Happy Ending School Days Route

Days, weeks, crawled by. Hogsmeade, Hogwarts – everything remained, to Harry's annoyance, peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that one might almost get the treacherous impression that Hogwarts was simply a school and Hogsmeade some backwater village in its vicinity. There had been no news of Dolohov or Pettigrew. The thought of the former made Harry's fists twitch. The latter left Harry slightly anxious. Perhaps he'd been too heavy-handed with the solicitor after all.

Had he though?

It was perfectly possible that Pettigrew was letting him stew to improve his bargaining position. It was all the more annoying that Harry had to grudgingly admit how it seemed to be working. Everything was so damnably quiet!

Then there was his dream. He'd been ecstatic, he'd been so sure that he could solve the mystery of the Potters' murders in his sleep. His grandfather had even given his blessing! Every night there had been anticipation, certainty that this would be the night. It never was. Harry had gone so far as to skip his Occlumency drills before going to sleep, but his sole rewards were incomprehensible, fake memories that made absolutely no sense. Strange mansions he hadn't visited, people he barely knew berating him, him snogging girls he didn't even know by their first names. His wild imagination was driving him up the wall. Couldn't his subconsciousness, for once, just show him what he wanted to see?!

Professor Snape strode inside, magicking the door shut behind him with a bang, yanking Harry from his musings in the process.

'Today's lesson,' said the Potions Master by way of greeting, his voice sharp, 'will be about poisons. Specifically, we'll be discussing poisons derived from substances known to Muggles.'

Snape's eyes narrowed as there was some sceptic harrumphing from the back row. 'Do you consider this beneath you, Mr Yaxley?'

'No, sir,' said Yaxley hurriedly. 'But isn't it a bit of a waste? Wouldn't chucking down a Bezoar just solve it all?'

'Foolish,' hissed Snape. 'Yes, Bezoars acts as counteragents to all Muggle poisons, but their … magic lies in how difficult they are to detect, how slow-acting they can be. You would be astonished how many wizards and witches were assassinated with Muggle poisons during the Dark Age. A drop of odourless, tasteless, clear liquid to every meal to speed up the tiresome, tedious process of coming into your inheritance. And all of that simply because quite a few witches and wizards didn't bother studying what they considered inferior agents. Their reward was a slow, gruesome sickness, and – finding no trace of magic in their body – they naturally assumed it had to be disease. And they withered and withered … until they perished from sheer ignorance. Arrogance is an insidious, merciless teacher, but you're very welcome to find out on your own if you still deem your time better spent elsewhere.'

Yaxley made a face, shaking his head.

Daphne, who sat next to Harry, grimaced. 'Nasty,' she said under her breath.

'Quite,' said Snape impassively. 'Could you, perhaps, make an educated guess what kind of poisons were in vogue during medieval times, Miss Greengrass?'

'Er, natural poisons, sir?'

'Namely?'

'Er, snake poison?' Spotting Snape's lack of reaction, she added, 'Or something like lily of the valley and autumn crocus? Or maybe something easily produced like arsenic?'

'An inspired guess. For practical reasons, it proved to be easier to make use of readily available substances like arsenic, mercury or – indeed – toxins from relatively common herbs instead of exotic, precious alternatives. All that drama about rare butterflies, caterpillars, spiders – that belongs to the realm of fiction and fancy. Today,' he pointed towards a rack at the table Harry could have sworn hadn't been there a few moments ago, 'I shall hand each pair one of these poisons. None of them is immediately fatal, but you might want to be careful not to inhale their fumes. Should any of you start feeling dizzy, report to me at once. I expect you to correctly identify their ingredients and propose a treatment. You will be wearing your Dragon hide gloves, and you won't put them away until I say so. Do you all understand?'

Harry groaned – but not too loudly. He knew there was some way of identifying poison ingredients but …

Daphne, at his side, was bouncing on her toes from excitement.

'And before I forget or – no doubt – have to cut the lesson short because some half-wit thought to give their poison a sniff, the first Apparition lesson will start this afternoon, following lunch. Begin!'

Harry stayed in the background as Daphne muttered furiously under her breath, prodding the clear, biting liquid Snape had handed them with her wand. He watched as she put a drop of their poison on a minuscule sheet of silver. The small sheet started sizzling rather alarmingly, and acrid smoke rose from their workspace.

Daphne coughed, flailing her hands to fan the vapours away. Her flailing hands accidentally knocked the little silver sheet a few inches to the right, causing the tiniest sprinkle of their poison to land on Harry's book, which – to Harry's disbelief – immediately started smoking.

'What in Merlin's –'

Daphne, however, seemed delighted. 'Aha!' she said, waving her wand. 'Evanesco!'

The vapour, the poison on the sheet of silver, and a good portion of Harry's Potions book vanished. Harry didn't like Potions much, but he had a soft spot for books. He scowled. 'Since when have you gone around vanishing things?' he asked, holding up the ruins of his book. The centre of about sixty pages was missing entirely.

'Oh,' she said, looking sheepish. 'For some time. It's really useful! Anyway, this is great!'

'What is?' asked Harry grumpily, staring at the carcass of his book.

Daphne didn't seem to hear him. She flipped through one of the books at her side in a way that distinctly reminded Harry of Hermione, who happened to be working with Tracey somewhere behind them. 'Did you see the paper catching fire?'

Harry, looking up from his ruined instructions, gave her a sharp look. 'Yes!'

'Well, there are only a handful poisonous substances that catch fire rapidly. And it seemed to react rather strongly with silver. I think – yes – I think it might be Aqua Fortis. This is great! But we might want to conduct a few more tests with different noble metals. We should try platinum first, I think.'

Harry sighed, stowing away his book with a loving pat, surreptitiously moving his belongings away from Daphne. 'Yeah, about that, could we perhaps find out what else is in there without destroying any more of my property? Thanks.'

The rest of the lesson thankfully passed without any further incidents of accidental destruction. Harry tried to keep up with Daphne but had to throw in the towel after about five minutes; far from understanding what they had to do next, he couldn't even follow her work anymore. When Daphne proudly presented 'their' findings, he simply stood next to her, nodding sagely. During her lengthy exposition, he kept wondering what this 'spirit of nitre' was supposed to be but decided that he'd rather keep wondering than make a fool of himself and ask, especially after Snape had loudly praised their work in front of the entire class.

'Looking forward to Apparition, Harry?' asked Leo when they eventually met up with the siblings for lunch.

'Change of pace, I guess,' Harry replied unenthusiastically. 'Where's Hermione, by the way?'

Tracey, sitting as far from Harry as possible while still being able to talk to Daphne, momentarily tensed, and Harry got the impression she knew perfectly well where the Muggle-born was. But she didn't speak up. She hadn't spoken to him since that night.

'I think she's in the library,' said Daphne with a frown. 'She's been there a ton lately. More than usual, I mean.'

'She seemed oddly tense during some of our meetings now that you mention it,' said Leo.

'Not with me,' said Draco. Aware of Amy's curious expression, he hastily added, 'Not that I'd care either way, of course.'

Amy snorted. 'And who exactly does care? Probably stumbled over something that offended her precious morals.'

Tracey dropped her cutlery on her half-full plate. 'Yeah. I've had enough.'

'But you barely touched your food,' said Daphne, bewildered.

But the petite witch only shrugged. 'See you guys later.'

They silently watched her leave.

'I, er, think she's still a bit … upset with the both of you,' said Daphne apologetically, nodding at Harry and Amy.

'Why?' asked Amy.

'She said she had a bellyful of your snappy comments about Granger,' said Draco, eyeing his food with a bored expression. 'And she seems to be sick to death of Harry in a more general sort of way.'

'Well, you win some, you lose some. I doubt she would've proposed to you anytime soon regardless, Harry,' said Amy, grinning.

'Yeah, no kidding,' said Draco. 'You never really got along anyway.'

'She'll calm down, don't worry,' said Daphne soothingly. 'Just … keep cool, okay? And don't provoke her. Especially you, Amy!'

'Me?' asked Amy innocently. 'I never provoke anyone!'

'Yeah, right,' muttered Draco.

'I get that she's angry, I just … I have other things on my mind right now, okay?' said Harry, pushing his plate away.

'You mean Dolohov,' said Draco matter-of-factly.

Harry turned his head, staring coolly at his guiltily fidgeting cousin. 'How many people did you tell, Daphne?'

'I –' She bit her lip, looking up at him apologetically. 'I only told these guys, of course.'

'And Tracey?'

'I, er, might have mentioned it?'

Harry sighed, resting his head on his palm.

'You're being paranoid, mate,' said Draco. 'I mean, fine, you don't want the school to know that you've got a score to settle with a maniac murderer. I get that. What I don't get is why you bother keeping it all to yourself.'

'I didn't mean to,' said Harry wearily. 'I just … wanted to take it a step at a time.'

'You should have told us,' said Leo. 'You'll need our help anyway.'

'You've got no opinion?' Draco asked Amy when the elder Lestrange kept eating in silence.

'Not really. Harry did tell me after all. Besides, it's his business, isn't it?'

Draco and Leo turned to stare somewhat accusingly at him.

'I just didn't get around to it, okay?' Harry said pressingly. 'Thanks, Amy …'

She looked up, smirking. 'No problem.'

'Anyway, it's not like that really matters,' said Daphne in a dangerously sweet voice. 'And why is that again, Harry?'

'Because I will not run off on some misplaced hunt for revenge, endangering me or my friends who worry about me very much,' repeated Harry dully. Daphne's telling-off had been an earful.

'Too right you won't,' insisted Daphne. 'And to make sure you won't give in to temptation, we'll be going to Hogsmeade as a group!'

'Are you sure this isn't about me buying you more clothes?' asked Harry with an exasperated smile.

'Well,' said Daphne, returning a tricksy grin, 'two birds – one stone.'

'Would you buy me some new dress robes, too, Harry, my darling?' asked Draco in a horribly fake feminine voice.

'No.'

'Sexist! Not even for Amy?! Would you leave your poor cousin to wear the rags of her bygone childhood?'

'Bygone?' asked Daphne.

'Rags?' asked Amy, inspecting her robes for damage.

'I was just trying to sell it to him!'

'Nah, I'm good, thanks. Not interested in that kind of stuff,' said Amy.

Leo nodded. 'Simple black robes are best. You can wear them to birthdays, for funerals, at school …'

'You wear the same clothes when you're attending birthdays and funerals?' asked Daphne, shocked.

'I do. Is that strange?' asked Leo. He sounded genuinely worried.

'I, er … I think it's time for our Apparition lessons,' said Daphne. 'Come on!' She stood up, waiting for Harry and – somewhat reluctantly – Draco.

'I need to have a short word with Amy,' said Harry, nodding at Daphne. 'You go on ahead.'

'Well, okay,' she replied.

Draco fell in line with her as they made their way out of the Great Hall, and Harry could see them snarling at each other before they'd even reached the giant doors.

Leo sighed in Draco's and Daphne's direction. 'I'll see the both of you later.' He shouldered his bag and walked away.

'I dare you to buy me clothes, Harry,' said Amy, giving him a black look. 'You can have Daphne prance around in new outfits for you if you want. I bet she'd even do lingerie for you.'

Harry snorted. 'It's not about that. This is important.'

'Oh, okay. Is it about Granger, then?'

'How'd you figure that out?'

'Wasn't too difficult. Daphne and the rest get a bit too emotional wherever the Mudblood's concerned. Even my own brother gets strangely silent nowadays when the topic comes up.' She shrugged, pinching a Yorkshire pudding he'd barely touched from his plate. 'So? What is it?'

'There's something … going on with her as of late. I don't know. Call me paranoid but –'

'You're paranoid,' said Amy, interrupting him with a grin. 'Nah, just messing with you. Go on.'

'… but it feels like she's acting a bit … off. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something. It feels like she's … being pushed in a certain direction. Again.'

'And what exactly do you want me to do about it?' asked Amy, all business-like.

'Frankly, it's not really our problem what she's up to, but she's still as ignorant as the first day she got here in some regards. She doesn't really have the tools or the knowledge to see through what you or I would instantly recognise as a scheme.'

Amy fumbled with what was left of his pudding, and it fell with a sad 'plop' on her plate. 'You want me to babysit her?!' asked Amy, aghast. 'Me?!'

Harry waved his hand in what he hoped was a calming manner. 'No, no, of course not. But I want to find out who or what is trying to influence her – just to make sure it's got nothing to do with us.'

Amy frowned, prodding the dropped pudding. 'You mean her teachers.'

'I don't know who else, so we'll start on that end, yes.'

'I would've given it another shot anyway.'

'I know, but – well – I'd like you to get a bit more serious this time around.'

She grinned at him. 'Are you suggesting I stalk one of your friends, Harry?'

'Not stalk – I'd say … keep an eye on. I don't see the problem. If it turns out I'm wrong, all the better. Otherwise, it's for her own good.'

'And yours,' said Amy acutely.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Isn't that the same?'

Memory Lane

The Apparition class was being held in an old, rather neglected part of the castle. It took Harry a few wrong turns to finally stumble upon the old ballroom, and when he arrived, he was just barely in time. Snape and McGonagall gave him a warning look, but at least Flitwick winked at him. Looking around, he immediately spotted Daphne waving wildly at him from the far back.

'There you are,' she whispered, pointing in the direction of the stage where a weedy, knobbly man with wispy blond hair stood surrounded by the heads of the four houses. 'I think they're about to start.'

'Oh, it's Twycross,' said Harry with a sigh of resignation.

'You know him?' asked Draco. His left cheek looked rather red for some reason.

'Not really. He's one of those Ministry types that only does his job. Not particularly interested in anything beyond his station. There's no use for a man like that.'

'Except for his job, of course,' mumbled Daphne.

'You know what I mean.'

'You meant you can't buy a man like that,' said Daphne pointedly.

'I suppose you can't,' said Harry, amused that Daphne seemed somewhat affronted. 'But it would be futile to befriend someone so lacking in ambition in any case.'

'Maybe he's really nice!'

Harry coughed. 'Yeah. Maybe. Watch and see.'

'If we could have everyone's attention?' called Professor McGonagall from the front, glaring at a few unrepentant babblers until the hall turned silent.

'Thank you, Minerva,' said the Ministry wizard in a voice of bored professionalism. 'Good day, students of Hogwarts. My name is Wilkie Twycross, and I shall be your instructor for this Apparition class during the coming twelve weeks. Before we begin, I wish to stress that Apparition is usually impossible within the confines of Hogwarts, and even outside it is not without danger. The headmaster has kindly agreed to lift a few of these ancient charms for the duration of our class, but you would do well to remember that –'

There was a thundering crack followed by a strange glimmer in the air – as if a rift ran through the middle of the room. Harry, Draco, and the teachers had their wands in their hands even before the strange rumbling trailed away – but for a second nothing seemed to happen. Then, with a pathetic thud, an arm wrapped in darkish brown rags fell to the wooden floor.

There was a lot of screaming from the front rows, but Wilkie Twycross continued as if the events didn't warrant an interruption. '– there are different charms to prevent Disapparition, the act of disappearing, and Apparition, the act of appearing in a place. Even then,' he said, almost imperceptibly nodding in the direction of the torn arm that lay pathetically on the wooden floor, 'the act of Apparating or Portkeying through a heavy line of wards like the one Hogwarts features is … ill-advised. The most common side-effect of ill-prepared or ill-performed Apparition is what we refer to as splinching.'

Professor Snape hurriedly wrapped the arm in a bit of conjured cloth and hastened out of the room.

'Now,' said the undeterred Ministry official with a dryness that suggested that he wasn't paid to comment on unlawful incursions or attempts thereof. He waved his wand, conjuring a few dozen wooden hoops. 'It is all-important to remember the three Ds of Apparition: Destination, Determination, Deliberation. We begin by fixing our mind on our desired des–'

'What was that all about?' whispered Daphne from Harry's right.

'Looks like someone tried to apparate into the castle from the outside,' said Harry.

'Doesn't that worry you?!'

'Not in the least. Only a madman would try to apparate through Hogwarts' wards. I'm surprised that idiot only splinched an arm.'

'Didn't Dumbledore lift the charms?' asked Draco.

'No, Draco. Dumbledore's a hypocrite – not an idiot. I presume he lifted the charms only in this very room. You can't apparate through the surrounding wards anymore than you can walk through solid rock just because there's a hollow space in the middle.'

'Makes sense, I guess,' said Daphne.

'–One!' called Twycross from the front.

Harry, Daphne, and Draco hurriedly positioned themselves opposite their hoops.

'–Two!'

'What are those two Ds all about again?' whispered Daphne, panicky.

Harry sighed, opening his eyes. Unfortunately, Draco was faster. 'Size,' he said, sniggering.

Even more unfortunately, Daphne seemed to follow his meaning, and even as the rest of the class spun and pirouetted into their hoops, Daphne simply spun to slap the carelessly unsuspecting Draco.

To Draco's annoyance, the entire room was utter chaos: people picking themselves up from the floor, other's shouting in apparent joy, some were sniggering after witnessing all the failed attempts. With all the ruckus, it seemed the teachers had failed to see Daphne slapping Draco.

'Merlin!' Draco glowered at Daphne, wincing as he touched his cheek that looked positively crimson now. 'Stop it with the hitting, woman! Can't you just … reprimand me, or something?!'

'And would you listen?' asked Daphne.

Draco chose not to reply.

'I thought not,' said Daphne, victorious. 'Er, where were we? Oh, yes. Could you explain that D stuff please, Harry?'

It wasn't until the fifth try that Harry actually managed to concentrate on his own attempts without having to help Daphne or trying to keep the peace between his two cousins. Nobody else had managed anything at all, but that didn't seem to worry the teachers. It was dull, frustrating work that gave you no indication if your last attempt was any better than your first one. Harry thought it felt a bit like making your ears wiggle in a mirror; maybe you'd manage eventually, but you were just as likely to hit the mirror in sheer frustration.

On their twenty-first try, Daphne finally snapped. 'Okay, fine! I admit it, I hate Twycross and his stupid Ds!'

Harry smiled smugly.

'He could have been nice, though,' mumbled Daphne sullenly.

'On the count of three,' called Twycross from the front in the level voice of maddening patience he'd used the last twenty attempts. 'Destination, Determination, Deliberation. Together, everyone! One!'

'I wouldn't object to you smacking him one,' grumbled Draco.

It was a mark of how serious the strain on their nerves was that Daphne didn't argue with him.

Harry tried to blank it all out, envisioning the hoop in front of him. He found this fairly easy, given his Occlumency studies.

'–Two!'

Harry concentrated on the image of the hoop in his mind. In a moment of inspiration, he imagined himself standing on top of it, picturing the gravity as a pull that dragged him towards the hoop.

'–Three!'

And then he let go.

Memory Lane

'Well done, Harry. Oh, well done, indeed!' cheered Professor Flitwick. 'Good show!'

'I only did it once, sir,' said Harry.

'So humble! Not many people manage anything at all for the first time, my dear boy! Isn't that so, Wilkie?'

'True,' said the man without really looking at Harry. 'It's been some time since someone managed to apparate during the course of their first lesson without sustaining any injury. Not that it matters, of course. I've seen people pick it up minutes before the test and still manage just fine.'

'Can we offer you a cup of hot tea before you make your journey back, Wilkie?' asked Professor Sprout.

Harry watched the rest of the class – teachers included – scatter, some of his classmates turning to look at him with expressions of envy, curiosity, or – here and there – grudging admiration.

'No, really,' said Filius Flitwick. 'I insist you take at least twenty well-earned points, Harry!'

Harry smiled politely. 'Thank you, Professor.'

Flitwick chuckled. 'You'll go far, Harry. I really believe you will. Oh – but I must catch up with my colleagues. I'll be seeing you in class!'

Lifting his robes slightly, he ran after the other teachers.

'How did you manage it?' demanded Draco grumpily.

Harry shrugged. 'Don't rightly know. I kind of imagined I was water flowing in the direction of gravity.'

'That's barmy! The hoop was right in front of us!'

'I know that. You just have to pretend that, you know, you're flowing into the hoop along some imaginary gravitational pull.'

Daphne snorted, shaking her head. 'Yeah, that sounds totally plausible.'

Draco looked blankly at him for a few seconds. 'Nevermind! I can't believe nobody's talking about the attempted apparition! I guess it might've been a spoof but –'

'Really,' said Daphne sarcastically. 'Would you, perhaps, splinch your arm for entertainment purposes, Malfoy? How about right now? I could use a laugh after that load of dragon dung just now.'

'I don't think it was a joke,' said Harry hurriedly, stepping between the two of them before Draco replied and got hit once again. 'And I think Snape did take it seriously.'

'Why?' asked Daphne.

'Because while the maniac attempting to enter the castle obviously didn't have a clue how the counter-charms really work, he obviously did know when the Apparition class was being held and assumed the wards would be weakened.'

'You don't think it could've been, you know, Dolohov?' asked Daphne in a hushed voice.

Harry shrugged. 'Possibly. But why would he try to enter the castle? Dumbledore is here.'

'Isn't he supposed to be a loony?' asked Draco. 'Wouldn't it be more up his alley to lurk in some shady backwater street?'

'You mean like the alley we found Amy in?' said Daphne.

They walked in thoughtful silence.

'I don't know,' said Harry, frowning. 'Something's strange this year.'

'Every year at Hogwarts has been strange so far,' said Daphne sceptically.

'I think severed limbs are a new high,' said Draco dryly.

'No … stranger than usual. Stranger even than that arm. It's just … I've got a bad feeling.'

Memory Lane

By supper, most of their year was convinced the 'arm-incident' had been a practical demonstration by Snape.

'Why'd they continue the lesson otherwise, ey?' asked Yaxley, giving a wide-eyed nod. 'All calm-like and stuff.'

'Maybe because they didn't want the entire class to panic, you credulous cretin?!' mumbled Draco.

'What was that, Draco?' asked Yaxley.

'I think you're absolutely right, man!' said Draco, smiling widely.

'Thanks!'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I don't know how you can hang out with him.'

'Well,' said Draco, wagging his head in thoughtful assessment, 'he's not the brightest wand there is, but he's easy to get along with.'

'Yeah,' opined Amy. 'If you switch your brain off.'

'Shouldn't be too much effort in Malfoy's case then,' said Daphne sweetly from Harry's other side.

'You know,' said Draco, his voice dripping with anger. 'You've been a right bitch ever since Tracey's started moping around, Greengrass.'

'Oh, a bitch, am I?' repeated Daphne dangerously.

Amy put down her cutlery with the air of someone about to enjoy the show. Leo sighed with resignation.

'Yes! We can all see that you really want to hang out with Tracey but feel guilty about siding with her over Harry. So how about you sort out your precious emotions so you stop jumping down my throat first chance!'

Daphne stared at him for several seconds before she eventually managed, 'Fuck off, Malfoy!'

Draco made a face. 'Maybe you really ought to hang out with Tracey and Granger. They'll appreciate your Muggle vulgarity, I'm sure.'

'Enough!' said Harry angrily, rising from his seat. Amy shot him a betrayed look, but he ignored her this time. 'You're making a scene! Mind yourselves!' he hissed, pointing towards the front of the hall. Snape, Aenor, and a few of the older prefects, in particular, were looking in their direction.

Daphne flicked her tongue, crossing her arms and turning away so she wouldn't have to look at Draco.

Harry scratched his head, sitting down again.

They ate in silence.

'So, er, you've got Defence next, right?' said Leo with forced brightness. 'Something to look forward to, right?'

Daphne snorted, glaring at Aenor at the teacher's table. Spotting them all looking, Aenor gave a very obvious wink at Harry, which caused Daphne to stiffen. Harry could almost feel the anger rippling off her.

'Smooth,' mumbled Harry weakly. 'Really smooth, Leo.'

Memory Lane

They all sat in expectant silence when Aenor entered the classroom. Like Professor Snape or McGonagall, students of Hogwarts were very … careful around Aenor. Most of the boys were still vying to impress her, of course, which wasn't helped by the fact that Aenor was in the habit of wearing outrageous dresses. Today, she was wearing a silken dream in periwinkle blue that, while revealing very little, was quite snug in all the right places. Macmillan was openly gaping at Aenor's legs until Jones nudged him a few times.

The girls, at least, had realised that their Defence professor wasn't all too different than a few of the flowers Professor Snape had them study only this morning. Like lily of the valley, she was lovely to look at – and just as poisonous.

She wasn't above taking ludicrous amounts of points, for example.

'Are you really trying to tell me your Kneazel ate your homework, Mr Finch-Fletchley?'

Harry grinned a bit. Justin was staring straight ahead, trying with all his might to tune out Aenor's outfit. There were a few beads of sweat running down his temple. 'Er, no, Professor. It was my housemate's Kneazel – ma'am. It, er, somehow got into our dorm and made a ruckus.'

'I see. Well, it would hardly be fair of me to punish you for something beyond your control, now, would it?' said Aenor, smiling gently.

Oh, boy. Harry knew that smile.

'So I guess instead of detention that'll be sixty points from Hufflepuff for dereliction of duty. Maybe I'll have to speak with Pomona about your prefects. Anyone else got a smart explanation for failing to turn in homework?'

Alarmed, they all shook their heads to indicate that – no – they didn't want to land their house in disproportionate trouble for failing to write an essay that might have taken half an hour.

'Very well.' She casually flicked her wand, and sorted stacks of parchment flew towards each student. 'I have marked these with the level of seriousness I'll be applying to all your work from now on. It should give you a realistic estimate of how you'd perform on the given topic if the O.W.L. administration had rated your hand-ins.'

Harry looked down at his parchment. It was rated O-. He doubted he'd fail theoretical examinations in any given subject for some time yet, but he couldn't deny that the minus was … irking him. Sneaking covert glances at Daphne's and Draco's papers, he saw that they had managed an A and an E- respectively.

'Seeing as there was a dearth of exceptional exams and about forty per cent failing grades, I'd suggest you start cramming sooner rather than later. I'd prefer not to hand out another D this year.'

For the briefest of moments, her playful eyes caught Harry's, who frowned back at her. Bones and Abbott snickered unabashedly; it was common knowledge that he'd somehow managed to bungle last year's Defence test.

'As promised, we'll begin our studies of some magical creatures this year. And since nobody in his right mind would care for evil, abominable creations like these since they're so maleficent, ill-natured and righteously undeserving of life,' she continued with what Harry thought to be a new apex of sarcasm, 'you obviously won't be learning anything about them in Care for Magical Creatures, leaving me to deal with it. Right. For now, we'll be studying Boggarts. Can anyone give me a short introduction to Boggarts?'

Hermione, predictably, raised her hand.

'Yes, Miss Granger?'

'Boggarts, also known as Boggles, are amortal shapeshifters that assume the shape of our worst fears, Professor. They are usually found in dark, confined spaces, where they dwell and lie in wait for Muggles or magicals. They may be repelled by the Ridikkulus Charm as they flee from laughter.'

'Almost,' said Aenor, to Hermione's confusion, and Harry remembered her failed 'Boggart experiment' last year. Amortality, or so it seemed, was overrated.

'The charm is, by its very nature, a bit more complex than most of the spells you've learned up to this point. Ridikkulus, you see, requires you to actively challenge the Boggart's chosen form of appearance, to will its shape of terror into submission. It demands – in short – that you conquer your fear. Be warned – depending on what form that fear takes, that may prove challenging. Your will, naturally, needs to be strengthened to the point of dominating the Boggarts own desires also.

'But let us practise the charm first,' she said, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as she beheld the sea of confused looks. 'The incantation is easy enough, but do mind the correct pronunciation. After me: Ridikkulus.'

'Ridikkulus,' they all repeated.

'Once more: Ridikkulus. Do mind the changed final sound of the last two syllables.'

'Ridikkulus,' they chanted again.

'It'll do, I suppose. I've recently had the good fortune to discover a second Boggart lurking in another old storeroom, and you will all be trying your hands at it in groups of three. Form a line; I'll be calling out the teams as I see fit.'

Under Aenor's watchful eye, they formed an orderly line – or at least as orderly as lines went for students who didn't get along very well at the best of times. There was a lot of shoving, scowling, and treading on feet, but Aenor didn't comment.

Eventually, they spilt out of the classroom like ducklings following their mother. They didn't have to walk far; they were led only as far as one corridor down the hall before Aenor came to a sudden halt.

'Right. I will go in there first and make sure everything is in order. I will then be calling out the names of the three students who are to enter. Seeing as this lesson will come as a bit of a shock to your innocent, juvenile hearts, everyone who successfully overcame his Boggart will be excused for the rest of the class.'

'If we get called first we'll be allowed to go right away?' asked Tracey loudly, looking keener on Defence than ever.

'Precisely,' replied Aenor with an amiable smile. It somehow managed to convey that Tracey was – suddenly – quite likely to be called last. Tracey, too, seemed to understand and groaned loudly.

'One last thing,' said Aenor sternly, her eyes sweeping the class as it huddled in the corridor. 'Just because I'm in there and you lot are out here doesn't mean you can behave loudly, wander about, or be a menace in any other way. Once you're done, you'll be heading to either your common room or the library in an orderly, quiet fashion.'

'Yes, Professor,' they mumbled collectively.

'I'm glad you understand.' She smiled encouragingly, opening the door and vanishing inside. It didn't take longer than a mere moment before her voice rang loud and clear from within. 'All right, first team: Miss Abbott, Miss Jones, Mr Malfoy.'

'Good luck,' said Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes, strutting through the crowd. 'Please, Harry. This is child's play. I'm not afraid of no bogeyman!'

'When you say you're not afraid of no –'

'I meant I'll be perfectly okay, all right?' snapped Draco testily. Then, he seemed to remember his act, relaxing visibly. 'I'll be totally fine.'

Daphne snorted but – thank Merlin – didn't say anything to provoke him further. 'I hope I get to team up with you, Harry,' she said under her breath, gripping her elbows strongly.

'What's up?' Harry asked. 'Come on, this is just some silly test. It won't be that bad.'

'Yeah … yeah, I know that. But I don't want some random twit knowing about my worst fears. I wouldn't mind if it was you but …'

'Don't worry. And everyone will know someone else's fear, right? They won't blab. It's like a balance of terror. Let's all put our trust in mutually assured destruction.'

'Sarcasm isn't helping here!'

Harry grinned, nudging her in the side. 'You'll be fine. And for all you know, we'll be with friendly folks.'

Just then, the door opened, and an ashen-faced Draco stumbled out. Abbott and Jones were wobbling behind him. Jones looked a bit greenish, and her eyes were red.

'Er, we're supposed to get the next team,' muttered Abbott faintly. 'Susan, Greengrass, Parkinson.'

Daphne groaned.

Harry gave her a pat on the back, watching her go inside. With nobody to talk to, he leaned against the cold wall, awaiting his turn. Most of the talking had died down, and some people looked rather nervous about being called inside.

Daphne and the other two girls emerged not long after. Strangely, they all turned to stare at where Harry was leaning against the wall. They all seemed rather flustered, too. Parkinson actually blushed. Daphne avoided his eyes, hurrying down the corridor with small, jerky steps until she broke out in a run.

What in the world …?

'Er, next, er,' said Susan Bones, trying not to glance at Harry. 'Granger, er, Justin, and … and Ernie.'

The crowd of waiting students continued to thin. Most of those who'd faced the Boggart didn't dally, rarely exchanging more than a few whispered words with a friend or two before they scurried off. Soon enough, only two students remained. Harry had known, of course, that it wouldn't add up exactly with teams of three, but this was beyond coincidence.

Tracey was standing at the other side of the corridor, trying and failing to pretend that his presence didn't bother her.

'You're up, Black,' said Zabini, exiting the storeroom. He looked a bit shaken but otherwise fine. 'And you, Davis.'

'Survived your mother turning on you?' asked Harry lightly.

Zabini smirked. 'Funny. Well, good luck, I suppose.'

'Thanks.'

Harry held open the door for Tracey, who walked right past him. The inside was small but not as small as one might have expected. It wasn't often you encountered a storeroom used exclusively for cleansing material that spanned at least two hundred square feet. Most of the room was empty, with the shelves pushed to the side. On the far end stood a large, cheap cabinet that rattled and shook every now and then. The floor was cushioned by some kind of feathery material that made walking awkward – though it would probably make fainting as comfortable as possible. Harry suspected that Aenor had somehow expanded the space. Speaking of her, Aenor was sitting casually on her desk opposite the cabinet, wand between her legs, nibbling on what looked like a chocolate croissant.

'Did you really bring your desk from class, Aenor?' asked Harry disbelievingly

She pouted playfully. 'Hey, that's Professor Rose, Harry. But seriously, I'm in love with this thing! Think Dumbledore will let me buy it?'

'Can we start please, Professor?' asked Tracey testily.

'Oh, Miss Davis,' said Aenor, apparently surprise-stricken. She made a show of lowering her gaze. 'Didn't see you down there. Sure, go right ahead. I'll intervene if you keel over, but other than that, whatever comes out of there is yours to contend with.'

'Thank you so much, Professor.' Tracey's voice was pure acid. She pulled out her wand, pointing it at the cabinet.

Harry was still eyeing Aenor. Did she want to show Harry something? Or was she simply curious what Harry's fear was? Why bring Tracey along …? Aenor looked up from her croissant, bringing her forefinger to her lips with an impish grin, nodding in Tracey's direction.

Harry frowned, turning to watch Tracey. With a swish of her wand, the cabinet opened and out stepped … fell a corpse.

It was Tracey's father. Harry hadn't seen the man very often, but he recognised him despite the mangled state the body was in. He looked defiled, the victim of more vicious curses than necessary to kill an entire household. Blood was slowly dyeing the floor red.

Tracey seemed tense, but she raised her wand nevertheless – until, from the unknowable depths of the cabinet, another figure appeared.

Pale, wrinkly fingers grabbed the wood of the cabinet, steadying a sunken figure as it emerged, wearing prim, dark robes.

No …!

Harry's eyes widened as Arcturus Black emerged from the darkness of the cabinet, his grey eyes cold and unfeeling as they swept over the carcass of Tracey's father – until they landed on Tracey herself.

Tracey stood rooted to the spot, wand half raised.

'I see,' said the shrunken figure, its tired voice conveying that it was attending to a matter far beneath its dignity. 'You did it then? A shame, of course, but necessary perhaps,' said the apparition in a tone of commenting about the weather. 'Did you do it to prove yourself? To prove you've finally outgrown your childish notions? That you've overcome the … heritage of your father? That was wise, my child. It is never too late to rid yourself of your burdens. Your father was one such burden. Weak, soft – a persona non grata without aspirations or family. You'll do far better now that he's gone. He was beneath you. You did well.'

Tracey didn't speak – nor did she seem capable of movement. In the silence, the only sound was Aenor biting into her croissant. But Harry had seen enough.

'Ridikkulus!' he whispered.

Arcturus turned into a whirl of colours until he was dressed in eye-watering robes of bright orange, a fake Dumbledore beard strapped to his ears. Harry wasn't really watching. He was staring at Tracey.

The little witch stood there, unmoving. Eventually, she gave a twitch as if a jolt of energy had run through her body. She turned on the spot and, without looking at either Aenor or Harry, trotted lifelessly out of the room. The door clicked softly behind her.

Harry flicked his wand, banishing the Boggart back into his cabinet before he turned on Aenor. She was looking back at him with an unreadable expression.

'You set this up,' said Harry accusingly.

She broke eye contact, rummaging in her little basket for another delicacy. 'Puff pastry always makes you thirsty, don't you think?'

Memory Lane

Harry didn't find a trace of Tracey when he eventually stepped out again. Not that he'd know what to say – or that she'd want him to say anything for that matter.

But what exactly had that been? Tracey had mentioned once, back when they'd worked on the runes, that she felt uncomfortable in Arcturus' office but … was she afraid of him?

But the Boggart hadn't been simply Arcturus, had it? Neither had it been the dead body of her father. No, her fear was … what was it the Boggart had said? 'You did well?' That she had killed her own father?

Harry faltered, coming to a stop in the cold corridor. Peeves, lurking behind an old suit of armour, jumped out to spook him with a bizarre grimace but almost fell out of the air when he spotted who it was.

'Oh,' he squeaked, bobbing his head with a horrible fake smile. 'Oh! Do excuse poor Peeves' little jests. I – ahem – I shall be going now … by your leave, your most horribleness.'

Harry didn't really pay him any attention. But why would Tracey fear killing her own father? 'Did you do it to prove yourself?' the Boggart had said. Prove yourself. But he knew Tracey, he'd known her almost as long as Daphne, and – at least in certain regards – he knew her even better. Tracey had always been extremely principled, and the very notion that she'd do such a thing was ridiculous, outright absurd! But what would give her even the idea?!

His memory produced another scene. He saw himself standing in front of a door, hand on the handle. 'What really happened between Prewett and Lucretia? Weren't they a love match?' she had asked.

Lucretia had been Arcturus' daughter. Prewett and Lucretia had been a love match. And yet … And yet Lucretia had still ended up trying and failing to kill her own husband – on Arcturus' orders.

Harry adjusted his tie, loosening the first button of his shirt which suddenly felt like it was at least three sizes too small.

'Oh, damn,' he muttered, hurrying towards the dungeons.

He nearly collided with Parkinson near Slytherin's common room entrance.

'What the dev– Oh, Black! What's the hurry?'

'Have you seen, Tracey, Parkinson?'

'What? Davis? No … no, I don't think so.'

'Okay, thanks.'

He was about to walk away when Pansy grabbed his arm. Harry felt a small spike of nervousness, but he shoved it towards some dark recess of his mind.

'Hey … I was thinking. Do you have any plans for Hogsmeade next weekend? We could, you know, hang out a bit, get to know each other, explore the … landscape. There's so much I want to show you, but I never really had the courage to ask. I'm sure you won't regret it,' she said, smiling brazenly.

Not the courage – yeah, right. 'I'm really sorry, Parkinson,' he replied, gently freeing his arm, 'but I've got prior arrangements with Daphne. Thank you for your invitation.'

Not waiting for her reply, he rushed off.

The common room was, as was usually the case, mostly deserted. A few older students, mostly prefects, were lounging in one corner of the room, listening to Selwyn.

Harry kept his eye on him as he walked towards the fireplace where Daphne sat, taking a seat next to her.

'Hey! Everything okay?' he asked softly, remembering that everyone – excluding him, or so it seemed – had to face their worst nightmare.

She smiled back at him. 'I'm fine, thanks for asking. That Boggart thing was nasty and – erm – unexpected, but I got rid of it … in the end. How about you?'

'I didn't really get to try my hand.'

She shifted her seat on the couch so as to look at him without craning her neck. 'How come?'

Casting a glance around the room, he told her in a hushed voice a heavily … revised version of the events surrounding Tracey's Boggart.

Daphne listened, transfixed. She kept staring at her fingers, biting her lip. She didn't even speak up when he finished his story.

'Draco wasn't wrong, was he?' asked Harry. 'About you being really troubled about Tracey,' he added hastily when Daphne's head snapped upwards.

'No, I …'

'Come on! You've never been any good at lying to me.'

Daphne sulkily returned his look. 'Yeah, all right … I don't enjoy all the fighting, and it's not only about Tracey. I don't like how Granger's being alienated, or how you and Amy talk about her behind her back. Don't bother denying it, Harry; I know you better than anyone!'

It was Harry's turn to give a sheepish grin, but Daphne simply smiled back in a defeated sort of way before she went on, 'She's not perfect, Granger, I mean. She's nosy, she's quite arrogant, she's proud of her Muggle origin and has trouble seeing the other side, she's a know-it-all, she's super gullible – and she can be a bit annoying. I know all that.

'But she's not a bad person! She's smart, she's forthright, she's a steady friend, and she's really brave if you think about how she keeps trying despite it all. Even though I was really rough on her for the better part of two years, she's been very nice. She didn't hold it against me at all! How many people do you know who would have taken it like her? I'm not sure I'd've been able to if it was me …'

'Most people would hold a grudge,' admitted Harry absent-mindedly, following Daphne's flood of words with some concern. He was taken aback by how invested Daphne seemed. Harry had, having admitted this to himself a long time ago, always been somewhat of a loner, and except a few people he trusted, he wasn't above making use of other people. He wasn't doing it to be a mean bastard; he just had trouble forming … bonds with other people. And those he didn't trust were always looked at with, at the very least, universal suspicion. Daphne, meanwhile, had always been effervescent, temperamental, and – it had to be said – a bit of a bully. Not because she couldn't empathise with strangers, like Harry, but because she herself felt vulnerable.

Harry knew that Daphne was aware he knew all of that about her, and it worked the other way around as well. They had never really talked about it, but they had always … sort of … looked the other way when the other one had acted out of order.

It was for that reason that Harry was looking at Daphne with the growing wonder of someone who was watching his comrade throw down his arms and say, 'To hell with it, I'm done with this shit.'

'And that's just Gra– Hermione,' continued Daphne, staring uncomfortably at her hands. 'I … you know there are only so many people left for me, Harry. And here at Hogwarts there's only you and Tracey … and Astoria, I suppose, but she doesn't really understand. Tracey … it hurts that the two of you are fighting, and it's killing me. I'll never side with anyone over you, Harry – anyone! I'd never abandon you. We made a pact, didn't we?' she said, reluctantly raising her head and searching his eyes with a haunted look.

'Yes,' said Harry.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and returning to staring at her hands. 'Yes,' she muttered. 'But it hurts all the same. And I don't know what to do about it.'

Harry grimaced, putting one arm around her shoulder and drawing her a bit closer. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I didn't realise it was eating you up like that.'

She dropped her head on his shoulder. 'It's okay. I didn't really know how to tell you either …'

Harry squeezed her shoulder. 'I'll do something about it first thing tomorrow morning. I promise.'

She shifted her head a bit to glance at him. 'Mm-hmm,' she mumbled, trying to sound as if it wasn't a big deal. But Harry, from the corner of his eye, could easily spot her blessed smile.

Memory Lane

Harry rose early the following morning, dressing with special care after taking a long, steaming-hot shower. Expressionlessly, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had thought long and hard about what he could do to mend at least a few bridges with Tracey while also showing that he was willing to go the extra mile to integrate Hermione.

Unfortunately, he'd only been able to come up with one particularly unpleasant solution.

With a sigh of resignation, he fiddled with his tie until everything was as straight as it got without use of a ruler. Yaxley, who shuffled into the bathroom with both hands outstretched, almost ran him over, squinting drowsily.

'Mo'ing,' he murmured. 'Going somewhere?'

'Breakfast?' suggested Harry dryly.

'Right. Right.'

Luckily, Draco wasn't up quite as early as usual, so he wouldn't have to suffer his needling remarks – at least for a while. For a few moments, he just stood in the common room. But no matter how much he racked his brain, he always arrived at the same conclusion.

With grim determination, he made his way to the Great Hall. This early in the morning, the hall was usually deserted, with only the most hardcore of early risers attending breakfast. That – unfortunately – also included his target subjects, though perhaps there was the upside that there wouldn't be too many onlookers. Then again – Harry sighed – Hogwarts was at least as much a grapevine as it was a school, and the rumour would make the rounds sooner or later anyway.

Predictably, the Great Hall was a sad collection of small islands of what Daphne would call teacher's pets and prefects (who, in Daphne's opinion, were a species of professional teacher's pets anyway) in a vast sea of empty chairs. The majority of the staff wasn't up yet either; only Professors Sprout and McGonagall were currently in attendance, deep in conversation. Clenching his fists, he approached the Slytherin table.

Hermione stopped eating when she saw him heading straight in their direction.

'Good morning,' he said, hoping this was the stupidest thing he'd have to do all year.

'Er, morning?' said Hermione, smiling awkwardly.

Tracey continued eating her porridge. She went out of her way not to move a muscle as he sat down next to her.

'What, er, what made you get up so early?' asked Hermione.

Harry felt this was a bit rich seeing as, until his fight with Tracey, they had always taken breakfast together and rather late at that. Harry was, after all, not avoiding anyone.

Then again, maybe he was overthinking this. Taking a leaf out of Daphne's book, he decided to shoot for merciless honesty. 'Well, I figured you'd keep walking off if I didn't do anything drastic.'

Hermione, to his satisfaction, winced guiltily. 'I … didn't mean it like that. I've just been busy. Library, school work … you know.'

Harry laughed, pouring himself a bit of pumpkin juice. 'You're terrible at this, Hermione! I suggest asking your teachers for some help so you won't blush every time you lie.'

'Haha,' she grumbled sullenly. 'You didn't come here so early just to nag, did you?'

'Not exactly. I actually wanted to ask you if you'd like to go to the ball with me this Yule.'

There was a clank from his left side that sounded exactly like a spoon dropping into a bowl full of porridge. Tracey, for the first time in quite a while, was looking unabashedly at him – gaping, really.

'Er, won't that be trouble for you, Harry?' asked Hermione, looking taken aback. 'Me being Muggle-born and everything?'

Harry waved a hand, calmly sweeping a bit of porridge from his robes. 'It'll be fine. Come on, are you going to turn me down because you're a Muggle-born? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around!' He winked at her, grinning.

Hermione stared until she broke out in loud peals of laughter. 'Oh, all right, fine! But I still need so much help; do you think I'll manage with dancing? What about conversation? Wouldn't I be required to be introduced to your grandfather? That would be a big deal, wouldn't it? I'll have to look over my notes about introductions again. Oh, but I'd bet anything your family is one of those that still practises those really obscure greeting ceremonies. But I haven't even found any instructions about them! And my teachers said they weren't done anymore. I only found out because there was this book, and it said … And what about my dress?! I don't own anything even remotely –'

'Breathe, Hermione! Seriously, it's going to be all right! If you need help with dancing you, er – yes – you could ask Daphne. She's a very fine dancer, and I'm sure she'd gladly help.'

'Oh, yes. Of course. You don't like dancing, do you? I remember Leo commenting on it.'

'No, I'm not particularly … fond of dancing.'

Tracey snorted, finally picking up her spoon again.

'But the dress –'

'We can go look for formal wear this Hogsmeade weekend. The girls can help you. I'm positive Daphne would love it.'

'Maybe,' said Hermione hesitantly. 'I mean, I have a bit of time before my meeting with my teachers, but I'm not at all sure I've got enough money. You won't be wearing some, er, affordable robes by any chance?' she asked hopefully.

Tracey snorted again. 'Harry doesn't own cheap robes, honey. Probably allergic to anything so mundane that normal people would wear it.'

'How much …?' asked Hermione hesitantly.

Tracey shrugged. 'For a dress or for robes?'

'Oh, er, robes are okay for women, too?'

'Yup. It's a bit more traditional though. It all depends, I guess, what you want to shoot for. A few nit-picky, stuffy quasi-corpses will probably think you're trying too hard if you turn up wearing old-fashioned robes. But you'll probably be confirming their worst fears if you show up in a gaudy frock.'

'Er, are there modern robes, too?'

'There are as many types of robes as stars in the sky, trust me. I don't know all that much about it, to be honest. Ask Draco or Daphne.' After a short, grudging moment of silence, she added, 'Or Harry here.'

Harry looked in surprise to his left. Tracey ignored his look, but that had still almost been as if she'd talked to him. Definitely almost a win. Maybe not quite a win but at least a spell in the right direction – probably.

'I'd advise you to go for a more casual set of dress robes. They come in great quality, too. We'll figure it out, don't worry,' said Harry.

'I hesitate to ask again but, er, how much? I spent so much money on books this year …'

Tracey shrugged. 'Probably a hundred Galleons or so if you don't want to look like a pauper next to the prince.'

Hermione's jaw dropped.

'Don't worry,' insisted Harry. 'I've got it covered. I probably need to get a new set as well. Frankly speaking, I don't have too many robes of modern make.'

'I couldn't possibly –' stammered Hermione before Tracey shot her an annoyed glance from over her bowl.

'Yes, you can. Trust me, Harry's family won't even notice if he buys the entire inventory.'

Hermione frowned. 'It just doesn't feel right!' She tapped the table with her forefinger, frowning. Harry smiled patiently at her. 'Is your family really that rich? I mean, they'd notice if you bought the entire shop – right?'

'My family is … quite well-off.'

'No, they wouldn't notice,' translated Tracey.

'Oh, come off it! You're exaggerating.'

'Er – well – truth be told, she's not entirely wrong – technically speaking,' said Harry, scratching his head. 'I mean, yeah, my grandfather would notice at the end of the fiscal year, but we've got financial advisors who handle small to medium acquisitions. I'd probably have to answer a few sharp questions why I thought it'd be a good idea to buy Gladrags but, yeah …'

Hermione goggled at him. 'You're kidding, right? You're not … sleeping on a sheet of gold or something, are you?'

'No?'

'Or wearing diamond bracelets?'

'Er, no.'

'He's got natural, solid, and absolutely immaculate black diamond cufflinks,' said Tracey helpfully, pointing at Harry with her right hand while eating with her left.

'Very funny, Tracey,' said Hermione.

Tracey looked up, slowly shaking her head at the Muggle-born.

'That … wasn't a joke?'

'They are quite small cufflinks,' said Harry surlily. 'And I ordered them when I was a kid.'

'How many carats would those stones need to have that you could make functional cufflinks out of them. Fifty? A hundred?! Even more?!' asked Hermione, who – far from placated – looked even more shocked. 'And your grandfather allowed you to buy solid black diamond cufflinks when you were a child?'

'Well, kind of, yeah.'

'You know, I always thought you were a bit spoiled, Harry,' said Hermione conversationally.

'I'm sitting right here, you know?'

'… but this really is something else.'

The others arrived about an hour later, by which time Harry had managed to answer about 14% of Hermione's initial set of questions – by his estimate. Via some strange magic, the rumour that Harry Black was taking a Muggle-born to the Black Ball had already permeated Hogwarts Castle.

'I've already heard,' said Daphne, sitting on Harry's other side, a grin so wide on her face that Harry couldn't help wondering if it didn't hurt. 'It's going to be great! Have you already settled on robes?'

'I thought we might tackle those next weekend,' said Harry cautiously. 'You know. Together. You could help Hermione settle on a style and with … measurements and stuff.'

Daphne nodded enthusiastically. 'Good thinking! Gladrags never get it right. They still think robes need to flutter like a banner. The set of dress robes I bought last year would've been wide enough to conceal another person in there. We're not children anymore!'

Tracey sniggered, winking at her best friend. She seemed visibly more relaxed than Harry had seen her the last couple days. He hadn't really thought about it, but he supposed Tracey had to have been taking her separation from Daphne quite badly, too. 'Maybe they simply know their customers?'

Daphne frowned. 'What are you on about?'

Harry rather thought that Daphne had taken the comment to mean that Tracey was making fun of her imaginary weight problem, but that clearly wasn't the case.

Tracey poked out her tongue. 'Stealing away for a quiet dance in the middle of the night? All alone? In the freezing cold? All cosy and quiet, waiting for the perfect moment to … well. That ring any bells?'

Harry's interest in what he was eating suddenly and mysteriously spiked.

'Stop it!' hissed Daphne.

Amy sniggered. 'Ah, I get it. Those new dress robes are all about being tight-fitting and accentuating. You probably couldn't even slide a hand underneath without the fabric tearing.'

'Amy!'

'Well, as a last resort, I suppose you could always go dow–' began Tracey, but Daphne jumped from her chair, reaching over Harry to put her hand over her best friend's mouth.

'TRACEY!' shouted Daphne, beet red. 'Harry explained to me the concept of mutually assured destruction yesterday. You know, that Boggart crap. If you don't stop right now, I'll pull out a few stories about our childhood. I'll give you a hint: pool!'

Whatever that story was, and Harry wasn't really sure if he wanted to find out, it must be a good one because Tracey instantly paled, nodding meekly even as she raised her hand in surrender. 'A'ight,' she mumbled through Daphne's hand.

Daphne slowly took away her hand, glaring at her best friend.

'Ehem,' said Hermione, who looked rather flushed herself. 'So we'll all be heading to Gladrags together?'

Harry nodded, struggling to get … pictures out of his mind.

'That'll be something,' commented Draco from across the table. 'Harry in modern robes. We could buy you a T-shirt while we're at it.'

'No, thank you.'

'What, you've never worn a T-shirt?' asked Hermione.

'No, and I don't intend to either.'

'Okay, enough about clothes already,' said Leo. 'Could we talk about something more important, please?'

'Agreed,' said Amy, yawning.

'Oh, right,' said Leo, looking excited. 'We're having another lesson with Hermione this evening. Occlumency, I mean. Would you mind having a look, Harry? As a sort of … visiting lecturer?'

Tracey made a face, but she didn't speak up.

Harry, on his part, sighed. He really hadn't signed up for any of that. But on the other hand, Daphne looked positively exuberant right now? Maybe he was just being stubborn. 'Fine.'

'Great!' said Leo.

'Yeah, Harry's the man when it comes to boring background knowledge!' said Draco, giving him a big thumbs up.

Daphne, apparently, had also paid close attention to him. Under the table, she grasped his hand.

When it was finally time for their first lesson of the day, they all stood up, and Daphne made a show of packing her belongings. Just when he was about to ask what the trouble was, she took a step forward and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. 'Thanks,' she breathed into his ear, running her fingers over his other cheek as she stared into his eyes, beaming. 'You really are the best!'

And even though a few Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were gawping at them, Harry didn't mind it all that much.

Memory Lane

Harry was deep in thought, staring out of the window right next to him for the better part of Charms. Flitwick had engaged him about his superb first Apparition class one more time but had left him to his own devices when it was finally time for the real topic of the day's class.

For a while, Harry enjoyed himself watching brash Gryffindors loudly shout 'Accio!' without anything at all happening, but even that got old at some point. Daphne and the rest had given up on asking him for pointers months ago; apparently, his answers were only adding to their confusion.

The sun was shining brightly, and Harry eventually decided to give in to its beckoning. Even though it was still the middle of the class, he calmly stood up and opened a window. It was quite warm for November, and the breeze was wonderfully fresh. For a few seconds, he just stood there at the window, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

'Shut the window, won't you?' snarled a Gryffindor, Finnigan or something. 'It's freezing!'

Harry sighed. 'It's not that cold. Only a few minutes. The air is stale in here.'

'The air is stale in here,' someone repeated in a rather offensive imitation of his voice. He didn't sound that affected, did he?

There was some sniggering.

Harry glanced towards the front. Flitwick was busy helping Patil and Brown with their Summoning Charm.

'Cut it out,' mumbled Neville. 'You'll get into trouble!'

Finnigan and Weasley ignored him.

'He's so full of himself. Doesn't even demonstrate the charms anymore nowadays. Did you notice?'

'Yeah! You too good for us, Black?!' jeered Finnigan.

Harry rolled his eyes. He pointed his wand from within his sleeve. 'Accio Finnigan's wand.'

'What the–'

Seamus Finnigan's wand, in a very prominent arc that caught a lot of attention, flew over half the class straight towards Harry – who let it slip through his outstretched left hand.

'Oops,' he said with a wink at Finnigan. 'Dear me, I think I messed up.'

Finnigan was staring at him in horror. The wand had, after all, just soared straight through the window behind Harry.

'My wand!' shouted Finnigan, storming towards the window, Weasley just behind him. 'Me mum's gonna kill me!'

'You git!' snarled Weasley. 'You did that on purpose. Get it back!'

'I make mistakes like everyone else, Weasley. And, regretfully, I feel like I've exhausted the extent of my magic. I fear you'll have to wade down there later on. But I'm sure you'll find it – eventually.'

'Get it back right now, you snake!'

'Clever,' said Daphne sarcastically. Harry was honestly surprised she hadn't interfered until now. 'Did you come up with that all by yourself, or is that a joke passed down in your family, Weasley? You know, from father to … spawn.'

'Put a sock in it, you brainless slag!'

Harry's lazy smile froze a bit. He raised his wand. 'Accio Weasley's brain!' he said, carefully refraining from concentrating on the spell.

Weasley and Finnigan screamed in horror for three seconds. Weasley was actually holding his ears. Harry looked at his wand in apparent wonder. 'Huh! My bad. It seems like Weasley's immune to this particular spell.'

The Slytherins laughed, not least of all because Weasley was still keeping his ears shut.

'What's all this fuss about, lads?' asked Professor Flitwick.

'Professor, Black threw my wand out of the window!'

'Professor, Black tried to summon my brain!'

'Professor, Professor,' squealed Draco, imitating Weasley's shocked voice with cruel accuracy. 'Medical emergency: Weasley's got no brains!'

'All right, all right, boys. Sit down and continue practising, please.'

'But my wand–'

'That's quite enough, Finnigan,' said Professor Flitwick sternly, making Harry feel almost guilty how much the Charms Master seemed to trust him.

He quietly sat down. For the rest of the class, he took turns staring out of the window and helping Daphne, who kept overstressing the incantation and fumbling her aim. By the end of the lesson, she finally managed to catch three cushions in a row. Her aim still wasn't as good as Hermione's, but she was easily among the best at this point.

'Well done, everyone. Homework: practise the Summoning Charm. We'll hold a short demonstration next week, and then we'll progress to banishing. Good day to you!'

Harry had already forgotten about the incident from earlier when the shadow of Weasley's lanky figure darkened his desk.

'Something I can do for you?' Harry asked politely.

'You'll pay for that, Black! And your little bitch, too!'

'Oh really. Well, if that was everything …'

Weasley sneered down at him. 'Bloody chinless wonder. You'll get yours!'

Harry watched them go. 'Not a very pleasant fellow, is he?'

'He hates Slytherins,' said Daphne. She was shaking with anger and glaring after the Gryffindors. 'Brown and Patil go on and on about it.'

Harry gently pushed her wand down. 'There are other ways. He'll just run off to the next prefect if you jinx him like that.'

'So we just let him get away with that?!'

Harry, who hadn't forgotten what Weasley had repeated about Daphne, slowly shook his head. 'No, I don't think so.'

Looking around to make sure Flitwick and the rest were gone, he walked towards the window.

'What are you up to?' asked Draco, standing next to Hermione and a very reluctant Tracey.

'Oh,' said Harry with a grin. 'I just thought I'd get Finnigan his wand back. As a show of good will.'

'But they'll be searching the grounds!' said Hermione, looking uncomfortable.

Harry levelled his wand. 'Now, that would be a tragic waste of time, but I'm hardly to blame, am I? After all, I'm only trying to assist.'

'Hey, what's that?' asked Daphne, pointing towards the horizon.

A small speck of black was rapidly approaching.

'Owl?' guessed Draco.

'I think it's heading this way,' said Hermione.

It was. The dark brown owl zoomed straight through the window, landing on Harry's desk. With a bark, it offered him the letter tied to her leg.

'Thanks?' said Harry, removing the strings.

Carefully, he unfolded the letter.

'Hey, Champ,

You got something against solicitors? Mind, I don't blame you! You should'a seen Rowle's ugly mug when he got back – all but demanding that I call off the deal to teach 'that bleeding upstart' a lesson. Dog's bollocks, that twit's so nuff. Must be all the interbreeding – no offence. He's funny though – just applied for a two week leave just so I can't send him over again. Best regards to your little lady friend as well! A fitbird if ever there was one!

But enough faffing around. Fancy a drink? I'll be at the Hog's Head next weekend. Don't forget to bring your saucy bit of crumpet! We'll talk business then.

Cheerio,
Peter'

Daphne, looking over his shoulder, stared in disbelief. 'Saucy crumpet …?'

Harry couldn't help himself and laughed. 'You must've left an impression on Rowle.'

'Yeah, but … saucy crumpet?'

'Who's Peter?' asked Hermione. 'And what does he mean – fancy a drink? He's not talking about alcohol, is he?!'

'Oh,' said Harry, only just realising that he hadn't told Hermione about that until now. Well, there was nothing for it now. 'I'm meeting an old acquaintance of my parents.'

'That Peter is an old friend of your parents? The Potters, you mean?'

'Right.'

'What did you do to anger that … Rowle person?' continued Hermione, apparently trying to catch up.

'Nothing much. I, well, I let Daphne do most of the talking.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Went down pretty much as expected, then?'

Harry shrugged. 'I suppose. I can't deny I'm a bit relieved that he's finally decided to write, but I guess we'll see next weekend.' He took a few steps towards the door. Then, looking over his shoulder at Daphne, who was still standing where he'd left her, he said, 'You coming, Daphne?'

'What? Oh, yes. Of course.' She was still frowning as she walked up to them. 'Saucy crumpet …?'

AN: See? An entire chapter without anything disastrous happening. Everything's going to be fine!