Chapter Text
Time: Rose's Sorting Ceremony
Harry groaned loudly in protest as he was elbowed awake rudely.
For a moment, everything swam in his vision, blurry even through the round-rimmed spectacles that sat on his face, and he floundered to place a name to the chaos unfolding in his blurry vision. He tried to blink away the sleep from his heavy, bleary eyes, but his mind was distracted, elsewhere.
Harry couldn't believe he still fucking remembered that Halloween night when he had been but five.
He remembered everything in impossibly crystal clear detail- the acrid rotting smell of the killing curse zooming past his head, the loud crashing noise of the spellfire battering against his Dad's shimmering blue shield, the painful ringing in his ears and the ache in his muscles that still lingered perennially like haunting whispers of James' last petrifying curse-
"Wake the fuck up, Potter." A venomous female voice, as acidic as the killing curse, hissed from his right side. "Get your head out of dreamland and focus."
Surprisingly, her words seemed to do wonders for his vision, or maybe she had been right- Harry had just not been paying that much attention to the events that were transpiring in front of them.
Slowly, like a Polaroid camera trying to focus, the familiar sight of the Great Hall came into view.
Right, he was Harry Potter, fifteen, incoming third year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He wasn't Harry Potter, five, and it wasn't Halloween.
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, reinforcing his Occlumency shields, which surrounded his mind like a fortress around an open field, schooling his expressions into something more presentable as he looked around.
Hogwarts was as grand as ever- no expense spared to awe the incoming first years, as was Dumbledore's style. The charmed ceiling of the Great Hall mirrored the night sky outside, with a glowing full moon veiled by wispy clouds to match. Innumerable candles, seemingly one for each student in the castle, misshapen and half-molten to add to the magical atmosphere, were lit with orange flames that cast a golden glow across the entire room. The four great tables were decked out tastefully with white silk- which was, for once, not stained by the lingering colours of a dinner fifty years past, the gold and silver cutlery shining spotless and clean enough to be a mirror.
And surrounding them all were the imposing castle walls, artfully engraved with geometric patterns that they couldn't ever hope to replicate, cold grey stone reflecting the warmth of the golden lights, like a stone mother cradling her children in her arms. The few sounds that could be heard echoed off the majestic walls, with windows so tall that one would need a broom to scrub the top, pillars as thick as the tallest of trees in the Forbidden Forest, and polished stone floors to match.
Keeping in pace with the ambience of the place, warm but sober, the people occupying the four great tables of Hogwarts were silent for once, a far cry from the usual pandemonium that plagued the Great Hall. Harry watched the students, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin- in that order, all watching with anticipating eyes and bated breath as the new students were sorted one by one, a pace painfully slow for the low grumbling in his stomach. Everyone seemed to be at their best appearance-wise, hair brushed and new, washed and neatly ironed robes immaculate- Percy Weasley's spectacles spotless for once, and the Weasley twins with their natural fiery red hair- and the same could be said for the new students standing in the middle of the Great Hall and the Professors assembled at the High Table, as Harry liked to call it.
Slightly more self-conscious now than he was earlier when he had just been pulled from his impromptu nap, Harry patted down his robes- black lined with green, to go with the colours proudly displayed above his head. The serpentine mascot of the Slytherin house coiled and hissed, somewhat maliciously, at the newcomers, slithering around on the green canvas of the Slytherin banner that was its home for the evening.
Harry's fine robes were of a higher quality, softer and more delicate than most, living up to the standards expected of a Pureblood Heir like himself. His round glasses, signature of the Potters, sat slightly askew on his face, and he hastened to adjust it. His messy hair sat atop his head, a veritable nest of raven black hair so messy that even a rat would refuse to nest in it- but he had long ago given up any hope of taming it. Black curls covered his forehead, so long that he could always see it in his peripheral vision.
Satisfied with his appearance, the Potter Heir's emerald eyes flicked to the Professor's table to meet an identical pair staring back at him with barely concealed excitement.
Catching her son's gaze finally after trying so hard for so long, Lily Potter smiled fiercely at him, waving at him as much as she could without anybody else noticing, unable to bottle up her emotions as well as her only son. She was wearing her best formal robes for the occasion, and her hair, thick and lush and a deep shade of crimson, was pulled into a thick, elaborate braid that was thrown over her right shoulder. Her Acromantula silk robes clung to her mature curves, showing her body off just a tad bit, as was appropriate, and by the constant glances she could feel from the male populace, Lily knew that she had made the right choice, and it brought a tiny, satisfied and confident smile upon her glossy, full pink lips.
Now with both her children at Hogwarts, she had found no reason to refuse Headmaster Dumbledore's offer to take up a position amongst the Hogwarts faculty, and so, here she was.
The subject she was going to be teaching was a secret, though, even for her beloved son- he would have to wait just like the others for when Dumbledore would announce her position. Patience bore sweet fruit, after all.
She watched Harry blink at her lazily, his eyes lazily roving over her form, a touch judgemental, a touch appreciative, feeling a smile tug at the corner of her full pink lips at his callous disregard for her excitement to be a Professor, before she pointed hurriedly towards the centre of the Great Hall, where the Sorting Ceremony was going on and mouthing a few words.
Harry didn't care for whatever it was that she said.
"Your mother was looking at you for the last five minutes." The same voice repeated, slightly calmer now that he was awake, making Harry turn towards her. "Fucking sleepyhead."
Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Greengrass, the second richest family in Magical Europe, and one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, much like the Potter and the Black families. And one of Harry's painfully few friends.
And a total bitch.
Her green eyes, like clean blades of grass moist in the morning dew, a lighter shade than Harry's own emerald, living up to her name. Her straight, lustrous ash blonde hair, fell past her shoulders elegantly in a gentle cascade of light gold, silky smooth and reflecting the golden glow of the Great Hall. Her appearance was immaculate- perfection given physical form.
That was all that Harry had to say about Daphne Greengrass.
Her robes were always neat, pinned together with a silver Slytherin medallion that she had probably bought for more than it was worth, well ironed without a single crease, her black, sleek shoes always polished clean until it was only a single rub away from becoming a mirror. Not a single hair out of place, not a single expression out of place. Her high cheekbones and her flawless ivory skin always seemed to glow, her skin tone so fair that her cheeks always seemed to be tinted pink, perfectly full, cupid bow lips that glistened with pink lips gloss. Sporting a body to match, with young curves in all the right places, a young beauty threatening to bud into a mature vixen- almost the entire population of Hogwarts was waiting for Daphne to turn seventeen, now that she was still two years away from her magical maturity and already a bombshell in every sense of the word, people couldn't help but anticipate the sort of otherworldly beauty that she would grow into.
For his part, Harry was sure that her appearance hadn't changed a bit since she had dolled up that morning, and it wouldn't change even a single micron until she went to bed that night.
A goddess among women.
Hah, as if. Behind that perfect, captivating smile that showed just the right amount of her gleaming, perfectly straight teeth was a tongue as sharp as a charmed razorblade, that drew blood and dripped with venom more potent than any viper known to man.
A bitch, as Harry said.
"Didn't you just sleep on the train?" A worried voice called from his left, making a smile immediately replace the frown on his lips as he turned to his other side. "Are you okay, Harry? Should I take you to Madam Pomfrey after the feast?"
"Leave him be, Trace. Someone fed him the Draught of Living Death in his childhood, and we can still see the effects." Daphne bit venomously from his other side. "I'm just waiting for the day he will fall asleep in Potions class and dunk his head in his cauldron."
Just like Daphne's appearance and character contrasted each other like heaven and hell, the same was with Tracey Davis, her half-sister and the bastard daughter of Lord Cyrus Greengrass, born with all the vices and ridicule that came from being the illegitimate child of a powerful noble.
Tracey, an angel confined by the meagre constraints of flesh and blood, looked anything but.
Soft, wavy brown hair cut messily in a rebellious manner, choppy bangs that framed her heart-shaped face and fell past her shoulders in gentle, undulating waves. An olive green beanie sat messily atop her head- marking her as the only student with a Muggle beanie in Hogwarts, her best attempt to stand out from the rest of the Hogwarts populace. Warm brown eyes the colour of molten chocolate danced warily as she looked at him, unable to hide her worry for him with a cute frown on her face. Smooth, flawless skin the colour of a freshly brewed mug of warm coffee glistened with slight sweat, a cute little button nose and full pink lips that just begged to be sucked on, looking like delicious treats that Harry would pay a small fortune to have.
Tracey was an angel, Harry repeated in his mind.
Her robes were already as messy as Harry's would become over the coming week, coarse, cheap second-hand robes that she had probably bought off for a few Knuts from a third-rate shop at Diagon Alley, a far cry from her half-sister's, or Harry's own clothes. Multiple silver rings, simple seamless rings probably made of charmed steel rather than authentic silver, glinted on her ears, the multiple piercings a silent rebellion against the oppression she had faced.
Maybe it was the fact that Daphne's clothes no longer fit her or the fact that her still maturing rack was painfully prominent despite the coarse, baggy and oversized robes that she wore- a testament to just how well-endowed the only Half-Blood Slytherin would be in future.
Realising that he hadn't bothered to reply to Tracey's worries, Harry felt slightly guilty.
He offered her a small smile as the three sat together, away from most of the Slytherin population in their own little corner of peace and solitude, away from the mindless House politics, the silly transactions and exchange of gold that occurred elsewhere at the table.
"I'm fine, Trace." Harry stifled a yawn. "Just... tired. As usual."
"Did you go to St. Mungo's over the summer like I told you to? Why are you always tired?" Tracey bit her lower lip, her teeth sinking into her soft pink flesh in a gesture that made something inside Harry stir. "I've been with you always over the last two years, and I don't think I've ever seen you energetic."
"He's a fucking anaemic, that's what he is." Daphne bit out a scathing insult, as was her way. "Impotent sissy bastard."
"I know what you need." Tracey pulled off her beanie. A Muggle chocolate nougat bar clattered to the empty plate in front of her, the noise painfully loud in the silence of the Great Hall. "Here have a chocolate."
"Why do you even have that?" Daphne looked irritated that Tracey had managed to sneak in a sweet again, despite her best efforts to make the Half-Blood act a bit ladylike. "You're going to get fat if you keep stuffing your face with so many calories, Tracey."
Harry wanted to point out that maybe it wasn't so bad- after all, all the fat that Tracey accumulated only went to.... certain areas of her body, as evidenced by the prominent rack visible through her robes.
"And you're going to get wrinkles if you're always so angry, Daphne." Tracey didn't pay attention to the glare directed her way as she unwrapped the Muggle treat, having completely forgotten that she was offering it to Harry instead.
Harry ignored the two, like a caring angel on one shoulder and a vicious little devil on the other, focusing on the little gaggle of thirteen-year-old first years in the centre of the Great Hall. Sitting in front of them on a rickety three-legged stool that looked like it hadn't seen the light of day in an entire year was the one and only Sorting Hat.
A legend that looked anything but. An old fashioned, pointed wizard's hat, its leather discoloured with age and laden thick with dust, with a rip near its brim that also functioned as an impromptu mouth. It turned to the tables, bowing to each one before giving one last now to the gaggle of unsorted firsties. Behind the hat, standing and watching the new students like a hawk, was one of the most feared people in the entirety of Hogwarts- the Transfigurations Mistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Thin and tall with her robes as professional as ever, the Professor clasped a rolled-up parchment in her hands, peering down at it through her spectacles, her eyes sharp underneath her hat, which looked like a newer version of the Sorting Hat.
"Fuck, I missed the Sorting Hat's song." Harry adjusted his glasses. "Why didn't you wake me up, Daph? You know it is the best part of the Sorting Ceremony."
If possible, Daphne looked even grumpier, glaring at him as if willing him to spontaneously combust on the spot, shooting him a nasty look that would have made lesser people piss their pants.
Harry looked nonchalant.
"You and Dumbledore are the only ones crazy enough to enjoy that torture." Daphne shivered at the idea of enjoying the drivel that the Sorting Hat called a song. "Now just shut up and watch the Sorting, Potter- or go back to sleep. I can knock you out if you want."
Harry ignored her shit as he usually did, instead focusing on the new students. He spotted a familiar shade of silver among the black robes, and his eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know the Malfoy Heir was attending this year."
"You don't know a lot of things." Daphne hissed. "A shame on all Purebloods, that's what you are."
"Oh shut up, Daphne. Stop needlessly antagonising Harry. And Harry, stop teasing Daphne." Tracey acted as the mediator, as usual, and the two fell silent obediently, not wanting her to get upset with them. Harry wanted to point out that he had never really teased Daphne, but a warning glance from the Greengrass Heiress stopped the words from passing his lips. "What I'm curious about is why are there so many first-years this time round?"
"Yeah, that's what I was wondering as well." Harry looked more energetic than he usually did. "When we were sorted, there were less than twenty students- and only four Slytherins, including ourselves, in our year."
Seeing the matching looks of puzzlement on her two friends' faces, warm chocolate and gleaming emerald eyes curiously looking at her for answers, Daphne groaned.
"Why do I hang out with these two dum dums?" She complained to no one in particular. "To answer your question, after the age of admission to Hogwarts was bumped up from eleven to thirteen by the Ministry, the number of eligible students fell. To get admitted in our year, one would have to be born fifteen years ago- at the height of the Wizarding War, when many families, including children, were wiped out. From this year onwards, the students getting admitted were born after the war was over, so their numbers will obviously be more."
She shot the two a look that told them just what the Greengrass Heiress thought of their intelligence, but the two friends were already distracted.
"Is that your sister, Harry?" Tracey pointed at a young, short girl at the end of the line. Her robes were slightly oversized for her nubile form, and she had matching round-rimmed glasses hiding her emerald eyes just like her older brother did. Her short, pixie-cut raven hair was as messy as Harry's- her features almost identical to his, a younger female version of the Potter Heir.
There was no mistaking who she was.
"Yeah," Harry confirmed Tracey's suspicions, and watched the excitement growing on his gentle friend's face with a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes darted back to his younger sister, and he watched as she fidgeted nervously, fiddling with her thumbs and shifting where she stood, her eyes scanning the sea of faces at the Slytherin table to catch his eye.
"She's cute." Tracey gushed over his little sister, mindful not to mention her famous scar. "If she gets sorted into Slytherin, I'll spoil her rotten- you don't mind, do you?"
"I would love you doting on my younger sister." Harry returned her smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand comfortingly. "But I don't want her sorted into Slytherin. The others will tear her apart."
Beside them, Daphne gagged violently, dragging their attention to her. "You two aren't even dating. Can you keep the lovey-dovey stuff away from me? I'm allergic."
She made a show of covering her face with a napkin and mock retching.
Harry grinned at her. "Well, Hogsmeade visits start from this year....."
He let the sentence hang, aware of the expectant gazes pinning him from both sides. Tracey was obvious, but the fact that the cold, bitchy Daphne was waiting for him to ask her out as well made him chuckle internally, his heart beating in muted amusement at the thought of the chaos that would break out once he had to choose whom to actually take.
"Abbot, Hannah!" McGonagall's strict voice, like a whip through the air, ringing through the silent Great Hall put an end to their conversation, drawing their attention back to the middle of the hall as the Sorting Ceremony began.
Harry watched the first few students get sorted into their respective houses, each of the four Houses bursting into loud cheers every time they got a student. It was fun for the others, sure, and he could feel Daphne and Tracey paying the Sorting their entire attention, but he couldn't care less.
His eyes were already beginning to grow heavy again, and his head began to droop as he went right back to resume his incomplete nap, able to feel the misty hands of Morpheus pulling him back to the realm of dreams. Through the sleepful haze, he felt Tracey shift closer to him as he dozed off beside her, wrapping her arm around his broad shoulders and pulling him closer to her curvy body, making sure that he didn't accidentally bang his head against his empty plate if he fell asleep once more.
Half asleep with his attention scattered all over the place, Harry couldn't help but breathe her scent deeper, taking advantage of his friend's innocence like a true Slytherin, enjoying the scent of freshly baked cookies and chocolate that filled his lungs, hanging thick around the resident Slytherin Half-Blood.
"Bones, Susan." Harry's ears perked up at the somewhat familiar name and he stirred slightly, opening his eyes to look at the cute, young girl making her way to the Sorting Hat.
"She's the niece of Regent Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE and Heiress to House Bones." Daphne thankfully informed him, noticing his sudden interest.
Right, that was it. He could never mistake the lush, fiery red hair of House Bones, not as garish as the Weasley orange but equally bright nonetheless, nor the stunning blue eyes that he glimpsed, dancing with coy nervousness like precious sapphires and a cute, heart-shaped face with a gentle spattering of freckles across her rosy cheeks.
As the young Bones Heiress was sorted into Hufflepuff in line with her family tradition, Harry made a mental note to tell his sister to befriend her. House Bones had been a longtime ally of House Potter, and besides that, it was always nice to have a friend in Hufflepuff.
At the thought of his own Hufflepuff friend, his eyes darted over to the Hufflepuff table.
Being one of the senior most students at the table, Nymphadora Tonks was sitting near the head of the table with her back to him, clapping loudly along with the other students and wolf whistling, being as rowdy as humanely possible as Susan Bones joined their House. Her familiar head of bright, bubblegum pink hair stuck out painfully obvious in the Great Hall, and Harry watched her upset at least three goblets as she reached over to greet the newbie, unable to stifle the small chuckle that escaped his lips at her clumsiness.
"Malfoy, Draco." The smile that was slowly budding on his lips dried out at the name, slowly turning sour.
Several resentful stares joined him as the Malfoy Heir strutted his way to the Sorting Hat like a rabid peacock in heat, his slicked-back platinum blonde hair a reflection of his father's iconic hairstyle, with an icy golden glow underneath the golden light of the Great Hall. His robes rustled with every step, a silent testament to their quality, his polished, high-end shoes clicking against the polished stone floor with a sharp sound that rang painfully loudly in the otherwise silent Hall.
Harry watched with vindictive glee the look of utter disgust that bloomed like a muddy flower on his features as the thickly dust-laden Sorting Hat was placed atop his prim and proper head, which had never seen anything but the most expensive of potions and care products. It reminded him of the look Daphne had pulled when she had been sorted, though hers had still been somewhat adorable.
Or maybe he was just biased towards Daphne, it didn't really matter all that much.
The Hat had barely touched the young Malfoy's slick hair, when it shouted out, "Slytherin!"
Of course.
Harry reprimanded himself for ever having even imagined any other outcome of Draco Malfoy's Sorting. Of course, he would be in Slytherin with his dratted bitch of an older sister.
His eyes darted down the table where all the so-called 'leaders' of House Slytherin sat, all either the most skilled of students with their marks near the top of their year, or the most influential of families- with enough votes in the Wizengamot and enough gold in Gringotts to buy small businesses as a pastime, and he watched as the Malfoy Heir was welcomed with open arms amongst their numbers.
His little gaggle of three, including himself and the two young beauties stood in painfully stark contrast with theirs. Himself a weakling worse than a firstie, Tracey a pauper worse than the Weasleys and Daphne the biggest fool in the Castle to hang out with the likes of the two of them.
Draco sat beside an almost identical head of platinum blonde hair, slicked back like himself and as straight as Daphne's. The only difference was that this one reached almost to the person's slim waist and thick, lush hair that was the envy of most witches in Hogwarts.
This was Celeste Malfoy, the last of the four Slytherins in Harry's year and Draco's older sister, who did not get the prestigious position of Heir Malfoy for the mere sin of being born female, and the witch who was as competent as Draco was not. What virtue did Celeste Malfoy not have?
She seemed like a Mary Sue right out of a story given flesh, unrivalled beauty and perfection like a goddess in human skin, with an explosive, curvy and busty body to match- something she didn't hesitate to flaunt at the hormone-pumped boys that kissed her feet like she was the best thing since Merlin. There were many beautiful girls at Hogwarts, Daphne and Tracey included, but what set her apart was that her beauty wasn't the only thing she had going for her.
Top of their year on aggregate, even though other students might outscore her on individual subjects. The best on the duelling pitch and one of the few aspiring candidates for Great Britain's representative to the European U-18 duelling circuit. Her beauty was second only to the grace with which she wielded her wand, with a surname which could rally half of Magical Britain and a bank account worth more than the GDP of a small nation.
She was an ideal for everyone who stepped into Hogwarts, and Harry couldn't resent her any more for it. A true Slytherin through and through, who kept her friends close and her enemies closer, a faux smile sweeter than honey and seductive whispers to steal the hearts of lesser beings, like a succubus- able to rally people to herself and make good use of them, much like her father.
Almost feeling his gaze on her, Celeste turned around, leaving her brother being welcomed awfully sweet and inviting- it was obvious that everyone at the table saw Draco as a stepping stone towards his unattainable sister- to meet his eyes. Cold, steel grey met unflinching emerald, and Harry knew the pink colour that tinted her flawless, ivory cheeks and the sweet smile wasn't born out of any positive emotion. She smiled sweetly at him, her full pink lips revealing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth like how a predator might bare its teeth to helpless prey, and if he had been any more ignorant than he already was, Harry might have fallen for it.
Her smile made him bristle unwittingly, unable to help the feeling that she had something planned and waiting for him.
"Potter, Rose."
A hush descended upon the Great Hall, a silence interrupted only by the quiet reverberations of McGonagall's words, like the Hogwarts Castle was itself repeating the Girl-who-Lived's name, and the impromptu staring contest he had with Celeste was broken as both of them turned to look at Rose with unwavering interest, who had just assumed her position on the stool, with the Hat's wide brim drooping over her cute face.
A few minutes passed, a small period during which nobody dared to draw breath or turn their gaze away from the young Girl-who-Lived sitting on the three-legged stool, fearing that even a single moment of wavering concentration would make them miss the moment the Girl-who-Lived would be sorted, before the Sorting Hat decided to announce its judgement.
"Gryffindor!" The single word that had been echoed so many times throughout Hogwarts' history in that very same Great Hall, at that same place on the same stool, seemed to hold more weight than it had ever held before.
The world seemed to stand still for a moment, everyone seemingly unable to believe that the living legend had finally been sorted, despite the expected outcome. Harry watched, slightly distracted and detached, as Rose pulled the Sorting Hat off her head, shaking her head and messing up her raven locks even more, her green eyes darting around the Great Hall, painfully obvious of the pin-drop silence that had descended upon them.
The sound of a single clap from the Headmaster broke the silence, like a drop in a drought before the dam broke, and the Great Hall was flooded with cheering from the Gryffindors. Harry watched, his heart swelling with silent pride as his little sister joined the House of their forefathers, welcomed with open arms and bright, warm smiles. He looked at the proud smile his mother sported as she looked at her daughter's robes, now with gold and crimson trimmings that marked her as a true Gryffindor, ignoring the slight pang in his heart.
The short Rose was soon lifted upon the Weasley twins' shoulders, and Harry watched as Fred and George paraded her around like she was a queen and they her subjects, and he smiled to himself. Rose would be happy in Gryffindor, chock full of welcoming people and mischievous people of the same vein as herself. She would find herself there, with the antics of the infamous Weasley twins and the blind fanaticism of the tyrannical Quidditch junkie Oliver Wood- not an outcast like her older brother had become.
Brooding emerald met excited emerald, and Harry smiled at Rose in a silent gesture.
"I'm proud of you." His eyes seemed to say, the most emotion he had allowed himself since he had stepped foot into Hogwarts, and Rose seemed to understand. Harry's adorable little sister ducked her head in embarrassment, her cute little cheeks flushing pink as she noticed her older brother's gaze on her.
"Aw, someone's a fucking perverted siscon." Daphne broke the moment with her filthy mouth as she usually did. "Didn't think you could go any lower, Potter. Wow, I think congratulations are in order- you managed to surprise me."
Harry tilted his head towards her, closing his eyes and not really refuting her statement.
"I know someone who can convert me from being a siscon." He opened his eyes, slightly hidden by his long hair that fell in messy bangs across his chiselled features, a sharp and suggestive emerald gaze that met Daphne's light green eyes and drew a bright blush to her cheeks like a spell had been cast on her against her will.
"Sh-shut up, Potter." Daphne averted her gaze quickly. "Even a fucking whore like Celeste wouldn't touch you with a twelve-foot pole."
"Oh shush, you two. And Daphne was complaining about Harry flirting with me earlier." Tracey's jealousy was painfully obvious in her words, and she made it known with her actions as well. She wrapped her arm tighter around Harry's broad frame, making sure that he was physically pressing into her with little intention of letting go.
Harry didn't mind her possessiveness in the slightest.
"In what universe is that called flirting, Tracey?" Harry teased her, enjoying the little pink blush dusting her caramel cheeks.
"Oh hush you, the Headmaster is about to say a few words."
The sound of a sharp metallic clinking as Dumbledore tapped his fork against a goblet rang through the ceaseless chatter that buzzed through the Great Hall, bringing everyone to a halt. All two hundred-something pairs of eyes were drawn to him as he stood at the High Table in those garish orange and purple robes of his, looking down at them with twinkling blue eyes through half-moon spectacles.
"As much as it pains me to delay the feast any longer, I've been.... told to get the announcements out beforehand by our beloved Deputy that we all love so." Beside him, McGonagall's cheeks pinked as she glared down at her empty plate. Harry was sure that Dumbledore would have to face the music before the night was over, but it didn't make the moment any less hilarious. "First, let us welcome back Professor Quirinus Quirell, whom my older students are familiar with in Muggle Studies, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. A round of applause, please, for Mr. Quirell, who braved a horde of vampires in Albania to get to us here."
There was lukewarm clapping, just a few students who forced their hands together out of pity for the pathetic little man, more out of obligation rather than anything else. Quirell stood up, looking half embarrassed and half frightened, like he would piss himself at any moment, fidgeting worse than a first-year as he smiled nervously at all the students looking at him judgementally. He was wearing a horribly oversized purple turban more than twice the size of his head, and by the face that Snape was pulling beside him, Harry judged that the rumours spread by the Weasley twins, of his brand new turban being chock full of garlic wasn't false.
"Yes, yes, I know you're all happy to have your Professor back in one piece." After having waited a full five minutes for the cheering that never came, Dumbledore made a hushing gesture with his hands, as if to calm down a rambunctiously cheering victorious Quidditch crowd, ignoring the fact that the Great Hall had enthusiasm drier than a Firewhiskey bottle after Snape had had his way with it. "But rejoice, for today, we have not only one, but two new Professors!"
Dumbledore announced it like a parent would announce a second secret present to a petulant child unhappy with their first. "Please, everybody, welcome Professor Lily Potter, an Ancient Runes and Charms Mistress and one of the best professional Spellcrafters in the world today. She will be taking your Ancient Runes classes, and also supplementary classes for all those who have to repeat a year in Arithmancy."
His blue eyes seemed to twinkle at full force, aimed at a few people sitting higher up at the Slytherin table, cough- Higgs, Pucey and Flint- cough, but the Headmaster, not for the first time in his long tenure as a senile old man, was ignored.
The Great Hall broke into cheers louder than even the Girl-who-Lived had received, everyone seemingly cheering for Lily Potter. Of course, Harry and Rose were the loudest of them all, but many of the boys seemed to be close seconds. Of course, there were many girls included as well, young witches who considered Lily as their role model, a Muggle-born witch who had made for herself a name in the world with nothing but her wits and her skill with a wand. Everyone, even a few Professors like Flitwick, Dumbledore, McGonagall and even the ever impassive Severus Snape clapped politely, drowned out by the students who cheered and clapped for Lily like she was a Quidditch star. The Lady Potter could not keep the bright smile from her lips, trying her best to hide her embarrassment and happiness at the overwhelming welcome she had received, standing at the table with a small, gentle blush on her cheeks as she waved tenderly at the student populace.
"Hey, Potter." Harry continued clapping along with the others in an unending ovation, but his attention was on Daphne, able to sense the genuine puzzlement in her voice, like a first-year who had accidentally wandered into an advanced Arithmancy class. "Does the Potter family magic make y'all hot as fuck?"
It took the Greengrass Heiress a few moments to realise what she had just inadvertently blurted out, making her green eyes widen and sending blood rushing to colour her ivory cheeks a healthy shade of scarlet, but it was too late by then.
As Dumbledore continued droning on and on in the background about some forbidden third-floor corridor, Tracey shot her an incredulous look, and Harry's smile stretched from ear to ear.
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Harry's shoes, somewhat old and slightly worn, clicked sharply against the polished, cold stone floors of the Hogwarts dungeons as he slowly meandered his way back to his dorms, dragging his feet lazily at the thought of what awaited him back at the Slytherin dorms and having met his mother before she retired for the night, having reassured her that he would watch out for his sister- not that the latter really needed it, of course.
The repeating sound set up a pleasant metronome like a skilled musician practising his beat, providing background noise to his brooding thoughts as he navigated through the dungeons based solely on muscle memory, thankful that the dungeons were bereft of the constantly shifting corridors and staircases that plagued the rest of the castle. Maybe it was the naturally unnavigable map of the Hogwarts dungeons that every Slytherin learnt to navigate in their first few weeks here that kept the magical chaos at bay, but Harry was thankful that he could walk through here blindfolded- the fruit of two years of treading on that same corridors day and night, and now he would add a third.
Having reached a familiar crossroads a few yards from the portrait of a serpentine nest that he knew almost like the back of his hand, Harry took the left turn, the sharp stone corner illuminated with a pale green glow that seemed to emanate from the very walls, dragging himself out of his daydreams as the stretch of plain stone wall that camouflaged the entrance to the Slytherin dorms swung into view.
For a moment, he stilled at the two shadowy figures standing in front of the wall, his hair standing on end in anticipation of an ambush that would never come, a silent reminder of the paranoia that followed him like an incurable infection.
Shaking himself free of those gloomy thoughts that clung to his conscience like a Grindylow clings to prey, Harry came closer, releasing a soft breath that he never remembered holding as the two were revealed to be Daphne and Tracey, waiting for him outside the dorms.
"As thankful as I am that you two were waiting for me, you didn't need to do so." Harry approached them, relaxing visibly. "I just went to visit Mum."
"You didn't need to do so," Daphne repeated his words back at him in a mocking tone. "Fuck you were gonna do, divine the fucking password?"
"Keep quiet, Daph. Not now." Tracey did not allow Harry to say a word as she pulled him into a tight hug, her slender arms wrapping around his neck in a hug more intimate than friends were entitled to share. Harry hadn't completed growing yet, still he was a good bit taller than her, allowing her head to nestle perfectly in the crook of his neck, and she took advantage of the situation as she sniffed his musky scent. Harry was growing so well, his lack of magic overcompensated for by his physique, thick, tense corded muscles without the slightest ounce of fat, a delicious treat that she could feel through his soft robes and a body that seemed chiselled out of marble like a fucking god, so much that she almost couldn't wait for the day he would turn seventeen.
"She's just saying that, but Daphne was actually worried that you would be ambushed by the older boys if we left you alone for too long.... Mmm, I haven't hugged you for so long." Tracey let out a soft sigh of contentment as she felt Harry's strong arms wrapped around her comfortingly, so warm and protective, pulling her in even closer. "Did you grow even more muscular?"
Harry tried to ignore the way he could feel the warm softness of her budding chest against his, steeling his resolve so that she wouldn't detect anything off. "Didn't you spend the entire train ride giving me a lap pillow and groping me in my sleep? You should know better than myself about my muscles."
"Oh, that was different and you know it." Despite the pink blush that tinged Tracey's caramel cheeks, she did not feel an ounce of regret at the memory of how she molested the sleeping Heir Potter. "Just answer my question."
"To answer your question, I train my body every day, even when I'm at Hogwarts." He broke the hug, still holding Tracey in his arms as he looked at Daphne. "It is the most I can do. I'm sorry for always relying on you to defend me, Daphne."
"Then give me a fucking hug too, you stupid bastard," Daphne muttered the words softly under her breath, no longer able to keep her desires to herself like a fire that was only growing stronger with time, but in the all-pervading silence that reigned over the dungeons, it was painfully audible.
"What was that, Greengrass?" Harry pretended not to hear, wanting to hear her say her request to his face.
"No-nothing. Get your ears checked with your brain, Potter. All that muscle training is turning you dumber than a troll." She snarled viciously at him, like a cat hissing at the hand about to pet it. "And you're right. You're fucking useless, and you should worship me like a fucking goddess for protecting a squib like you. I'm so generous."
Tracey couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped her, despite the situation, her laugh like the tinkling of a wind chime in a gentle, evening summer breeze, cutting through the cold, oppressive silence that reigned supreme in the dungeons.
"Ignore her narcissistic prattle, Harry." Tracey's delicate, gentle fingers weaved through his hair, brushing away the long, raven bangs that perpetually framed the periphery of his vision. Harry leaned down unwittingly, placing his hand on the wall and unknowingly pinning Tracey against the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, trapping her between himself and the cold stone wall, but he didn't really register their position, his attention more on the encouraging words that tumbled from her lips. "You're as strong and useful as the rest of us, it's just that your speciality is somewhere else. You're the best in the castle at magical theory and Potions- without your help, I wouldn't have been able to pass theory. Besides, you will start your Ancient Runes and Arithmancy classes this year, but you can already cast seventh-year level runestones- you're already a prodigy in every branch of magic that doesn't involve a wand, Harry."
He wanted to complain, he wanted to tell Tracey that it didn't matter how many subjects he was a prodigy at, not when he couldn't defend himself from even a single bully, not when he was the first to get his ass kicked every time the Dueling Club was held- but he couldn't say it to Tracey's gleaming eyes.
Her warm brown eyes, like welcoming hot chocolate, darted to his, and she adjusted his spectacles. "And besides that, your strength is unnatural- you're almost as strong as Hagrid. That time Daphne was ganged up on and disarmed, if you hadn't been there to put yourself between her and the older years, who knows what would have happened."
"They wouldn't have dared to do anything." Harry ignored Tracey's soft hands attempting to spike up his messy hair, his eyes seeking out Daphne for her opinion. The Greengrass Heiress was adamant about not meeting his gaze, leaning against the wall and looking away from them as she played with her soft, straight blonde hair, acting as if she wasn't eavesdropping on their sweet whispered nothings.
There, bathed in the familiar green glow of the dungeons, Daphne positively looked like a shadowy succubus that had come to suck men of their vitality. Her bright blue eyes, like a clear, azure summer sky, glistened with unspoken emotions, and her full pink lips trembled, yet she refused to say anything, still stuck in her ice queen persona that she desperately clung to like a gilded cage.
"If you two are done acting like husband and wife, we can enter the dorms. When you're done, of course- I don't want to get in the way of your lovey-dovey." Daphne got out through gritted teeth. She wanted to run her hands through Harry's soft, messy hair as well, and the sight of her best friend and half-sister doing so right in front of her made her body burn with emotions that she didn't like- akin to a cauldron bubbling violently with a wrongly brewed potion.
Tracey reluctantly detached herself from Harry, her cheeks tinting pink as she finally registered the fact that Harry had her pinned against the wall.
"Yeah, let's go." She patted herself down, trying to smooth out her messy robes as much as she could, to little success.
"I would say ladies first, but with the knowledge that there are probably wands aimed at the other side of the wall, I think it's best if I go first." Harry offered, placing himself between the two girls and the wall. "Wouldn't want a repeat of last year."
"So chivalrous." Daphne shed a crocodile tear, a sharp contrast from herself only a few moments ago. Maybe that was why Harry was so close to Tracey and not her. "Fucking meat shield."
"Ashwinder," Harry whispered to the wall, watching as it slid open like one of those automatic Muggle sliding doors, the cold sharp stone grating against the floor and leaving the three new entries exposed to all the snakes gathered in the snake pit.
The puzzlement that Daphne felt when Harry uttered the correct password without having had any possible way of knowing it beforehand, melted into the frosty coldness of her expression as she was faced with Celeste and her gang of goons- which comprises basically the whole of House Slytherin. Part of her view was blocked by Harry's broad back as he stood protectively between the two, and her wand slid into her hand with a lazy flick of her wrist, ready to curse at a moment's notice.
"Hey, Failure Potter!" It was Higgs who got the honour of the first insult of the year, his disgusting smile stretching from year to year. "You didn't tell your mother was such a fucking chick!"
The gathered boys howled in laughter.
It was Flint's turn next. "She looks better than any whore I've ever seen. How much will you take to have her suck my dick, Potter? Will a fucking Knut do?"
"Hey hey, Flint." Higgs slung his arm around the older Slytherin. "That's two cheap. At least offer the bloke two Knuts to have his mother suck your dick. Maybe if I throw in another Knut, she will suck all of us off, eh?"
"You'll need a working dick for that, bastards." Harry snarled at them, his hands curling into fists.
"Snapped jaw not enough for you, Higgs?" Harry clenched his jaw, and it was visible in the way his temples tensed like a thick cord under strain. "Maybe you will like it better when you can't feel anything from the neck down. You'll be fucking eating out of a fucking straw by the time I'm done with you, you inbred swine."
The growl that left Harry's throat was something straight out of a horror novel, like an oversized predator stalking helpless prey, the mind of sound effect to be played only when there were two glowing eyes visible in the dark, a deep rumbling in his chest that made the Slytherins shiver, a sound like the earth itself was trembling in fear.
But the effect was ruined by the knowledge that as long as they stayed out of reach and hid behind Celeste's wand, he couldn't do anything to them.
"Fucking cowards. Hiding behind a woman." The rumbling in his throat only grew louder and more aggressive as he stepped dangerously close to Celeste, towering over her and looking down at her in a silent challenge to hex him where he stood.
Absentmindedly, he noted the brand new first years who stood off to the side, watching the exchange with eyes half curious and half scared. Draco Malfoy stood out from the rest with his gelled silver hair, near the front of the lot and flanked by two dudes who looked more like white gorillas than humans. From the obvious absence of Professor Snape anywhere near the dorms, Harry guessed that he had already given the compulsory annual lecture about Slytherin unity and all that to the newbies and fucked off to his Potions lab, being the efficiency freak that he was.
"And you have a right to say that, Potter?" Celeste was the one to answer him, her tone caustic like boiling acid, a warning for anyone who dared to come near her. Harry stood unfazed, a tower of pure muscle and Gryffindor bravery gift wrapped in Slytherin robes, looking down at her through his spectacles that dangled lazily from the tip of his nose.
She squinted up at him, her cold grey eyes steely slits as if he wasn't worth her attention, completely unintimidated by the sight of Harry Potter, infamous for being inhumanely strong and almost six feet tall, towering over her. "After hiding underneath Daphne's skirt for the last two years, it seems like you've finally grown a spine, eh? Seems like snapping Higgs jaw did you wonders."
She shoved Harry backwards, or at least attempted to. Her small, soft and delicate hand that belonged to a princess who had never seen a day of hard work only tapped against Harry's broad, muscle-packed chest, unable to even make him sway where he stood with his feet planted firmly on the stone floor.
"Reducto!" It was Adrian Pucey who shot the spell unprompted, in a vain attempt to make Harry take a step back and maybe curry some favour with Celeste for disciplining him on her behalf.
The fifth-year spell that the older Slytherin shot at the third-year Potter Heir unprompted, whizzed through the air, white magic sparking and hissing like a magnesium firecracker with a burning smell like combusting metal, covering the small distance faster than anybody could even register and filling the closed Slytherin common room with its burning, metallic scent.
Even the hair on Harry's neck didn't have time to rise before the dangerous spell, designed to crush boulders and remove immovable obstacles from paths crashed into him, making him stagger and tumble backwards as he felt an impossibly strong blow to his ribs, like one of those Muggle boxers had just had a clear shot.
"Harry!" Tracey caught him as he tumbled backwards into the girls hiding behind him; Daphne quickly stepped out from behind him and erected a silent shield with a flick of her wand. He managed to catch Tracey's robes just in time, quickly able to find his balance and get back on his feet with little help from her, the right side of his chest throbbing painfully, a dull ache that radiated throughout his torso and made him feel weak in the knees.
But he couldn't show any weakness.
"Pucey! No spells in the common room!" Celeste seemed more mad that he had broken the rule than the fact that her lackie had just attacked Harry right in front of her. "At least take it outside if you really want to get rid of trash. And it's just a bad image overall for you, attacking weaklings who haven't even drawn their wand yet."
"You fucking bitch!" Harry roared, a sound that seemed to make even the portraits tremble silently in their frames. "I'll fucking snap your neck in half, and after I'm done with you, I'll rip apart your lackies! You fucking bitch!"
"Calm down Harry!" Tracey cast a full-body bind on him, afraid that he would do something in his rage that he would regret later. Several thick, corded ropes, enough to restrain even the strongest of XXX beasts, burst from her wand, snaking around the Potter Heir like a boa constrictor and restraining him, wrapping around his torso and pinning his arms to the side, only leaving him standing on two legs bound together.
"Let me go, Tracey! I'm gonna fucking kill that bitch!" Harry struggled violently against his bonds, almost frothing at his mouth with all his muscles visibly straining against the thick ropes, each as thick as a firehose and made of hundreds of cords entwined together. His emerald eyes seemed mad, the hereditary Black insanity that most Slytherins were only painfully familiar with creeping into his gaze as he seemed to lose control over all his reason.
For a moment, it seemed like he would really kill Celeste where she stood if he could get his hands on her.
Celeste sneered at him. "Yes, Daphne- I'm proud to see that you finally learnt to leash your pet dog. Better late than never, eh?"
"Alright now, Silencio." With a wave of her wand, she silenced Harry. "No more fighting now. Filthy Mudblood, release that rabid dog, if he dares to attack, I'll be the one to discipline him."
Celeste took charge like it was second nature to her, her steely words slicing through the chaos in the common room. All the other faceless, voiceless students who were sitting around the room, scattered across couches and lounging near the fireplace, had their attention on the students in the middle, the prominent players in Slytherin House, their gazes unflinching and focus unwavering, like a bunch of housewives who had nothing better to do than to wait for how this would play out.
Tracey, however reluctantly, let go of Harry, knowing that it wouldn't be good for either of them if she didn't comply with Celeste's command, cancelling her spell and making him stumble forward slightly as the bonds restricting him disappeared suddenly, like they hadn't even been there in the first place.
The Potter Heir growled softly in his throat, like a stray dog who had been kicked, rubbing his wrists to get the blood pumping back. The spot on his chest where Pucey's Reducto had made contact throbbed painfully, a sharp shooting pain that pierced through his core and made him wince internally. Despite how much his hands itched to wrap around Celeste's throat and choke the life out of her, he held himself back, remembering the last time Celeste had ganged up on him and 'disciplined' him as she called it, only leaving when Daphne appeared and levitated him to the Hospital Wing. The pain from the experience seemed to be permanently burnt into his psyche, even his bones and muscles trembling at the thought of facing that again.
Harry grit his teeth and clenched his fist, tight enough for his nails to dig into his palm and draw blood, which dripped from his knuckles, splashing on the cold grey stone of the common room floor and staining it crimson.
"Everyone, put away your wands- that goes for you guys as well-" She looked pointedly at Pucey and Higgs, who reluctantly sheathed their wands. "I'm Celeste fucking Malfoy, and I'm the boss here, so I'll repeat the rules, which I'm pretty sure I announced only five minutes ago."
"No fighting in the common room, guys." She spread her arms, as if challenging anyone to refute her. "If you want to beat up someone, we have a Snake Pit for that purpose. If you don't want to fight fairly, the castle has lots of unused corridors and abandoned classrooms for that purpose. Make good use of it."
She clapped her hands as if that was proving her point. "Now, I'm sure you all know all the other rules, I hope I won't have to repeat them."
"Alrighty." She continued, beckoning Draco closer. The first year who looked like he had been about to piss himself when Harry had gone berserk now had his chest puffed up like a peacock would display its majestic plumage, and he strutted up to his sister. His slicked-back, gelled silver hair glistened in the greenish glow of the Slytherin common room, casting a shadow across his sharp features contorted into a sneer worse than Snape's when he saw the Weasley twins, as he strutted up to take his spot beside his sister, with all the arrogant confidence of a first-year who, by virtue of having a skilled and powerful older sister, had now complete reign over Slytherin House. "As I'm sure you all know, this is my brother and Heir Malfoy, Draco. When I'm not here, he is the dude y'all will listen to- yes, that goes for all years, first through seventh. Or else, I'll be the one you'll have to answer to, and I'm pretty sure nobody wants that."
She took a customary glance around the room for any stray voices of dissent that just didn't come. Even the seventh years looked away at her gaze, students four years older and more experienced than herself backing away from a mere third year like Celeste, half out of fear of her own magical prowess and the other half out of the knowledge that crossing the Malfoys could make their, and by extension, their families' life a living hell.
When no protests came, Celeste turned back to Harry. "I have introduced everyone here to the first years. Only you three are left."
She pulled out her wand, waving it lazily at Daphne. A small, sizzling red ball shot out of the top of her wand, zooming through the air faster than Harry could react- a stunner aimed at the Greengrass Heiress.
She was equally quick to react to the minute threat, though, batting the spell aside with the tip of her wand as if it were a fly, the sizzling stunner sending up violent glowing sparks when it came into contact with her wand. The deflected spell crashed harmlessly into the stone wall behind them, sizzling as it came into contact with the stone, like molten glass against cold stone, hissing violently and leaving the uniformly grey stone slightly discoloured.
"That's Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Greengrass." Celeste continued, ignoring the way Daphne had her wand levelled at the former. Both of them knew that she didn't have the guts to fire a spell- even though she might have been able to stand toe to toe with Celeste in a fair fight, she wouldn't initiate a duel with so many bystanders and possible casualties, and when Celeste had all her lackeys sulking behind her, itching for a fight. "She's the only one of the three you need to watch out for. If Daphne's there, just leave them alone. If you can catch the two idiots without her around to protect them, you're free to have your way with them. And just don't mess with Daphne, she's a Daddy's girl through and through, and if anything happens to her, I'm sure Lord Cyrus Greengrass will come knocking, and I'm not protecting anyone from that."
She warned the first years, her icy grey eyes never leaving Harry's burning emerald, the same way an owner would have a staredown with a rebellious dog.
"The girl beside her, the one with the Muggle cap- she's Tracey Davis. Technically she's a Half-Blood, but she is also Lord Greengrass' bastard daughter, so her social standing is basically less than a Mudblood. You're free to do with her as you please if you can catch her off guard. Just make sure to draw the line somewhere- it'll be a pain to explain to the authorities otherwise." The unspoken threat hung in the air, thick and tense, making the hair on Harry's neck stand on end.
"That bitch-" Harry growled deep in his throat, a sound like a wounded apex predator might make, baring his sharp teeth and stepping forward threateningly. But no sound came from his lips; however, Celeste's Silencio was still effective, making his threat lukewarm at best.
Tracey tightened her grip on his arm, almost wrapping her body around his to stop him from doing anything rash. Her delicate, soft fingers interlaced with his, a silent warning and a heartfelt plea not to do anything he would regret. "Harry, let it go. I'm not worth it."
Her voice was low and trembling, and she buried her face in Harry's strong shoulder, not wanting him to see the way her warm chocolate eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"And the last one, the one Daphne has on a leash like a rabid dog-" Celeste addressed the first years like she was a Professor teaching the first years, with an elegant flourish of her wand towards Harry, the most prominent in the Slytherin room, standing between the Slytherin overlords on one side and Daphne and Tracey on the other. He was already tall enough to stand out from the crowd at fifteen with room to grow still, and the baggy robes which hid just how well-defined his muscles were didn't hide his well-built stature at all. "-is Harry fucking Potter."
"The one who managed to singlehandedly drive the Potter and Black families bankrupt?" Draco snickered from beside his sister.
"I'm coming to that a moment, Draco." She smiled at her younger brother in much the same way Harry would smile at Rose. "But even before that, he's a Squib."
Harry clenched his fist as insulting laughter broke out in the Slytherin common room, all of them united through the enjoyment that they derived from humiliating and belittling him. He only painfully knew the truth of their words, and the knowledge that he couldn't refute them truthfully only hurt him further.
Tracey's soft hand tightened around his, and Harry returned her gesture.
"Can't cast even a single spell. I haven't ever seen a properly powered spell come out from his wand. You know what, I haven't even seen his wand all that much. He could forget it at home and nothing would change." Celeste sneered at him. "We all thought that he was here to take classes from Filch, but apparently it was not so."
"But that doesn't mean that he isn't dangerous." Celeste's voice was like a circus entertainer showing off a tamed lion who jumped when asked to jump. The amusement in her voice at Harry's humiliation was painfully audible. "I've seen him crush boulders and bones with his bare hands. Pucey's spell was strong enough to put a hole through a brick wall- he just took it like a watered-down stunner. So, Draco, what did you learn?"
"That he is more of a dumb brute than he looks." The Malfoy Heir snickered.
"Well, there's that. You're not wrong- he is a dumb barbarian stronger than your Potions-addled goons are. But that is not the main point here. If he grabs a hold of you, he can snap you in half with just his bare hands, so always try to keep out of reach." Celeste shook her head, ruffling her silver locks with a small smile on her pink lips. "The lesson here is that you need to gang up on Failure Potter and curse him in the back first. After that, he's free use."
Laughs rang out through the Slytherin common room at the shared memories of all the humiliations that the squib amongst their midst had been out through, with Celeste at its epicentre. Harry's ears burned with humiliation- even Daphne insulted him continuously, but the knowledge that she was always watching out for him still made it somewhat tolerable.
This, this made him want to wrap his hands around Celeste Malfoy's throat and choke the life out of her.
"Now, Failure Potter, let's come to the main point." Her grey eyes met his, and the laughter slowly died out in the Slytherin common room, though the humiliating sneers and the judgmental eyes did not waver from where he stood, all of them watching like vultures upon a dying prey, ready to pounce on him at a moment's notice and tear him apart as soon as he slipped up, let them come close. Eyes dancing with mirth, just waiting for how Celeste would strip him of his dignity next. "Have you seen the latest edition of Galleon Daily?"
"What, they aren't content with reporting Europe's business anymore and have started doing the Daily Prophet's job as well?" Harry snarled back at her, his nose wrinkled in a fierce challenge. In his bubbling anger, he forgot to notice that he could speak again, his focus locked onto Celeste, watching her every moment with a sharp gaze, even the most minute of twitches from her like a painful eternity for him, on a hair trigger and ready for fight or flight.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what you expect of a failed entrepreneur." Celeste spread her arms like she had just solved an unsolved magical theorem, standing with grandiose unbefitting of her station, her nose higher than the highest scholars of the world, surrounded by all the laughing, jeering Slytherins. "The fucktard doesn't even read Galleon Daily. Why did you even take up the Potter-Black businesses when you can't even find your way out of a fucking shoe, Potter?"
Celeste's Snape-like sneer, permanently etched on a face that would have otherwise been so much desirable, was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves like a flintstone against steel.
"Here, have a read for yourself. Flint."
At her verbal command, like how a trained dog did cartwheels at a word from its Master, Flint brought out a rolled-up newspaper from somewhere in his robes, tossing it towards Harry. Slightly suspicious but even more curious, Harry eyed the rolled-up newspaper as it arched through the silent, cold air in the Slytherin dorms, following a perfectly parabolic path into Harry's waiting hands like a Quaffle into a Chaser's zealous grasp.
"Read the headlines."
Harry unfurled the paper, holding it before his face and reading the headline, written in bold black letters like a death sentence unto Azkaban, through his round-rimmed glasses-
"Potter Industries under new Heir Potter sees unprecedented new low as debts grow- The end of the era for one of the richest conglomerates in magical Europe?"
His eyes skimmed over the next few paragraphs, lingering slightly on the moving picture that someone had taken of him and Rose boarding the Hogwarts Express, coming to rest on the next article, equally important and equally represented on the front page-
"Imperial Stag Inc. continue monumental rise to one of Europe's richest companies within a few years- who is the anonymous owner of magical history's fastest growing company?"
Hmm.... Failure indeed.