Chapter Five: Is it always going to be like this?
Being a prefect was boring. Hermione loved it. She was slowly turning Longbottom into the model male prefect and it was oddly doing wonders for his confidence. Daphne wondered what they talked about on their little late night strolls. Whatever it was, it was doing the world of good for both of them.
As predicted, Blaise was the other Slytherin prefect. That had not gone down well with either Malfoy or Daphne herself, thanks to the complete cockup Blaise had managed to make of his relationship with Tracey.
They'd been okay on the train, but Daphne suspected that was for the benefit of everyone else. As soon as they got back to school properly, things had taken a turn for the frosty, then the downright cold as Blaise made little to no effort to win Tracey back - before, after an almighty explosion in the library that saw Tracey banned for a week, it ended. Rounds were, therefore, conducted in silence.
Until one evening. They had just poked their heads into a few classrooms, Blaise lazily checking if there was any good sources of gossip lying around and Daphne doing her best to avoid her counterpart, when he spoke up.
"Is it always going to be like this then?"
Combative as ever. "If you plan on being an insufferable prick forever," Daphne shot back, refusing to look at him but swinging her lamp around so that he was forced to either look at the ground or away from her. "Then yes."
"Look, Greengrass -"
"No, you look," Daphne was sick of his patronising tone, sick of his arrogance and his self-pity, sick of his whining and his stupid face. But above all, she was sick of the fact that because of some twisted joke she had to spend her evenings wandering the castle with him when she could be with Harry or studying or any number of more enjoyable things. Even taunting Malfoy would be more fun than this.
"You don't get a say, Zabini. You don't get to swan around like you've done nothing wrong when all you've done is look out for yourself." Her lamp swung violently, causing their shadows to scatter and dance, but she wanted to see his face, to see the guilt in his eyes or curse him until it was there whether he liked it or not. "And don't give me the crap about your mother wouldn't deal with it. She'd sleep with anyone with a pulse, so I'm sure she would've come 'round when she found out Tracey's dad's loaded."
Blaise's face twitched at the mention of his mother, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"You could've done anything, but you didn't. So yes, this is always going to be like this."
"I didn't mean -"
"Don't care." Daphne snapped. "I don't care what you have to say."
"I did what I had to."
"So am I." She turned on her heel and stalked away from him, but the sound of running footsteps indicated the conversation, despite how much she wanted it to be, wasn't over.
"Would you just listen?" It wasn't like Blaise to plead. She regarded him with cold eyes and was about to speak when he added, "Daphne. Please." The sound of her name, her actual name and not just Greengrass, made the words catch in her throat.
"You have one minute." And you're lucky I'm giving you that, you cowardly weasel.
"I didn't mean to hurt her. I like her. It's just that I'm never going to feel like that… for anyone." He laughed, hollow and dark. "Not like her, anyway. I think that was the point, really. I think, whether I meant to or not, when she asked me to the Ball it was this gift. We could hang out, mother would disapprove, or I could tell Tracey that she had, and that would be that. Mother would see me dating and my date would be out of the picture and I could left alone to do what I wanted.
"Of course, Tracey is Tracey. She didn't get the hint. She kept going and going." He smiled to himself for a moment, his dark eyes flashing in the candlelight. "You know, it's a shame. I think they would've rather got on. So, here we are. Tracey believes my mother pushed us apart and brands me a coward for not standing up to her. Pity my cowardice runs far deeper than that."
"I see."
"I knew you would, my dear." Left unsaid was the fact that Astoria would likely be having the same conversations, the same shame, the same woes, if their parents weren't so open. All this time, all those months and he'd never said. Not once. She could've helped, she would've. She could've done something, anything. She had no idea how he must have felt, how he must always feel. The last Zabini to carry on their precious bloodline and he'd always known it would die with him.
Of course, his mother would get the blame. God, like it was anyone's fault. But Daphne could hear it now, all the mutters about the lack of a real father figure. All the looks and twisted expressions, the avoidance and the disgust. He'd be a pariah and for what? He couldn't help it, at least they could learn not to be bigoted scum.
"And I am sorry, because you are right. Tracey deserves better than me."
"Does she know?" Daphne asked.
"No, I… I haven't told anyone before."
"Well, you should tell her. She has a right to know." Because no matter what hell Blaise was going through, Tracey should know who the boy she'd loved really was, as much she should know it wasn't her fault. For weeks, Tracey had been bemoaning her parents, bemoaning who she was when there was nothing wrong with her. With either of them. It was just what society said they ought to be.
"Don't you think I've already thought of that. She won't listen to me. I need you to -" he backpedalled, "I'm asking you, as a friend. Please. Help me."
"Okay."
"You will?"
"Didn't think I would?"
"Greengrass, I didn't even dream you would." Pain filled his words. It was heartbreaking, watching him struggle to come to terms with the fact there were people in the world who would actually accept who he was. But that didn't mean she had to like how he'd hidden his secret.
"Then you should know me better," Daphne said sourly, "I help my friends, Zabini."
"Thanks."
Daphne felt her face contort. "I wasn't talking about you."
"I deserved that," Blaise admitted. They'd both been friends with Tracey since first year. No matter how scared he'd been, he shouldn't have taken advantage of that. Of her. The funny thing was, if he'd just explained she'd probably have gone along with it. But Blaise hadn't been raised to trust, he'd been raised to manipulate and scheme. No wonder Slytherins had a bad rep.
"Yes, yes you did. Look, I get it, I do. But it doesn't mean I like how you went about it. Trace deserves better than to be lied to, by anyone, let alone you."
"I'll make it right, I promise."
"Good, 'cause Tori isn't the only one who can put boys in the Hospital Wing."
Rounds were nowhere near as quiet after that. Tracey and Blaise talked and things became almost normal again. Blaise stopped seeing them with the Gryffindors, but Daphne had a feeling that had more to do with her and Harry's relationship than it did petty house rivalry. Not that house rivalry was as much of an issue anymore. Most people seemed to leave them alone, if anything they were too busy staring at Harry to notice who he was hanging out with.
Daphne and Harry had taken to meeting out in the Autumn air, disappearing into the Grounds if they wanted peace and quiet. Hagrid wasn't around, but his hut made an excellent shield from the castle and more than once they'd hidden behind it to just pretend like things were normal again. It was nice, more than nice, like snatched moments of peace in a hail storm. They didn't always talk, sometimes they'd just sit and exist, Harry catching up on some reading, while Daphne - under his encouragement - got back into her art.
"Okay. Okay. You can see it," she said after almost ten minutes of nagging from Harry. "Merlin's beard, were you always this needy?"
"Is it a crime to be interested?"
"When it's annoying, yes, yes it is. You're like a hyper-active toddler." She was glad Harry never took offence to her hiding her anxiety behind barbed comments. Or at least she hoped he didn't. "Look, just… Just, don't hate it?"
"I'm not going to hate it."
She'd been working on the sketch of the castle for a while, ever since Harry had told her it was the first place he'd ever felt like home. She'd said it was for her, but it wasn't. Well, it wouldn't be if he liked it. If. It was a big if. A giant if. An 'if' that could crush cities, it was so huge. God, why was this so hard. She could feel her sketchbook trembling in her grip, even under his kind gaze. If anything that made it worse.
"You could hate it," Daphne rightly pointed out, "you could think it's the worst thing you've ever seen."
"I'm sure it won't be."
"Always the Gryffindor. Ugh. Okay, fine. Here."
She took a deep breath and threw the book open, letting him take it and not daring to look at his reaction. From behind her fingers she heard him chuckle. God, he hated it. She was right.
"This," he said, warmth in his voice, "is amazing."
"Shut up." she couldn't help herself.
"No, I'm serious, Daph," his hands found hers, dragging them away from her eyes. Her heart stopped, her brain froze. He was holding her drawing, in his hands, her drawing and he liked it. There was no denying that smile or those green eyes. "You're good, you're really good. And this," he held up the book, "is incredible."
"You know you don't have to lie to me to get me to love you?"
"And you know I wouldn't lie about this," he held it on his lap, fingers tracing over the many turrets of the castle. It was only a rough sketch. All pencil work. If she was honest the doors could be better and she'd had a nightmare with the Astronomy Tower and some of the - No. He said it was good. He liked it. Trying desperately to get her brain to stop spiralling she watched as he poured over the sketch, taking in every detail.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For liking it, for looking, for putting up with my," she pointed to her mouth, "me-isms."
"You're inability to keep quiet is one of the many things I love about you," he assured her, leaning over and kissing her gently, making sure to set down the book before he did. When they broke apart he said, "I wish they did classes on this, stuff like this."
"Why, feeling like you want to flex your creative muscles?"
"Me?" he looked incredulously at her. "No."
"They say write what you know, imagine the kind of adventures you could tell," she teased, although only partially. "C'mon, think about it. That dirty great big snake, Sirius, those dementors. You've loads of stories."
"I wouldn't even know where to start."
"All the more reason for a class."
"Still wasn't talking about me," Harry laughed, "it just seems a shame, castle full of us and we just focus on spells and magic and stuff."
"You should start a creative arts revolution."
"Only if you lead the art department."
She considered him for a moment, wanting to say that her work was nowhere near even joining about being that good, but decided against it. He'd only tell her how amazing she was and there was only so much positive reinforcement she could take before she tried to convince herself it was nonsense and then where would they be?
"Deal. Mind you, if you're going to revolutionise any class can you start with Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
"I wish."
"Why not?"
"Why not what?"
"Why not start up a defence club?"
"Because who'd wanna get taught by me? Except a bunch of Prophet readers." The Prophet was all but hero worshipping Harry since his article, when they weren't detailing the finer points of the Ministerial race for power, which was set to come to a head in October. Edgecombe was apparently edging out Bones, but it was a close run thing. In the halls of power, a whisper could be an avalanche and there were mutterings supporting both sides. Tradition vs change. You'd think with a nutter spouting pureblood supremacy on the loose, the Ministry would move towards change, but pureblood supremacy had served them quite well up to this point and the Ministry was a difficult beast to change.
"Loads of people. Me, Trace, Ron, Hermione, Tori, Lovegood, Longbottom, Thomas, Bones, Abbott," she took a breath, "I can keep going."
"Please don't."
"You've got to be better than what we've got."
"Wouldn't be hard."
"See, you should definitely do it," Daphne grinned. "I mean, he took what fifty points off you for being good at Defence?"
"Yeah," Harry said sourly, "said I should've given the same application to Potions for the last four years and decided to take off points for my 'bad attitude'."
There was a small silence, then he sighed and said "git," as though that settled the matter on Snape's personality. Daphne hadn't fared much better. Every lesson Snape would intently watch them try and subsequently fail to perform the required spells that week, before swooping down on them like a bat and pointing out what they'd done wrong - much to the amusement of Malfoy and his cronies. Daphne never thought she'd say it, but she wanted him back in the dungeons. At least there she could fail in peace.
Fifty points was just the start of it. At least Slughorn was nice enough, if a little braggy about his 'old favourites' - with Harry's mother getting a special mention in most classes. It was a joke at first, until the Slug Club - which was the dumbest name in the world. Dumber still was the fact that Harry got dragged into going after a mysterious letter from Dumbledore telling him that he should go. Not a meeting, or even a twinkly-eyed smile in the corridor and a suggestion. A note.
"He's been like it all summer," Harry moaned when he told Daphne. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember when the Headmaster had last looked at Harry. Probably June. It seemed so long ago now, and yet it was impossibly close all at once. Harry didn't talk about it and Daphne didn't push him. Some days he would be groggy and quiet, and it was those days where he hadn't been kept up dreaming of a corridor that Daphne knew his nightmares were of the graveyard variety. Those days, well, those days she did her best.
"Are you going?"
"Guess so," Harry sighed.
"Why? No offence, but what's Dumbledore ever done for you except get you into life-threatening circumstances with, let's be honest, alarming regularity."
"He helped me save Sirius," his tone was defeated, as though he already knew he was going to have to drag himself through social torture for the whims of a headmaster who wouldn't even look at him. "But I'll need a date."
"No. Don't even think it."
"Please?"
She paused, pretending to deliberate and then, with a long drawn out sight she finally said, "no."
"But you can take the piss out of a room full of idiots."
"While tempting," Daphne smirked, "I can do that in literally any one of my classes. Next."
"You'll better your family's standings within Hogwarts."
"Like I care."
"I'll be really grateful."
"Ugh. Fine. But you owe me for this."
He swept her up in a kiss that made her heart soar and her conscious brain forget, if for a moment, just how awful the Slug Club's welcoming meet and greet was going to be. It didn't last for long. It was everything she hated. Posers, political point scorers, prats with egos, pillocks with far too much money and prima donnas with too much time on their hands. And then Harry and her. This was going to be fun.