Summer's end

Harry had been in a constant state of inattention ever since the news about Sirius, unwilling to admit that nothing could be done while Uncle Arcturus was gathering more information. Daphne, who didn't enjoy this tense, brooding version of him, had therefore decided to try her best at keeping him company and off balance which, naturally, had nothing at all to do with sleeping in Harry's room and spending days and days being waited on hand and foot like a princess.

'We've got approximately two dozen guest rooms last I counted, Daphne. You can pick any single one of them and keep it for however long you want. It'll be yours only! You're even free to redecorate. I just don't see any reason why you should stay in my room!'

Daphne didn't answer, choosing instead to channel all of her strength into latching onto the blanket. Her arm stung painfully, but she wouldn't desist no matter what. Harry, spotting her pained grimace, let go, admitting defeat for this round of tug-of-war.

Daphne: 1 – Chivalry: 0!

Daphne immediately spread out the blanket, vanishing underneath with a happy little purr. While she loved lounging around wearing nothing but a shirt of Harry's and some baggy shorts, it could get a bit chilly if you actually had to leave bed.

But her formidable opponent, far from retreating, immediately attacked from another angle. 'What about Tori and your mother?' he asked with what she could tell was his 'Look, I'm trying to be reasonable here'-voice. 'They already left yesterday.'

'You said nothing would change between us! I used to stay over all the time a few years back. I'm choosing to resurrect that tradition!'

'Yes, I know I said that but–'

'And there you have it!' said Daphne like someone revealing the ultimate argument. As if the matter had been settled, she proceeded to serenely pat the pillow, making herself comfortable in Harry's bed. 'Just pipe down and get the light. My arm hurts again from your attempted blanket theft.'

'Daphne, I won't be able to get a wink of sleep like this. I know you're still exhausted, but you've been lolling about in my bed for the last couple days non-stop!'

'And I can't sleep alone in some other room because as soon as I close my eyes, I see a certain someone about to eviscerate himself with a knife!' she shot back, going strong and aiming for an early knockout punch. 'How about you show that you actually care?!'

Harry groaned. 'How can one person be so obstinate?!'

She could hear him stomping angrily on the ground, but still she refused to turn around, grinning into the pillow.

'Fine. Three days. Three more days but then I'm kicking you out – no matter what!'

'Okay,' she agreed happily. She wasn't worried. This was, after all, already the first day after Harry's initial super serious ultimatum.

'But what about your birthday, Daphne? I thought you wanted to celebrate with Tracey, and Hermione, and all the rest.'

Daphne yawned pointedly. 'Don't want to … hassle … rather catch some more sleep. See them in a few weeks anyway,' she mumbled.

'Well, it's your birthday. But I'm straight-up refusing to sleep on the couch any longer!'

Daphne turned around at the speed of light. Was that supposed to be a threat or temptation? Daphne had been far from ever suggesting such a thing, but Harry had insisted in that stubborn way of his.

'All right!' she returned immediately, lifting the duvet for him to crawl underneath.

But, to her surprise, Harry chuckled, wagging his head. 'Oh, no. If you want to play that game again, I'll have to tweak the rules a bit. Cranky!'

The elf apparated into the middle of the room, bowing low first to Harry and then to Daphne. She had to admit she was still having issues getting used to it. Minnie wasn't a problem at all; she was so adorably happy caring for her family that Daphne often commanded her to appear for ludicrously trivial tasks only to shower her with praise. But Kreacher was creepy! And Cranky was … strange – no matter how helpful he could be (for example delivering breakfast to bed every day). It was such a shame that she wouldn't be allowed to call them in London or Hogwarts.

'Master Harry called?' asked Cranky, looking up.

'The … item,' said Harry in a conspiratorial hush, 'has it arrived yet?'

The elf bowed again, cackling madly. 'It has indeed, Master.'

Daphne frowned. Why did even the elf sound so sinister all of a sudden?

'I believe Daphne would very much like to see it now.'

'As you wish, Master.' With a snap of his fingers, a colourful and elegantly wrapped box about the size of a trunk appeared directly next to Daphne.

Confused, she stared first at the box and then at Harry.

'Thank you, Cranky. An early present for your birthday, Daphne,' he said with a suspiciously exuberant smile. 'I hope you'll enjoy it. I know I will.'

His grin was worrying, but presents were presents! She gave it a small shake and was surprised to realise that the entire thing didn't seem to weigh more than a few pounds. Excited, she ripped at the wrapping, paper flying everywhere. Inside the first, colourful box was another box wrapped in red ribbons. That box, too, contained an even smaller, very discreet black case. It looked sort of like the boxing in which her negligée had been packed but … no … The idea was kind of exciting, but Harry would never … would he?

Her head filled with fantastical expectations, she lifted the lid. For a few seconds, she stared expressionlessly at what lurked within.

'If I may be permitted?' asked Harry with another smile, carefully picking up the item.

It was a negligée … of sorts.

'Allow me to explain,' he went on enthusiastically, holding it up as if it were a treasure beyond price. 'This, my dear Daphne, is finest hand-spun wool of happy merino sheep – thick, strong, durable, and breathable. This particular gown was spun using wool from the shoulders only. It's very resilient and dense.'

He held it up for the last rays of sunshine to fall on it. 'See? It's practically opaque. It's not often you see craftsmanship this fine.'

'Very nice, Master,' complimented Cranky loyally.

Daphne felt her jaw drop.

'In addition to that,' he continued, giving the item a fancy twirl, 'I had it specifically made to allow maximum comfort. Even better, it's charmed to never slip even the slightest – guaranteed. It'll cover your legs, and arms, and everything in between perfectly at all times.'

'Very impressive, indeed, Master.'

'It may be a touch old-fashioned,' he admitted with what was likely to be the understatement of the century, 'but it's made to resemble authentic Victorian styles. The very helpful shop assistant privately confessed that her grandmother swore by it.'

Daphne felt like throwing up inside her mouth, but Harry still hadn't finished, lifting the pyjamas above his head as if they were the Holy Grail.

'It's also charmed to be a perfect fit even should your measurements change. Isn't that fantastic? And – last but certainly not least – a very convenient array of spells has been woven into the fibre to allow for perfectly controlled temperature regulation. Why, I'm told you could sleep in the heat of the Sahara wearing this marvellous nightgown and not feel even the slightest touch of discomfort. The height of a British summer? No problem at all! But what about winter, you ask? No need whatsoever for hot-water bottles or additional charm work. The kind lady told me they're the perfect pyjamas for the self-confident spinster – absolutely no snuggling required ever!'

With an extravagant bow that included many a twirl of his hands, he presented her the lumpy, mouse-grey gown. Daphne's hands numbly accepted it, reluctantly admitting that chivalry had scored a late but stunning comeback.

'I hope it gives you many nights of comfortable, reposeful sleep,' finished Harry with a roguish grin. 'I'm certain it will for me.'

Memory Lane

'Hermione, there's some post for you!' called Hermione's mother from downstairs.

Slytherin's only current Muggle-born got up from her desk with curiosity, wondering if this – finally – was the reply from the teacher Draco had contracted.

Her parents were sitting in the kitchen, enjoying some late Sunday afternoon tea. The scene of tranquil philistinism was slightly distorted by the two owls circling above her grumbling father. He'd never got entirely comfortable with the notion of avian mail delivery.

'Can't you receive your post outside, Hermione?' he asked with forced calmn. 'We could put a bird house in the garden, for instance. Wouldn't that be nice?'

One of the owls landed on his knee, pecking at his cookies and drenching its beak in his cup. Hermione had to suppress a laugh, but she could see her father's temple twitch dangerously.

'You need to relax, my dear,' suggested her mother. 'They seem to notice if you try to ignore them. Some of them are bit showy. They want to be praised!'

Her father harrumphed, noticeably writing 'bird house' in very large letters under 'milk' on a small bit of paper.

With a smile, Hermione accepted the first letter from the bigger owl that seemed vaguely familiar. There wasn't a lot of writing in it.

'Hey there, Granger!

Harry insisted that I absolutely had to cancel my invitations by mail. So here it is: Birthday cancelled.

See you at Hogwarts,

Daphne'

She had another look into the envelope but that, apparently, really was it. So much for the present she'd already bought. She would have to look into getting it there by Muggle mail, seeing as the owl was already a shrinking spot on the horizon. The second envelope was a great deal heavier, revealing an impressive coat of arms of some bird of prey in mid-flight. When she opened it, however, she realised that the thickness of the envelope was due more to a stack of forms than the actual letter. She decided to read the letter first.

'Dear Miss Granger,

I am very pleased to accept the arrangement brokered on behalf of Mr Draco Malfoy to offer lessons about etiquette, customs, Wizarding history, fashion, Ministry organisation, politics, career advice, and courtship.

Seeing as you're still underage and living with your parents, I would very much like to introduce myself and a colleague of mine to you and your guardians as soon as possible to begin our course during your summer holidays. Should you judge this arrangement to be fruitless, the entire sum paid will be refunded if you terminate the agreement per owl within two weeks following you opening the envelope.

Please consider having your parents fill out enclosed Ministry-sanctioned registration forms A32 through A48c to temporarily connect the place of your residence to the Floo Network.

All dues have been paid in full one year in advance, courtesy of the aforementioned Mr Malfoy.

Hoping you are well,

Audrea Monboglott'

Well, that explained the sizeable stack of yellow parchment attached to the cover letter.

'It's from the teacher, Mum!' said Hermione happily. 'She writes that she wants to introduce herself to you as soon as possible!'

'Well, that does sound like the respectable thing to do. The owl seems to be waiting, so why don't you write back right away? Any weekend should be fine.'

Hermione nodded, immediately scribbling a short reply and handing it to the owl.

Her father harrumphed once more. 'Odd name though, isn't it? Mind you, Draco Malfoy isn't any better,' he said, sifting through Ministry forms. With a sigh, he added, 'But it's a relief that even the magical world has to suffer paperwork.'

'Don't judge people on their names, Dad. Though I admit some are a bit … special. I mean there's Lestrange or even Lovegood! Not to mention Professor Dumbledore!'

'Lovegood,' repeated her father weakly.

'It takes all sorts, dear,' said her mother smoothly.

'I suppose you're right. But,' he had another look at Hermione's letter, 'courtship?! I don't remember you mentioning that!'

Hermione felt herself blush. 'That's because I didn't know! Draco organised it all.'

'Are you close to that … Draco boy?' her father asked, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

Hermione felt rather conflicted about the answer to that question. 'He's a good friend of Harry's.'

Harry's name elicited two very different responses: her mother's expression lit up whereas her father's frown only deepened.

Thankfully, Hermione was rescued from standing trial by a polite knock on the door. All three Grangers synchronously glanced first at Hermione's letter and then in the direction of the hallway.

'What exactly did you reply with, dear?' asked her mother with a chuckle.

'I wrote "any weekend will do".'

'Well, you'd better get the door then because, unless I'm very much mistaken, it seems this weekend was chosen.'

Hermione grinned guiltily, hurrying towards the door. 'Dad? Please be nice!' she called over her shoulder.

Even in the hallway, she could hear the faint groaning. 'Not again …' before her mother shushed her husband.

Curious, Hermione opened the door.

Two people stood in front of their home – a woman and a man. The woman, Audrea Monboglott she assumed, was about her parents' age, round-faced, and had short, coarse hair. She wore a perfectly ordinary black suit. Despite her severe appearance, a few subtle lines around her eyes and mouth hinted at a sunny disposition.

She held out her hand for Hermione to take, but Hermione – thanks in no small part to Draco's constant leering comments – hesitated for just a moment, which seemed to amuse her guest.

'We're in public, dear. It's perfectly all right to shake hands given our surroundings.'

Sheepishly, Hermione shook hands.

'I'm Audrea Monboglott. I assume you're Miss Granger?'

Hermione nodded, opening the door a bit further. 'Yes, thank you for coming by, Ms Monboglott.'

'No need to be so stiff, Hermione. May I call you Hermione? While I intend to teach etiquette, I see no reason for us to bore ourselves with platitudes and empty gestures. Is that all right with you?'

Hermione gave a little smile of her own. 'Perfectly okay.'

'Capital!' She stood aside to fully reveal the man slightly behind her. In contrast to Audrea Monboglott, the man wore unassuming robes that could – with a bit of luck – pass off as a judge's gown. He appeared to be slightly younger than his companion. And while his pose and bearing gave off the telling casual elegance Hermione had come to associate with pure-blood elites, a lazy grin played about his lips. He had lustrous black hair that fell to his shoulders, and even with the baggy robes, Hermione could tell that he was well-built.

'This ungrateful hunk is Mr Lazarus. He's an Auror.'

'All right, Hermione?' he called with a half-hearted wave as he inspected the doorbell.

'And while his manners leave much to be desired,' continued Ms Monboglott smoothly but with a hint of exasperation, 'he will be able to teach some material I'm not too familiar with. I assure you, he's quite harmless – unless you're out for a drink, of age, and biologically female. We'll ditch him in time, don't worry.'

Hermione gave a nervous chuckle. 'Would you like to come in? My parents are in the kitchen.'

'Splendid! Please lead the way.'

Hermione led her guests towards the kitchen, praying for the best. Her father could be a bit troublesome. It was his nature to ceaselessly worry, and Hermione leaving home for months at a time hadn't improved that particular trait.

But to her utmost amazement, her father got along splendidly with Mr Lazarus. While her mother was asking serious questions about the curriculum and Magical Britain, in general, her dad was busy discussing yesterday's football matches with the enthusiastic Auror, opening a second beer for the both of them within the first ten minutes. She distinctly saw her mother sigh at the men, but both women chose not to interfere – presumably to get the most important things sorted out while their baggage was otherwise preoccupied.

'Would you mind me asking about your qualifications, Ms Monboglott?' asked Hermione's mother, offering their guest a bit more tea.

'No, no – of course not. Well, just like the loafer I'm legally required to call colleague right now, I've been living in Britain's magical community all my life. I attended Hogwarts myself, of course, so I'll be able to help your daughter not only from a professional but also from a personal perspective. I have a lot of friends who stumbled into the magical world, so I'm all too familiar with the difficulties these rapid changes may entail.'

Ms Monboglott carefully stirred her tea before taking an elegant little sip.

'On a more personal note, I'm also married to what you might consider a descendant of one of Britain's more conservative families.'

'And what is it you do when you're not teaching other, what was the term, Muggle-borns? Our daughter told us these kinds of courses aren't exactly wide-spread.'

'Oh, I work for the Ministry.' She rummaged in her tasteful blue clutch until she produced a little business card. Hermione glanced at it, trying to make out the moving letters upside-down.

'Ministry of Magic: Department of Ethics'

The name seemed to ring a bell, but she knew that the Ministry had dozens of smaller departments subordinated to the larger ones. It had to be one of the smaller ones, then. Prewett had them go through the organisation of the Ministry only last year, and Hermione couldn't recall this particular department from his syllabus.

'My husband works for the Ministry as well.'

'Oh,' said Mary Granger, surprised. 'So your colleague isn't–'

Mrs Monboglott fervently shook her head, waving with both hands as if to dispel the notion. 'Oh, no. He's just my colleague. He's not the most … disciplined of men, but he's perfectly harmless, don't worry.'

All three women had a quick look at what was happening on their right side. Mr Lazarus was in the process of recounting some tale that seemed to involve steering a wheel, talking to someone outside of the car, and trying to shove something in front of him out of sight. Hermione's father was puffing and blowing, raising his third beer in cheers.

Both Mrs Monboglott and Hermione's mother sighed simultaneously.

'Why is it you give these lessons if you work for the government, Mrs Monboglott?' continued Hermione's mother, speaking a bit louder to make herself heard over the ruckus of the men. 'Surely you don't need the money? I mean to say, you yourself explained how your husband comes from a good family.'

'There are many people working at the Ministry for modest wages,' said Mrs Monboglott, 'but it's true that I don't exactly need the money. However, it's one of my department's key interests to constantly re-evaluate our progress integrating Muggle-borns. We induced many changes in the past, from the early notification about your daughter's acceptance into Hogwarts to many small and large legal issues.'

'So you mean you want to use these lessons as a kind of feedback?'

'That's right. As a matter of fact, we've pledged to donate our wages. This is one of the reasons why my choice of colleagues was a bit … limited. There aren't many financially independent and sociable Aurors around.'

'Excuse me, but what are Aurors?' asked Mary Granger.

'Oh, they're specialists working to catch Dark Wizards. Their work is a bit more varied, but – in your terms – they're a bit like investigators, policemen, military police, and combat squad all in one. I know it's hard to believe,' she sighed, rolling her eyes in the direction of her colleague, who was trying to balance his empty beer bottle on his brow, 'but they're an elite force. Even that guy.'

'Oh, I don't mind,' replied Hermione's mother with a smile. 'I'm glad they're getting along. My husband was a bit standoffish with Hermione's school friend, so this is a nice break.'

'Your school friend?' asked the Ministry witch. 'From Hogwarts?'

'Harry once visited me here.' At the mention of her friend's name, a thought occurred to Hermione. 'It, er, it won't be a problem that I'm friends with Harry Black, will it?'

Mrs Monboglott smiled at that. 'Not at all. I suggest we start making a rough draft for the lessons now. That way, you and your parents can suggest topics. Oh, and if you really don't mind, I'd rather we keep these meetings between us. A few people at the Ministry could get the wrong idea. Anyway, I feel like we should begin with your personal situation at Hogwarts – just so I can get a clear picture of what we're working with.'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, relieved by the subtle smile of her mother. They agreed to three lessons of four hours each week as long as Hermione was still on her holidays, and one two-hour lesson each Hogsmeade weekend.

And not very long after that, Hermione's lessons for life started in earnest.

Memory Lane

The early rays of the late August sun gently nudged Daphne awake. She moaned, stretching sleepily beneath her blanket. The separate blankets had been Harry's last line of defence and Daphne's concession when it became all but apparent that she would stay the entire summer.

He was lying to her left, still asleep and facing her way, his hand outstretched towards the no man's land between them. It was impossible for Daphne to ever tire of watching him sleep; it was the one time he couldn't put up any walls or acts – not even for her sake. It was during these moments that he was, well, quintessentially Harry, unburdened by his past, his worries, or all the business the adults really had no business bothering him with in the first place.

But even though Daphne was brimming over with happiness that Harry was virtually opening her the door to his life, she couldn't help feeling miffed how holding hands was the only thing she had accomplished after weeks of sharing the same bed! It was getting to the point where she kept wondering if she should be dejected about her lack of progress, embarrassed about some of her more obvious ploys, or ashamed of what a failure of a woman she apparently was.

If a desperate test involving a strategically, seemingly lazily buttoned shirt hadn't proved that Harry wasn't playing for the other team or wholly disinterested in her, she might even have considered throwing in the towel by now. That morning, though, she had caught Harry perving at her boobs for several minutes and with great interest while Daphne had graciously pretended to be asleep. And yet, for some pig-headed reason that was completely beyond her, he stuck to his guns. Her only saving grace was that Harry had never downright told her to back off or that he wasn't interested.

That night before the ritual – this was even more depressing – she'd all but shoved his hand down her décolleté before she'd had her little nervous breakdown, but still he hadn't so much as tried to cop a feel. Her mother had once told her that men and boys were generally either untameably wild or irritatingly clueless, but could anyone really be so clueless as to assume a girl didn't know what she was doing when she took your hand and practically had her way with it?!

Obviously, that was all back before Harry had bought her the new pyjamas which – admittedly – were about as sexy as a potato sack. Its shape, too, reminded Daphne of a potato sack. At least, though Daphne was loathe to admit it, it really was comfy.

She was positive it wasn't his … thing … concerning women that was holding him back. They'd had a lot of very casual contact since last summer, and while he was still as introverted as ever, there weren't any of the many hints she'd learned to pick up on over the years. With the other girls from their year like Parkinson or even Granger, they still surfaced occasionally, but at least around those he knew better he seemed to finally be able to relax.

With a sigh that was equal parts longing and frustration, Daphne silently snaked her way out of bed. Throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't about to give Harry an involuntary show, she hastily got dressed and started packing her belongings and those belongings of Harry's that, by now and in Daphne's very personal opinion, belonged to her by custom and practice anyway.

Tomorrow was the first of September, and Daphne really needed to get a few things from back home like her trunk with all her supplies for school – and, just maybe, some clothes of her own.

Because she'd told Harry only yesterday about that and since Harry wasn't truly awake till noon in any case, she saw no reason to wait for him. She carefully climbed back onto the bed and planted a big, fat kiss on Harry's nose, grinning as she saw him squinching up his face in his sleep.

For the first time in a great many days, she ventured farther from Harry's room than the gigantic bathroom he had all to himself. It was kind of worrying how fast she'd got used to all the luxuries, but she'd have to lie to deny that she was going to miss swimming a few laps in the ludicrously extravagant Roman marble bath every other day. Dragging the little bag she'd found in Harry's wardrobe behind her, she walked down the steps, arriving at the small dining room hoping for an early breakfast.

To her surprise, someone was already there. She hadn't really spoken much to Arcturus (or anyone not counting Harry, for that matter) since that one night, but he didn't look particularly surprised to see her standing in the doorway.

'Good morning, Daphne,' he said cordially, turning a page of the Prophet.

'Er, good morning?' she returned awkwardly, unsure whether she was supposed to bow or not.

But Lord Black simply pointed towards one of the empty chairs. 'Please do be seated. I assume breakfast was why you chose to vacate your shared domicile early?'

Feeling as if her every move was under scrutiny, Daphne stiffly took a seat, trying to evade those knowing grey eyes that peered at her from over the newspaper. Did she have to suffer The Talk now from Harry's guardian who also happened to be the newly established head of her own family?! It couldn't get any worse!

But Arcturus merely snapped his fingers for Minnie to appear, and the little elf busied herself with Daphne's breakfast at once: enormous, lilac fruits that looked like two cabbages glued together; some kind of fried dough sticks; a thick, dark broth that smelled of soy and fish next to steaming hot rice; a more comprehensive assortment of freshly baked bread (from dumpling size to entire pitas) than she would have believed to be allowed to exist; griddle cakes; chutneys; steamed salmon; boiled eggs; something that appeared to be salted and fermented vegetables; a stupendous selection of cheese; cold meat; thirteen different kinds of honey; olives; and much more Daphne failed to identify. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the disproportionate feast that had been served for her alone.

'Cranky isn't here today, and Minnie isn't sure what would be to Mistress' liking,' explained the little elf nervously.

Uncle Arcturus gave a tiny chuckle from behind his paper.

In her desperation, Daphne settled on a small bowl of porridge simply because she was relieved to spot something she was familiar with.

'Is Mistress wishing for something to drink as well?' asked the little elf, hovering at her side.

Daphne, immediately spotting another potential disaster in the making, hastily replied, 'Just coffee! Simple, black coffee, please.'

Barely a second later, Daphne had a taste of what Minnie had brought her. She was used to (and secretly loved) the cheap coffee one could get at every corner in the city, so she was unpleasantly surprised by the rich and slightly acidic taste.

'It be Hawaii Kona,' said Minnie at once, looking up at her through her big eyes and waiting for a reaction. 'Is Mistress liking it?'

Truthfully, the answer would have had to be no, but Daphne really only wanted to have a little snack and something to wash it down with, so she nodded smilingly at her little helper, who bowed deeply in return.

As soon as the elf disapparated, Arcturus raised his voice, not looking up from his paper. 'You're not doing them a kindness by pretending to like something you don't, Daphne. They're sharper than you might think. I suggest being a bit more specific lest you wish for Minnie to show off like this again,' he said with a sweeping gesture at the table that could satisfy one or two famished Quidditch teams.

Daphne grinned guiltily, embarrassed to have been seen through so easily. 'It's okay,' she said, 'I really don't mind.'

She ate her porridge, nibbling on a few olives, and had a taste of some kind of tomato spread that seemed to go well with bread, trying to shrink in her seat, fearing the moment the old man opposite her would start his wigging, for once regretting her choice to dress in one of Harry's shirts.

But Arcturus Black didn't do anything but calmly turn the pages every once in a while.

The rustling was getting to her.

It stressed Daphne that her vis-à-vis seemed so confidently at ease, and – eventually – she just couldn't take the pressure anymore. 'Ehem,' she began eloquently, wincing slightly at how stupid she sounded even to herself, 'I, er, sleeping with Har– I mean, sleeping in Harry's room and all that, er–' But that was as far as she got before she started regretting the decision to speak up.

Arcturus glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. 'Yes?' he asked mildly, but the prompt to continue embarrassing herself in that manner felt a hundred times worse than any tongue-lashing.

'It's not … an issue … is it?'

Arcturus Black hummed pensively, putting down the paper and taking a very elegant, if tortuous, sip from his own cup, seemingly unaware of how anxious Daphne felt. Leisurely, he placed the cup on the saucer with the utmost precision. 'Do you prefer the abbreviated or the conclusive explanation?'

'Short!' She doubted she was prepared to handle Harry's or Arcturus' rigmarole this early in the morning.

The old man chuckled once more. 'No.' Seeing her disbelieving expression, he added, 'As long as you don't force or push Harry to do something he doesn't want to, I don't see any reason to get involved. It has always been my policy to let things of a personal nature run their course. My daughter and my eldest grandchild both made … questionable personal decisions, but I'm not Esmerelle, Daphne. You're your own person, not my or anyone else's underling. You're free to make any decision whatsoever – as long as you're prepared to take responsibility for your actions.'

Daphne, her imagination running wild, felt her ears get treacherously hot, but she nodded happily at Uncle Arcturus before she decided to give a few other dishes a try as well. It only now dawned on her that she was truly, irrevocably free of her grandmother and her little shackles and schemes. Her entire life lay before her, and she had the freedom to make any decision, no matter how fantastical they had seemed only weeks ago. The only question that remained was what would happen if Esmerelle Greengrass decided to push her luck …

Memory Lane

Packing – if it was permissible to call throwing everything that seemed useful into one's trunk 'packing' – was done quickly and without fuss. In the room next to her, Daphne could hear her sister agonising about what to pack, but that was hardly news; in a way, Tori had been preparing for Hogwarts for the better part of two years. After a few weeks at Black Manor, it was kind of … quaint that the walls here in their house in London were so thin. Her room, too, seemed cramped – and not just because she'd put off cleaning up all the potions ingredients for a while.

'Finally vacated your little love nest, have you?'

Standing in the doorway, wearing one of her playful smiles, was her mother.

'What?!'

Ophala Greengrass gave a meaningful nod at the shirt Daphne was wearing. 'Is that a trophy?'

Daphne sighed, dropping the robes she'd been struggling with and sinking onto her bed. 'No.' Seeing her mother's questioning look, she added in a low voice, 'I wish it was …'

Her mother carefully tiptoed inside, sat down next to her, and buried Daphne in a warm hug. 'Oh, sweet pea. Did you fight?'

'No! Not really. I mean, we're quarrelling all the time, but it's not that. I don't know, I–' She bit her lip, lowering her voice to a whisper. 'It just doesn't seem to be happening …'

Her mother hummed sympathetically. 'Have you asked him why?'

'Er, no? I mean, it's plenty obvious what I–'

'Speaking from experience,' interrupted her mother with a knowing smile, 'there are some things you simply have to talk about. Not everything can be solved with a daringly skimpy negligée.'

Daphne sneaked a rueful peek at her mother, but Ophala only laughed.

'Poor Harry. No wonder he looked dead on his feet that morning. Come on, I've got a potion on the fire. You can tell me all about your summer downstairs.'

And so Daphne spent her last day of the holidays being buoyed and spoiled by her mother, drinking hot chocolate and eating cake, recounting the weeks she'd spent with Harry and asking for her mother's opinion on his behaviour. Her mother, meanwhile, asked her to retell how Harry had got her the nightgown three times, shaking with laughter. The laughter was so infectious that, in the end, Daphne couldn't help but join in.

'What's that you're brewing over there anyway?' asked Daphne eventually, watching her mother add a generous dash of pure quicksilver to the mixture. 'I don't recognise it.'

'Ha!' said her mother proudly. 'See? Your old mum still has a few tricks up her sleeve.'

'For now! So? What is it? A pesticide?'

'Oh, it's just a homespun … solution. Maybe I'll show you the recipe some other time. But given the recent lack of demolition sounds from above, I dare say your sister has finally finished packing. Let's have a nice, cosy evening tonight – just the three of us.'

Daphne liked the sound of spending one last evening before Hogwarts with both her mother and Tori, but she rolled her eyes at her mother's antics anyway. 'You make it sound like you won't be seeing us again.'

Memory Lane

'Stop fidgeting already, won't you?' hissed Bellatrix as they strode through the battalion of Aurors that guarded the Hogwarts Express. Everyone else seemed to be in a great hurry, Harry noticed. Instead of the friendly greetings that most of the parents commonly exchanged, they briskly led their children towards the train, shoving them inside while throwing anxious looks over their shoulders as if they fully expected deranged murderers to lurk behind every corner.

Harry might have considered giving a sarcastic remark about the improbability of escapees attacking a station full of Aurors, but – thanks to Bellatrix's enthusiastic attempt to cram half a year's worth of duelling lessons into a few hours – he was having trouble walking without wincing. At least his arm had stopped bleeding half an hour ago.

Leo threw him a sympathetic look. Amy, too, was grinning at him – or smirking. It was hard to tell sometimes.

'Look at them,' said Bellatrix scathingly as she roughly pushed an unwary parent out of the way. 'Scurrying about like skittish deer. Pathetic!'

'I like them this way,' opined Amy, watching a man stumble over the trunk of his son. 'Nice and docile.'

'For now,' said Leo.

'What?'

'Just you wait. As soon as things calm down a bit at Hogwarts, there's going to be trouble.'

'I'm not going to take any crap from anyone this year,' muttered Harry, holding his stinging left side.

'Why would you?!' asked Amy with a look of someone trying to understand something foreign. 'You're weird sometimes.'

'As long as you don't do anything excessively stupid, I'm all for putting the rabble in its place,' said Bellatrix as soon as they'd heaved their trunks into the train. 'But mind your limits!' she added, glaring at her daughter. 'I'll personally break into the castle to give you the best hiding you've ever had if you get our family into trouble!'

Amy merely rolled her eyes. 'All I've got to do is not get expelled, right? Seriously …' Without another backwards glance, she boarded the train, leaving her mother behind.

'We'll be seeing you at Yule, then,' said Leo, nodding at his mother.

'Yes, yes. Keep an eye on your sister!'

Again, Leo nodded.

For a second, it looked as if Bellatrix was struggling to say something, but then she gave a curt nod at both Harry and Leo and disapparated with a whirl of her dark cloak.

'Come to think of it,' said Leo as they followed Amy onto the train, 'you'll be having Apparition lessons this year, won't you?'

'I should think so,' said Harry.

'Looking forward to it? Might be useful.'

'Not exactly. Portkeys can do pretty much the same and then some. Apparition is probably the way to go during combat, true, but I'm not too fussed.'

'Well,' said Leo with a queer smile, 'most people start working on their mastery before even attempting a Portkey.'

'And get a licence!' called a voice from behind them.

Tracey was behind them, struggling with a trunk that seemed at least twice her size. Harry shrugged, casting a silent Weight-Reduction Charm on her belongings, causing Tracey to topple over her suddenly feather-light trunk. Muttering furiously under her breath, she glared at him, rubbing her red nose. 'Thanks so much!'

Tracey looked the same as ever. If physical growth had finally been achieved during the last few months, it wasn't readily recognisable under her billowing robes. Apart from the raw skin that stood testament to her headbutting the trunk, she looked the same as ever. Even the frown she wore as she glared at him was exactly how he remembered it. For some strange reason, that was kind of comforting.

Harry grinned. 'Don't mention it.'

They found Amy further down the train, reserving them seats. Harry cautiously and very stiffly settled into a seat by the window. With an enormous sigh, he leaned back, closing his eyes.

'What's up?' asked Tracey, sniggering. 'You've always talked like my grandparents, but aren't you withering away a bit too quickly now?!'

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to massage his left shoulder, wondering if he should check in with Poppy after all.

'Harry had a last minute, er, training session from yesterday evening until two hours ago,' said Leo.

'Oh. Didn't go so well?' asked Tracey.

'It was great!' said Amy excitedly.

'What? The both of you trained, too?'

Amy shook her head. 'Nah, but we got to watch.' She sniggered. 'It was funny watching Harry crawl around the room.' That bit of information seemed to quell Tracey's natural curiosity. Harry levelled a half-hearted look of scorn at Amy, but she merely smiled. 'Nah, he did okay, really,' she added almost reluctantly.

'I'll, er, take your word for it,' said Tracey hastily.

Daphne and Hermione filed into the compartment not much later.

'Hey, everyone!' Daphne waved cheerfully.

'Hello,' echoed Hermione.

Harry's brow wrinkled as he shot a tired glance at the Muggle-born. Something seemed a bit different about her.

'Daphy!' cried Tracey accusingly. 'Where have you been all summer?! My owls kept coming back all confused and stuff.'

Daphne shook her head, eyes widening meaningfully. 'Not now!' she mouthed.

The reason for his cousin's uncharacteristic discretion probably was the very nosy latecomer who was just about to drag his ornate trunk into the compartment. 'Oh, what's up, guys?' asked Draco. He appeared to have grown even more over the summer, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if the Malfoy heir was more than a full head taller than him by now. For some reason, it really annoyed Harry that he was forced to look up at him. For a second, Draco seemed confused about everyone staring at him. 'Talking about me, ey?' he asked smugly. 'Yes, it's true we had a very pleasant vacation in–'

'Oh, you were abroad?' asked Daphne coolly. 'I'd never have guessed. Malta, I expect?'

'No,' said Draco, the temperature of his smile dropping a bit. 'As a matter of fact, we were in Greece.'

'Good for you.'

'Yes.'

'Right.'

After a second of silence, Leo pointedly cleared his throat. 'Why don't you tell us about your vacation, Draco? Daphne and Tracey seem to have something private to discuss anyway.'

Harry didn't really feel like partaking in either the rather tense banter or shared recollection of lapsed summer memories. He stared outside, watching the trees and villages zoom by, ignoring Amy's and, later on, Tracey's not so subtle 'clumsy' movements whenever they moved, that – for some miraculous happenstance – never failed to hit his burning left side in search for support.

From the corner of his eye, he eyed a pair of Aurors marching up and down the train. Wasted money and pointless actions for sake of doing anything at all – that's what it boiled down to. According to Harry's grandfather, the vast majority of criminals had been recaptured within the first week. Hardly two dozen of them had been smart enough to give the coastal Muggle villages a wide berth. Many of them weren't exactly people anymore, strictly speaking. Surviving twenty years in Azkaban without going completely mad was a heroic effort; fifty years a stunt bordering improbability. At least nobody had been enough of a feeblewit to suggest letting the Dementors roam freely.

Harry's eyes wandered to Amy and Leo. Their uncle had only been in Azkaban for about fifteen years, but it would take him months to become anything like a functioning human being again. Then again, Lestranges weren't particularly famous for their balanced state of mind, so maybe he was good to go?

How was Sirius?

A wayward elbow checked his aching ribs. He coughed painfully, doubling up in his seat.

'Tracey!' snapped Daphne angrily.

'Whoops, er, sorry? Overdid it a bit this time. Only wanted to check if our resident grandpa is still awake.'

'I'm fully awake – thank you!' wheezed Harry, giving Tracey a dirty look.

Tracey gave him a wide, companionable smile. 'Don't mention it.'

'So how are those lessons going, Granger?' asked Draco.

'Oh, they're great! I've been learning loads of really interesting odds and ends.'

'I notice that you've finally stopped slouching.'

Hermione beamed, nodding politely at Draco.

So that's what it was, thought Harry. He had been sceptical, but it seemed that those teachers Draco had hired really did make an effort. She did look a great deal more confident without that characteristic bad posture. The burden of knowledge weighs heavy, mused Harry with a grin.

Memory Lane

Under the watchful eyes of the Aurors, they filed into Hogwarts Castle where they finally – at least from Harry's perspective – lost their eyeballing lemming train of overpaid glory hounds. But it was good to finally be back. Harry gave an old, particularly fierce Gargoyle statue a friendly pat as he followed his friends towards the Great Hall.

Peeves was lurking in dark alcoves, pretending to be an escaped Azkaban inmate by rattling chains and terrifying the more gullible second years. When Harry strode by, Peeves halted in his act, fake blood dripping in a rather pathetic fashion from the chains in his hands. After a second, he shook himself, retreating through the wall behind him with one last glance back at Harry.

'How did you do that?' asked Amy.

'Do what?'

'Scare him like that.'

'He was scared?' inquired Harry sceptically. It was hard to tell much from the comically grotesque facial expressions of the poltergeist.

'Oh, yes,' said Amy, nodding sagely. 'On a scale of one to ten, I'd say that was a solid 6.8. A really solid scare.'

'What kind of scale is that?' asked Tracey with a grin. 'The Lestrange Scale of Scariness?'

Amy rolled her eyes, shrugging with both of her hands in the pockets of her robes. 'Whatever.'

'Mr Black, Miss Lestrange, Miss Davis, inside if you please,' said Professor Flitwick, appearing even more diminutive standing next to the gigantic portal to the Great Hall. His brow was furrowed, and he, too, appeared to be having a second look at Harry as if he was struggling to put something in place.

But a hand landing firmly on Harry's shoulder kept him from following his friends.

'One second, please. I need to borrow Mr Black,' said Aenor's voice from behind him.

'Oh, all right. But please do mind the time, my dear,' squeaked Flitwick, nodding them off.

Aenor led him towards the first door down the leftmost corridor, holding it open for him to walk inside. It was a broom cupboard.

'Er, what exactly is this about?' Harry heard himself ask.

'Nice to see you, too,' she replied, rolling her eyes and nudging him inside before closing the door. 'We can talk about how dreadfully dull your holidays were later,' she said with that teasing grin of hers, 'but right now I'm more interested in why you've got a few partially fractured ribs. And why you positively reek of blood. And not in a good way, mind you.'

Harry shot the woman posing as their Defence teacher a cool glance, wondering how exactly someone could smell of blood in a good way. 'I had a training session with my aunt before we left.'

Aenor regarded him with an unreadable expression. 'You mean Bellatrix?'

'Yes.'

'That woman's such a bleeding nutcase! I can tell from just a glance that she used you-know-whats on you. You can't go into the Great Hall with Dumbledore looking like that!'

'The shaking's stopped. Come on, it can't be that bad …'

Her gaze froze him in place. 'I was thinking about the,' she threw a short glance towards the door, 'the Imperius. I know the spell's lifted, but I can tell. And now you're trying to say that bitch had you under the Cruciatus as well?!'

'Er, I'm not sure, to be honest. She doesn't do me the courtesy of actually saying the names of the spells she's bombarding me with.'

She stared at him for three long seconds. 'Wait here for a minute.'

And so he waited in the cold of the little storeroom, leaning against the wall. Sleep was as inviting as ever – even though Harry would have prefered a location with fewer spiders dangling from the ceiling. And without the terrible draught. The potions and spells Bellatrix had forced down his throat after their session had left him feeling drained. After five minutes, Aenor finally returned, carrying a corked mint-green phial.

She shoved it into his freezing hands. 'Drink!'

Harry fumbled to undo the cork. Immediately, a thick, biting yellow fume escaped the little phial. It was quite impressive how much mess such a tiny bit of potion could produce. 'What is it?'

'It's nothing sinister, don't worry. I'm still under that fabulous Vow, remember?'

'Oh, right. Slipped my mind, sorry.'

'Lucky you,' she said sardonically, nodding towards her concoction. 'It'll get you through the feast.'

The potion was making Harry's eyes water. 'And does this marvellous remedy contain anything but alcohol?'

'As a matter of fact, it does. Hurry it up now! Even Flitwick will get antsy if I kidnap you for much longer.'

Pinching his nose and ignoring Aenor's snort of amusement, he downed the whole thing. Harry thought he could make out caraway and pepper before a powerful surge of 'disgusting' overwhelmed all the individual components, leaving him choking. His throat was on fire.

'Disgusting,' he cawed, grimacing as he tried to ignore the lingering aftertaste.

'You just fail to appreciate fine liquor. Now get in there and try to act as normal as you can. We'll talk after your first Defence class. Oh, and one last thing.'

'Hmm?'

'If you ever dare to make up such a feeble, idiotic lie to me again, I swear there's going to be trouble! Do you honestly believe that I think you wouldn't be able to recognise the Cruciatus?!'

It was quite rare for Harry to get caught lying, but even then the feeling of actual shame was not something he was too familiar with. Still staring at the door in front of him, one hand outstretched, he mumbled, 'Sorry, I– Bad habit. You're right. She didn't put much into it though. I think she was just trying to make a point.'

He felt her gaze piercing his back. 'Go,' she said. 'We'll talk later.'

Memory Lane

Aenor didn't really pay attention during the Sorting. Slytherin gained a grand total of five students, less than a fifth of what the Hufflepuff mob netted. The Ravenclaws were silently smug about their acquisitions, the Gryffindors boisterously bodacious, and the night sky was still all shades of blue and grey. Political reality, or so it seemed, didn't mix well with school equality and the house selecting system. Speaking of Hufflepuff, one excitable, petite blonde almost sobbed when she became a badger, throwing sad looks in Harry's direction. It was mildly amusing to see the other Slytherins' faces as Harry clapped for a Hufflepuff, but – all in all – it was all terribly boring business, in Aenor's opinion.

She picked at her food, the sounds of the feast washing over her like the surf of the tide. If the clinking of glasses and clanking of tableware were the waves, then the incessant twittering of the student body came close to the unending cries of the seagulls – obtrusive and ever-present. It was a mystery to her how people like Dumbledore or Flitwick seemed to enjoy the rambunctious atmosphere. At least Snape looked at particularly loud and exuberant brats with a killing glance every now and then.

Her mind was preoccupied, and she didn't even attempt to partake in McGonagall's and Charity's discussion. It wouldn't have been easy, in any case, given that she was usually seated at the very edge of the table.

Halfway through the feast, she made up her mind.

'Professor Flitwick? May I ask you something personal?'

'Ah, but of course! But it's Filius, my dear – Filius! We don't need to go through that another time, hmm? We've known each other for quite some time now! It just doesn't feel right to pretend being strangers, wouldn't you agree?' he said cheerfully.

'Of course,' she replied, nodding graciously. 'I've recently heard a rumour that you used to be a person of significance in the British duelling scene. Now, I know better than to trust whatever Hogwarts' rumour mill spews out on a daily basis, but I just couldn't help asking …'

The tiny Charms Master chuckled. 'This one time, they're not wrong, though I usually strive to keep that knowledge from the students. I really want them to focus on my subject – not on my exploits in the duelling ring. Are you interested in the noble sport?' he asked enthusiastically.

'Not professionally, I'm afraid,' she replied, taking note of his somewhat disappointed expression.

'But whyever not? From what I've seen, you'd make a most formidable opponent!'

'Let's say, my mind is on other matters for now, Filius.'

'Oh, such a pity. But how can I be of assistance, then?'

'Well, I was wondering if you knew someone I'd recently met. She seemed … like just the sort to give duelling a try, and I couldn't help wondering.'

'And so we come back, full circle, to tittle-tattle again,' said the tiny man, chuckling.

'But at least it's something more interesting than the love interests of hormone-driven teenagers,' she said with a smirk, causing him to erupt in appreciative laughter.

'I couldn't agree more. Well? Who is this mysterious duellist you wish to learn about?'

'Bellatrix Lestrange,' she said, gauging his reaction.

'Ah,' he said, the laughter dying in his throat. Very slowly, he put down his cutlery.

'So you know of her?'

'I do,' he replied succinctly.

'Can you tell me anything about her? Did you know her only as a student or as a duellist, too?'

'I've … never crossed wands with her if that is what you wish to know. I lost my interest in professional duels around the time she started making waves in the scene.'

'Around the time,' she repeated, leaving the words dangling in the air.

He sighed, taking his napkin and dropping it on his still half-full plate. 'I knew her as a student, of course. She was, well, brilliant in her own special way. But she's always had problems controlling herself. Bellatrix, the girl, I remember as a fiery beauty who could flirt with the boys one second and tear their ears off if they got pushy the very next.'

'That sounds like more than just a little "problem",' Aenor commented drily.

'Yes, well, there were some nasty incidents, to be sure. Around fifth year, it started to get a little better, though she was still, by all means, a very loose wand.'

'What does this have to do with her duels? I assume there is a connection?'

Flitwick nodded sadly. 'I'm afraid her temperament did not diminish in the slightest during her duels, and that culminated in some very unfortunate … accidents.'

Aenor raised an eyebrow. 'You mean there were deaths? At your highly regulated professional duels?'

'Several, in fact,' Filius replied with a defeated sigh. 'They had to suspend her, in the end, even though there never was a case where her guilt could be sufficiently proven. Still, what followed I can only describe as an uproar in the scene; the board had, after all, decided to ban the most promising newcomer at the time, who, as a matter of fact, hadn't lost a single duel up until that point. I personally chose that time to retire.'

'Understandable, I guess. And what happened afterwards?'

'I really couldn't say. I heard she got married eventually, but that's about all I can tell you, I'm afraid. We're not exactly moving in the same circles if you understand my meaning.'

'Of course,' she replied hastily, smiling reassuringly. But her eyes stuck to where Harry sat next to the Lestrange siblings. 'Thank you for sharing that, Filius.'