans.

"This is Eirene," Mary introduced her, hopping off of the balcony to bring the bird to the boy. "She's a tawny or brown owl. They're native to Europe and Asia, and probably the most common post-owl in the UK. Want to hold her?" she offered, extending her arm.

Dave nodded hesitantly, and the owl hopped to his shoulder. He froze as she gained her balance, talons gripping him firmly. "She's lighter than I thought she would be," he said. "She's yours?"

Mary nodded. "I got her that day we went to Diagon."

"My mum got a screech she's calling Kim, but he lives with her so she can send me stuff without having to wait for me to send her a note or something."

"Kim?"

"Kimball, after my father. She thought it was funny, making him her errand-boy, so to speak," the boy sniggered. "He left when I was five, see, 'cos of the weirdness. Joke's on him, I guess, since it turns out I'm not a freak after all. Bet mum called him up as soon as I got on the train to rub it in his face."

"She sounds like a good woman, your mum," Mary said diplomatically.

Dave made a face. "I guess so. She's what you'd call a career-woman. Very, like, driven, you know? And she's a shrink, so it's just about impossible to lie to her. But she did stick around when Kim left, instead of chucking me in an orphanage and going with him, so I guess she loves me." Mary didn't let his casual words fool her – there was genuine fondness on the boy's face when he spoke of his mother. "What about you? Your family, I mean?"

Mary rolled her eyes, but pleased that he was opening up a bit, responded honestly. "Well, my parents died a long time ago. I hear they loved me very much, but I grew up with my mum's sister and her husband. They're a bit like your dad, sounds like. Except they couldn't get rid of me, so they just left me on my own and made me do chores and stuff while they spoiled Dudley, that's my cousin, completely rotten. Professor McGonagall's my guardian now, and I've heard a rumor that the Grangers might try to adopt me in the muggle world, but they haven't actually talked to me about it yet. They're nice. It'd be good if it was true," she shrugged. Then, feeling that she had built up enough of a rapport with the kid to bring up the original reason she'd wanted to talk to him, she changed the subject. "I didn't drag you out here to talk about owls and parents, though, you know."

"Yeah? Why did you?" he asked, guarded again at once, though perhaps not as much as before. Eh. She would take it.

"I, um… got detention, for defending the Truce that day in the corridor."

"I didn't ask you to help!" Dave snapped.

"I know, Merlin and Morgan, calm the fuck down!" The boy subsided, and Mary continued: "For my detention, Snape made me copy out and translate a bunch of Latin on something called the Patronage system, and I asked my summer tutor about it, and just got her response back."

"What is it? Patronage? And what does it have to do with me?"

"It sounds like it's kind of, like… maybe a formal system of friendship and alliance, kind of. Between Patrons, who have more power, and Clients, who have less. They trade favors and stuff, and the Patron is meant to protect their Clients, kind of like lords and vassals, in the old King Arthur legends, you know?"

Dave shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

"Yeah, well, Catherine says that Snape was implying that since I stopped those idiots from beating on you – incidentally, while defending the Truce," she added quickly, before he could object to her saving him. "It looks like I was kind of taking you under my wing. She says he was pointing out that we have an opportunity, here. I mean, we don't have to, but if you want, I can, oh, what was it? Oh, yeah, 'extend my hand to you in patronage.' It's not really like an adoption or fostering, but since we're both the only members of our families in Magical Britain, and we're both kids, it would be kind of like making you my kid brother. I would be honor-bound to stand up for you, and help you to 'navigate the strange currents of unknown social waters,' like, in the same way that Flint and Bletchley have to look out for their little sibs and stand up for them. Um… only if you want, though."

Dave gave her a suspicious look, obviously thinking it over. "What's in it for you?" he asked after several long minutes.

"Ah, well… I'm not going to ask you to swear the formal patronage oath, or anything – we couldn't anyway, until you're fifteen at least – but you would owe me big time, indefinitely. Like I would be bound to protect you and help you out, you would be expected to follow through on any favors I asked of you, either for myself or other clients, without keeping score like we normally would between Slytherins. Plus it's good for my reputation, apparently, to do things like this. Patronage is a traditional system, but helping muggleborns is progressive, and integrating muggleborns into traditional Magical British culture is kind of retro – it was traditional about a hundred years ago. It'll please anyone who wants to see me in a good light, and piss off anyone who wants to see me in a bad one and get people talking without doing anything… notorious, for lack of a better word."

"And you want that?" Dave asked, doing his best to raise an eyebrow at her.

Mary shrugged. "They're going to talk anyway. I'm advised that it's better if I give them things to talk about rather than making them make up shite."

"So I'd be like a cross between a charity case and a publicity stunt?" He didn't look very impressed. "Because I'm not really seeing what favors I could do for you, so…"

"No! Not a charity case or anything like that!" she objected firmly. "I don't do charity, for one, and for the other, it's not like I'm planning on advertising it, but these things do have a tendency to get out. Hogwarts runs on pumpkin juice and gossip, if you haven't figured that out, yet. As for favors, I don't know what I'd need to ask you to do in the future, just like you don't know what you'll need to ask me about as you figure out how to fit in with Slytherin. That's kind of the point. Mostly I figure you can just hang around with me and Lilian, and Hermione, when she's not being a crazy person, and we'll be like, normal friends. The only reason the patronage thing matters at all is I'll more than likely have to tell the other Slytherins to fuck off at some point using it as an excuse to make your problems my problem."

Dave considered this. "Hmm… what's in it for me, then?"

Mary grinned. "If you have to ask that, you really might have been sorted into the wrong house," she said in a tone of false concern, startling an actual laugh from the boy.

"Yeah, alright, then," he said, holding out his hand to be shaken, muggle fashion.

Mary took it, and stood, hauling Dave to his feet as well and startling Eirene into flight. "Cool. Call me Elizabeth or Mary or some combination of the two, and come sit with me at lunch," she grinned.

"Dave," he replied, following her back into the tower and down the stairs. "Speaking of pumpkin juice and gossip," he added, "what the hell is in pumpkin juice? I mean, I'm not complaining, but it doesn't taste at all like pumpkins."

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At the Slytherin table, Lilian gave Mary a raised eyebrow as she plonked her newly-adopted firstie on the bench between them. Draco made some crack about collecting strays to Pansy, and Mary glared at him as she introduced Dave to the third-years, after which the younger boy was largely ignored as the discussion turned, inevitably, to Draco's (and now Lilian's) crusade to have Hagrid removed from his teaching post. At the very least, it seemed they planned to murder his flobberworms. Draco had acquired several galleons-worth of ragweed, which was poisonous to the poor creatures, and they were currently arguing about the best way to distribute it without the Gryffindors or the so-called professor noticing.

Saturday, 18 September 1993

The DADA Classroom

Due to the fact that Quidditch practice was now scheduled for Sunday morning, rather than Saturday, Mary was free before lunch and detention to finally visit Professor Remus, whom she had hardly seen outside of class since the train. Their short chat about the Dueling Club and seeing him at the head table in the Great Hall hardly counted.

She knocked hesitantly on the door of the DADA classroom, then entered to see him grading papers at the desk.

"Remus?"

"Hey, Mary," he said, not looking up. "Come on in! I've just got to finish marking… there!" He circled something with a flourish, and threw the essay scroll into a basket.

"Hi! How are you liking the new job?" she asked, levitating one of the student chairs over to sit in front of him.

He checked his watch. "More paperwork than I'd hoped for, I have to say," he said, glaring at the basket of essays. "My office hours are over now, though, so if you'd like, we can head back to my quarters for tea."

Mary shrugged and sent the chair back to its place as she followed the professor out of the room. "Why're you having office hours in the classroom?"

"I haven't managed to get the smell of Gilderoy Lockhart out of my office yet," he said, making a disgusted face. "I think he might have somehow replaced the air-freshening charms with something to spray his perfume around the place. It's revolting."

The Slytherin couldn't help but laugh at the ex-Marauder being so thoroughly – and probably unintentionally – pranked by the ponce. She threw herself into an armchair in the guest room Remus was currently occupying – it was decorated in russet and bronze, and might, she thought, have been otherwise exactly the same as the one she stayed in when she first came to Hogwarts.

An elf delivered tea, sandwiches, and biscuits, and Mary poured. They made small talk about her classes and the Slytherins' first Quidditch practice of the year, which had been brutal, as Flint tried to knock them back into playing shape after a whole summer off. Then Remus started a mock-argument by declaring that he hoped to see a Gryffindor victory in the first match of the season and Mary spent the better part of a quarter-hour trying to convince him to cheer for her rather than his old house. He eventually agreed to cheer for whomever was winning at any given time, which she had to admit was probably the best she was going to get.

"So how do you like teaching?" she finally asked. "Aside from the marking."

Remus grinned. "It's been great. Bit odd being back in the castle. I keep rounding corners and expecting James to pop out of nowhere with his cloak, or, well…"

"Black?"

"That obvious, am I?"

"Well, it's pretty clear by now that you can't think of one without thinking of the other," she teased. "Seriously, though, I saw that article in the paper, asking what happened to you. You haven't been getting, like, howlers and such about him, have you?"

Remus shook his head somewhat sadly. "Nah. Got a few letters from little old ladies extending their condolences for his betrayal, but aside from that, no one seems to care much. It's just hard, you know, seeing his photo in the papers and on the wanted posters and all. On the other hand, he hardly looks like the kid I used to know, so I suppose that's good. Let's not talk about him. What else have you got on besides classes and Quidditch?"

Unlike her friends, Mary did know how to let a subject go. "Well, Professor Flitwick says he'd be happy to set up a dueling club, but from what he said after class, it probably won't start until next month, and it'll only be once every other week."

"Good! I'm glad he agreed. And you'll need that extra time to practice new spells, I'm sure. What else?"

"Um… Hermione's taking all of the classes she can, and Lilian thinks we need to have an intervention for her, because she's driving herself into the ground. She's been trying to get her alone to talk since Wednesday, but things keep coming up, so we haven't caught her yet."

Remus grimaced. "Anything else?"

"Oh, yeah, there's loads of stuff going on," Mary smirked. "Lilian and Malfoy are trying to get Hagrid fired because he's such a rubbish teacher – they've been doing flobberworms for three weeks, now – and Hermione's gotten in a prank war with the Weasley twins."

"Is that why she was all…"

"Like a little Greengrass clone? Yeah." The twins, in retaliation for Hermione's labeling them for the world to see, had cornered her before lunch on Friday and covered her with beauty charms and potions – straightening her hair and dyeing it platinum blonde; shrinking her oversized front teeth; plucking her eyebrows; and expertly applying illusory makeup. They had, possibly inadvertently, hit on one of Hermione's biggest insecurities: as much as she liked to claim she didn't care what she looked like, and that brains were more important than appearance, she still didn't like to draw attention to the fact that she wasn't one of the pretty girls. She had taken their attack particularly badly, and spent most of Friday afternoon crying in the loo at the implied insult to her natural looks and trying to break the Locking Charm they had laid over the lot of it.

"Why did they…?"

"Revenge. She was the one who put those labels on them on Tuesday."

Remus winced. "Okay, what else?"

"Maia's starting a Muggleborn Students' Association."

"Oh, yeah, Charity mentioned that."

"Charity?" Mary teased, causing the man to flush slightly. Mary grinned delightedly. She hadn't expected that barb to hit home – she'd only made the joke because Professor Burbage was the only witch on staff anywhere near Remus' age – not counting Professor Sinistra, who was clearly already with Snape, and would probably eat a sweet man like Remus alive.

"Professor Burbage to you, Fawn!" he said in mock-seriousness.

She made a face at the old Marauder nick-name. "Fine, you're getting on with Professor Burbage, then?"

"We've talked a bit, here and there," he said, with as much dignity as a blushing man her father's age could manage. "So did you go to the Muggleborn Students' meeting?"

"I did," she said, and then, when he raised an eyebrow at her lack of elaboration, added, "I don't know if I want to go again. It was… I'm not really muggleborn, and I didn't have the same kind of family most of them did, growing up."

"So you felt like an outsider?"

"Kind of? It really just drove it home that I don't really belong anywhere" Remus nodded understandingly. "But at least, oh, I don't know. A lot of the purebloods have been complete berks, you know, like Malfoy and Parkinson, but like Catherine and Lilian, and even Blaise, Daphne and Theo have tried to help me fit in a lot. The muggleborns at the club were all… bonding, I guess, over muggle stuff, and I didn't have anything to say." Remus made a noncommittal noise. "I mean, I know what a computer and a telly are, but I've never been allowed to use one except at Hermione's, and I never played any muggle sports or instruments or anything like that. Besides, I don't like crowds. It was just awkward."

"Okay, so we've got news about Lilian, Hermione, Hermione and Lilian – got anything that's just yours?"

Mary was starting to get the impression that Remus knew something, and was trying to get her to admit it. "I had the Dueling Club thing," she pointed out. "And, um… I may have gotten in a fight the first week of school."

"Uh huh. What was that about?"

"Defending the Truce and the rules of Slytherin House," Mary hedged.

"Really? Because I heard it was about a certain muggleborn Slytherin getting bullied by half his classmates."

Mary crossed her arms belligerently and pouted at him. "Well if you already know, why are you asking?"

"Because I want your side of it, of course," the professor replied with an infuriatingly calm smile.

The third-year huffed at him before elaborating. "Three of the firsties and four of the second-years were kicking the shit out of Dave Rhees in a public corridor for being muggleborn and in Slytherin. I stopped them. Then I got assigned ten hours of detention for it with Snape, and made an offer of informal patronage to Dave."

"You made a patronage offer?" he asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. Snape clearly wanted me to – he had me translating this old Latin text on it – and Catherine said it was a good idea. And it's not like there's any legal ties or vows at this point, 'cause we're both kids, but next time I'll have an excuse to tell anyone who's bothering him to fuck off without any other excuse."

The professor grinned. "Your parents would be proud."

Mary squirmed uncomfortably before his praise. "Thanks Remus."

"I'm serious," he continued. "Lily was very big on muggleborn rights… and James would have been impressed with ten hours' detention in the first week."

His grin morphed into a smirk, and Mary had to say, "This from the man who switched Professor McGonagall's dress for her bathrobe during the Sorting Ceremony her first year as Deputy Head?"

"Ah, but we were seventh-years. It's far more impressive for a third-year to have such an achievement. Does an old man proud." He wiped a fake tear from his eye.

"You're forgetting, though, my friends and I have already done you one better – a whole term's detention, rolling over from last year. A few extra hours means nothing at this point."

She knew at once that she had made a mistake. A suspicious look came over Remus' face as he asked, "What exactly did you do to earn that, again, Fawn?"

"Can't say. Ask Snape," she reminded him, inspecting a biscuit intensely. There were little sugar snowflakes on it.

"I did. He wouldn't say."

"Then I guess I shouldn't, either," Mary said, then quickly changed the subject. "Are you sure that whatever is between you two is just 'an old schoolboy rivalry?' Because whenever I see you together at meals, he looks at you like he's going to poison you in your sleep." Remus chuckled darkly, so she felt the need to emphasize. "I'm not joking. He killed the DADA professor my first year, and he didn't look like he hated him nearly as much as he hates you, even when he did it."

"Wait – you saw him kill someone?" Remus asked, clearly taken aback.

"I told you, remember? Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort's shade?"

"You definitely didn't say you were there when he died, though. I would have remembered that!" the man objected protectively.

Mary realized belatedly that she must have left that out of her letters, so as not to worry Remus even more than the bare bones of the story were sure to do. She decided in a split-second to play it cool. "Didn't I? Well, I was. It wasn't a big deal. I think I told him I wished he had done it sooner – Quirrellmort was trying to kill me all year, you know."

"I most certainly did not know," Remus growled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mary shrugged, shrinking into her chair.

"Mary. Elizabeth. Potter. What were you thinking, hiding this from me?" Mary could sense his fury as a palpable thing, all the way on the other side of the little table. He stared at her intently and let the silence grow heavy between them.

"It wasn't any of your business!" she said finally. "By the time I found out that he really was trying to kill me, everything was sorted. Snape killed him that same day, and banished Voldemort to… well, wherever he came from. And then I was in hospital, and then I talked to Dumbledore and Snape and Maia and Lils, and it was ages before I had a chance to write you a letter. There was no reason for you to worry about it."

"I do worry, though," Remus grumbled, his ire apparently averted. "You're the only child any of my friends ever had, Mary – the closest thing I'll ever have to a niece. I haven't been there for you, and I should have been, and regardless of whether you want me to or not, I do worry when I hear things like 'The Dark Wanker was possessing my DADA professor all year,' or 'I got kidnapped to the Chamber of Secrets, helped kill a basilisk, and wandered around, lost under the school for three days!'"

"Well… don't!" was all she could think to say in return. "It's not like that was my fault! I don't go out of my bloody way to find trouble! This is why I didn't tell you! It would only make you worry more!" Remus made an inarticulate noise of frustration as Mary checked the time. "Look, I have to go. I'm going to be late for detention." She fled, entirely unable to deal with the idea of adults worrying about her and yet another teacher declaring avuncular affection for her.

Her disbelief and confusion did not, however, stop her from catching Snape's eye when he gave the Conspirators their (horrifying) detention assignment and, half-hoping that he was using legilimency on her at that moment, thinking venomously that Remus would be a better uncle. He would never make me dissect puppies for potions ingredients!

Monday, 20 September 1993

Hogwarts

The first long, Sunday Quidditch practice was no less exhausting than the one on Thursday had been, and it was followed by a meeting with the Professor about her quarterly Gringott's statement, a meeting with Professor Flitwick about what she hoped to get out of a Dueling Club, and several hours of homework.

According to the Professor, everything looked good with Mary's properties and investments; Professor Flitwick had excitedly suggested the addition of traditional swordplay and magical knife-fighting to the standard International Dueling Commission forms (it seemed he had heard from a friend on the Continent that Hogwarts' students might want to brush up on their fighting skills before the next year, for some as-yet-undisclosed reason); and she had managed to get through all of her homework for Monday and Tuesday.

Monday morning still came far too soon.

As was quickly becoming the norm, Mary and Lilian spent the majority of breakfast pouring over the editorial page of the prophet – now in addition to the complaints of the previous week, there was a letter exhorting readers to sign a petition that was going around.

"Have any of you lot heard anything about a petition to get rid of Binns?" Lilian asked the table at large.

Neither Mary nor Dave had, and though Pansy, Vinnie and Greg looked like they thought it was a good idea, they shook their heads as well. Draco offered to sign it, and suggested to Lilian that they should start a petition against Hagrid, too, but it was Millie, of all people, who spoke up and said that her mother had mentioned it in her weekly letter. Apparently Mrs. Bulstrode had seen it posted in Flourish and Blotts after the letter to the editor the previous week complaining about how nothing ever actually got changed, despite periodic complaints against the school. After suffering through five years of the ghost professor's lessons herself, she had signed it, and was in the process of owling all of her friends to do the same.

"It's the most excited I've ever heard her about anything other than dress robes," the large girl concluded drily.

"Well, I think it's an excellent idea," Daphne chimed in. "As things are now, there's no point even going to History. Can you imagine what it would be like to actually have a decent professor? We might actually learn something about why things happened, rather than just an endless list of names and dates."

"You read all that stuff anyway, though, Greengrass," Pansy pointed out.

"Yes, I do, because I'm proud of my heritage and our history, and I've been raised to respect it. I think everyone ought to learn about it, not just those of us who are already interested. I'm going to owl my father about it," she said, with a note of finality in her tone.

"Hmm…" Tracey hummed, throwing a nasty look at Dave. "You do have a point, Greengrass – how else should muggleborns know exactly how inferior they are, if we don't educate them properly?"

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Blaise, who had just walked up to snag an apple before class, beat her to it: "Belt up, Trace," he said with a yawn. "It's far too early to debate the relative merits of muggle and magical culture. 'Sides, you're just sore you're one generation from muddy yourself."

Blaise's position on blood politics was, so far as Mary could tell, completely neutral, if not outright apathetic. He had to be a pureblood: the Greengrasses almost certainly wouldn't be talking to his mother about his marriage to Daphne if he wasn't, and he clearly knew the behavior expected of him in that world. But no one knew who his father was, and his mother, a notorious Black Widow, seemed to choose her husbands by wealth, rather than blood status: it was no secret that she had married at least two muggles. This was apparently acceptable to the Blood Purists in the Dark faction because she had killed them, but she had also raised Blaise to be more than passingly familiar with muggle life and culture. He could give Lilian a run for her money quoting muggle films and plays, for example, and he once mentioned visiting a step-father's family in New York by airplane. (It was, he said, far more comfortable than International Portkey or Portal-Jumping, though it took far longer.) He occasionally used the same kind of language the Pureblood Supremacists did, talking about muggles as though they were animals, but he also occasionally used that kind of language in reference to purebloods as well. After two years and a bit sharing classes and a common room with him, Mary still wasn't sure what he really thought about anything.

In any case, his casual dismissal of Tracey's barb rather diffused the situation before it could escalate any further. He wandered away again before Tracey could form a response, so she was left muttering, "Son of a muggle-lover," as everyone made their way to class.

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Unfortunately, Blaise's intercession on behalf of muggleborns (or on behalf of the common decency of waiting until at least lunch to make veiled comments about properly educating them) did nothing to deter Tracey from bringing the subject up again later in the day.

In the hour between the end of classes and the beginning of dinner, she and Melisandre Flint, who had apparently decided to side with her younger brother rather than her elder over the issue of Dave's existence, had blocked the younger boy into one of the little nooks in the common room, and were staging a conversation about how worthless muggleborns were, to the amusement of a few fourth and fifth-years. Dave was staring at his Charms book with a singlemindedness that suggested he found it impossible to block out their words, his knuckles growing white as he clutched its cover instead of reaching for his wand, his lips growing ever-thinner as he worked to keep his tongue. Mary, distracted from the rest of the room by a question Lilian had asked her about their Astronomy homework, failed to notice the situation until he stood up abruptly and, when they failed to respond to his demands that they move and let him out of the nook, brushed past them roughly.

Melisandre smacked Dave across the face for daring to touch 'an older woman from an esteemed house' so rudely, and then a fifth-year, whom Mary had never spoken to, decided to involve himself. The room went quiet as he drawled, "Are you a witch, Miss Flint, or not? Come, let me show you how we reprimand such lowborn rascals in Frankia."

The older wizard – Le Pard? Le Parc? Something like that, Mary thought – fired off a complicated, sickly-looking purplish curse before Mary could reach them. Dave fell to the floor, screaming and trying to tear his robes off, writhing in pain. Mary, unfamiliar with the spell, stood over him and cast a shield charm over the both of them, rather than attempt to counter it. For all she knew, it could be one of the ones that got worse when a finite was applied.

"Back the fuck off, arsehole," she growled at (possibly) Le Parc.

"You shame your house," he responded scornfully, "speaking so unladylike on behalf of this worthless muggle."

"Mr. Rhees is neither worthless nor a muggle," she snapped. "He is a wizard and a client of House Potter, and if you ever curse him again, I will make sure you live to regret it!"

"What could a tiny, insignificant blood traitor girl-child from a dying house possibly do to back up that threat, I wonder. Could it be the stories of her triumph over the Dark Lord have gone to her head?" he addressed the surrounding students rhetorically, then scoffed: "I would crush you beneath my heel like an insect!"

:Rotting dead frog! Offspring of a mouse, not even worth eating!: Mary swore in Parsel, glaring at the older boy before her before switching back to English. "Don't underestimate me, shithead! The Heir of Slytherin is more than capable of destroying an ignorant, insignificant boil like you."

(Possibly) Le Pard did seem disconcerted by her hissing at him, but showed no signs of backing down. In fact, he was raising his wand again, and Mary was tensing, considering frantically whether it would be better to hope whatever he threw at her could be blocked by her weakening protego or to drop it and hit him in the face with a stinging jinx. This was why she needed a dueling club. Lilian stepped up beside her, her own wand poised to cast, but before any of the three of them could do anything, Calvin Strega, the sixth-year prefect, intervened.

"Le Parc! Detention after dinner," he said calmly, raising an eyebrow at the tableau.

"But, sir! M. Le Parc was defending my honor from this… ruffian," Melisandre bleated, with a dismissive gesture toward Dave.

"Do you want to join him, Miss Flint? Because it looks to me like he was threatening two third-years who have attempted to defend their… friend," his mouth twisted around the word, as though he wasn't entirely sure it was accurate, "from an unprovoked attack by a wizard four years his senior."

"The little blood traitor threatened me first!" Le Parc hissed.

Mary sneered at him. "I've got a room full of witnesses who saw you curse my client before I came anywhere near you, Le Parc."

"Get lost, frog-face," Lilian added, as Strega shooed the crowd away, reminding them that they would be late for dinner.

Apparently recognizing that he would get nowhere with the prefect (who, like all the prefects, had been ordered to look out for the sole muggleborn Slytherin), Le Parc stormed off, throwing unnervingly hateful glances back at the third-years. Mary shivered, certain that they hadn't seen the last of him.

"You two go on," Strega instructed the girls, after most of the house had dispersed, then added with a look at the still-moaning boy, "I'll take Mr. Rhees to the hospital wing."

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The next morning, contrary to Mary's premonition of doom, Le Parc was nowhere to be seen. First-year Alexander Piltdown and second-year Nora Blum joined Mary, Lilian, and the recently-released Dave at breakfast, but the older boy, along with his supporters from the night before, seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her.