Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The heavy oak doors of Hogwarts Castle swung open on tuesday morning, welcoming the returning students into the ancient, magical halls. The familiar scent of stone, parchment, and faint traces of potion ingredients filled the air as Harriet and Hermione stepped into the Entrance Hall.

Their heavy trunks were immediately whisked away by a small army of house-elves who appeared with soft pops. Before the elves could disappear, Harriet paused. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped tin of freshly baked cookies, setting it gently on top of the luggage cart with a simple note of thanks.

Watching the fearsome, scarred Warlord of the North casually leave treats for the castle servants made Hermione's breath hitch. A profound, swooning warmth bloomed in her chest. It was the little things — the quiet kindness beneath the feral warrior — that made her fall deeper in love with Harriet every single day.

Before she could say anything, a blur of Ravenclaw robes and pastel blonde hair collided with them.

"Harriet! Hermione!"

Luna Lovegood wrapped her arms around both of them in a surprisingly tight, affectionate hug.

"How are you, Moon?" Harriet asked warmly, returning the embrace. "Did you behave yourself at the Burrow?"

Luna pulled back, her silvery eyes wide and innocent.

"Yes, I did."

"No, she absolutely did not," a loud, highly snarky voice echoed across the hall.

Hermione turned, letting out a fond, exasperated sigh.

"Hello, Draco. How are you?"

Draco Malfoy sauntered over, hands tucked into his pristine robes. He let out a dramatic laugh.

"She was an absolute menace, Granger! Half the time, no one in the house even knew where she was. I swear, Potter, she has something completely weird in her. We saw her casually walking on the ceiling more than a few times. She was all dreamy and smiling the entire time. By the end of the two weeks, Mr. Weasley just gave up and decided she could practically live up there."

"Moon…" Harriet raised an eyebrow, looking down at the ethereal girl. "Were you walking around on the ceiling barefoot?"

Luna smiled, just a tiny, whimsical pinch of the lips.

"I needed to get to know the wood and the stone, Harriet. Their stories always amaze me."

Harriet's stern Warlord expression instantly melted. She pulled Luna tightly to her side, pressing a fond kiss to the top of the younger girl's head.

"You are an absolute rascal, too."

"Now, let's go," Harriet said, glancing toward the grand staircase. "We have class in a few minutes, right, love?"

Hermione nodded, pulling a crisp, neatly folded timetable from her robes.

"According to the new schedules… yes. Defense Against the Dark Arts. The martial class. It's at three o'clock."

"Got it," Harriet muttered, her face instantly dropping into a scowl. "Lockhart. I swear to the Founders, why hasn't that pompous fraud been fired yet?"

"Harriet…" Hermione warned sternly out loud.

But immediately after, her voice echoed directly into Harriet's mind through the golden tether of their soul-bond.

We are officially back in the castle, Harriet. Do not make a scene. Just get through his class without threatening him.

I bet you a hundred Galleons right now that he will make a freaking massive deal out of the Chamber of Secrets incident and put himself directly in the center of the story, Harriet mentally shot back.

Oh, I know he will, Hermione agreed through the bond, her mental voice a mixture of exhaustion and strict authority. And you will sit there, and you will get through it.

Harriet's eyes narrowed rebelliously.

Harriet… Hermione warned again.

"Come on, 'Mione, I need…" Harriet whined softly in the physical world, stepping closer.

You do not need me to bribe you to behave in his class, Hermione projected firmly.

I don't need a bribe, Harriet countered, a mischievous glint appearing in her green eyes. But I want one.

"What?" Hermione blinked, caught off guard.

Harriet didn't hesitate. She stopped walking, spun around, and pulled Hermione into a massive, sweeping hug. Her scarred fingers instantly found the sensitive spots along Hermione's ribs, tickling her mercilessly.

"Stop! Stop!" Hermione squealed, squirming and laughing as her books nearly tumbled from her arms.

Harriet stopped tickling her. With the honed instincts of a Warlord, her eyes quickly scanned the corridor. Seeing that Draco and Luna had walked ahead and the immediate hallway was empty, Harriet leaned down and captured Hermione's lips in a fast, breathtakingly intense kiss.

"So…" Harriet whispered against her lips, voice dropping an octave. "Can I have a bribe?"

Hermione's eyes completely glazed over. Her brilliant, analytical mind short-circuited.

"I… I… sure."

"Good," Harriet smirked, utterly satisfied. "Now let's go. I bet this class will be absolutely dreadful."

As Harriet began walking toward the DADA classroom, Hermione stood frozen for a second, finally remembering how to breathe.

The physical reaction was instantaneous.

The maddening, agonizing "burning" beneath her skin that she had tearfully confessed to her mother the day before completely vanished. The moment Harriet's lips had touched hers, Hermione felt a massive, electric surge of magic flood her veins. She felt infinitely more pumped up. Her skin was literally tingling with a rushing, overwhelming sense of absolute joy and safety.

She stared at the back of Harriet's head, completely overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the magical connection.

Do you…? Hermione projected hesitantly into the bond.

Harriet didn't turn around, but the Warlord simply, subtly nodded her head as she walked.

I feel the exact same, love, Harriet's voice echoed through the golden tether, vibrating with profound warmth and affection. You aren't the only one.

They walked the rest of the way to the Defense classroom hand in hand, shoulders brushing, the quiet thrum of their soul-bond steady and warm between them.

Whatever Lockhart threw at them today, they would face it together.

The moment Harriet and Hermione stepped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, they were immediately swarmed.

They had expected a massive reception in the Great Hall later that evening, but since they had arrived just a few minutes late, the classroom was already half-full. Standing at the front, flashing a blinding, entirely fake smile, was Gilderoy Lockhart. He practically threw himself at Harriet, pouring his fraudulent heart into a sickeningly theatrical performance.

"Oh, you simply wouldn't believe it!" Lockhart announced loudly to the class, throwing an arm out toward Harriet. "Lady Potter used her brilliant Ravenclaw intelligence—the intelligence of my own former House, I might add!.....to best the terrible Basilisk! It was a maneuver worthy of my own chronicles, truly!"

Harriet stopped dead in the aisle. A dark, wicked smirk spread across her scarred face. She wasn't going to allow this pompous fraud to steal an ounce of unearned glory.

"Oh, but Professor," she said loudly, voice dripping with feigned innocence, "it wasn't just me. It was Heir Malfoy's incredibly valiant distraction that bought us the time to even reach the Chamber and rescue Ginny Weasley. And it was Ron Weasley who threw the cursed diary and ultimately defeated the shade of Tom Riddle."

Across the room, Ron turned the color of a ripened tomato and sank lower in his seat. Two rows down, Draco groaned and buried his face in his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible. Pansy Parkinson, meanwhile, was shooting absolute venom at the back of Draco's head.

Lockhart blinked, his perfect smile faltering.

"Oh… I… I didn't know… that."

Harriet had him exactly where she wanted him. Her green eyes gleamed with feral satisfaction.

"But sir," she pressed, tilting her head with mock curiosity, "you just said you saw me do all of those amazing things. Remind me again… how, oh how, did you actually see us down there? I thought you strictly stayed behind in the corridors to… 'safeguard' the students?"

The classroom descended into a heavy, suspicious silence. Lockhart stammered, face flushing as he desperately tried to backpedal.

Through the soul-bond, Hermione's mental voice cracked like a whip.

Dial it back right now, you absolute menace.

But Hermione completely failed to hold her own composure. In the physical world, she burst into a quiet fit of laughter, shoulders shaking as she pressed a hand over her mouth. Beside her, Padma Patil was hugging her own ribs, biting her lip so hard it nearly bled just to keep from bursting out loud.

Seamus Finnigan leaned back in his chair with a grin.

"Come on, guys, this is all public record! It's all in the Daily Prophet!"

"Yeah, you can see it for yourselves!" another Gryffindor added.

"The Prophet?" A Ravenclaw scoffed from the back. "I stopped reading that absolute rubbish after the Rita Skeeter fiasco last year."

"Me too," a Hufflepuff agreed. "I guess I'll just have to check. Maybe Madam Pince has some old copies in the library."

While the class dissolved into low murmurs and laughter, Pansy Parkinson sat perfectly still in the Slytherin section. She wasn't looking at Lockhart. She wasn't looking at Harriet. She was shooting absolute, venomous daggers at Draco Malfoy.

He protected her, Pansy thought, chest tight with burning jealousy. Even after she threatened him. He still protected her.

She was his fiancée, bound by a strict pureblood marriage contract arranged years ago. He could have refused. But he hadn't. And now he had thrown himself between a Basilisk and a Weasley girl.

What the hell does she have that I don't? Pansy thought bitterly. I'm powerful. I'm a trained assassin. I'm pureblood. She's… nothing.

The answer eluded her, which only made the resentment burn hotter.

Back at the front, Parvati Patil finally took pity on the stammering professor. She grabbed Harriet by the sleeve and dragged the Warlord over to the empty desks beside Hermione and Padma.

The moment Harriet sat down, both Padma and Parvati immediately smacked her on the shoulders.

"Ow!" Harriet grunted, rubbing her arm.

"We thought he would finally teach us something today, damn it, Harriet!" Padma hissed.

"Don't blame me!" Harriet defended, crossing her arms.

"Then who should we blame?" Padma demanded.

Harriet smirked and pointed a scarred finger directly at the girl beside her.

"Hermione."

Hermione's jaw dropped in pure outrage.

"What?! What did I do?!"

"You didn't bribe me enough in the hallway to behave," Harriet answered with a completely straight face, eyes dancing with mischief.

Padma closed her eyes and let out a deep, long-suffering groan. She turned to Hermione, gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly.

"Girl, you are going to have to take one for the team every single day," Padma ordered, voice deadpan but desperate. "I refuse to fail this class just because your feral girlfriend keeps deliberately distracting Lockhart to amuse herself!"

Padma aggressively slammed her open notebook onto the desk and pointed at the mostly blank pages.

"Look at this notebook, Hermione! Look at how completely empty it is! Since we started this class a few months back… we… haven't… gotten… a single… actual… lesson!"

Hermione stared at the empty notebook in horror.

Harriet just leaned back in her chair, thoroughly pleased with herself.

Lockhart, meanwhile, was desperately trying to regain control of the room, flipping through his own book as if searching for a chapter titled How to Recover from Being Publicly Humiliated by Teenagers.

It was going to be a very long semester.

While Padma was still muttering about their lack of actual lessons, Harriet slowly turned around in her seat. She looked past Hermione and locked eyes with Neville and Ron, who were sitting right behind them.

"Hey, guys," Harriet whispered, a dangerous little spark in her green eyes. "Wanna see something that might get me killed?"

Both boys went rigid. Neville's face drained of color. Ron looked like he was already calculating how fast he could crawl under the desk.

The line hit Neville harder than the others. It was almost exactly what Harriet had said to him in the Chamber ..... right before she jumped off the broom and he followed her anyway.

Beside them, Hermione was still trying to figure out what Padma had meant by "taking one for the team." Padma noticed. With a completely deadpan expression, she puckered her lips and made loud, exaggerated kissing noises right at her.

Hermione's face went nuclear. Without hesitation, she grabbed her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and smacked Padma over the head with it.

"Ow! Oi!" Padma rubbed her scalp, glaring. "I am your best friend!"

"Hence why I only hit you once," Hermione replied sweetly, though her cheeks were still blazing.

Before Hermione could recover, Harriet raised her hand.

"Mr. Lockhart, sir?" she called out, voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. "As a very brave, strong, and handsome teacher…" She visibly choked on the last word. "…what did you think about the tactical maneuver Neville and I pulled? You know ..... the part where we dove straight off our brooms into the Basilisk's mouth?"

Lockhart froze mid-chalk stroke.

Neville looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this classroom. For one brief, treacherous second, he genuinely wished he had just let Harriet jump alone.

Ron had already put his head down on the desk and was pretending to be unconscious.

Draco, from across the room, groaned and threw a crumpled piece of parchment at the back of Harriet's head.

But Lockhart swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

"Oh! You see, Lady Potter, I loved it!" he declared, tossing his chalk aside with dramatic flair. "It was a truly grandiose maneuver! You know, in one of my many, many published books, I once did something remarkably similar—"

While Lockhart launched into yet another fabricated tale about battling a banshee on a broomstick while perfecting his hair mid-combat, Harriet casually leaned back in her chair and glanced over her shoulder.

Neville, previously dying of embarrassment, was now giving her a massive, grateful thumbs-up. He had realized her brilliant tactic: no more classwork for the rest of the period. Ron was already using his robes as a pillow and had peacefully gone to sleep.

Padma, however, looked ready to commit treason.

"I am going to strangle you," she hissed, hands twitching as she glared at Harriet. "I am going to commit Sovereign-cide. I don't care that you gave my family a Keep. I will end you in this chair."

Parvati initially reached out to restrain her twin, whispering frantic pleas for peace. But after Lockhart started his third tangent about his own hair, Parvati simply sighed, dropped her hands, and gave up midway.

Hermione, meanwhile, calmly opened her sapphire-bound Black family grimoire under the desk and began reading in peace. She didn't lift a single finger to stop Padma's murder plot. She was more than happy to let it happen as petty revenge for Harriet throwing her under the Hogwarts Express five minutes earlier.

Harriet glanced sideways at her girlfriend, suddenly feeling the weight of what she'd just started.

"Help," she whispered through the soul-bond.

Hermione didn't look up from her book. Instead, she blew Harriet a quick, lazy kiss through the bond and replied, calm and amused:

I expect you to survive this one, love.

"Help," Harriet whispered again, this time out loud .... because Padma had finally snapped. The Ravenclaw had climbed halfway out of her seat, one hand fisted in the front of Harriet's robes, shaking her while hissing threats of Sovereign-cide under her breath.

Parvati had completely given up and was now face-down on the desk, laughing into her arms.

Hermione finally closed her grimoire, leaned back in her chair, and watched the chaos with a deeply satisfied little smile.

Harriet caught the look.

She was in trouble.

And she knew it.

As the bell finally rang, dismissing them from Lockhart's agonizingly useless lecture, Harriet was quicker on her feet than the furious Ravenclaw twin.

"You know what?" Harriet declared, turning to face Padma before the girl could launch her attack. She crossed her arms, adopting her most commanding Warlord stance. "One week with no shared-bed privileges in the dorms. That is my final ruling."

Padma stopped dead in her tracks, completely shocked by the tactical counter-strike.

"No! You can't do that, I.....Harriet… be reasonable!"

Harriet shook her head, her face an unyielding mask of stone.

"No. You wanted to commit 'Sovereign-cide,'" she quoted, using thick air quotes. "Actions have consequences."

Hermione stepped between them, placing a gentle, calming hand flat against Harriet's chest.

"Love, don't be like that."

Harriet looked down at Hermione's hand, her stern facade immediately cracking.

"Fine… fine," she sighed, dropping the deadpan act completely. She stepped forward and pulled Padma into a tight, warm hug. "I missed you a lot, you know," she whispered softly.

Padma let out a muffled, defeated sigh against Harriet's shoulder, returning the hug despite actively trying to murder her just a few minutes prior.

"I missed you too, you feral menace."

Harriet pulled back and gently shoved Padma's shoulder.

"Now, go back to your boy before he thinks I've actually killed you."

She joked, looking over at Neville. The young Gryffindor was hovering a few feet away, looking down at his shoes with a distinctly shy, bashful expression as he waited for Padma. It always amazed Harriet how her cousin could be so fiercely, undeniably brave in the face of a Basilisk, yet so incredibly shy when it came to a pretty girl. He was a true enigma.

"Come on, love," Hermione said, pulling Harriet away by the hand to leave the golden triad to their own conversations.

They waved goodbye to Neville, Padma, and Parvati as they stepped out into the bustling corridor, their fingers tightly laced together.

"We have Transfiguration now," Hermione noted, adjusting her bag. "And Parvati just told me they need to take a quick detour to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey for their monthlies potions."

Harriet blinked.

"Oh, did they just start?"

"Apparently, on the very last day of the recess, they both got their first period," Hermione explained softly as they navigated the moving staircases.

"Oh, well, that completely explains why Padma was so ready to murder me earlier," Harriet realized, a wave of profound understanding washing over her. "I can't even judge. I almost literally killed Draco in your living room when he made a snide comment about your drawings."

"I would have happily let you," Hermione responded smoothly, leaning up to press a quick, affectionate kiss to Harriet's scarred cheek.

Still holding hands, they walked into the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor McGonagall was already at the front of the room, writing a complex theoretical formula on the chalkboard. She turned around as the students filed in, her strict features softening into a genuinely warm smile.

"Dear students, I am so incredibly glad to see you all back here safely," Minerva announced.

Then, to the surprise of the class, the stern Deputy Headmistress stooped down behind her desk and picked up a tiny, giggling toddler from the floor.

"I apologise for my little one, Hazel, being here in the classroom today," Minerva explained, shifting her daughter comfortably onto her hip. "But the Headmaster and I decided it was past time to give some of the castle elves their own free time. Currently, half of the Hogwarts elves are off-duty. So, I expect all of you to be patient, polite, and sensible when asking for things around the castle."

Harriet smiled brightly at the news, nodding in deep approval of the new policy.

Seeing the Warlord, Minerva walked over to their desk. Without missing a beat, she gently handed Hazel over to Harriet. The little girl was absolutely ecstatic to be with her "auntie." Hazel giggled happily, instantly reaching up with chubby hands to play with the stark white streaks in Harriet's dark hair.

Harriet effortlessly balanced the toddler on her lap, using one hand to keep Hazel steady while she used the other to diligently copy down the notes Minerva was writing on the board.

"Today, we will continue our lesson on transfiguring the ground and the immediate environment around you," Minerva instructed, pacing the aisles. "But we will also add the element of transfiguring inanimate objects into live animals."

Minerva tapped her wand against a solid stone paperweight on her desk.

"Imagine a dark wizard or a physical attacker is running straight at you. He believes he has you cornered. Then, with a flick of your wand, you pull up a heavy rock from the ground and turn it into a flock of squawking chickens."

With a sharp crack, the stone paperweight instantly transfigured into three very loud, very confused chickens that began flapping around the Professor's desk. The entire class erupted into laughter.

"Highly disorienting, wouldn't it be?" Minerva asked, waving her wand to vanish the mess and return the stone to normal.

The class murmured in unified agreement.

"But, Professor?" Seamus Finnigan called out from the middle row.

The entire class collectively groaned, anticipating the disaster.

"Yes, Mr. Finnigan?" Minerva sighed.

"Could we eat it?"

The classroom fell completely, entirely dead silent.

Harriet paused her note-taking, staring at the Gryffindor boy in absolute disbelief. Even toddler Hazel stopped playing with Harriet's hair, blinking owishly at Seamus.

"What?" Minerva asked, her voice dangerously flat.

"The chicken," Seamus clarified, completely oblivious to the danger. "If we were lost in the woods or something… could we cook it and eat it?"

Minerva slowly lowered her wand. She looked at Seamus with an expression of profound, soul-deep exhaustion.

"No, Mr. Finnigan," Minerva answered, her Scottish brogue thickening. "Because once the transfiguration magic naturally runs out, the chicken would return to its original form. You would suddenly have a solid, jagged rock sitting squarely inside your stomach and intestines. Not to mention, it is entirely impossible to properly cook transfigured stone!"

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Sometimes, Seamus… I truly worry about the safety of teaching you magic." She looked at him completely deadpan. "I believe I will be having a word with your parents by owl this evening."

"No! Wait, I was just asking hypothetically....." Seamus tried frantically to defend himself, his hands flying up in surrender.

But as the entire classroom burst into a fit of raucous laughter, Seamus slumped down in his chair, fully understanding that he had just dug his own absolute grave.

Lunch in the Great Hall was a loud, chaotic affair.

At the Ravenclaw table, Luna was happily recounting her two weeks at the Burrow, weaving a highly detailed, whimsical tale about the local garden gnomes and how she had spent hours "conversing" with the wooden floorboards.

As they ate, Harriet kept a sharp, tactical eye on the entrance. When she saw a familiar mane of bright red hair walk through the heavy oak doors, Harriet immediately stood up.

"Gin!" Harriet called out, waving her over.

As Ginny practically jogged toward them, offering a wide, glowing smile, Harriet’s gaze shifted to the Slytherin table. She caught Draco Malfoy’s eye and gave him a sharp, commanding gesture.

"Heir Malfoy," Harriet announced, her voice projecting just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear the formal title. "If you would join us, I need to talk shop with you."

Draco stood up. He immediately slipped on his stiff, aristocratic pureblood mask, straightening his perfectly tailored robes with a rigid, almost pompous grace. He walked over to the Ravenclaw table, nodding formally. "Sure thing, Heir Potter."

Ginny’s smile was so wide it looked as though it might actually break her face. She practically bounced as she sat down on the bench across from Harriet.

When Draco stepped up to the table, he looked at the narrow space beside the fiery Gryffindor. His pureblood training completely short-circuited his brain.

"Would you please move a bit, Ginevra?" Draco asked stiffly.

Ginny didn't say a word. She simply stopped smiling, tilted her head, and shot him a fierce, deeply pointed look that clearly screamed: That is entirely too formal, you absolute prat. Call me Gin.

Draco flushed a brilliant, immediate shade of crimson, completely wilting under the weight of her brown eyes. He cleared his throat, leaning in closer and dropping his voice into a much softer, highly embarrassed register.

"Gin... could you move a bit, please?" Draco muttered, his cheeks burning. "I need some space to sit."

"Sure thing, Mal," Ginny answered softly, a triumphant, incredibly fond smile instantly returning to her face as she shifted down the bench to make room for him.

The two of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder, completely engrossed in their own little world as a few older students from the surrounding tables began to subtly lean in, trying to eavesdrop on the Sovereign and the Slytherin Heir.

Hermione watched the entire exchange unfold. She leaned closer to Harriet, her brow furrowing in profound, analytical confusion.

"I figured this would happen," Harriet whispered, leaning in so their shoulders brushed.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered back, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "What exactly is happening?"

Harriet’s green eyes darkened with tactical calculation as she subtly scanned the Great Hall.

"Well," Harriet explained softly, keeping her voice strictly between the two of them. "With everything that just happened in the Chamber of Secrets, the Inner House tables are already getting restless. The different political factions inside the school are desperate to claim a piece of the recognition and the glory from the battle."

Hermione nodded slowly, beginning to see the shape of the chessboard.

"I suspect Ginny will be under heavy surveillance by the Gryffindor upperclassmen," Harriet continued. "And Draco is already a prominent part of the Slytherin Inner House table, so he is heavily restricted by his own faction's politics. If the two of them organically start coming together—dating, or even just hanging out casually—it will instantly be seen as a deliberate political move by either table."

Harriet took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "The Gryffindors would be absolutely furious at the Slytherins for 'stealing' the girl who was taken into the Chamber. It would probably cause an all-out Inner House war."

Harriet paused, a dry smirk touching her lips. "Well, a scuffle, anyway. Since we are at Hogwarts and not on a feudal battlefield."

Hermione let out a soft, amused breath. Leave it to Harriet to treat a teenage romance with the exact same tactical gravity as a siege on a fortress.

"Hmm. That does make absolute sense," Hermione whispered, looking across the table at Draco and Ginny, who were currently blushing furiously as Luna asked them a bizarre question about nargles. Hermione turned back to her Warlord. "So, what exactly are we going to do to help them?"

Harriet’s smirk widened into a brilliant, highly dangerous grin.

"Oh, well," Harriet murmured, tapping her fingers against the wooden table. "We just have to wait for the next official Inner House meeting to start dropping our pieces into place. Don't worry, love. I am absolutely sure I will have a flawless plan by then."

Their moment continued softly at the table. Hidden entirely from view beneath the heavy wooden benches, Ginny's leg gently pressed against Draco's. He was currently doing his absolute best to maintain a composed expression while talking to Harriet about "merchant trade routes"—a completely made-up topic he had latched onto the moment Ginny sat down.

Then Ginny decided to make her move.

She had written the note earlier that morning, folding it into the smallest square she could manage. The plan had been simple: slide it into his hand under the table, offer a mysterious smile, and walk away like she had done this a hundred times before.

In reality, her nerves betrayed her completely.

Instead of a smooth handoff, Ginny panicked. She shoved her chair back, stood up, and threw her arms around Draco's neck in a tight, desperate hug. She squeezed him hard, the anxiety of being separated from him during classes—especially with the constant Pansy rumors swirling through the castle—finally winning out.

When she pulled back, her face was burning. She didn't even try to be subtle anymore. She simply pressed the crumpled note flat against his chest and said, loud enough for several nearby students to hear:

"I will expect to see you there. I'll hate you if you don't!"

Then she turned and sprinted out of the Great Hall.

Draco remained frozen on the bench, one hand slowly rising to take the note from where it had been pressed against his robes. He unfolded it with slightly unsteady fingers.

Meet me by the docks at 6. Sharp. Don't be late!

He read it twice.

A slow, unmistakable blush crept up his neck and into his ears.

A few yards away, the Slytherin inner table had gone completely silent.

"We all saw that, right?" Millicent Bulstrode muttered, eyes wide. "Like… we all collectively agree that this is actually happening?"

Blaise Zabini took a slow sip of his juice and gave a solemn nod. Another Slytherin nodded. Then another.

"Okay, so I'm not crazy....." Millicent started, but before she could finish, Daphne Greengrass firmly pressed the tip of her wand against the table, instantly silencing them all.

"If anyone says a single word about this to him," Daphne hissed, her icy blue eyes sweeping over her housemates, "you will instantly lose your bottled water privileges. I swear it."

The surrounding Slytherins looked at her, mortified.

The daily ration of "purified, crystal-clear water drawn from the deepest pureblood waterfalls" was one of the few real perks of sitting at the inner table. Even though most of them knew the marketing was a scam, the flavor-enhancing charms made it genuinely better than regular water. No one wanted to lose access.

Terrified, the Slytherins immediately shut their mouths. They stared at the ceiling, the walls, or their plates, pretending they had noticed absolutely nothing as Draco stood up, aggressively smoothed down his robes, and practically jogged out of the Great Hall.

Back at the Ravenclaw table, Harriet was shaking her head, staring up at the enchanted ceiling in sheer disbelief.

"By Morrigan," she groaned, planting a scarred hand firmly over her face. "Those two are about as subtle as a dragon's roar."

Hermione couldn't hold it in anymore. She burst into a bright, ringing laugh as she watched Draco disappear through the doors.

"Oh, I bet they both think they are being incredibly quiet and slick."

Harriet lowered her hand, glancing at her.

"Slick?"

"Muggle term," Hermione explained, eyes still sparkling with amusement. "It means being completely under the radar. Undetectable."

Harriet's expression shifted into understanding.

"Oh. Oh, then yeah. I bet they absolutely think they are being slick."

Padma Patil, who had been watching the entire exchange, casually leaned over the table.

"I bet you forty Galleons right now," she said with a smirk, "they won't actually figure out that we all know about them until the middle of seventh year."

Harriet looked at her, the Warlord instincts in her instantly rising to the challenge.

"Put me down for fifty," she countered. "I bet they finally do a massive 'reveal' of their upcoming wedding fifteen years from now, completely convinced that we will all be utterly surprised."

Hermione let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

"Make it sixty," she added, "and that they name their first child something ridiculous like 'Dracony' or 'Ginverus' to 'honor both sides.'"

Padma turned to stare at her.

"…You're on," she said after a moment.

Harriet just shook her head again, but there was a small, fond smile on her face as she watched the doors where both Ginny and Draco had vanished.

They were terrible at this.

But at least they were terrible at it together.

 

Harriet gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached as she stared at Gilderoy Lockhart.

The man stood at the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts martial arena in perfectly pressed, immaculate robes, smiling like he was about to do the class a favor. He had somehow convinced the Headmaster to let him "curate" Tonks' lesson, and the results were already making Harriet's stomach turn.

"You see, students," Lockhart announced brightly, pacing in front of the sunken training pits, "I have decided to personally curate Professor Tonks's class today! I find that your mettle is severely lacking. Shadow wolves? Pish posh! Today, I have brought you a truly fun creature to duel!"

Harriet's stomach dropped the exact second the foul, earthy stench hit her.

Gnomes.

Giant ones.

The heavy iron cages along the far wall rattled as something large and vicious shifted inside them. The smell was unmistakable — wet soil, rot, and the sharp, acrid scent of something that had been kept in too small a space for too long.

Harriet's hand twitched toward her wand on instinct. Her Warlord instincts screamed at her to put the creatures down before they could hurt anyone. She opened her mouth, ready to verbally tear Lockhart apart, but Tonks quickly stepped forward, raising a hand to stop her.

"We understand that several of you might still harbor intense fear regarding these creatures after last year's attack on the school," Tonks said, her voice tight. She avoided Harriet's gaze, looking profoundly guilty for agreeing to the Headmaster's "exposure therapy" idea. "But we are here for you. We will help you move forward. Today we will be working in pairs. Find a partner and move to your designated sections."

Harriet looked around the room.

Cho Chang stood frozen near the wall, her face deathly pale — clearly remembering how close she had come to bleeding out in the corridors during the troll attack. A few feet away, Lavender Brown was gripping Ron's sleeve so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

Ron adjusted the thick glasses he now wore after nearly losing his eyes to the monsters last year. Despite the obvious trauma, he took Lavender's trembling hand and gently pulled her toward their shared arena.

"You can do it, Lav," he muttered.

"They did that to you, Ron," Lavender whispered, voice shaking as she looked at his glasses. "I… I can't—"

"It's fine," Ron said firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. "They're just overgrown gnomes. I was stupid last time and got hit. It won't happen again. I've got you."

Padma and Parvati immediately paired up without discussion, moving toward their section like a single, united front.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy was desperately trying to back away from Pansy Parkinson. The young assassin kept stepping closer, completely ignoring his attempts to escape.

"I won't accept a no for an answer, Malfoy," Pansy hissed, her dark eyes flashing with something dangerously close to obsession.

"You tried to kill me last year, Pansy," Draco hissed back, keeping his voice low. "And you're lucky I didn't tell Harriet that you knew what was happening with Ginny. Stay away from me."

"Draco!" Pansy's voice cracked. In a flash, she drew both her silver dagger and her wand, pureblood composure snapping. "I swear to Salazar, you will be my partner, or I'll—"

"Come on, mate," a calm, exasperated voice cut in.

Neville Longbottom stepped between them without hesitation. He grabbed Draco by the shoulder and physically hauled him away toward the nearest empty arena, ignoring Pansy's murderous glare.

"Hey! Stop pulling!" Draco yelped, stumbling after him. "These are genuine Acromantula silk clothes, you know!"

Neville rolled his eyes as they stepped into the training pit.

"Why are you wearing expensive silk underneath your heavy leather sparring armor, Malfoy?"

"Because I want to look good while I practice," Draco huffed, rigidly adjusting his collar. "Obviously."

Neville looked at him like he had lost his mind.

Harriet and Hermione stepped into their own partitioned arena. The heavy iron gates dropped behind them with a loud clang. Across the pit, a rusted cage rattled violently as a pack of oversized, foul-smelling gnomes began snarling from the shadows.

Hermione didn't look scared. She didn't look traumatized. She smoothly drew her wand, her brown eyes flashing with absolute, terrifying brilliance.

"I bet I can kill more than you," she said, not even looking at Harriet as the cage doors began to open.

Harriet's emerald eyes lit up with feral delight. The heavy dread in her chest vanished, replaced by the sharp, thrilling rush of adrenaline. She drew her wand, a predatory Warlord smile stretching across her face.

"Oh," she laughed, her magic flaring to life around her. "It is on, Granger."

The heavy iron gates rose with a grinding screech of rusted metal against stone. The moment the bars cleared the dirt floor, the training pits erupted into violence.

Each partitioned arena became its own private battlefield as the oversized gnomes poured out of their cages in a wave of snarling muscle and foul stench. The creatures were larger than normal, their thick hides caked with dirt and their teeth yellow and sharp. Their beady eyes gleamed with vicious hunger as they scrambled toward the students.

The Warlord and the Scholar

In their arena, Harriet and Hermione moved as one.

Hermione planted her feet and raised her heavy Ent-bark shield, the ancient wood humming with protective magic. She didn't waste time targeting the gnomes directly. Instead, she slammed her wand into the ground and transfigured the arena itself. Thick, twisting vines burst from the hard-packed dirt, while jagged pillars of stone erupted between the charging beasts. The sudden obstacles shattered the gnomes' momentum, forcing them to stumble and scatter around the new terrain.

Harriet didn't hesitate.

She sprinted forward, using the vines Hermione had raised as springboards. Her boots left the ground as she vaulted high into the air, obsidian sword gleaming in one hand and her heavy blunderbuss wand in the other.

"Incendio!"

A roaring blast of fire erupted from the wand, washing over the front line of gnomes and filling the arena with the stench of burning flesh and scorched earth. As she landed in a crouch, her obsidian blade followed in brutal, efficient arcs while rapid Diffindo slashes carved through the creatures that tried to flank them. She moved like liquid death, using every vine and stone pillar as both cover and weapon.

Hermione kept moving beside her, shield bashing gnomes aside while her wand continued reshaping the battlefield, constantly forcing the creatures into Harriet's path.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to. One created chaos. The other turned that chaos into slaughter.

In the arena beside them, Padma and Parvati fought like two halves of a striking storm.

Their heavy, magically reinforced whips cracked through the air with sharp, echoing snaps that cut through the snarling of the gnomes. Though their footwork was still slightly out of sync — the emotional tension between them not yet fully healed — their weapons moved with deadly precision. Every time a giant gnome lunged, one whip would lash out to wrap around its thick neck, violently yanking it off balance, while the other cracked across its hide to send it sprawling into the dirt.

They moved around the perimeter of their pit in a deadly dance, covering each other's blind spots without needing to look. When one faltered, the other was already there. The whips sang through the air, a constant, rhythmic crack that kept the gnomes at bay.

To their right, Ron and Lavender's arena was louder and far more desperate.

Ron stood at the front like a living wall. His thick glasses had already begun to fog with sweat as he wielded his heavy wand-spear and reinforced shield. He absorbed the gnomes' charge with sweeping blocks, his spear lashing out whenever one got too close. His breathing was steady, but his jaw was clenched tight.

Behind him, Lavender Brown was fighting through pure, shaking terror.

Her hands trembled around the heavy iron mace she gripped with both hands. Every swing was fueled by raw adrenaline rather than technique, but when a gnome managed to slip past Ron's guard, she stepped forward with a raw, terrified scream and brought the mace down with crushing force. Her strikes were messy, but they were effective.

"You're doing fine," Ron grunted, bashing another gnome away with his shield. "Just keep swinging. I've got you."

Lavender didn't answer with words. She just nodded once, teeth gritted, and kept fighting.

The most surprising synergy of the day was unfolding in the arena to their right.

Neville Longbottom had planted himself like an immovable fortress. His massive, reinforced tower shield stood as an unbreakable wall. Every time a gnome charged, it slammed headfirst into the enchanted metal and staggered back with a concussion, its skull ringing from the impact. Neville didn't even flinch. He simply absorbed the hits and held his ground, his boots digging deep into the dirt.

From behind the safety of that iron wall, Draco Malfoy moved with cold, lethal elegance.

Refusing to get dirt or blood on his expensive silk shirt, Draco wielded a razor-sharp silver rapier in one hand and his wand in the other. Every time Neville stunned a creature with his shield, Draco stepped out just far enough to deliver a precise, lightning-fast thrust with the rapier, dropping the gnome instantly before slipping back behind the bastion to fire hexes into the remaining pack.

By the end of the first wave, the ground around their arena was littered with broken and stunned gnomes.

Neville lowered his shield slightly, breathing hard but steady.

"You're actually not bad at this, Malfoy."

Draco flicked blood off his rapier with a flick of his wrist, his expression cool despite the chaos.

"High praise, Longbottom. Try not to ruin my shirt and I might even return the compliment."

Neville just snorted and raised his shield again as the next cage began to rattle open.

Across the entire training arena, the sounds of battle echoed — the crack of whips, the roar of spells, the snarling of gnomes, and the occasional shout of pain or triumph. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and burnt earth.

And in the center of it all, Harriet and Hermione fought like they had been born to stand side by side.

While Harriet brutally dispatched the last bundle of giant gnomes in their corner of the arena, Hermione locked her eyes onto the massive, hulking alpha gnome leading the pack. The creature was bigger than the rest, its scarred hide thick and its eyes burning with vicious intelligence as it tried to rally what remained of its pack.

She didn't reach for a standard spell from a textbook. She reached into her own brilliant, terrifyingly creative mind.

"Frigida Flamma!" Hermione chanted, slashing her wand through the air.

It was a spell entirely of her own making. She had spent months theorizing and refining several different versions of it, each iteration more potent than the last. This final version was a masterpiece of elemental paradox — a perfect collision of fire and ice.

A violent, roaring torrent of blinding white-blue flames erupted from the tip of her wand. The magical fire crashed directly into the giant gnome. Instead of merely incinerating the beast, the spell froze and burned it simultaneously. Everywhere the white-blue flames touched, the air temperature instantly plummeted to absolute zero. The massive gnome was completely encased in a block of jagged, burning ice, frozen solid in mid-lunge. Its thick hide turned a deep, unnatural blue as cracks of frost spread across its body. It collapsed with a heavy, shattering impact, pieces of it steaming against the dirt floor.

The remaining gnomes scattered in panic.

Harriet lowered her obsidian sword, her jaw dropping in absolute awe.

"That was amazing, love!" Harriet beamed. Her usual Warlord composure vanished as she crossed the arena in three long strides and tackled Hermione into a massive hug, lifting her clean off her feet and twirling the brilliant scholar around the dirt arena. "That spell was incredible! You made that yourself?"

Hermione let out a breathless laugh as her boots left the ground.

"I've been working on it," she admitted, still slightly dizzy from being spun. "This version is the strongest one yet."

From the observation walkway above them, Gilderoy Lockhart leaned over the railing, a patronizing smile plastered across his face.

"Hmm, yes, quite a good spell, Miss Granger!" Lockhart called down, completely oblivious to the lethal complexity of what he had just witnessed. "But, if I may, I can certainly give you some pointers on your wand movement. If you want it to truly pop, it needs to have a bit more flair! More… pizzazz!"

Hermione's feet hit the ground. Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously, and she opened her mouth to verbally destroy the fraudulent professor.

But before she could speak, a piercing, terrified scream echoed from the far side of the classroom.

The Breaking Point

In the third arena, the exposure therapy had failed catastrophically.

Cho Chang was completely paralyzed. The horrific memories of nearly bleeding to death during last year's attack had completely overwhelmed her. She was hyperventilating, backed against the stone wall, her wand trembling uselessly in her hand. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, trapped somewhere between the present and the nightmare of the troll attack.

Beside her, Sue Li was desperately struggling. She was swinging her wand wildly and screaming as she tried to physically keep a pack of snarling gnomes away from her terrified friend. One of the creatures had already latched onto her leg, its teeth sinking deep into flesh. Blood was soaking through her robes.

Harriet and Hermione didn't even hesitate. Harriet raised her blunderbuss-wand, ready to blast the iron gates open to get to them.

But Nymphadora was faster.

She vaulted directly over the railing, landing heavily in the dirt with a thud. With a furious, sweeping flick of her wand, Tonks sent a massive, concussive wave of magic rippling through the arena. The giant gnomes were sent flying backward, slamming into the iron cages with bone-crunching force.

Tonks immediately stepped between the beasts and the girls, raising her wand to forcefully levitate Cho and Sue out of the pit and onto the safe stone floor of the classroom.

"All combatants, stop your trials!" Tonks bellowed, her voice amplified by magic and shaking the very walls of the room. "Get out of the arenas immediately! This exercise is done!"

Lockhart gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart as he stepped down from the walkway.

"Professor Tonks!" he chided, his voice dripping with theatrical offense. "You explicitly agreed to this! The Headmaster and I both firmly believe that this is the absolute best way to help these kids get over themselves and face their trivial fears!"

Tonks slowly turned to face him. The guilt in her eyes had completely vanished, replaced by an absolute, blinding rage.

"Aye, I agreed to it!" Tonks snarled. "Because I foolishly thought Albus Dumbledore actually knew what he was doing! But looking at this disaster, I would bet my wand that if I go to Professor McGonagall right now, she will tell me she was never informed this was happening! And I am absolutely sure she would not agree to traumatizing her students like this either!"

"Pish posh," Lockhart waved his hand dismissively, flashing his teeth in that empty, charming smile. "You are overreacting. We must continue the—"

"GET OUT OF MY CLASS, LOCKHART!" Tonks roared.

Her natural Metamorphmagus abilities reacted violently to her fury. Her usual bubblegum-pink hair instantly flashed into a roaring, blazing fire-red. The ambient magic in the room spiked so sharply that a nearby window shattered with a loud crack.

"Get out now!" Tonks ordered, pointing her wand directly at his chest.

Lockhart physically recoiled, looking utterly astounded and deeply offended. He threw his hands up in the air, hastily backing away toward the heavy oak doors.

"Well, really!" he scoffed, fixing his robes as he practically ran for the exit. "This is exactly what happens when you leave such delicate instruction to insecure, hysterical women!"

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the classroom in stunned silence.

Tonks stood breathing heavily for a moment, her blazing red hair slowly dimming back to a dull, exhausted pink. She lowered her wand and turned back to the terrified students.

"Come on, the lot of you," Tonks said, her voice dropping back to a gentle, weary tone. "Get out of the arenas. You can take the rest of the class period off."

As the students began to slowly file out of the pits, Tonks immediately walked over to where Cho Chang was still sobbing violently into Sue Li's shoulder. Tonks dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms securely around the traumatized Ravenclaw.

"I am so sorry, child," Tonks whispered fiercely, her Auror toughness melting into deep, motherly protection. "Come here. I've got you. You are safe."

Tonks gently hoisted Cho to her feet, keeping a supportive arm wrapped firmly around the girl's waist. Looking back at Harriet and Hermione, Tonks gave them a tight, deeply regretful nod before guiding Cho and Sue out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, heading straight for the safety of Madam Pomfrey and the Hospital Wing.

The rest of the class filed out in stunned silence.

The lesson was over.

As they stepped out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the corridor felt strangely quiet after the chaos that had unfolded inside. The echoes of screaming, roaring spells, and the stench of burnt earth still clung to the air, but out here the castle had already begun to settle back into its usual afternoon rhythm.

Harriet walked beside Hermione in silence for a few steps before finally speaking.

"Sorry, love," she said quietly. "I would have loved to see more of your spells."

Hermione glanced at her, the corner of her mouth lifting into a small, knowing smile.

"We always have another class, Harriet." She paused, her voice softening with a teasing lilt. "I know what you really wanted, though."

Harriet frowned, puzzled.

"What?"

"Being alone with me in that arena," Hermione said, her voice dropping slightly. "Fighting. Just the two of us. That's what you were missing."

Harriet let out a short, surprised laugh.

"Can't say you're wrong," she admitted. "I was starting to worry my reflexes had gone dull."

Hermione gave her a light smack on the shoulder, but there was no real force behind it. She simply shook her head and kept walking, her fingers brushing against Harriet's as they moved.

They made their way to the library without another word. The moment they stepped through the heavy oak doors, the familiar scent of old parchment, worn leather, and faint traces of ink wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Madam Pince was at her usual desk near the entrance, but for once she didn't seem interested in hovering or scolding. She simply watched the students filtering back into her domain with something almost resembling quiet satisfaction. After everything that had happened over the past year, she seemed content to simply have the library full of life again.

Harriet and Hermione moved toward the back, where the more comfortable reading corners were tucked away. With a soft flick of Hermione's wand, one of the large, worn bean bags near the tall arched windows transfigured into something much softer and wider. They settled onto it without discussion, Hermione naturally curling against Harriet's side, her head resting on her chest.

For a while, they simply read in comfortable silence. Harriet's fingers traced idle patterns along Hermione's arm while Hermione turned the pages of an advanced Charms text she had pulled from the restricted section.

Eventually, Hermione spoke again, her voice quiet.

"Harriet," she said, tilting her head up slightly to look at her. "I wonder… how did the wizarding world end up this way?"

"Hmm?" Harriet murmured, half-lost in the feeling of Hermione's warmth against her.

"Well," Hermione continued, "after seeing how much devastation the professors caused to the Diggory army… I wonder why anyone bothers with armies at all. If a handful of truly powerful mages can do that much damage, why rely on numbers?"

Harriet let out a low, thoughtful laugh.

"You can't compare it like that, love."

Hermione shifted so she could see her face better.

"Hmm?"

"Well, we've talked about magic cores before, right?" Harriet said, her voice thoughtful. "About how some people are born with stronger ones, and how others are simply lazy or never pushed themselves to grow."

Hermione nodded.

"Now think about it like this," Harriet continued. "For generations, squibs were born. Low magic cores became more common, especially in heavily inbred families. And let's be honest .... most pureblood families are exactly that. Eventually, you end up with hundreds of mediocre mages. People who either can't do better… or won't discipline themselves to try."

She paused, her fingers still gently moving along Hermione's arm.

"Now look at Hogwarts. Here, you have Class XXX mages. Minerva. Pomfrey. Snape. Each one of them could probably destroy an army on their own. But not many people have the money or the connections to hire that level of expertise. So it wasn't normal, what we saw with the professors. Hogwarts is the exception. Dumbledore brought the best of the best. Normal lords can't afford that. So they went with numbers instead of quality."

Hermione was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her mind.

"I want to become a Class XXX mage," she said eventually, almost to herself.

Harriet smiled, her voice warm.

"I can see it," she said. "The enemy running as you move across the battlefield."

Hermione let out a soft scoff, though her cheeks had gone faintly pink.

"Pfft. But it does sound cool, doesn't it?" She hesitated, then added, quieter, "I bet you'll be one too when we're older."

Harriet didn't answer right away.

She simply looked down at the girl resting against her chest, then leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of Hermione's head. Her arms tightened gently around her, pulling her closer.

Hermione didn't push for a reply. She simply smiled to herself and turned another page of her book, letting the comfortable silence settle between them once more.

The Reward for Brilliance

The Great Hall was alive with the usual evening noise — the clatter of cutlery, bursts of laughter, and the low hum of hundreds of conversations echoing between the long house tables. The enchanted ceiling above showed a soft twilight sky as Harriet and Hermione made their way toward the Ravenclaw table.

Harriet walked close beside her, one arm loosely around Hermione's waist. Every few steps, she leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her bushy hair.

You're being very clingy tonight, Hermione sent through the soul-bond, her mental voice carrying a warm, amused lilt.

Can you blame me? Harriet replied instantly, pressing another kiss to her curls. I almost watched you get eaten by gnomes today. I think I've earned the right to be clingy.

Hermione's cheeks warmed, but she didn't pull away.

"Behave, Harriet," she murmured out loud, though her tone lacked any real warning.

"No," Harriet responded immediately, kissing her hair again. "Your brain is entirely too important. I have to properly say thanks."

Across the table, Padma Patil paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, looking between the two of them in profound, bewildered confusion.

"I helped her write her History of Magic essay," Hermione explained to Padma, rolling her eyes affectionately.

"Yes, she absolutely did," Harriet answered at once, pressing a third kiss to Hermione's hair. "Because I… absolutely… hate… written… assignments."

"We know," Hermione and Padma said in absolute, exasperated unison, both sharing a highly amused smile.

You're laying it on thick, Hermione sent privately, though she was clearly pleased.

Good, Harriet replied. Because I'm planning on laying it on even thicker later tonight. When we're alone.

Hermione's breath caught for half a second.

Harriet…

What? Harriet's mental voice was smug. I'm just saying… after everything that happened today, I think you've earned a proper kiss.

Hermione's ears turned pink, but she couldn't quite hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

To their immediate right, Luna Lovegood was slowly scooting closer down the bench, entirely focused on a small crystal bowl of vanilla pudding.

Moon, come here," she called, reaching out. "You are incredibly intelligent too, right?"

Luna nodded thoughtfully, her silvery eyes unblinking.

"Some would say yes. Some would say no. It really depends on the rotation of the moon."

Regardless of the answer, Harriet reached out, wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, and pulled her into a massive, suffocating side-hug.

"Harry, stop," Luna said in her usual, airy, dreamy voice, though she made absolutely no physical effort to actually get Harriet off her. She simply continued trying to eat her pudding with one hand.

An older Ravenclaw sitting across from them raised a critical eyebrow and looked at Hermione.

"Aren't you going to stop her?"

"Nah," Hermione smirked, casually buttering a dinner roll. "She's been doing that to me all week. Let someone else be smothered for a change."

Harriet froze. She slowly pulled her head back, placing a hand over her heart and looking at Hermione with an expression of profound, devastating betrayal.

"No, no," Hermione quickly corrected, noticing the shift. "I'm just joking, love...."

"Hmm, sure, sure," Harriet interrupted, leaning fully into her dramatic Gryffindor theatrics. "Look at this, Luna. The Lady of my House doesn't love me no more."

With a theatrical sigh, Harriet went completely limp, dropping all of her dead weight directly onto Luna's small frame.

"Wait… Harriet, I can't hold you," Luna noted reasonably, her small arms straining before she was fully smothered beneath the Warlord, her pudding bowl dangerously close to tipping over.

While Harriet was aggressively cuddling the Ravenclaw seer, a sudden commotion echoed from the Gryffindor table across the hall.

Ginny Weasley had abruptly stood up, her face bright red as she gathered her school bag in a rush.

"So… hmm. Please excuse me," Ginny announced to her brothers, her voice slightly too loud and incredibly frantic. "I have business to attend to."

Ron paused, a chicken leg halfway to his mouth. He looked profoundly puzzled.

"Gin? What business do you possibly have at six in the evening?"

"I… hmmm…" Ginny stammered, her brown eyes darting quickly toward the Slytherin table before snapping back. "Chamber business!"

George , who absolutely knew exactly what his little sister was doing, leaned forward with a deeply wicked, knowing grin.

"Do you need my help with this 'business,' dear sister?"

"No!" Ginny blurted out in sheer panic. "I mean… I have to take Luna to the bathroom! I… she needs my help!"

A few seats down, Oliver Wood slowly lowered his goblet of pumpkin juice. He looked completely bewildered. He pointed a finger directly across the Great Hall toward the Ravenclaw table, where Harriet Potter was currently draped entirely over Luna Lovegood like a heavy, protective blanket while the blonde girl struggled to eat her pudding.

But by the time Wood turned back around to point this out, Ginny had already bolted out of the Great Hall, practically sprinting toward the entrance doors.

At the Ravenclaw table, Luna paused with her spoon in the air. She tapped Harriet's shoulder gently.

"Harriet?" Luna asked, tilting her head. "Do I need to go to the bathroom?"

"No, Moon. You don't," Harriet answered, muffled against Luna's shoulder.

"But Gin just said....."

"I know exactly what she said, Moon," Harriet sighed, highly amused. "But no, do not follow her."

"Hmmm. Now I don't know," Luna pondered, genuinely conflicted about her own bladder.

Before the Great Hall could fully settle, another overly loud voice echoed ...... this time from the Slytherin table.

Draco Malfoy stood up so fast his chair screeched against the stone floor. He aggressively smoothed down the front of his pristine robes.

"So," Draco announced stiffly, adopting his most pompous, aristocratic pureblood tone, "I must be going. I have Inner Table business to attend to."

The entire Slytherin table fell dead silent.

Crabbe and Goyle stopped eating. Daphne Greengrass, lowered her fork and stared at him. Pansy Parkinson's eyes narrowed into terrifying slits.

It was Blaise Zabini who finally broke the heavy, awkward silence.

"Draco," Blaise said, his voice completely deadpan as he gestured vaguely around the immediate vicinity. "Your entire Inner House table is sitting right here."

Draco flushed a brilliant, furious red.

"Shut it, Zabini!" Draco snapped defensively, grabbing his satchel. "If I say I have Inner Table business to attend to, then I have Inner Table business! So move it and let me pass!"

Absolutely terrified of Daphne's earlier threat regarding their flavored water privileges, the surrounding Slytherins quietly shifted their legs, opening a clear path for the Heir.

Harriet, Hermione, Padma, and essentially everyone else who possessed a set of functioning eyes followed Draco's movements. They watched with highly amused, knowing smiles as the aristocratic Slytherin stormed out of the Great Hall and took an immediate, desperate left — the exact same direction Ginny Weasley had run moments before.

Beneath the suffocating weight of the Northern Warlord, Luna took a final, quiet bite of her vanilla pudding.

"Are they…?" Luna asked softly.

Harriet nodded against her shoulder.

"They are really bad liars," Luna observed dreamily.

"Yes, they are, Moon," Hermione answered, picking up her goblet to hide a brilliant, fond smile. "They absolutely are."

While the rest of the student body ate their fill in the warmth and noise of the Great Hall, Ginny Weasley was pacing back and forth along the edge of the Black Lake docks. The cool evening wind tugged at her fiery hair, and the gentle lapping of the dark water against the wooden posts did little to calm the anxious flutter in her chest. She kept glancing toward the castle path, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"What is taking him so long?" she muttered under her breath, kicking a small pebble into the lake. "Damn that Slytherin snake."

Despite the harsh words, her voice carried no real venom. If anything, it sounded incredibly fond, laced with heavy, anxious affection.

"Gin?"

The low, aristocratic voice came from the shadows of the boathouse behind her.

Ginny spun around so fast she nearly lost her footing. The moment she saw Draco Malfoy standing there — silver-blonde hair catching the moonlight, looking slightly out of breath from rushing .... her entire face lit up.

She didn't walk over.

She lunged.

With a fierce little battle cry, Ginny threw herself at him. The sheer force of the tackle knocked Draco completely off balance. The two of them tumbled off the edge of the wooden dock and crashed straight into a thick patch of lakeside bushes with a rustling thump.

They both burst out laughing the second they hit the ground.

"Gin," Draco groaned, laughing even as he tried to sit up in the dirt. His expensive silk robes were now covered in leaves and mud, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. His hands had already found her waist, pulling her closer. "You have this terrifying tendency of throwing me to the floor with your hugs."

"Oh, shut up, you prat," Ginny giggled, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burying her face against his chest. "I've been waiting all day. Classes are torture when I can't even see you properly."

Despite his complaints, Draco made no effort to push her away. Instead, he simply tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head as they settled into the hidden safety of the bushes.

"I missed you too," he murmured quietly.

For a while, they stayed like that .... tangled together in the dark, the lake gently lapping nearby, the rest of the castle feeling miles away.

Back up in the castle corridors, a much louder and far less secretive group was making their way toward the Ravenclaw Tower.

Harriet was currently acting as a human transport, easily carrying Luna Lovegood on her back. The younger girl's arms were looped loosely around her neck, her legs swinging gently as they walked. Harriet's usual fierce Warlord posture had softened completely in favor of making sure her little seer didn't wander off into any forbidden corridors.

Walking beside them, Hermione was talking animatedly to Padma about the sapphire-bound Black family Grimoire Sirius had given her for her birthday.

"The magical theory in the first chapter alone is revolutionary," Hermione gushed, clutching the heavy book to her chest. "I've already cross-referenced three different theories with,,,,"

She suddenly stopped mid-sentence and turned her head to glare at Parvati.

"And for the record, Parvati," Hermione warned, pointing a finger at the Gryffindor twin, "you had better never give me that type of scandalous clothing as a gift again. Not for at least another three years. Do you hear me?"

Parvati threw her head back and laughed so hard she had to lean against Neville for support.

As they reached the grand staircase, Parvati and Neville had to separate from the Ravenclaw group to head toward the Gryffindor common room. Neville stepped forward and gave Padma a soft, lingering kiss on the lips. Then, without missing a beat, he turned and gave Parvati an equally tender kiss, murmuring a quiet goodnight to both of them.

Immediately, Hermione's hands flew up and covered Luna's eyes.

"I can still see, Hermione," Luna whispered dreamily, trying her best to peer through the gaps in Hermione's fingers.

Harriet and Hermione both froze, turning to look at Padma.

"So…" Harriet raised a scarred eyebrow. "Do we want to talk about that?"

Padma sighed softly, though a gentle, genuine smile touched her lips as she watched her sister and Neville walk away.

"Once we're safely back in the dorms, I'll explain everything," she promised quietly. "For now, just know that it's our way of navigating the relationship. It has everything to do with what our grandmother did to us." She reached up and lightly traced the intricate magical twin tattoos on her own face. "We're still figuring it out. But we're finding our own way."

They finally reached the Ravenclaw Tower. The heavy wooden door swung open after Harriet answered the riddle, and the familiar, comforting scent of old parchment, warm wood, and a crackling fireplace washed over them as they stepped inside.

"Finally back," Hermione sighed, breathing in deeply.

Harriet knelt down and gently let Luna slide off her shoulders. The moment the younger girl's feet touched the carpet, she let out a bright, airy giggle and immediately sprinted up the spiraling stairs toward the girls' dormitories. A cluster of first-year Ravenclaws sitting by the fireplace stopped their homework completely, staring at Luna in open bewilderment before turning their wide eyes toward Harriet in awe.

Padma leaned closer to Harriet and Hermione, lowering her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know," she smirked, nodding toward the staring first-years, "Luna has become an absolute, certified legend among the new students. Half of them genuinely believe she's your legitimate, biological child."

Harriet crossed her arms, watching Luna disappear up the stairs. Her green eyes softened with that fierce, protective instinct she always carried when it came to the younger girl.

"Well," Harriet declared smoothly, loud enough for the terrified first-years to hear, "I fully plan to legally adopt her if Xenophilius doesn't get his act straight soon anyway."

Through the soul-bond, Harriet sent a quiet, warm message to Hermione.

Later tonight… I still owe you that kiss. A proper one

Hermione glanced up at her, her cheeks faintly pink, but her mental voice came back soft and sure.

I'm holding you to that.

For now, though, they simply stood together in the quiet comfort of the Ravenclaw common room, the chaos of the day slowly fading behind them.

The heavy oak door of the dormitory clicked shut behind them, sealing the three girls inside the quiet, circular room. The comforting scent of old parchment, warm wood, and the low crackle of the fireplace immediately wrapped around them like a protective blanket. Outside, the castle was settling into its usual nighttime rhythm, but in here, the air felt heavier ....thick with the weight of a secret finally being spoken aloud.

Harriet and Hermione sat side by side on the edge of Harriet's four-poster bed. Across the room, Padma remained standing on her own mattress for a moment, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold the pieces of her fractured family together. The firelight cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the intricate twin tattoos etched into her skin.

"So," Hermione started gently but firmly, folding her hands in her lap. "We get an explanation now. And you know we don't just mean about you and Neville."

Padma let out a long, heavy sigh. The confident Ravenclaw energy she usually carried seemed to drain out of her all at once. Her shoulders slumped as she slowly sat down on her own bed, pulling her knees up to her chest.

"You mean about me and Parvati," she said quietly.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Obviously."

For a long moment, Padma stared into the glowing embers of the fireplace. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don't even know exactly how it began," she admitted. "After the night you guys came to see us at Longbottom Keep… and then after your birthday party, Hermione… Parvati and I finally talked. The three of us laid everything out .... about our relationship with Neville, and with each other."

A single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing the dark ink of her facial tattoo.

"You guys don't understand what these tattoos actually are," Padma said, her voice trembling. "Sure, they mark us. They were meant to make us realize that we could never escape the Patil family traditions. But…" She trailed off, looking away in deep shame. "Grandma was far more cruel than we ever thought."

Harriet leaned forward, her expression dark and serious.

"For a while," Padma continued, her voice dropping lower, "Neville and my father thought they could find a way to get the tattoos off. To break the magic so that me and him could just be together." A sad, fleeting smile touched her lips. "Me and my blue-eyed prince."

The smile vanished as quickly as it came.

"But Grandma designed the ritual so that we both had to be tied to one single mage," Padma whispered. "It didn't necessarily have to be Neville. And worse… to break the bond and take away the tattoos…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "One of us would have to die."

Hermione gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Parvati actually accepted the fate," Padma sobbed, furiously wiping the tears from her face. "She was going to let them do it to free me. And my father… my father agreed with her. They would have killed Parvati."

The dormitory fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the quiet crackle of the fire.

"Neville stopped it," Padma whispered, her voice thick with gratitude and lingering horror. "He stopped my father. But I was so angry, Hermione. I was so incredibly angry at Parvati all year. All summer, I practically hated her for her part on us getting the tatoos."

She looked up at them, her dark eyes pleading for them to understand.

"That's why, when she kissed me that night… I didn't step back," Padma confessed, her face flushing. "I accepted it. I don't know if it was her twisted way of offering reconciliation, or some weird way of saying she was sorry. I'm still not entirely sure myself."

She rubbed her temples, looking exhausted.

"Neville told me he talked to her about it, but she only ever gives him vague explanations. Lady Longbottom caught us once. She told us she actually expected this to happen. She said that these ancient, dark binding rituals usually leave the victims' emotions running completely amok… causing things that absolutely shouldn't be felt, to be felt."

Padma looked down at the wooden floorboards.

"After she told us that… she just left us to it."

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

… I still deeply prefer Neville."

Padma braced herself. She squeezed her eyes closed, fully expecting the fierce Northern Warlord and the brilliant Muggleborn scholar to be completely weirded out, disgusted, or to judge her for the twisted, dark magic tangling her family together.

But Harriet didn't say a word.

She simply stood up from her bed, walked across the gap between the mattresses, and pulled Padma into a fierce, uncompromising hug.

"I knew the tattoos meant something bad, Padma," Harriet whispered against her hair, her voice thick with emotion. "But I didn't know it was this horrific. I am so sorry."

A second later, the mattress dipped beside them. Hermione wrapped her arms around Padma from the other side, sandwiching the crying girl in a warm, fiercely protective embrace.

"I will never judge what happens in your Keep, or within your family, Padma," Hermione said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Padma's shoulder. "Don't ever think that. Okay?"

Padma let out a wet, genuine laugh, wrapping her arms around both of them as the heavy burden of her secret finally lifted.

"I honestly thought you two would be completely disgusted with me."

Hermione pulled back just enough to look Padma in the eye.

"It isn't normal," she said, deadpan, her tone completely matter-of-fact. Then, a small, wry smirk curled her lips. "But since when do any of us do normal?"

Harriet chuckled softly, sitting down beside them and keeping one arm around Padma's shoulders.

"Though," Hermione added, raising a strict, authoritative finger, "I will absolutely judge you if you do it in front of the first-years in the corridors again."

Padma let out a rough, watery laugh, wiping the last of her tears away.

"Fair enough, Granger. I'll have a word with her about our public decorum."

For a long moment, the three of them simply sat there together — Harriet and Hermione holding Padma between them as the fire crackled quietly in the hearth. The weight in the room had eased, replaced by something warmer. Something safer.

Whatever dark magic their grandmother had woven into their bloodline, Padma no longer had to carry the full burden of it alone.

The Ravenclaw Cocoon

That night, the heavy emotional toll of the day finally caught up with Padma. When she stepped out of the hot shower, wrapped in her thick blue robes and looking physically and emotionally drained, her Warlord and her scholar were waiting for her.

Without a single word at first, Harriet and Hermione guided Padma to the center of the largest four-poster bed. They flanked her on both sides, wrapping their arms around her and pulling her into a tight, warm embrace. They formed a literal cocoon of safety, pressing the Ravenclaw twin between them to provide all the unconditional love and comfort she desperately needed.

Padma's voice came out small and rough.

"I… I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Harriet's arm tightened around her waist.

"You don't get to apologise for needing us," she said quietly, the Northern edge in her voice softer than usual. "Not after today."

Hermione shifted closer, resting her cheek against Padma's damp hair.

"We're right here. You're allowed to lean, Padma. That's what this is for."

Padma let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh.

"You two are ridiculous."

"Completely," Harriet agreed.

"Utterly," Hermione added.

Safe within the quiet walls of the dormitory, surrounded by the scent of parchment and embers, Padma closed her eyes and finally allowed herself to rest in the arms of her friends.

Miles away from the soft, protective cocoon of the Hogwarts dormitories, deep in the Western feudal lands, a very different kind of storm was brewing.

Inside the ancient, moss-covered stone walls of the Hufflepuff Outer House Castle, nestled deep within the Diggory Forest, the lords of the West were gathered around a massive, circular wooden table. The room was dark, lit only by flickering torches that cast long, imposing shadows over the banners of the allied families: the Topkins, the Diggorys, the Bones, the Freins, and the elusive, aggressive Buktooths.

A heavy, official parchment bearing the Ministry of Magic's seal lay open in the center of the table.

"The Ministry has officially threatened war against us," Lord Topkins announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His face was grim, lined with exhaustion. "If we do not elect a new Head of the Outer House to lead the Western faction, they will march their Aurors into our borders."

At the table, the Diggory representative simply sulked, sinking lower into his wooden chair.

"This is because of Amos," he muttered bitterly. "Everyone knows it."

"Yes," the representative for House Bones replied, her voice cold and pragmatic. "Everyone does. Though Amos is scheduled to be released from holding, the Ministry does not trust the Diggorys with the territory anymore. And neither do the rest of the Houses."

Lord Buktooth slammed his massive fist against the table, rattling the goblets.

"Since when do we care for Ministry edicts and laws?!" Buktooth roared, his thick beard bristling with fury. "They sit in London while we bleed in the dirt! This is our land!"

The Bones representative didn't flinch. She simply leveled a cool, calculating stare at the belligerent Lord.

"Since Sirius Black and the Potters aligned themselves with the Ministry, Buktooth," she answered sharply. "Do you honestly think the Lord Black and the Sovereign of the North will not immediately come and offer their military assistance if the Ministry tells them they need it?"

At the mention of the Northern Warlord who had slaughtered the Basilisk and decimated the Diggory army, Lord Buktooth's fury instantly evaporated. He swallowed hard and slumped back heavily into his chair.

"…No," he admitted, quieter. "They would come. And they would not leave until the matter was settled their way."

Lord Topkins slowly rose to his feet, leaning his knuckles against the table.

"Do we have any way of swaying them? Any political leverage with House Potter or House Black?"

The Bones representative shook her head.

"Our Lady Susan has already started to cultivate a friendship with Lady Harriet Potter inside Hogwarts, and we currently reside on her good graces. But the relationship is far too new. We cannot risk asking a thirteen-year-old girl to speak on our political behalf and jeopardize that alliance."

One of the Frein lords spoke for the first time, voice low.

"So we are left with tradition, then."

Topkins picked up the Ministry edict and threw it back down onto the wood in absolute disgust.

"So," Topkins muttered, the heavy weight of feudal tradition pressing down on his shoulders. "We begin, then."

A collective, miserable groan rippled around the table.

"The Choosing," someone muttered.

"Aye," Topkins confirmed. "One champion from each family. The mud. The badgers. The last mage standing claims the seat."

Lord Buktooth rose from his chair, his jaw set.

"Then let it be so. We will begin preparing for the arena. I will see you all there in a week's time."

No one argued.

 

Slowly, one by one, the defeated Lords and representatives filed out of the war room, leaving only Lord Topkins and the Bones representative alone in the flickering torchlight.

Topkins turned, looking at the Bones woman with hollow, exhausted eyes.

"You know your family is going to be the absolute winners of the Ceremony," Topkins said quietly.

The Bones representative gave a slow, solemn nod.

"Most of your best fighters died in the foolish attack on Hogwarts last year, Topkins. You barely have any vanguard left to send into the arena. My family deliberately separated from the Diggorys' command before the march even began. Our forces are completely fresh."

Topkins let out a bitter breath.

"And the Buktooths?"

"Strong," she admitted, "but reckless. They will charge the badgers head-on and bleed for it. The Freins are clever, but they lack the raw power. Diggory…" She glanced toward the empty chair the Diggory representative had left. "Diggory is finished. They know it."

Topkins turned his gaze toward the high, arched windows of the castle, looking out at the ever-growing, dark canopy of the Diggory Forest.

"We were absolute fools," Topkins whispered, his voice thick with bitter regret and sorrow. "We marched our sons and brothers to their deaths, following a degenerate moron and a complete abomination."

The Bones representative was silent for a long moment.

"Yes," she said at last, quietly. "We were."

He closed his eyes, the ghosts of his fallen soldiers haunting the shadows of the room as the Western Marshes prepared to bleed once again.

The Healing Heart

The next morning broke softly over the Scottish Highlands, casting a pale, golden light across the Hogwarts grounds.

Harriet and Hermione were awake fairly early, already falling back into the familiar, grounding rhythm of their morning run along the edge of the Black Lake. The crisp morning air bit at their cheeks, but the physical exertion felt incredibly good.

"Hmm," Hermione breathed, slowing to a light jog and then a walk as they took a moment to rest. She tilted her head toward Harriet, smiling. "This feels really nice to do again."

Harriet smirked, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "So, does this mean we can go back to hunting monsters inside the Forbidden Forest next week?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and immediately smacked Harriet firmly on the shoulder.

"You are an absolute menace."

But the scholar's strict expression instantly softened. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them until her body was pressed perfectly flush against the Warlord's. Hermione reached up, gently resting her palm flat against the centre of Harriet's chest, right over her rapidly beating heart.

"Maybe by next week," Hermione whispered, her brown eyes looking up through her lashes, thick with emotion. "Even if you are entirely healed on the outside… we have to make absolutely sure that this is healed, too."

Harriet's breath violently hitched in her throat. The sheer proximity, combined with the profound, overwhelming love in Hermione's eyes, made her Warlord instincts completely short-circuit.

"I… I never did give you that kiss," Harriet whispered, her voice dropping an octave as she remembered the hallway bribe from the day before.

Hermione's smile turned wicked and brilliant.

"Hmm. True." She leaned in just enough that her breath brushed Harriet's lips. "Maybe you can catch me and give it to me later today. Who knows?"

Before Harriet could fully process the challenge, Hermione turned and bolted down the dirt path, resuming their run at a full sprint.

"Hey—!" Harriet let out a breathless laugh, her heart soaring as she immediately chased after her. "That's cheating, Granger!"

Hermione's answering laughter floated back on the morning wind.

 

While the and Raven the Warlord ran in the sunlight, things were looking profoundly different down in the subterranean gloom of the Slytherin dungeons.

Millicent Bulstrode was awake far earlier than the rest of her House. She sat hunched over a heavy oak table in the corner of the common room, aggressively rubbing her temples as she stared down at a massive stack of economic ledgers.

Her life had become a waking nightmare. After her father, Anderson Bulstrode, had completely lost his mind and murdered her grandmother to usurp the lands during the faction war, the entire feudal infrastructure of the Southern Swamps had fallen directly onto her twelve-year-old shoulders. She was now the ruling Heir, under the strict, suffocating supervision of the Ministry of Magic, desperately trying to keep her House from going bankrupt.

She was currently agonizing over a proposed contract for the next shipment of merchant goods when a door opened.

Millicent looked up and completely froze.

Draco Malfoy was walking out of the boys' dormitories. But it wasn't just that he was awake early. It was his face.

Was Draco Malfoy… smiling?

Millicent blinked, rubbing her tired eyes.

No, she realized with mounting horror. That isn't just a smile. That is a massive, ear-to-ear grin. What in Salazar's name…?

 

Draco walked right over to her table with a casual, bouncing spring in his step. He was loudly crunching on a crisp green apple.

"Hmm," Draco hummed, casually leaning over Millicent's shoulder to look at the complex financial ledger she was reviewing. "You definitely don't want to sign with that merchant."

"Hmm?" Millicent asked, utterly bewildered by his sudden proximity and completely un-aristocratic demeanor.

"That merchant," Draco repeated, pointing a pale finger at a specific column of numbers while taking another loud bite of his apple. "You don't want him. Look at the blatant inconsistencies with his pricing model. He will buy the raw materials from you at sixty-nine percent less than the standard market value, but he intends to sell the refined goods at an eighty percent markup."

Millicent stared at the parchment, her brain struggling to keep up.

"…Okay?" she said slowly.

"The inflated price will inevitably bleed down to the common people buying it from him," Draco explained smoothly. "It will cause the Bulstrode goods to be seen as a luxury tax rather than a staple, which will completely stagnate your local economy. Your tenants will start looking elsewhere for cheaper alternatives, and once that happens, recovery becomes nearly impossible."

Millicent looked at the numbers, suddenly realizing he was absolutely right.

"And… I don't want that?" she asked, voice small.

"Not if you want to better your lands and stabilize your people, no," Draco answered, swallowing his bite of apple. He stood up straight and offered her a bright, genuinely friendly smile. "Daphne told me all about your current situation. If you need some help sorting through the financial mess, hit me up. I'm game to help."

With a casual two-finger salute, Draco turned around and practically skipped toward the common room exit, whistling a terribly off-key Muggle tune Ginny had taught him the night before by the docks.

Millicent sat frozen in her chair, the quill slipping from her fingers and clattering against the table.

"Game to help?" Millicent whispered to the empty room, her eyes wide with absolute, primal fear. "Hit me up?!"

She grabbed her wand, her heart pounding against her ribs.

What in the absolute hell was going on?

Half of her brain was entirely convinced that Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped in the night and replaced by someone drinking a heavily botched batch of Polyjuice Potion. The real Draco Malfoy didn't smile. He certainly didn't eat apples like a peasant. And he definitely didn't use Muggle slang.