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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does

Chapter 4 – Remembrance

Date: Monday, 31st July 1995

Location: Godric's Hollow

A dry but warm wind blew through the area, sharply contrasting with the atmosphere of the area. It was still in the early hours of the day but many, many people had gathered here. Rich, poor, local, foreign, old, young, it was truly a gathering of the masses. Many were trying to get in a position closer to the casket, to see the person they had all come to see. In midst of the sea of black cloth, Tracey Davis almost snorted. If Harry were alive to see this, he would have died out of embarrassment all over again. A certain amount of levity could usually help the situation but even the quick-witted brunette was finding it hard to keep herself from dissolving into tears.

If only she had knocked Harry away from the dementor during that confrontation… if only they hadn't shown up… if only….

Tracey had been plagued with the knowledge of all the possibilities that could have happened, all the potential routes that they could have gone. In all of them, Harry would have come out alive, a little worse for wear but otherwise the same lovable idiot that even Daphne was beginning to dislike little to the point of neutrality.

Said blonde would have huffed in her arrogant manner, chiding Harry on his mistakes while veiling her feelings of worry through her harsher words. Instead, Tracey's best friend was all but despondent as she stared straight at the ground, not caring what or whom was in front of her.

Daphne was hunched over, her shoulder-length blonde hair covered the entirety of her face. Her expression was completely veiled by her golden tresses, even Tracey could not discern the true extent of Daphne's emotions. To any casual observer, the blonde merely seemed to be deep in thought, allowing her hair to obscure her face simply to keep others from prying into what she was thinking.

Tracey could hardly blame Daphne, though, since them both had watched their friend perish in front of them.

That's right. Harry Potter. Friend to Tracey Davis.

It would have been utterly inconceivable little over a year ago, before that final ride on the Hogwarts Express of their third year. Then that happened, one thing lead to another… and you know all the rest. Part of her was still surprised that he stuck for so long (most people would have bene driven away by Daphne's attitude), or that even Ron stayed around them as well.

Tracey hadn't seen the redhead yet but there was no doubt that he would show up. Perhaps he would even give a speech to honor his lost friend? Tracey would have giggled as she tried to imagine Ron tripping over a well-crafted but poorly executed speech but the forlorn gloom drained any feelings of mirth away.

Tracey had spotted a few of their classmates and even some upperclassmen. Neville Longbottom and his grandmother had been some of the first to have arrived, well before Tracey or Daphne had been side-along apparated here by their parents. The formerly pudgy boy nodded at them sombrely in recognition. Tracey reciprocated stiffly before nudging Daphne to do the same.

The sun rose soon enough, casting a hazy glow on the depressively chilling graveyard. Tracey spotted other familiar faces, including Terence Boot and his family, most of the Anne-Perks entourage and a few others. Tracey even spotted a few of her own relatives who had come by, some from as far as the United States. An aunt spotted her, greeting her frostily, which Tracey returned in kind.

It had not taken much longer for the area to get much more crowded, forming a wave of black cloth upon the dreary cemetery. Tracey was certain that a few more of their classmates had arrived as well but were not able to see each other because of the number of people present. Were it not for Undetectable Extension Charms, this congregation would have been impossible. Tracey estimated that there was more 'extended' space here than the entire village itself had, in her latest attempt to divert her attention away.

Unfortunately, like every other attempt, she failed.

Amidst the sea of black cloth, Tracey felt like just another random person, attending the funeral of someone she had some idea of. In another life, this may have been the case but in this one, Tracey was much, much more.

More tears welled up in her eyes as she found herself vividly recalling that horrible night. The misty chill in the air. The ferocity of the dementors. The vacant but harrowing street where the battle took place… It was a vivid memory that Tracey so dearly wanted to forget. But she wouldn't do something so disrespectful to a person she admired so. Regardless of those thoughts, she trembled in the memory of the foul stench that the dementors had, her tears beginning to fall.

"Greengrass!"

The somewhat familiar voice cut into Tracey's thoughts like a hot knife through butter. She snapped back into consciousness and looked around for the source of the voice. Somewhere between the curtains of black, the bushy head of Hermione Granger made its way to Tracey and Daphne. Tracey was about to greet the incoming bookworm but was stopped when Hermione stopped a few inches away from them.

"You were there, weren't you?" Hermione asked sharply.

Tracey looked surprised for a moment but noticed Hermione's expression. It was one of silent, bubbling fury, like a bomb ready to be set off. Tracey held back a gulp and looked over to Daphne. As expected, the blonde had not even made a move to acknowledge her rival's presence, something that obviously irritated Hermione.

"Don't bother denying it, I analysed ever bit of information I could get my hands on about the incident," she babbled, clearly distressed.

While her words were forceful, Hermione's eyes shone in a mixture of anger, and deep, deep sorrow. Tracey couldn't even bring herself to say anything and just stared at the floor, much like what Daphne had been doing for the past while. She couldn't face the irate Gryffindor, not now.

"Two smaller figures were spotted on the scene, whisked away by St. Mungo's staff? I know that you two live closest to Harry, no-one else is around for miles…" Hermione continued to blabber.

Amidst her wallowing, Tracey began to feel a prick of irritation at Hermione's words. While she certainly did not buy into the whole 'blood supremacy' ideology, the Slytherin brunette found herself more and more irked at the bookworm's invasion of their privacy. Tracey looked to Daphne, wondering if the blonde would now act. Daphne, however stayed silent.

"Hermione, now is not the time…" Tracey pleaded, barely choking out the words.

She was becoming increasingly worried at Daphne's lack of retort or even acknowledgement of Hermione's words. At school, she would never shut up about the "infractions that muggle-born bint has wrought", a talk Tracey had come all too familiar with. In class… well, that was a whole war waged between two titanic forces. Given Daphne's earlier behaviour… well…

By now, Hermione's irritation resurfaced and she moved even closer to Daphne.

"Greengrass? Can you even hear me?" Hermione's voice had dropped in volume somewhat. It appeared that even she had noticed that something was amiss when the usually quick-tongued blonde refused to answer.

"…"

Hermione moved back as Daphne abruptly shifted slightly. Tracey held her breath as Daphne hair began to part. It was only then did the brunette notice her best friend's gentle shaking slowly increasing. Tracey threw a sharp glance at Hermione, hoping that the Gryffindor would take the hint and leave before something worse happened. Unfortunately, Hermione stood her ground, looking fiercely at slowly reappearing blonde's face.

"I was…"

Daphne's voice was minute, almost inaudible to Tracey. Hermione seemed to have also heard the statement as her glare intensified.

"And?" Hermione demanded.

Tracey looked sharply towards Hermione, whose gaze was growing more and more strong. In her eyes, a deep sadness permeated through her misty brown pupils, barely veiled by the anger she was displaying. Tracey's eyes widened in understanding. She opened her mouth, about to try and diffuse the situation but Daphne spoke.

"I failed…"

Tracey watched as Hermione's razor sharp gaze turned even thinner as she glared at Daphne. A few strands of blonde hair veiled her face from Hermione's view, though Tracey could quite clearly see a sight she had never thought she would ever witness.

Daphne had been crying.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, given the almost imperceptible shuddering, the minute amount of sound coming from her friend since they had gotten here and even the blank despondence that Daphne had been projecting. It wasn't, as Tracey thought, Daphne's way of masking her icy fury but rather her way of veiling the amount of sadness that she was trying to keep bottled up. To say that Tracey was surprised was an understatement. For Daphne to be depressed to this extent?

Unfortunately, it appeared that Hermione had different thoughts on the matter.

"You failed, huh?" she said quietly. Alarm bells began to ring in Tracey's head as Hermione moved dangerously close to Daphne. The blonde's head was still tilted downwards, unable to see the bushy-haired girl's advance. Tracey's eyes widened and began to move, though knowing that she wouldn't get there in time.

SMACK

Tracey watched in horror as the muggle-born witch smacked the pureblooded heiress across the face. Daphne's face came into full view as her hair followed the direction her head had went. In those brief moments, the tears in her eyes were in full display. A few tears had rolled down her cheeks, absorbed by her hair when Daphne was hunched over. It was a remarkably clever tactic to maintain her façade of iciness, though the mask was completely shattered right now.

Daphne didn't make a sound as she took the blow. It hadn't been a particularly strong hit, nothing that wouldn't be fixed with a simple healing spell or potion. However, the blonde's grieved expression was truly harrowing. The few people who had been watching the commotion had formed a small crowd around them. Angry shouts from the onlookers had begun to build, furious that an insolent muggle-born had the audacity to strike a person with so much more social standing.

The girl in question looked immensely shocked, both by her own actions and Daphne's reaction and expression. The tears in Daphne's eyes were enough to overwhelm her as the sadness in Hermione's eyes moved to the foreground. Her eyes began to water and soon, Hermione was crying loudly, like a woman who had lost her brother.

Tracey watched the pair of rivals crying over their lost friend. Sadness enveloped her once more as she began to cry. The roar of the angry mob began to fade from her senses as she wiped some of the tears from her eyes. If she didn't do something, who knows what more would happen. There had been enough pain and suffering already.

"That's enough."

The deathly cold voice of Lord Cyril Greengrass thundered through the crowd. The mob was immediately silenced, wisely parting for the man as he walked to where his daughter had been sitting. His expression was as cold as ice, his eyes piercing deep. Tracey's tears had begun to lessen and a feeling of dread began to take over.

The Greengrass lord looked over his daughter for a few moments before frowning. Daphne's tears had lessened considerably, though her red eyes were enough of an indication of her emotions. The man then turned his face towards the bawling Hermione, who was on her knees in front of Daphne. A bigger frown marred his face.

"Daphne." The cool addressing seeming snapped the blonde back to her senses. She reapplied her façade as she looked to her father.

"I am unharmed, father. There is no need to punish Ms. Granger here," she said. Tracey could tell between the inflections of her tone that Daphne was still thoroughly shaken. Her friend's ability to mask her emotions was remarkable, though Tracey was glad she did not have to do so herself.

The Greengrass lord frowned, looking towards Hermione. He took a few minutes of deliberation before he spoke again.

"Very well then, I shall instead arrange for her to be escorted back to her assigned seat. Until later, Daphne."

The man drew his wand. A moment later, a house-elf bearing the Greengrass symbol appeared. It whispered a few words to Hermione, who seemed to calm down significantly. After a few moments, the house elf began walking away from them, with Hermione in tow. Within moments, the pair had been swallowed up by the crowd.

It wasn't much long later until the crowded area had become fully packed, so much so that the extension charms were at their theoretically stable limit. Tracey had spotted a few more familiar faces, though none that she recognized beyond just seeing them around school. Ron still hadn't shown up yet, while odd, was not something Tracey was particularly worried about.

On the other hand, there was yet another small outburst of activity when Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour of all people showed up to the funeral with their families and a few important looking people in tow. The appearance of the two foreign Triwizard champions caused a small stirrup which was thankfully quelled equally quickly when Viktor pulled out what appeared to be a permit of some sort and showed it to a Ministry worker.

Viktor nodded in Tracey's direction when he passed her, as stoic as ever. Fleur, on the other hand, looked like the vehemently did not want to be here, yet stayed for some personal reason. Tracey wasn't too bothered with that though so didn't try to investigate further.

Daphne hadn't left her seat since the incident with Hermione, though she now persisted with her usually icy façade which kept any and all away from speaking to her. It was markedly bizarre from Tracey's standpoint to watch the effects of Daphne's glare, so intense that small children would outright refuse to walk in her line of sight. However, as strong as it was, Daphne's icy expression could not hide the emotions that she was feeling.

Suddenly, a loud crack sounded, causing a large number of people to turn around. Albus Dumbledore had just arrived on scene, bringing forth a trio of people who seemed strangely familiar to Tracey. With a gasp of surprise, she fearfully realized who these people were – the Dursley Family.

"F*****!" came a shout a few meters behind Tracey. She sat up straighter. For a moment, she thought that the person had somehow recognized the muggles that had appeared alongside the wizened headmaster, a fact that, while surprising, did not violate any laws that she could think of. However, that thought soon faded as more people turned and looked.

Further expletives and similar comments were made as Albus quietly made his way to the area that had been reserved for those closest to the deceased, of which Tracey and Daphne had found themselves whisked to by the officials who had guided them there.

With a flash of insight, Tracey realized that the people were not cursing at the muggles but rather at Dumbledore himself, as though he was the one to blame for this situation. Tracey sat herself deeper into her seat, before shaking her head, trying to prevent herself from delving deeper into that hole.

To distract herself, Tracey turned her attention back to the Dursleys, who seemed to be shuffling extremely awkwardly behind Dumbledore. The trio looked somewhat out of place considering their rather crisp muggle attire in contrast to the dress robes that the majority of the wizards and witches in attendance had.

Harry's aunt turned the corner and continued to walk until she was a few steps away from Tracey and Daphne. With some surprise, the woman faltered in her step, falling into the dirt unceremoniously. Her husband gave a sidelong glance to the Slytherin pair and quickly helped his wife up. Despite her fall, Harry's aunt seemed no worse for wear as she got up. She dusted herself off as she looked in the direction of Tracey and Daphne, and that's when Tracey noticed the small number of tears in her eyes. In a flash, the woman had looked away, so fast that Tracey almost wondered if it had been a trick of the light.

Harry's cousin hobbled along after his parents, careful to not look directly at Tracey or Daphne. However, the astute brunette could see the expression on his portly face. It was a strange mix of sorrow and confusion, as though he had been awoken from some sort of compulsion so something… Tracey filed that information in as she watched the family sit themselves at a seat quite far away from Tracey and Daphne. Tracey managed to catch a quick glance that the stout boy threw behind him before she refocused onto what was in front of her.

A few rows behind Tracey, Neville fidgeted uncomfortably. He was one of the people who had the honor of being one of those closest to Harry, despite them barely knowing one another beyond what all the rising-fifth year Gryffindor boys knew about each other.

It had left Neville extremely shocked and sad when his grandmother had burst into his room with the terrible news of Harry's demise. While they were not the closest of friends, Harry had always been nice to him, beyond simply helping him out if (when) Neville needed it and so the formerly plump boy had considered the messy-haired boy a good friend all this time. For him to be gone, especially after everything left a hole in Neville's heart.

Coming to the funeral made it all real, as though it had just been a mortifying nightmare beforehand. Gran had been insistent that Neville wore his best clothes (masterfully engorged by the lady herself) to the funeral, both as a sign of respect as well as sincerity. And so Neville sat, wondering what he should be doing in that instance.

Neville had always considered himself the lone one out of the five boys, as Dean and Seamus had always been close, while Harry and Ron's partnership was famous even beyond the school itself. It left Neville not quite alone but without a person whom he could easily identify as his 'best friend'. While usually not a problem, this had left him with a rather difficult time with the task that Professor Dumbledore had given him.

Neville had been gobsmacked that the revered Albus Dumbledore had written to him of all people, a flash of glory that had been quickly extinguished when his grandmother brought him the chilling news. Thus, the professor's letter had taken a backseat in his mind until now, where he had found himself sitting on his seat for a little over two hours by now and was thus suitably bored.

The boy looked to his left at the seat temporarily vacated belonging to a certain bushy haired Gryffindor. Neville fidgeted as he recalled the rather conspicuous skirmish that had occurred earlier on. It was somewhat embarrassing that he of all people had been the unintentional instigator for Hermione's outburst when he carelessly mumbled the classified information that his grandmother had mentioned to him on the terrible day when the news had arrived.

Lord Robert's sudden disappearance from the Wizengamot conference had been odd enough for Neville's old Gran to look deeper into the matter. While she hadn't found much, she did learn that the 'family emergency' that Lord Robert had left for involved his granddaughter. Apparently, this was enough information for Hermione to put two and two together, hence the rather Gryffindorish rampage that she had underwent.

When the girl had returned somewhat calmer than she had left with a Greengrass house-elf in tow, Neville looked somewhat surprised but relieved. Many of the older Houses had strong magicks that they kept secret from the greater magical community, as was their right. While unheard of in the more extremist families, some would in fact teach their more senior house-elves some magic. At least, this was the rationalization that Neville made as the previously outraged Hermione walked back rather calmly to him.

"Hey, Neville."

The blond boy nodded in response to Hermione, who had soundlessly plopped herself on the seat next to him. From her red eyes, it was quite clear that she had just been crying in the 'portable' bathroom that was nearby. Neville could hardly blame her but it did make his 'task' a little more difficult than it should be. Unfortunately, Neville knew that this would be the only time before the beginning of term that he would be able to talk face-to-face with Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione," he replied softly. Hermione let out a loud sniffle as Neville continued. "Erm… how long do you reckon we'll have before the … er … event begins?"

Hermione looked at him sharply and Neville almost gulped in response. Right, that was probably not the most tactful way to start the conversation but it wasn't like he could really help it!

"I don't know," she quietly replied after a few moments, he eyes cast towards the front of the area. Neville nodded and cast a look in the same direction. Amidst the sea of black cloaks, Albus Dumbledore was quite clearly visible, talking to a person that Neville vaguely recognized as the current stand-in head of House Archibald, a twenty-or-so year old weedy man who seemed rather flustered at being directly talked to by one of the magical legends of modern day. For a moment, Neville could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore looked in his direction and gave him one of his signature 'eye-twinkles' that the old Grand Sorcerer was so famous for.

Neville started and turned back to Hermione. Professor Dumbledore was counting on him, to preserve Harry's legacy… to do what the messy haired boy was meant to do… With a breath to steel his nerves, Neville began on what he had been instructed to do.

"Say, Hermione, do you know who Pius Thicknesse is?" Predictably, the bookworm nodded gently.

"He's … the head of the Investigation Department at the Ministry isn't he?" she responded. Neville nodded.

"Yeah, apparently, he is supposed to be our next Defence teacher next year," he said casually. Neville was still rather unsure why Professor Dumbledore had revealed this information to him so casually but decided that this would be a good starting point for what he was about to ask of Hermione. What surprised him further was how quickly Hermione's expression went from despondence to her usual attitude.

"Are you sure?" she asked with surprising force. Neville simply nodded, not knowing why Hermione was suddenly so worked up about it.

"Thicknesse is Ministry employee, quite a high ranking one at that…" Hermione muttered. Neville could only watch somewhat dumbfounded as the bushy haired girl began muttering rather rapidly in a tone so low that he was having trouble understanding what she was saying.

"but that… no … they can't … Professor Dumbledore should have…" Hermione continued to think out loud for a few more moments.

"Um… Hermione?" Neville asked with a hint of the timidness that he yet to shed. Hermione snapped back into reality and gave him a guilty look.

"Sorry Neville, I was just thinking. The thing is, if an official like Mr. Thicknesse was appointed as our DADA professor, it would mean that the Ministry is attempting to intervene in our education. Last time I checked, the Ministry has absolutely no authority on Hogwarts, even though it fully funds the school and all its needs…" Hermione trailed off, looking somewhat faraway as he mentioned this. She shook her head and turned back to Neville.

"The point is, there must be a reason why the Ministry is trying to interfere with our education. They don't have any right to, since Hogwarts is considered an entity completely separate from the Ministry." Hermione's eyes had a sort of blazing fire in it, reminiscent of her attitude when she was solving a particularly challenging question in Arithmancy, or learning a complex charm. She turned back to Neville.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked, he voice almost completely devoid of her previous sadness. Neville blinked a few times.

"Well, I was just thinking that we could set up some sort of group to study, since our O.W.L.s are coming up soon," he said rather casually. That was all Professor Dumbledore had suggested him to do. Neville had decided that asking the smartest person he knew (that would talk to him) was probably the best idea. Though, he was beginning to reconsider that when he saw the sparkling look that Hermione gave him.

"That's… you're a genius Neville!" Hermione almost-shouted, causing a few of the people around them to look at them strangely. Neville turned bright red as the bushy haired girl grabbed his hand and shook it. It was a somewhat surprising turn of events.

"So –" Neville began before he was cut off by Hermione.

"I'll work out something, don't worry," Hermione sad rapidly. It was obvious that she was going off to her own 'world' as Neville and the rest of the boys had usually called this state of mind that Hermione would enter when she had found an interesting problem to solve. It was an unwritten consensus between the quintet to not interrupt the girl in when she was like this, lest incur her wrath.

"Well … um … I'll just …" Neville mumbled to himself. A few moments later, A loud whoosh could be heard as a large crowd appeared in the apparation field. Ron and his family walked out, looking far grimmer than ever. Neville had never seen the redheaded boy look so sullen than as he walked briskly to the front rows to his assigned seat.

A few hours later…

Applause rang as far as the eye could see as Ron Weasley walked off. Many cried as he spoke in great length of the four-year long friendship that he had with Harry, with a level of emotion that even those closest to him were surprised about. Even Daphne felt a large amount of respect for the Weasley boy as she heard herself being summoned to speak.

She got up, staggering slightly from the sheer emotions she had been feeling. She couldn't find it in herself to care about the lack of grace that she was exuding and instead just walked up slowly, almost mirroring Ron as his sullen demeanour stomped past her. In the corner of her eye, she saw him signal towards the forest that bordered the edge of the magical zone. Despite herself, Daphne turned slightly and looked, her tear-stained eyes finding nothing.

Unperturbed, Daphne turned back and looked forward. The crowd beside her seemed to buzz in excitement, interest or something else. Daphne couldn't hear then though, as her eyes wandered forward to what she had been doing her best to ignore for the past few hours. Her heart dropped once again.

The great golden casket lay, thankfully covered by a garish-looking cover, all for the world to see. A few drops of liquid flowed from Daphne's eyes as she hastily reapplied the glamor that her father had provided her with. Each step felt heavier than the last as she made her way to the front. She had to at least make it to speak. With a few more steps, she stopped and stared, doing her best to steel her nerves.

Daphne looked out at the massive congregation as she did her best to keep herself from sinking into the ground. The crowd watched back, like a giant cloud of darkness judging her every move. She tried to focus on the faces she recognized, her father's cool gaze which was mirrored by her mother's. Ron's sullen stare projected blankly in front of him, unseeing and unperturbed. He was probably taking it harder than she. Daphne soon realized that she had been standing still for a few moments now. With a choked breath, she began to speak.

"Harry and I –" she began. The crowd before her was silent yet primed, eager to hear her speak though not all for the most righteous reasons. Daphne was well aware of all that as she continued with her speech. She was under no illusion that most people here believed that her relationship with Harry was simply a farce, a fact that seemed both true and false to the blonde who had now begun recounting the past year's events in small detail.

"He was not the brightest of people. Talented, but not prodigal in most ways," Daphne said truthfully. Some people in the crowd seemed rather slighted by what she had said, which caused her to almost frown in displeasure. Just because a person had performed incredible feats in their past didn't automatically mean that they were prodigies. After all, magic is based on will and intent.

"– but definitely one of the bravest people I have ever seen." Daphne couldn't help but allow the corners of her mouth upturned as another wave of tears began to well up in her eyes. A memory of herself screaming horrified as the fiery shower descended upon a battered Harry all those months ago played, then another memory of a rather drawn-out set of events where Harry had fought in the third task's maze … and then …

The emotional torrent that Daphne was barely keeping at bay broke free, sending chilling shocks throughout her body. Daphne didn't even register the fact that she was sobbing on the floor, only just remembering that night. A few people rushed towards her, intent on trying to calm her down but she shook them off. As undignified as she had been acting, as uncouth as she felt laying on the floor even for an instance, she would finish this. If nothing else, for him.

Daphne glanced, her eyes soaked with more tears towards the casket before she stood up again, ready to speak. The crowd was abuzz once more. Daphne couldn't tell what the people were saying, though she could probably make a guess.

"My apologies," she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. Her emotions were a constant stream the poured through her. It was incredibly frustrating, to feel everything at once. The crowd's mistrust. The pressures of upholding her upbringing. Harry. In that moment Daphne reached an epiphany as she wiped away her tears and continued to speak.

"While I can't say that it had been the safest or the most peaceful time, the past year where I have been with Harry has certainly been the most interesting of times that I have ever had." Daphne looked around, lingering momentarily at Dumbledore's face, where his eyes had narrowed a fraction.

"I'm going to be honest, Harry and I didn't get along that well all the time. He doesn't listen when I'm trying to help him. He frustrates me often, either by not understanding something that seems so simple or simply goofing off when he could be studying harder. For Merlin's sake, he was in a deadly competition!"

The crowd was now silent, not expecting to hear this. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed another fraction, which Daphne barely caught. He had advised her to speak as positively about Harry as possible just before the proceedings. She clearly didn't do what he expected. Daphne took a breath and looked towards the entire crowd before her. With a small smile, she continued.

"Despite all that, waking up every morning to the thought of him, what we would be doing that day, or just wondering how he would have messed up what I had tried to get him to learn or whatever… It was some of the best times of my life."

Daphne felt as though a large weight had been lifted off her chest as she said this. She looked around to Tracey, who gave her a thumb's up in tandem with that irritating look that the brunette would have when she knew she was right (and Daphne was wrong). It was strangely liberating to have expressed that feeling, even with the tears that accompanied her words. Everything she said was true, even if she was embarrassed to admit it. It was strange, that Harry Potter had become so integral to her life in those few months. Daphne however didn't have it in her to care as she made her way back to her seat next to Tracey.

"Good job Daph!" Tracey said brightly, clapping her best friend lightly on the back. Daphne shot the brunette a glare.

"I need my tea," she mumbled. Daphne felt her face redden considerably as the full weight of what she had essentially just broadcasted to the world hit her. Tracey laughed monotonously.

"Aw, cheer up. See, I told you to just say what you really felt, not whatever 'pure-blood' crap that your father or Dumbledore would have wanted you to say. Catharsis, am I right?"

Daphne looked away, unwilling to fully concede defeat. The crowd around them suddenly increased its rowdiness, piquing Daphne's interest as she looked towards the front. A large, well-groomed black hound had come from the forest and had been making its way onto the stage. Some people started pointing at it, comparing the large dog to that of a Grim. The whispers escalated as people began to panic at the mention of the most feared omen of death in the Merlinian Wizarding World. Several people had already stood up, ready to leave before the dog got to the center of the stage.

"Isn't that…" Tracey whispered. Daphne nodded with wide eyes as the dog began to change shape. Sleek canine fur receded into a well-toned body, the velvety muzzle turning into a darkly handsome, yet very familiar visage. A paw turned into a strong hand, with a black colored ring on it. The crowd gasped in recognition. A few people fainted. Many screamed. Almost everyone else drew their wands.

"Now, now," Sirius said, raising both hands in surrender, a youthful smirk on his face. "I didn't come here to get killed." Sirius chuckled tonelessly, hoping that he had eased the tension slightly. Unsuccessful, he sighed softly before he continued. In a flash, the youthful expression that he had maintained vanished, leaving a cold, taciturn gaze.

"My name is Sirius Orion, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as signified by this ring."

Next Time: Commencement