Chapter Six: The Slug Club

September rolled into October and on the evening of Slughorn's inaugural meet-and-greet, the school was abuzz with chatter and excitement, jealousy and irritation, and - for one student in particular - an overwhelming sense of dread and annoyance.

Daphne hated parties. She hated people generally, so it stood to reason that she really, really hated a room full of people. Add on top of that the fact that most of the people she was about to meet were all stupid social climbers just made it a thousand times worse. Oh, and she couldn't get Pansy to shut up about the fact she was going.

"It's going to be amazing," trilled Pansy, who was about to leave and find whatever poor sap she'd managed to convince to come with her. Draco, hilariously enough, wasn't invited. Neither was Daphne technically, but that was largely because of the fact her father had once called Horace Slughorn an "egotistical maniac who rode on the coattails of better wizards" when the man in question had been pouring himself a drink behind her father unnoticed. Safe to say, they weren't friends.

"No," Daphne corrected Pansy coolly, too irritated to resist rising to the bait, "it's going to be awful."

"Why bother going then?"

"Because unlike you, I have someone who actually wants me there and isn't just trying to get Slughorn to notice them." Tracey smirked from her bed. She, rather unsurprisingly, hadn't been invited and had spent the last week rubbing that fact in Daphne's face. Unlike Pansy, Tracey's free evening was actually enviable.

"You think you're so much better than us, don't you? Ever since you got with Saint Potter."

"No, I've known I'm better than you for years. I just didn't want to tell you. Might spoil your day."

"You're insufferable."

"I know," Daphne always found it wound people up when they told her she was annoying and she just accepted it. It was as if they expected their words to be a huge revelation, as though up to that point she'd been totally unaware of the fact she wasn't hiding her loathing for them and should bow down in shame. She didn't, of course. Bowing down was never really her style. She didn't have the flexibility for it.

"Flat-chested bitch."

"You say the nicest things," Daphne smiled before Pansy stormed off in a huff, aware that she wasn't going to win the barbed trading of words and too concerned with being late to care. Daphne, on the other hand, would happily be late if she wasn't attending for Harry's sake.

"That went well," Tracey commented, as Millicent hurriedly rushed after her friend.

"It's not my fault she's the worst," Daphne sighed, letting herself relax. She hated sharing a dorm with that sour-faced, stuck up, inbred moron and she really wasn't in the mood to play nice. "How are you? Anything exciting planned?"

"If you count trying to get over Blaise as an evening plan then sure, loads." Ever since Blaise had admitted who he really was to Tracey, she had found it even harder to actually move past their failed relationship. Before he was a coward she could hate, now, as she'd explained numerous times, all she wanted to do was help him. The very thing Blaise had taken advantage of in the first place.

"I'm sure Weasley wouldn't say no to some company."

"And get the arse bored off me about Quidditch?" Tracey let out a dull laugh. "No, thanks. I'll be fine, Daph. Really. Just…" her cheeks ballooned and then crumbled as she let the sigh escape her lips. "It's just crap, isn't it?"

"A little bit."

"I wish I could hate him." You've said. Daphne wasn't much good at sympathy, so instead of joking she kept her mouth well and truly shut. If it was a toss-up between upsetting the budding upper echelons of Hogwarts or Tracey, she knew who she'd let her word vomit attack. "But how can I? How do you turn round and go, 'sure, you're gay, but I loved you.'"

"You loved him?" She'd not mentioned that before. Suddenly time didn't seem so important anymore. Throwing down her silver purse, which Tracey had picked out to match the shoes she'd worn at the Yule Ball the year before and then again that evening, Daphne sat beside her friend. There were tears pooling in her dark eyes.

"Guess so."

They were silent for a long time, Tracey because she was holding in tears and Daphne because she had no idea what to say. This was always Astoria's strong suit, her mother's or hell even her father. He'd be cracking jokes after a sincere touch of the arm and a heartfelt speech. And Daphne? What did she do? 'I'm sorry' somehow didn't cut it.

"I don't have to go."

"No, you do," Tracey offered up a watery smile, "honestly, Daph. I'll be… I'll be fine. It's just hard right now. I appreciate it. Really. I just need to be on my own," Tracey gave her friend a small one-armed hug. "I'll be okay."

"Promise?" Daphne had to be sure. She wasn't just going to leave Tracey sobbing if she could avoid it. Part of her wanted to ignore her friend, but they'd known each other long enough to learn that doing what they thought was best and what the other actually wanted weren't always the same thing.

"Promise. Now go on, go. Or you'll be late."

"You sure?" One final check. Tracey gave a muted nod, which was just as unsettling as it was soul-destroying. Daphne gave her friend one last pat on the shoulder before lamely leaving the room, wishing she could fix it but knowing far too well that she couldn't. She stopped to tell Astoria to go check on her though and after a small amount of complaining about her evening plans being interrupted, the younger girl agreed.

Which left Daphne heading to a party. The halls were quiet, most of the Hogwarts students were either in their dorms or enjoying one of the last non-disgusting rainy evenings before winter seized the castle for good.

She met Harry outside Slughorn's chosen setting, a large and airy classroom on the fourth floor that had been cleared out for the evening. Candlelight spilled out from under the closed door, pooling at the entrance like a ring of fire that should, under no circumstances, be crossed. Behind the thick oak door, music, merriment and morons could be heard. That all paled in comparison to Harry though. His hair was as messy as ever, his robes were well-tailored, but none of that really mattered to her. He could've rocked up in one of his cousin's jumpers for all she cared. Just seeing his face, the way his smile lit up and her heart flipped, even then after all those months, it was… enough.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Daphne teased, unlike at the Yule Ball she had annoyingly grown quite a lot of the summer and was coming up to just above his shoulder. Where she'd easily been able to rest her head against his shoulder, now with heels, she was at eye level but that had its own benefits.

"You're the one that invited me the first time," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, well, now we're even. And mine was way more fun."

"Was it?"

"I remember you saying you had the best night of your life or something."

"I think I said amazing, but sure," Harry grinned, sidestepping as another couple awkwardly tried to move between them to get to the door, gave up and went around Harry. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Careful, Potter," Daphne said, echoing her words to him back then but far less nervous, "a girl might get ideas." she moved closer, so no-one else could hear the rest. "Ideas that stop us from attending this little shindig and then where would we be?"

"Were you always this mean?"

"Oh, you know I was," Daphne smirked, giving him a kiss on the cheek. The summer had brought them closer together in more ways than one after all. God, being sixteen before him was already a nightmare. She forced herself to breathe like a normal person and not think about that. "I just didn't let on."

"Well, I still love you."

"How gracious of you."

He laughed but it was quickly stolen away when he looked at the door. "Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"Because you're a classic people pleaser and can't say no," Daphne teased, before interlacing her fingers with his and silently cursing Dumbledore and his stupid note. "C'mon. Sooner we go in, sooner we can leave."

It was like walking into a wall. Noise hit them harder than a rampaging hippogriff. Music. Talking. Laughing. All of it loud, most of it fake. The band was good though. Serving staff, mostly made up of the Hogwarts student body who were unlucky enough not to get an invite, moved around the room. Some held trays, others summoned glasses and either began cleaning them or magically banished all evidence of use. Cleaning spells weren't for everyone.

A long table sat in the middle of the room, some of the guests had sat down already while others were clustered together. A few looked warily at it, as if sitting in the chairs would set off traps that caused them to be eaten or something equally horrifying. Daphne idly wondered if it were preferable to having to spend the evening there and decided dwelling on her own demise by chair was probably not a good way to start proceedings.

There were plenty of people she recognised. Only a handful she actually liked. Susan Bones - no surprise there given her aunt's successful beating of Madam Edgecombe - Hannah Abbott was not that annoying, Hermione and finally, and probably only due to the fact he was a prefect, Neville Longbottom. Over by Slughorn himself sat Blaise. He fell onto the list of 'unsure' but had the good grace to simply nod at her when she caught her eye. Unlike Ginny Weasley, who was attempting what looked like it could've been a glare but actually made her look constipated. The rest? Well, they were either awful, boring or not on her radar.

She and Harry were about to help themselves to drinks when Slughorn noticed they had arrived and announced that they were all there so they should take their places. Little cards were already laid out for them and the resulting scrum to find the right ones landed Daphne between Harry (who was next to Slughorn, shock) and Cormac McLaggen. Opposite Harry was Susan Bones, again no real surprise there, and doing his best not to catch Daphne's eye in front of her was Blaise.

Rather annoyingly Hermione and Longbottom were down the far end of the table by mini-Weasley. While Harry seemed blissfully unaware that his best friend's sister despised her for the crime of breathing, Daphne felt the glare from across the table as though it were burning into her head.

Harry did his best to try and talk to her, but would often be dragged into conversation by Slughorn. Things like "Harry, my boy, you must tell me what you think of our new Minister," or "Harry, if you're looking for sponsors, I happen to know a few Quidditch clubs who'd love your services," and so on.

That left Daphne enjoying a main course of roasted duck, dauphinoise potatoes, asparagus and what looked like the congealed brains of a troll that she knew to be overcooked cabbage. And as if the food wasn't bad enough, she wanted to drive her fork into McLaggen's hand.

"I mean, Weasley!" He guffawed stupidly. "Like they'll stand a chance this year. I'd have tried out myself, only I ate a bunch of Doxy eggs for a bet." He snorted. Daphne didn't know if it was the pig imitation or the last half an hour of boasting that did it, but she couldn't listen to McLaggen any longer.

"Just for future reference," Daphne chimed in before the girl he was talking to, Vanessa something-or-other, could try to hide her disgust, "if you're trying to make yourself look better than literally anyone else, try not to mention the fact you were dim-witted enough to eat Doxy eggs." She let the point hang there before adding, "just a thought."

"And who are you?" Rather than seeming upset, McClaggen appeared to have a rather disturbing reaction. Daphne felt her stomach clench. "No wait, you're Greengrass, right?" He didn't wait for her to answer, "yeah, you are. Can't believe ol' Sluggy got you here. I thought you hated all this stuff."

You aren't the only one. "I doubt it'll be a repeat thing."

"Oh, but it should be. You're best-looking girl here." Beside him the girl he'd probably said the exact same thing to moments before rolled her eyes. She returned to her food happily enough though.

"You're aware," Daphne said, lowering her voice so as not to ruin Harry's evening. Harry was many things, kind, sweet, supportive, but able to resist a fight wasn't one of them. "That my boyfriend is sitting right here."

"What's a bit of fun between friends, eh?" McLaggen winked, mistaking her quiet tone for interest. "I won't tell if you won't."

"Cormac," she said, trying to be as nice as she could while reeling at the insinuation, "I'm going to give you one chance to take that back."

"Alright, fine, sorry," McLaggen huffed, "God, no need to be so touchy."

"Touchy?"

"Yeah, I was just trying to be nice."

Was she speaking a different language or something? "You wouldn't know the meaning of the word."

McLaggen scowled, he clearly wasn't used to not getting his own way. "You know, you could learn to take a compliment. It wouldn't hurt." He snorted again, ready to lay down what he thought was a really good joke. "Maybe you'd smile more." Nope, just lazy sexism.

It took everything she had not to explode. Quietly and with abject fury she asked, "could you be more of a prick?"

That probably wasn't the thing to say but she was sick of being leered at like she was some kind of object for him to take from Harry. Sick of listening to his stupid voice and stories about his idiotic uncle, who seemed to enjoy killing wildlife for fun. Worst of all, it was only the second course.

"Not like you'll last long anyway," McLaggen bit back, glancing at Harry.

"Because you'd know all about that," Daphne snapped.

His shock contorted his annoyingly typically handsome features, before he managed to laugh, "feisty, I like it."

"You really don't. You just want me to think you do so you can get what you want." He spluttered, trying to think of something to say but she cut him off. "Look, I'm going to make this very simple so even you can understand." She paused, before drawing out her words like she was speaking to a five-year-old (only with less intelligence and more rampant hormones). "I. Am. Not. Interested. And you," she pointed at him, "And it's very important you get this, okay? You… are a dick."

Opposite her Blaise nearly choked on his duck. Outrage boiled out from McLaggen, but some of those pureblood 'morals' stopped him directing it at Daphne, especially now he had a new target.

"Something funny, Zabini?"

The rest of the table had gone quiet, everyone always loved free theatre.

"Not at all," Blaise drawled, pulling out his most appeasing smile, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Yeah? Well, good." McLaggen's tiny brain try to process the information and failed. "Keep it that way."

"Something wrong, Cormac?" This was Slughorn, peering over the edge of his large goblet that was definitely filled with too much booze for a school night. It sloshed around as his vacant eyes tried to grasp the situation. Beside him, Harry shot Daphne a concerned look but she just squeezed his hand - a motion that went unnoticed in the rest of the commotion.

"No, Professor," McLaggen's face visibly twitched. A large vein in his temple throbbed and that handsome face was so contorted and outraged that he looked more akin to something in one of Hagrid's lessons. "I just… I think I'd better be going."

"So soon?"

But McLaggen insisted and made his excuses. The waiting staff took their plates as the door slammed shut behind him. It would've been funny if he was such a pig.

"You okay?" Harry asked, while Slughorn was distracted passing his plate to a confused student.

"Fine." When she realised how blunt that was, Daphne added, "it's nothing I can't handle. Promise. I'll tell you about it later. How's Slughorn?"

"Great," Harry moaned, "I dunno what Dumbledore wants me to do."

"Keep listening to his stupid stories and laugh in the right places?" Daphne suggested. "You've got this."

"We can go, we don't have to -"

"I'm fine, promise." She squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Just make sure Slughorn doesn't drag me into this."

"Deal," Harry grinned before re-entering the fray with Slughorn with renewed vigour. That left Daphne with no-one to her right and a suddenly very interested Blaise. She still wasn't sure what they were. Friends? Prefect pals? People who happened to live in a space adorned with snakes?

"Zabini," she said curtly when dessert arrived.

"Greengrass," he answered, a lot less coolly. "Nice work with Cormac."

"And that's when she introduced me to the Harpies, you know?" Slughorn boomed loudly, drowning out their conversation to anyone who might want to listen. "Well, I couldn't just refuse, could I? Harry, my boy, you'll love this one! Anyway, so there I was, broom in my hand and not a clue what to do!"

"He deserved it."

"No arguments from me," Blaise's voice was as smooth as ever, but there was something different about him, a confidence that hadn't been there before. "Cormac has always been a bit…"

"Of a creep?"

"I was going to say socially challenged, but yours works too. Less elegant, of course."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"My dear Greengrass, you could never." Zabini smiled, his dark eyes regarding his dessert for a moment before he picked up his spoon and took a single slice out of the small scoop of ice cream. He regarded it, letting it fall and dance on his spoon, creating a small pool of cream. "Just this place that does."

"You'll be out soon enough."

"I don't know what's worse. This place or out there?"

Daphne had little time for self-pity from those she didn't profess to love. "Listening to your pity party probably beats both of them."

He smirked, "I deserved that. I have been a little… morose lately."

"Just a smidge."

"What would you do?"

This wasn't the place for specifics. Daphne could already tell that Harry was keeping half an ear open, more likely in case of a repeat of McLaggen than anything else, but it wasn't her secret to blab.

"You don't like the hand you're dealt, change the game. I already did."

"If only it were that simple."

"It can be," Daphne pointed out, "Life's just a bigger game, except you start in the middle and no-one tells you all the rules. You don't like them, make your own. This," she gestured to the grandeur of the room, "isn't everything, Zabini. There's a whole world out there. You've just got to be brave enough to see it."

"And if I'm not?"

"Don't complain to me when you hate the hand you're dealt."

He popped his ice cream into his mouth, considering her words. "Tracey's nicer than you."

"Everyone knows that. I never proclaimed to be warm and fuzzy, Zabini."

"True enough," Blaise smiled, "thank you. Now, onto more important matters," he began using his spoon as a pointing stick, "Granger and Longbottom?"

Daphne shook her head, but let Blaise spout his theories. She'd learned long ago, thanks to living with Astoria, that gossips liked her as a sounding board. After all, if she believed them, anyone would. They carried on like that until the meal stopped and the dancing started. It wasn't like the Yule Ball and very few people actually wanted to dance. This was the portion of the evening for forging alliances, which meant that Harry was passed around by Slughorn as he looked to curry favour with other students.

Blaise disappeared to chat with a dashing young Hufflepuff boy, all blond hair and charming smiles. That left Daphne hovering by the fire. She didn't hate Harry for it, primarily because more than once she'd seen him start towards her only for Slughorn to drag him back. However, Pansy seemed far too happy with Daphne's solitary existence.

"Saint Potter not all he's cracked up to be," she opened with, after a solid two minutes of looking at Daphne over her date's shoulder as they 'danced'. It was more like marching, or really aggressive walking.

"Do we have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Cut each other down," Daphne was tired, tired of people like McLaggen and Pansy, tired of playing the role of the good pureblood girlfriend that she'd vowed never to play. "I got it when you were with Draco, sure, hate me all you like. But now?"

"You betrayed us," her father was a Death Eater, it was hardly surprising she'd been indoctrinated into thinking that having what you wanted was actually a bad thing.

"No, I didn't. I fancied a boy, I asked him out and he said yes."

"Potter!"

"Yes. Harry. What's so bad about that? Really. Tell me, because I am honestly asking." Silence greeted the question. "You don't even know, do you? Because like every tantruming child in history, Pansy, you don't know what it is you actually want. You're just doing what you can to get attention. To get love. You're playing their stupid little game because if you didn't, you might actually have to think for yourself."

"What're you on about?"

"Slughorn, your father, Blaise's mother, dear darling Draco's parents. They want us at each other's throats, stabbing each other's backs. They want us repeating their mistakes because if we didn't," she looked out at the room, at the fake laughter, at the genuine moments between Granger and Longbottom or Blaise and his new friend, little pockets of light in a sea of darkness. "We might actually have something worth living for that isn't just listening to them.

"Look, we can carry on like this forever, if you want. You shouting at me, me embarrassing you or just plain ignoring you, and then you go off and feel vindicated in your hatred of me. You can put that on me, if that's what you want. But Pansy, do me a favour? Don't for a second think your hatred makes you happy, because it doesn't. It just hides what you're really unhappy about." Daphne set down her drink and gave the girl a small pitying smile, before turning away.

"Where are you going?"

"To enjoy the evening," Daphne called back, "you should try it."

She didn't know if it was Pansy or McLaggen, or Blaise and Tracey, or even Longbottom and Hermione. Whatever it was, it pushed her across the room, made her interrupt Slughorn's stupid blabbering and steal Harry away to the dance floor. He smiled and she kissed him. Right there, with everyone watching. Someone cheered, in that stupid ironic way that teenagers do, but she ignored them.

"What was that for?" Harry asked, not complaining.

There were so many answers. So many permutations and confessions. Words that could go on for hours, ideas that burned in her chest and would never die out so long as she was with him. But instead, she settled for just four words. Simple enough, but truer than anything she'd ever said.

"You make me happy."

"You too, Daph."

"Good," she pulled back slightly, listening out for the beat, "now, Mister Potter, I believe you owe me a dance.