If Harry avoided all other living things except for Hedwig the rest of Christmas break, that was his business.
Luckily, the only people who would actively notice such a thing and bother checking in on him in the castle at the time were the twins, and surprisingly Percy who was ever-diligent in his role as prefect. The twins were fortunately easy going enough that all they needed was a 'I'm studying a bit' to realize something was up and to give him space, and while Percy had been a bit more annoying and attempted to ask what he was working on, was also thankfully not that stupid and had left him be after a few suitably curt responses to get his disinterest in talking across.
If he spent a significant amount of time curled up in his bed reading Dell's journals or in his dorm bathroom using up all the potions the hairdressers in Contrair Alley had given him to make his hair curly or straight or fluffy just to play around with his admittedly large collection of hair supplies after his Christmas haul, that was also no one's business but his own.
It wasn't real. He told himself, over and over and over and over again as he looked into a very normal mirror (relatively, it did leave messages in the fog of the shower sometimes) as he re-did his hair for the hundredth time, pinning a new bauble someone from the soccer club had given him into his locks with a bit more force than necessary. It wasn't real. They're dead. And that man… that wasn't Sirius Black. That's just who I wanted for a godfather, it means nothing.
Harry had spent a long time fully believing his parents were drunks—nobodies. He consciously knew that wasn't true, ever since the day he met Hagrid the first time. Ever since people around him started to speak about his parents, and not only that, but they spoke about his parents with gentle, respectfully fond tones in their voices like they'd been loved. Like they'd been good people who other people had wanted to call friends.
But it was different, seeing what he didn't have rather than just knowing about it.
He'd wrapped himself in stone a long time ago, lowered his expectations and just kept his nose down until suddenly he'd gotten a break in life by coming to the wizarding world. He'd been too caught up in the thrill of it all, getting too big for his britches in planning his life now that his life had promise and potential and he could do things and actually be in control of where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do or how he wanted to dress.
He hadn't given his parents much thought at all, to be honest. The lack of parents was an obstacle, the Dursleys were an enemy, and his missing godfather was a problem he would have to figure out.
It hadn't hit him until he'd seen them in the mirror (they'd been so real it just wasn't fair that they weren't actually there to smile at him like they'd been real for just one moment) that they were actual people who'd died not too long after graduating Hogwarts, leaving behind a one-year-old child. They never actually got to grow up and he didn't see middle-aged parents in that mirror, he'd seen young adults who were not that old at all, it felt like.
It felt like they'd died knowing just as little as he did about how to feel about it—about anything in this life because they'd just been too young. They didn't feel like that nebulous concept of safety and warmth he'd imagined when he'd once imagined what having real parents would be like—in that mirror they were just love and support for a child they didn't really know and were glad they got to see a bit grown up, for that one night.
And Harry honestly did not know if that was better or worse.
His parents didn't know him. They loved him if that mirror was to be believed, and he honestly didn't know if it could be believed, but if it could… then his parents loved him, but they did not know him.
And that made tears sting sharply in his eyes as he glared into the mirror before him in frustration.
It was unfair.
He wanted to know his parents. He wanted them to know him. To love him unconditionally and not coddle him, but to just support him and think he was their son for no other reason than that he was.
But they'd died when they were just kids themselves, and he was far too disillusioned with the world to ever be a kid who could just love random strangers like he should've grown up thoughtlessly loving his parents. They were people and even if they were miraculously suddenly alive again, he would have to learn to trust and love them on his own.
And maybe he could do that, but it wasn't fair. He was supposed to have grown up loving them and it was supposed to be effortless.
But it wasn't.
That mirror had shown him everything he wanted and he couldn't have it. He'd been getting too cocky, thinking the whole world was at his fingertips and he could get anything, because he was a clever, rich little child who knew better than everyone else.
But he knew nothing.
And he could plot and scheme and destroy as many people as he wanted, but he could never think up a plan that would get him his parents back… and that hurt.
It hurt his pride, it hurt his heart, it hurt his whole being until he just wanted to throw something at the mirror before him and hope it felt something when it shattered.
He hated that mirror. For shoving it in his face and making him remember. For forcing him to confront what he'd buried so deep he'd actually almost convinced himself he did not care about Lily or James Potter. Sure, he liked the warmth he felt when someone said he had his mother's eyes or his father's talent, but that's all it was. Warmth.
This was like fire.
It burned at him until it was eating at the calm edges of his carefully composed mask, this grief and unbridled anger that the world was so unfair and that he'd always known exactly how much he'd wanted his parents back and how he'd buried it so that the pain of even entertaining the idea couldn't interfere with him living his life how he wanted to. Stupid day-to-day joys like learning charms tricks, doing his hair in the morning, playing soccer or quidditch, pulling a prank with the twins, asking McGonagall questions—even playing word games with the Slytherins, that was all supposed to be what there was to his life.
It was supposed to be good.
And… it was.
But it's not my parents. It's not that home I used to cry over when I was too little to realize I had to give up on stupid dreams like that.
He put his brush down and bent his head over the sink, gripping its edges and trying to breathe deeply like Hermione's book had told him to, picturing his mindscape clearing. He still didn't have a good image of how he was supposed to organize his thoughts, but eventually this practice was supposed to help him get here, and he really needed the help right about now.
I can't be this person. I want to… I want to be me. I want to play soccer with all four houses, I want to win at Quidditch. I want to play McGonagall's favorite and lose myself in Transfiguration like Dad and Dell did. I want to talk more with the twins and finally figure out how to tell them apart. I want to be proud of who I am and have no regrets. I want to be friends with Draco, I want to win my next argument with Blaise. I want to be a better friend to Neville and for him to be happy with himself— I want the Dursleys to rot in hell.
He winced while keeping his eyes closed, realizing that was probably not helping.
I can't be this person. I don't want to be angry. I don't want to hate like this.
The point of getting a new chance at life is that things were supposed to be better. But he'd cracked open his stone shell that had kept him alive at the Dursleys, inviting things like friends and amusement and excitement into his life—and suddenly other things that had been safely hidden inside his stone shield were also crawling out, finally rearing their ugly, filthy heads.
Things like resentment. At the Dursleys, at the world at large.
Anger.
Hatred.
And he didn't even know if it was hatred, but it consumed him and he was absolutely revolted by the feeling. He felt torn evenly between not caring about a damn thing because he wanted to burn someone just to make them feel like he felt, but also beating himself over the head because this wasn't who he was.
This wasn't who I was supposed to be. He confessed helplessly to no one, looking up at his reflection finally to see the glare had finally disappeared, but the person looking back at him didn't have any answers to give him either.
000
By the time the new semester started, Harry had achieved three things.
First, he'd mastered every second year Transfiguration spell the twins had laid before him, to the point he could do them not without concentration exactly, but with definite ease. He'd even read that year's textbook back-to-front Hermione-style as well as finally managing to finish up his additional research topics as well, so he could confidently say he'd probably be able to ace the second year Transfiguration exam a lot better than any current second year in the school. With the exception of maybe a Ravenclaw he hadn't accounted for (you never knew, after all). Secondly… he'd finally finished Hermione's book on controlling his emotions, and the one she'd just given him for Christmas. He's spent enough time alone with his thoughts to have the opportunity, as well as the revitalized motivation to do such a thing, and he'd worked his way through them just before the carriages started arriving with students returning from break.
Thirdly, and most importantly, he'd managed to fix himself back into himself, at least for the time being.
Mental breakdown or not, he had hair done right, baubles in place, nails a new color orange thanks to one of his Christmas gifts, and his whole wardrobe re-done to account for the fact he had an invisibility cloak featuring in most of his day-to-day wear now. He was mentally ready to get down with the next step of operation fox, for the coming quidditch season, as well as primed and ready to propose the soccer clubs' first unofficial game just as soon as Dean and Lu got back to hear about his new idea.
He had carefully boxed up his thoughts about Sirius Black and a thrice-damned mirror (and the now constant burning in the back of his heart when he remembered he'd never gotten to know his parents) into a tiny little casket in the back of his mind and buried it.
He marked the tomb with a lovely pale blue gravestone in his mind's eye and would come back to grieve over it another day.
So when people, still bundled up tight from the snowy weather outside, started to filter in past the Great Hall where he was practicing his spells idly, and he started waving to them and greeting them like normal, giving out hugs and thank-you cards for gifts as was only polite, no one suspected a thing. And when they asked what he did over break, he told them all about Hagrid and the twins' antics without even lying for once.
And that was how it should be.
To his knowledge, no one noticed a difference.
000
"A little lighter… maybe a bit more brown-ish…"
"Does the color really matter that much?" Seamus, the fool, was brave enough to ask.
"Of course it does! The soccer teams are supposed to be separate from the houses, so they have to be totally different from the colors the houses use!" Harry didn't miss a beat, flashing him a grin that had the Irishman admitting defeat immediately. He turned back to the shirt he was holding that was slowly turning the right color. "Okay stop! I like that—what does everyone else think?"
"I thought it was fine fourteen shades ago."
"Shut up, Lu."
"I like it!" Hannah volunteered cheerily to halt the argument before it could spawn, earning a thankful look from Harry that someone got it.
"So, we're only one team?" A third year Gryffindor asked curiously. Harry was pretty sure her name was Alison-something but she was new enough and the club large enough that he actually didn't know everyone at this point. Especially if they stuck to the beginner's team while he was still for some reason considered good enough to be on the more advanced team most days.
"No, we still need two teams, but I had the perfect idea for the other team. Can you leave the collar and sleeves as is, and then change the rest of it to this?" He lay a dark grey shirt on the table in front of him and then pulled out a bandana he'd found that had inspired this whole idea in the first place.
Fred was the one helping him perform the color-changing charm on the shirts, as it was a bit too high-level for him at this moment—it was a fourth year Transfiguration spell he definitely had high on his list to learn given the ability to change the colors of his clothes at will was highly attractive, so while it was definitely a priority in his near future he still didn't know it quite yet. Though Harry felt confident asking the twins in particular for their help despite it being a bit above their year level as well, given that they knew all sorts of things they probably shouldn't in the name of their pranks (he was 100% sure they've used this specific spell before, at least twice this year alone).
This particular twin had also volunteered to help when Harry had asked if either of them knew the charm, which was suspicious as the implication was then that the other twin couldn't perform it. No one had immediately noticed this other than him he didn't think, but he had reason to pay attention, especially when he was working on his theory of how to tell the two identical brothers apart.
As it was, he didn't know if this twin was actually Fred or not, but according to his observations George was better at Transfiguration between the two, given the imbalance of only one of them answering his questions about upper year Transfiguration work so far. And if George was better at Transfiguration, and the one was that wasn't so good was definitely better at Charms… process of elimination.
And if he was right about that, then Fred was the one who stared at the bandana being held out to him like it was suddenly going to bite him. George, who was sitting off to the side just watching this mostly, had eyebrows that skyrocketed to the top of his brow.
"Ah… Harry?" George pointed out the obvious.
"Just so you know, I'm not wearing that." Fred immediately deadpanned, but lifted his wand and charmed the shirt anyway, scrunching his nose up at the new color.
"Well I'm not!" His brother immediately countered.
"Well I'm not either!"
"Are too!"
"Are not!"
"Well one of you has to wear it because you two aren't allowed to be on the same team." Harry cut them off, snatching the shirt back up with a roll of his eyes at their childishness. Usually he was totally on board with it, but this was a bit ridiculous…
"Yeah, but Harry… you sure about that?" Seamus felt the need to point out, scratching the back of his head awkwardly as he tried to find the right words to express it correctly. "I mean…"
"It's fine. Trust me, I have a plan!" He assured them with only a little more confidence poured into his tone than he actually felt, and most of the club watching this conversation exchanged wary looks, but shrugged, unable to come up with a better reason to doubt him.
"Well, if you say so." Lu gave a resigned shrug, his tone clearly absolving himself of guilt if they caught heat for it.
Fred turned and have his twin big puppy-dog eyes, George's brow immediately twitching in annoyance.
"Fine, I'll wear it." He caved, snatching the offending shirt from Harry's grip while Fred cheered and picked up the original one: a lovely light brown color with purplish-maroon collar and sleeves for style.
The other, which a defeated George held, had deep grey accents while the overall color was a bright and cheery mint.
In other words: green.
Not even remotely close to a Slytherin green, the drama queens, Harry mentally rolled his eyes but kept his expression a cheerful smile so not to piss George off too much.
Another thing he'd noted: George had a bit shorter temper than his brother and some of the more vicious pranks they got up to were definitely the majority his idea. Fred was always down for a prank without question no matter how devious of course, but he was fractionally more forgiving and less vengeance-oriented than his twin. Which, if Harry wanted to avoid being the center of too many pranks moving forward, was definitely good information to have.
"You're just trying to provoke the Slytherins into joining, aren't you?" Lu judged him, to which Harry ignored the tone and answered as if that'd been a real question.
"One does not provoke Slytherins, one traps them into thinking something they are under the impression was their idea all along."
"You really scare me sometimes." Dean tossed in there with a shudder for emphasis.
"And I'm calling bull—we're experts at provoking Slytherins!" George pointed out gleefully.
"Indeed!"
Harry paused, considering that before shrugging once to acknowledge their point. "Okay, one does not provoke good Slytherins who can actually be clever about things. Every house has their duds, I'm sure."
He got a lot of snickers from that as the whole football club in general was watching this bickering for their own amusement. Apparently it wasn't hard for every house to think up at least someone who was only just so questionably in their house. Harry could think of five people right now that he honestly had no idea how they ended up in that dorm. Hell, he was sure there was a large portion of Gryffindor who actively wondered how Harry himself wasn't in Slytherin.
"So how exactly is this going to work?" A second year Ravenclaw chirped up, now that the team colors had at least been decided. And if anyone had any opinions on the matter, they weren't as confident as the twins in arguing with Harry about the colors they wore, so they kept it to themselves. "We just pick a team?"
"That's right!" Harry agreed eagerly. "We all kind of know where our skill levels are and who we work well with, so I think if we just pick teams amongst ourselves it should work out fine. I don't want to do team captains or anything as even that sounds like too much pressure."
"Professor Flitwick said he knows a charm that can get rid of the snow and keep the grass dry on the pitch for a time, so we can have some practices and then a game or two out there before quidditch season picks up again in earnest." Lu supplied. "It doesn't have to be just one game either—we're already divided into a beginner's and a more experienced group, so maybe we can just fill out for the people we're missing and have two different games."
"We can mimic the muggle way of calling it if you'd like—they're called divisions, so a division 1 team is better than a division 2 team, and so forth. I figure, if there's not enough people for a division 1 or 2 game, we can make it work with people who want to stretch themselves or something by trying out a different division." Dean stepped up to take some charge as well, but even despite Lu and Dean seeming to know exactly what they were talking about, there was still a lot of uncertain faces milling around the group.
Harry smiled widely, catching their attention with a distracting wave of his hands.
"Well I think we're all much better than we were at the beginning of the year, and there's no quicker way to get better than a little healthy competition! Let's just try it this once and if no one likes it there's no obligation to do it again. And if people do like it, they can form teams as it suits them and switch up teams to get new teammates at will—the color changing charms are easy so there's no pressure," He attempted to comfort them, not wanting this to be added pressure, just a little bit of competitive fun. At least some people seemed to be comforted by it as they looked between the two piles of shirts Fred was now actively changing to be the right colors, people seeming to start thinking about choosing one.
"Which team are you picking then, Harry?" Hannah asked curiously.
"Hm… never thought I'd have to pick between two colors," He joked slyly, earning himself a couple laughs for the effort. "Well, since it's my idea and it might be fun to mess with the Slytherins, I'll go green this time!"
"Then I'll go brown, because I owe you for that nasty block you've picked up," Dean huffed, grabbing one of the other colored shirts on the tables.
"It's taupe, please Dean."
He was shot a dirty look for that snark, before they both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
"What's going on here?"
Their laughter cut off temporarily, Harry glanced behind him at the newcomer and felt his stomach sink.
They were in the Great Hall as that was the best place to meet: they could be as loud as they wanted and all four houses could hang out in the neutral ground without feeling like one group had the advantage or the comfort. People used the Great Hall as a place to study and meet occasionally during off-mealtimes too, so it wasn't an uncommon place for people to study or hang out if they were tired of their dorms and wanted to be louder than they could in the library. Even now it wasn't just the football team in here, but they were by far the biggest group and had taken over the ends of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables in the center of the room to spread out and work on their team shirts.
It wasn't uncommon for people to be in here exactly, but extremely large meetings of more than ten people, not counting how many people the football club had currently, containing people of more than one house at that, was not a common sight at all. Because they gathered so much attention and caused a ruckus more often than not, last semester they'd done most of their meet-ups outside, but as it was still deep-winter and damn cold outside for the time being, this was a good second option. And these days they were definitely a large enough group that anyone coming by this very public place would notice them causing a commotion in here.
So, it wasn't exactly unexpected when other people drifted by and got curious as to what they were up to. Harry liked to welcome those people in happily and try to convince them to join if he could, which only ever half worked.
What wasn't welcome right now though, was that this current newcomer was Ron.
Harry snapped his face into the most non-aggressive, calm smile he could. Ron had caused no problems at all over Christmas break besides his snoring, and had really just avoided him the whole year, ever since Halloween (if most of their year had somehow gotten it into their heads in a roundabout way that Ron was the reason Harry had almost been killed by a troll had anything to do with it, he was fine with that—if he had a feeling it was probably a Slytherin's fault people thought that, he was even more fine with that). They were roommates and Harry may have accidentally been a leader in the football club somehow, but this group was supposed to be inclusive and he refused to be a hypocrite because of a personal opinion that hadn't really born fruit in months.
So… in the name of not being a vengeful, petty person he was trying very hard to convince himself he wasn't, he forced his rising hackles to cool it for a second.
"We're making team shirts for the soccer club. We're big enough that we want to play a few games when the snow melts." He explained politely. He felt a pair of big blue eyes staring widely at him as if asking what the heck he was doing from somewhere to his left where Neville was hiding from the center of the commotion on one of the Hufflepuff benches.
"Yeah, it's a lot of fun you know! I still think you might be interested," Seamus offered the youngest Weasley easily, thankfully saving Harry from the very awkward pause that had followed his explanation. The Irishman was a good guy; he still talked to Ron actively despite there being a defined rift in their dorm and to this day Harry had no idea it if was out of pity or because Seamus was just an inherently better person than most and actually enjoyed talking to Ron.
Case and point:
"No thanks," The redhead rejected the kind offer flatly, his tone causing Susan to bristle visibly from the corner of Harry's eye. "Isn't a bit unfair to be on two teams at once?" His question was not exactly unfair itself, even if it was blunt enough to boarder on rude as he looked directly at Harry to say it.
Before Harry could open his mouth though—
"Shut up, Ronnikins—we like sports and there's no rules about being in this club."
"You're welcome to join if you'd like, but don't talk fair unless you actually want to play." Fred and George chimed in instantaneously, forcing their brother to look from Harry to them in surprise like he'd only just realized they were there. Ron very much hadn't been talking about his brothers when he'd said that, it just also happened to be true for them too.
Harry took a breath, mentally conjuring up that mental landscape Hermione's book told him to visualize when he needed to center himself. It still had no clear form, but he thought it was tranquil and calming, like a garden or something.
"We have people of all skill levels you know; it might be fun. Our next practice is in two weeks, right Lu?" He asked with almost clinical politeness towards the Ravenclaw, who nodded once with a look on his face that said he was agreeing with Neville right now. "You should come." Harry offered the olive branch to Ron, who looked a bit surprised Harry had actually done that.
To be clear: Harry was not a high road kind of person.
But this club was his idea and he was making an attempt here, for the sake of not being a hypocrite he knew he would be if he actively tried to keep someone from joining it. He was doing this less out of the goodness of his heart, and more purely to put himself on the moral high ground when it came to this animosity between them. He didn't want to senselessly hate—he could not like someone and still work with them, in the name of his ultimate goals.
Did he want to? Heck no.
Could he? Yes, he could, and there was no great reason he shouldn't.
Besides, his life would be easier if Ron weren't an irritation. Maybe they'd even end up on good terms and could politely ignore each other instead of actively avoid each other. Maybe it'd be an improvement.
Ron frowned deeply. "What exactly is the point of the game?"
"It's kind of like quidditch, just no magic or flying. And only one ball," Dean explained awkwardly. "But you kick the ball across the ground into nets instead of hoops, but almost the same principles!"
"No bludgers in this one though." George offered, Fred shrugging that point.
"Win some, lose some."
"We winning or losing?"
"Hard to say."
"What's the point if you can't fly?" Ron seemed baffled at the mere concept.
"Uh, some of us don't like heights." Lu waved a hand matter-of-factly as if gesturing to himself, face flickering in irritation.
The youngest Weasley started at him, as if also realizing there was an audience here, watching this… really painful exchange, to be honest.
"Aren't you a Ravenclaw?"
"Yeah…?"
"I just didn't think you'd be into sports or something."
"Ravenclaw has a quidditch team like everyone else," Harry's jaw flexed, but managed to maintain his cool better than Lu who looked indignant at the implication and at a loss for how Ron managed to get to that conclusion.
"I know we have a bookworm reputation, but I like sports too you know," Said athletic bookworm grumbled petulantly.
Ron didn't really seem to get it, but turned back to Harry with his eyes narrowed some. "And you're the captain or whatever?"
"What? No way—there is no captain or club leader here, and if there were, it would absolutely be either Dean or Lu as they both know about ten times as much as I do about this game. Honestly, I'm just in charge of shirts, I swear." He put his hands up as if surrendering (which he was, as he had no desire to actually be in charge of anything officially as that would absolutely eventually require him to put more time an effort into this than his simple concept of 'have fun when I want to'). He had definitely said this before and been very vocal about how much he didn't want to actually need to put time and effort into this club and so there were several scoffs and snickers at his expense echoed from around the room.
"You do come up with the weird ideas though." Susan pointed out mockingly.
"No one is obligated to go along with my weird ideas though," He defended himself with a sly grin and she just rolled her eyes fondly.
"Well they're insane, but they have merit is all I'm saying."
"Why thank you!"
"What do you say, Ron? Wanna play a bit?" Seamus brought the conversation back eagerly.
"I mean I guess. Sounds interesting." He shrugged a bit, scratching the back of his head uncertainty. "There's no Slytherins, right?"
Harry tensed, and the only reason he managed to not snap something automatically was Neville staring at him very blatantly now, as if asking what he was about to do.
His shy friend had this way of being totally silent and yet always present in the corner of his vision, as if the blond were his own personal Jiminy Cricket reminding him to be a better Gryffindor than he instinctually was.
If Neville is the angel on my shoulder, that would absolutely make Blaise my personal devil. He'll get a kick out of that, I think.
That amusing thought helped him regain his mental clarity enough to remember not to hit the boy in front of him, and instead form an actual human response.
"There are no Slytherins yet—however this club is not related to the houses in any way and if I could convince one of them to join then they would be welcome just as you are entirely welcome to join or not for whatever reason." He thought his tone was polite enough, even if it was rather crisp. And even if it wasn't, that's all Ron was going to get.
"I'm not joining if one of those slimy gits is too!" He shot out as if affronted Harry would even dare mention the snake house.
"And that's totally your right. Join or don't, it's up to you." He snapped flatly. If Ron were a little more observant he'd notice Harry didn't want him to join at all. He was offering to be nice, forcibly, not because of an actual wish to play football with him.
Luckily only Ron was unobservant enough to realize Harry was at the end of his spontaneous good graces, and Seamus bodily stepped between them, waving his hands as if trying to physically defuse the situation.
"Well then no worries as none of them are here right now! Sounds like you're joining—great! Have a shirt," he snatched one of the brown shirts and shoved it into his hands, and Harry decided that was the perfect moment to let Dean and Lu take charge as the unofficial-official leaders of this club. He plopped down next to Neville on his bench off to the side, ignoring the blue eyes still following him with a silent intensity more fitting on Hedwig, honestly.
As Seamus enthusiastically started explaining the rules of the game (Susan unable to help herself by chiming in with her made up rules which caused Lu's temple to start twitching) Harry really hoped he wouldn't regret this decision eventually.
Not that it was his decision, exactly. Ron was allowed to do as he pleased, after all, like all of them were.
I'm kind of seeing Susan's point. It's all fine when I'm doing what I want, but it's a lot harder to just be chill when others do the same. I should probably have more sympathy for Draco, he thought in amusement to himself.
I should also see if Hermione has another book for me if I'm going to be in the same club with Ron from here on out…
000
It was a very normal Tuesday when Harry found himself walking towards the Great Hall from the library, and he immediately realized he was, for once, entirely alone. Which would be an advantageous time to corner him, and he knew this because a girl seemed to appear out of nowhere and start walking beside him, as if accompanying him towards where dinner was being served.
And this girl he recognized, as being the Slytherin first year who'd been blatantly watching him pretty much since Halloween from a couple seats away at the Slytherin table the days he chose to sit there.
"Ah… hello." He greeted in surprise, and she smiled politely.
"Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm Daphne Greengrass."
Greengrass? Wait, that rings a bell…
It hit him suddenly, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up instinctively. He'd heard both Draco and Axeclaw mention that name in different ways, and if what he thought was true, the Greengrass family was a Slytherin name that was entirely neutral.
He wasn't 100% sure on the dark, light, and neutral affiliations, at least not as familiarly as he'd like given that the snake house put a lot of emphasis on how a family was aligned before talking to someone of a different affiliation, but what he did know was the one other neutral name he knew about.
Which was Zabini.
And if the Greengrass family was anything like Blaise, then he was immediately on his toes.
"Harry Potter-Monroe." He greeted as politely and respectfully as he thought reasonable given they were alone and she'd clearly been waiting to get him alone before talking to him.
She smiled in amusement, seeming to know exactly what he was doing.
"I'm not out to get you, you know." She dismissed his respect with a friendly tease. "A lot of Slytherins would be, but you're just interesting."
"Thank you?" He had no idea what to make of that, and defaulted with honesty. Slytherins always got a kick out of honest people. "Is this about my Transfiguration notes?"
As expected, she laughed fully at that.
"It could be." She allowed. "Just thought I'd say hi is all."
"Well how lovely and appropriately eerie for a rouge Slytherin." He complimented cheerily, and her face flickered in surprise, before her smile turned wry. "I know Slytherins don't do friendly, but you're very good at it."
"Thank you." She didn't even blink at everything he'd just implied. "And who said Slytherins don't do friendly? You hang out with a Zabini and a Malfoy; they're not exactly good examples of your typical Slytherin now are they?"
He was legitimately surprised by that. "They aren't? Well, they're my only examples to go off of at the moment." He admitted.
"Malfoy is a hot mess, if you ask me. And saying a Zabini is typical is like meeting a dragon and thinking all lizards breathe fire."
Harry felt his face light up automatically in delight.
"Really now? I would tell that to his face if I weren't sure he'd take it as a compliment."
She snorted a lot less gracefully than Harry was expecting a Slytherin to be. She was also… casual? Was that the right word? She came across polite and witty, but also kind of… well, normal to be honest. Her words were as sharp as he'd have expected but she didn't have Blaise's regal posture or Draco's baby-cactus routine. Not even a normal cactus routine, and she wasn't afraid, unnerved, or disturbed by him at all—just amused, it seemed.
Maybe Draco and Blaise were bad examples.
"He probably would." She gave him that with a shrug. "Well, I have no ulterior motives if you'll believe that. You're not exactly popular in Slytherin on the most part so us firsties follow our upper classmen's example to keep our noses out of trouble, but I've got nothing against you, you know."
"Well that's good." Still, this was a really suspicious conversation to be having. "Is there a reason in particular you're telling me this though?"
"Well it'd be rude if I only talked to you for the first time the week before finals, trying to a get a copy of your Transfiguration notes."
Ah, there it is.
He flashed her a grin, some of his suspicion relaxing. Not too much, but some. She was still a Slytherin, after all.
"Fair point. I suppose I'll have to learn more about you to see what a fair trade will be, for then."
"I am sure I can produce something of interest to you." She lifted her chin, playful confidence in her eyes.
By that time they'd made it to the Great Hall, and she gave him a friendly little nod before splitting off towards the Slytherin table without a word. Harry had intended to sit at the Ravenclaw table tonight and didn't intent to change those plans just because this Ms. Greengrass was being clever, so decided to shelve that for later thought, letting her go without another word goodnight.
That was… unexpected.
But pleasantly so.
000
Draco had a headache.
It was mainly related to his Charms essay, but it got infinitely worse at breakfast when he sensed someone sit down with their normal group, and everyone who typically sat with them was already accounted for—including Harry who was not helping his headache by bantering with Blaise far too early in the morning for Draco's tastes. Which meant someone new, and that was always going to be complicated at the Slytherin table.
And then he looked up and saw one Daphne Greengrass smiling widely at Harry and knew his headache wasn't going away anytime soon. Maybe he'd ask Madam Pomfrey for a pain reliever just to get him through the Transfiguration exam they had later today.
"Ah! Good morning Ms. Greengrass." Harry seemed delighted to see her, and also seemed fully aware of who she was, which unnerved Draco greatly.
"Good morning Mr. Monroe," Greengrass greeted just as pleasantly back to him, already knowing full well the red head got defensive about people implying too heavily about his Boy Who Lived reputation.
Which means she'd done her research, of course. Which means she was after something.
Which means Draco was never going to hear the end of this.
As if on cue he turned, and watched Blaise's face fall like a ton of bricks, twisting into something ugly and irritated.
"Oi, buzz off." He snipped at her immediately, and Draco saw Harry startle by his sudden change in personality. Well, Harry only ever got to see Blaise when he was happily entertained by his pet Gryffindor, so welcome to his world.
Daphne just shot the Zabini a coy look and helped herself to some toast from the tray in front of her, ignoring his distain that would've had weaker snakes running for cover.
"Hm, no… I don't think I will." She flashed him a smile that no one bought for a second. "You don't get to claim the crazy Gryffindor for yourself anymore, Mr. Zabini."
"Go find your own entertainment, hag!"
"Why do I suddenly feel like a trinket?" Harry blinked in surprise, watching the two of them across the table and visibly trying to piece together what was happening. Draco just sighed and went about fixing his tea.
He was going to need another cup to get through this meal.
"Neutral families, don't ask."
"But aren't the Malfoys now neutral?"
"Only recently. There's not enough… history, I guess, to cause this kind of trouble." He waved to the two Slytherins now smiling with painfully fake politeness at each other in hopes the other one dropped dead suddenly.
Harry looked perturbed. "Do I want to know?"
"Honestly? No, no you do not." Draco huffed, sipping his cup and enjoying the earl grey while he watched the conflict go down across the table and hoping no one started throwing curses.
Honestly, he had no idea what to make of this and he really didn't want to get caught in the middle for any reason. This was uncharted territory for everyone and the one thing Slytherins didn't like is the unknown. Even an impossible enemy you understood was better than one you had no information on, so Draco was going to shut him mouth and watch for now until these two found some kind of agreement in how to proceed from here on out.
While the Zabini and Greengrass families were both neutral, that's about where the similarities between the two stopped. It was like talking about quidditch and garden gnomes.
Quidditch and garden gnomes in no way related, and you would confuse people by trying to talk about both at once.
The only thing they had in common was that they were formidable opponents or allies to have, and that the Dark Lord had never tried to mark the two as his before. No one in either of the two families had a dark mark on them, but the reasons for that were not exactly similar. The Zabini's were powerful, and their international connections meant even the Dark Lord wouldn't risk insulting them, at least not when he was still mid-way through taking over magical Britain (who knows what he'd have done if he'd gained complete control though).
The Greengrass family, however, was just too damn useful.
If you were looking for a deal, a connection, a bit of information, a rare book, anything niche and useful and powerful, a Greengrass could get it for you. They also did not care who they dealt with, so they had connections all over both the light and dark communities, and their usefulness was so powerful not even Dumbledore seemed to care that they very unashamedly used to deal with Death Eaters on the regular. Even reversed, dark families didn't mind that they dealt with the Minister officially, even having open deals with werewolves, vampires, giants, and goblins—and some dark families were so intensely prejudiced that under normal circumstances they'd probably send death threats to people who associated with inhuman creatures rather than consider them allies.
The thing is, you don't throw the baby out with the bathwater, as the saying goes. The Greengrass family was too damn useful to turn on them just because you didn't agree with some of their other business ventures. They didn't reveal information about their clients or their deals, and they never broke their word, and those two defined facts about who this family was made them very reliable business partners on top of the fact that they could get their hands on goods that were generally just thought to be impossible to find.
They were a business family, and while they didn't make money like the Malfoys did, certainly, not even money could create the kind of information and goods network a true, old-blooded merchant family had built after dozens of generations. Like many ancient and nobles houses, the value of their heirloom artifacts and personal libraries were legitimately priceless in shear wealth, rarity, and information compared to plain gold. After all, you couldn't buy certain connections, or the knowledge that came with the trade that the Greengrass family was capable of.
Blaise clearly enjoyed being able to play anyone he wanted—the dark couldn't touch him for fear of his family's reputation, and the light avoided him blatantly because while his family wasn't dark, it was also comprised of terrifying business tycoons that were all but impossible to beat head-to-head if for some reason they set their sights on you. But if the Zabini name was a ruthless fortune 500 company that ate small businesses for lunch, then the Greengrass name were the boots on the ground—the pirates who had a whole fleet of ships filled with rare treasures from around the world that not even a monster company could replicate.
They were untouchable in their own ways, but also as different in their tactics as they could physically be. The Zabini's made huge moves, marrying into money and suddenly inheriting it all, conquering businesses in brutal take-overs, investing in risky deals before the key lynch-pin of the investment suddenly turned up dead, earning them a jackpot. They moved in huge lurches of increased wealth that usually made the papers—be it a wedding or an obituary.
Comparatively, the Greengrass family slowly but steadily worked themselves into every part of the wizarding economy, deal after deal, investment after long investment, partnership after partnership—until they were connected by marriage, contract, friendship, or debt to literally every family, business, or individual that mattered. They were so pervasive you couldn't cast a spell without hitting something they'd had a hand in, or knew someone who did, and so forth.
And the interesting thing to Draco in particular, was that the Zabini name was called neutral only because they were untouchable, when in reality their tactics were objectively terrible enough that no Light family would openly call them allies.
The Greengrass name, was the only actual true neutral family Draco knew of.
They'd made deals with the Dark Lord personally during the last war to provide resources and information aplenty, Draco knew. But, to this day they also actively search out muggleborns with potential and support them after Hogwarts in exchange for a piece of the action—half of the shops on Contrair Alley owed their existence to the Greengrass name, after all. They even had stakes in muggle companies, Draco had heard his parents mention a couple times, although they knew almost nothing about that given their lack of interest outside the wizarding world.
No deal was too small or too morally ambiguous to get in on, for a Greengrass. If that wasn't true grey, Draco didn't know what was.
For someone like Blaise, who was trained to only lower himself to make the trade if the pot was sweet enough, that difference in philosophies and attitude was stark, and rather unsightly to the pompous Slytherin.
And also probably a bit insulting was the fact that the one family the Greengrass family didn't trade with, also happened to be the Zabinis.
Draco scoffed silently into his breakfast. You didn't need to be a genius to figure out why—dealing with the Zabinis in an official capacity was tantamount to a death wish. No matter how sweet the pot or tantalizing the deal, most Slytherins were trained from birth not to actually engage with a Zabini.
The fact Draco had become roommates and friends with one was very questionable, but he was confident enough in his parents' training to cross that bridge when they got there.
Daphne, the true merchant's daughter that she was, did not have the luxury of knowing for certain that Blaise would come after her like Draco was 100% sure he'd eventually come after the Malfoy wealth one day. She had nothing Blaise wanted, nor needed, and she wasn't interested in dealing with him at all (it was a very well-known fact that her family did not deal with his) which meant their interactions should've been approaching zero their entire time at Hogwarts to avoid causing everyone that trouble.
But she wanted to be near Harry, because Harry was a novelty at the Slytherin table and interesting. And he was fast making connections in the rest of the school that even the darkest of snakes couldn't deny was useful, if they weren't as thick as Crabbe and Goyle.
Blaise had learned quickly that Harry was an entertainment to him, and Daphne saw a good deal in the making.
Draco wasn't sure if the two biggest neutral families had ever set sights on the same prize before, and he was not thrilled with learning what would happen when they did.
Harry, who did not know any of this, was looking between all the Slytherins present with unveiled interest as he tried to understand what subtleties were happening here without much luck.
Daphne broke her and Blaise's stare-off first, turning back to Harry pointedly and waving her hand to the side where another Slytherin girl was… kind of sitting with them, but also just far enough away that no one had initially realized she was there. She did not look happy to be there, and as the Davis family was dark as they came, Draco knew why.
But, she was childhood friends with Daphne and it was clear she was just a follower here.
"This is Tracy Davis." Daphne introduced for Harry, who nodded at the fellow platinum blond politely.
"Nice to meet you."
"Hm." Tracy didn't look at him directly, going back to her breakfast pointedly.
"Okay great, another Nott. Mark my words I will get you to laugh!" Harry teased with a wicked grin, and Tracy rolled her eyes snarkily.
"Good luck with that, Potter." She sneered.
"It's Monroe actually, Ms. Davis, and the fact you fell for that means I've already made more progress with you than with Mr. Nott." Harry didn't miss a beat in snipping back, and her face crumpled in annoyance at him, which he returned with a megawatt fake smile of his own.
Draco glanced between those two glaring at each other with animosity sparking in the air around them, and back to where Blaise was very visibly considering dumping his bowl of oatmeal onto Daphne's head beside him where she was silently daring him to dare try it with her eyes… to the space Nott used to be and now only held a half-eaten plate as proof he'd been there. He's probably taken off the second he saw Daphne approach, the smart boy.
He sighed and poured himself another cup of tea.
I must really be losing it, because I kind of want to go sit at the Gryffindor table for this.
His headache did not go away at any point that day.