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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Wednesday, June 9th. Morning.

  “Gave up on the runs, eh?” Harry looked at Hermione, who had her heavy dark robes on, while carrying her school bag, filled with tomes and rolls of parchment.

  “Honestly, Harry, running isn’t too bad, but I want to review this year’s material before we leave, and I have to speak with Professor McGonagall about my electives before noon. I’ll join you again tomorrow.”

  With that, his friend ran out through the portrait, undoubtedly going to the library.

  Harry moved his gaze towards Neville, who looked like he had been run over by a hippogriff. In fact, the chubby boy had barely managed to get out of bed earlier…

  “I can’t keep up anymore, Harry, sorry,” Neville’s head drooped tiredly. “Everything’s sore, and I’m just too tired. Not all of us have your insane stamina.”

  “It’s fine to rest every now and then,” Harry shrugged carelessly. Truthfully, he’d probably be just as tired on his own without the almost endless surge of energy from his meals. “See you at lunch!”

  Harry left Gryffindor Tower and headed to the Chamber. Although Neville appeared exhausted now, Harry was optimistic – the boy was already far better than the first day. Even his chubby face looked less round and more… defined, although it could have been the exhaustion.

  To be honest, Harry was unsure why he cared so much about Neville’s well-being. It was not like he was trying to repce Ron, nor would anyone be capable of fully repcing his friend. His thoughts strayed towards another fat noble underestimated by everyone and supposedly had a harsh family life. Samwell Tarly, however, was a craven at heart, who hid behind the first soft-hearted fool who showed even the tiniest hint of kindness and then guilt them into protecting him. Not only that, but he was unwilling to put in the hard work to better himself or work on his skill-at-arms, which had nothing to do with bravery.

  Sam was just…zy.

  As his father once told him, It is only when you are scared that you can be brave. Yet, Samwell Tarly’s greatest fear was being forced to do work.

  Neville, on the other hand, while timid, was not a coward. He had a stout heart, and despite the difficulties he faced daily, he rarely asked others for help. He had pride and spine; Harry wanted to see how far a young man like him, one who was written off by his peers and family as a failure, could go with a bit of help and motivation.

  Maybe it was just the leader in him, but Jon enjoyed pulling people up from the pits they found themselves in and seeing them rise to new heights. Still, it was a shame he would not have company for magic practice today.

  A few minutes ter, he finally found his way into the Chamber.

  His eyes settled over the bleach-white bones remaining from the Basilisk that floated seamlessly in the air, with nothing to hold it below or above. The hide, gore, and guts were all gone now. Even the sludge, lichen, and moss were cleaned, and the enormous space didn’t feel unpleasant for the first time; his loyal retainer’s handiwork, no doubt.

  “Morning, Dobby,” his words echoed in the empty chamber.

  The elf popped into existence with his colourful getup that he kept procuring from somewhere. Harry just hoped Dobby wasn’t stealing them…

  “Master Harry! Dobby was waiting for you to see the finished snake.”

  And the Basilisk was indeed butchered. The skeleton was suspended mid-air through the clever usage of a few charms, while the hide, organs and other parts were all packed away into one of the storage rooms of the Chamber.

  “I can see that, Dobby.” He had to bite his tongue not to overpraise him.

  Harry found that praising the elf would usually backfire as it would somehow, in that weird brain of his, imply that Harry underestimated Dobby’s abilities or did not think he would be capable of finishing the task.

  The expectant look on the elf’s face this time around had him change his mind.

  “You did well, Dobby. As expected from my elf.”

  The tiny being jumped around in joy and glee. It would always amaze Harry how fanatical Dobby was in his devotion. Yet, he had to suppress a grimace at the memory of how that fanaticism nearly got him killed when Dobby was helping him.

  “Alright, Dobby. You can go take a brea–or not.” He changed his wording instantly at the elf’s look of shock and betrayal. “Instead, how about you make me breakfast?”

  Dobby’s tennis ball-sized eyes grew wet with tears as the elf nodded his head rapidly, “Breakfast is ready, Master Harry Potter, Sir!”

  “Oh, okay. Then err, how about err,” Harry stumbled as he thought of something for the elf to do.

  “Ah, the Chamber. It's still filthy in some of the vaults we discovered, and there are plenty of unexplored tunnels. Would you go–” The elf didn’t let him finish before he popped away with an echoing, “Dobby shall do it, Harry Potter, Sir!”

  Harry shook his head in exasperation. He doubted elves were supposed to be such workaholics. It might be best if he asked Leeney why Dobby was always so energetic. With a slow, controlled exhale, Harry began doing his warm-up.

  .

  .

  .

  Emotions… were a hard thing to emute on demand. Intellectually, Harry was aware of this, but now that it was required in the spell, it finally sank in.

  It was not a switch that you suddenly turned on like the lights in a house. No, it seemed the easiest way to bring up your emotions was through your memories.

  He took a few moments, basking in the memory of his first Quidditch victory, trying to bring in the feeling of triumph, joy, and exhiration.

  “Expecto Patronum,” his wand angrily jabbed forward, a turbid mist spilling from the tip.

  Beads of sweat ran down his brow from his earlier heavy training and the strain of the magic. This had been the first spell to truly stump Harry ever since the fight with the Basilisk and gods, it was impossibly hard.

  What was he doing wrong? He had figured out that it was not the memories that fuel the spell but rather the positive emotions that are associated with them that matter most. Even Dumbledore’s words in the office confirmed it. Was the memory he used too weak? Too shallow?

  Harry id down on the ground and closed his eyes. He focused on the memory of his first Quidditch match and tried to examine it in full. His ears twitched, and he frowned in annoyance as his enhanced senses, even suppressed, forced him to hear everything in the Chamber. From a drop of water falling on the ground a hundred yards away to the sound of his beating heart.

  He tried to focus again, but the memory just seemed to slip from his grasp. The harder he tried, the more distracted he became. Distraction led to frustration, which in turn led to mounting anger.

  Harry was about to call it quits when a huff sounded from his mind, and suddenly, he felt like he was falling.

  .

  .

  .

  It was strange. One second, he was in the Chamber; the next, he was id down in the Godswood of his mind with Ghost licking his face.

  “Hey, boy.” Harry fondly patted the direwolf’s massive head, causing his tail to wag in excitement.

  “I didn’t know you could pull me from the waking world.”

  Ghost just nudged him with his nose, urging him to stand. Harry obliged, and the direwolf gently pushed him towards the heart tree.

  “Okay, boy. I got you; you want me to use the tree instead of moping around in frustration?”

  The white wolf nodded its head before giving him one final nudge and then curled up around the roots, looking at him expectantly.

  Harry smiled fondly at his most loyal companion. That was the difference between the fanatical Dobby and the ever-reliable Ghost. The direwolf could never be repced by anyone. Ghost’s tail thumped once in agreement against the tree, and he wasn’t surprised he could hear his thoughts.

  He pced his hands on the tree, and the entire memory of his first Quidditch match repyed in his mind. Harry could see everything in extreme detail. Some things he already knew, such as Quirrell cursing his broom or how terrified he was when he thought he was going to fall to his death. Other things came to his attention, however, things he never noticed before. How nervous Katie was as it was also her first Quidditch match or how, of all the Slytherins, Pucey was the only one who pyed decently and fairly without goading or fouls.

  However, none of that was relevant to his predicament as he let go of the heart tree and frowned. He moved to the pool, as it offered him more control over the memory, so to speak, and repyed it from different perspectives – which he had no idea how it was possible! He could view the memory as if he were a spectre and watched as his past self held onto his broom for dear life while in the crowds, Hermione set fire to Snape’s robes. He ughed at the look of panic on Snape’s face and how his knee-jerk reaction caused him to knee Quirrell in the back of the head. Voldemort must have felt that.

  He slowed down the scene and rewound it, watching it multiple times, each time bursting out in ughing glee until the whole scene was ingrained in his mind.

  Suddenly, it came to him. Harry had tried to cast the Patronus while thinking of the entire memory, yet the memory wasn’t entirely happy for him. It was the first time he had truly feared for his life, not even the troll fight scared him as much, and that fear affected his concentration and caused his spell to fail.

  He turned away from the pool and found his dearest companion standing right behind him. He didn’t flinch; he could never be harmed in his mind, and he would never feel anything other than safety in the company of his direwolf.

  Harry hugged his friend closely, “Thank you, Ghost. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  The direwolf’s eyes seemed to say ‘lost or dead’, and Harry chuckled as he patted him under the chin, giving him scratches in that pce he loved, causing his tail to wag in happiness.

  .

  .

  .

  Harry woke up in the Chamber and checked his watch. Thankfully, he’d only been asleep for about forty minutes.

  He didn’t waste time, not wanting the part of the memory in his mind to vanish. Harry completely immersed himself in the scene of Snape on fire and Voldemort getting a knee to the face. The very idea of it easily filled him with malicious glee and happiness.

  “Expecto Patronum,” he jabbed his wand, and this time, a thin wisp of silver escaped from it and hovered like mist before him. It seemed to be trying to coalesce into something more corporeal. Something more…primal, but it ultimately failed and stabilised into a shield of energy.

  Harry cut off the spell as he colpsed in exhaustion. He should have been happy, ecstatic even, at the spell's success, no matter how minor it was, but could only frown instead.

  Why was he feeling so drained and empty inside? Why did he feel so…wrong?

  He quickly retrieved his reference book and checked over the warnings of the spell. Harry was confident that he had sufficient power. He read over the warnings until he reached a line that made him halt.

  It is imperative not to attempt the Patronus charm while using negative emotions as fuel. New users of the charm may misunderstand some emotions as being positive since it gives them a feeling of satisfaction. Such emotions can include, but not limited to, feeling happiness at another’s misfortune.

  Causing great bodily harm or misery to an enemy would fill your heart with fuel to dominate your adversaries, which is counterintuitive to what the charm is aimed for. While such emotions would be helpful in a fight, Dementors thrive on strife and suffering, and only the purest of joys could coalesce into a paragon against malignant misery-

  With a sigh, Harry closed the book. That could have gone better. No glee or schadenfreude to fuel his Patronus then. That was enough practice for today, however, as he was starting to feel hungry.

  He made his way to the smaller rooms where Dobby had left his breakfast in the rune-powered oven, keeping his meal warm. Harry ate the st bit of Basilisk's heart, a couple of pounds of the snake’s regur flesh, followed by a slice of liver, a chunk of the kidney, and finished it all with the sweet yet sour grilled snake tongue. He suspected the tongue had traces of venom in it, which was even better as it gave him an extra kick. He washed it all down with brain broth and sighed in satisfaction.

  He always felt so full of energy every time he had this morning meal. Unfortunately, Harry’s supply of exotic thousand-year-old Basilisk ingredients was dwindling far too quickly for his taste.

  When would the effects of the Huntsman Rebirth ritual bear fruit? While the boost in energy and stamina was nice, he expected…more. Yet, while Riddle’s scattered memories provided plentiful details about the importance and the process of the ritual, the effects remained unknown to Harry.

  Regardless, he still pnned to follow through with it, even if it required him to eat the entire heart of the Basilisk and a certain amount of its flesh. Not that he was compining, as the snake meat was truly the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

  Still, consuming the flesh of the beast was but the first and easiest step of the ritual. Harry still had other things to pn before his thirteenth birthday. There was still time, just under two months, but it would hopefully be enough to accomplish all the requirements on time.

  He just worried that he might end up turning the rest of the Basilisk parts into some kind of edible munchies, which would altogether ruin his business deal with Reginald. He gave a light burp as he checked the time.

  About time for his morning run.

  A*L*S*M

  Harry sprinted along the course he had set for himself. He had been keeping the runs until after he was done with the heavier exercises and magic practice to test his endurance and stamina. So far, he had not found a limit, which only meant he needed more training, although he mostly attributed that to the morning meal as he was usually quite knackered in the evenings.

  That, or the ritual was messing up his limits, which was good…he thought.

  He still wasn’t certain.

  So far, the past week of non-stop eating and training had done wonders for his physique. He had grown another inch or so, almost nearing the same height as Hermione, who was a year older than him. He could feel his body filling out with muscles; his limbs and bones strengthened beyond what a boy his age should. He wagered he could easily carry twice his weight, which had also increased considerably, yet it was all muscles and bones.

  Harry had also taken up sword practice in the Chamber using a sword he errr…borrowed from one of the many suits of armour spread throughout the castle. Hopefully, he would be able to finish his long shopping list once he got the chance to go to Diagon Alley or that other pce Shafiq mentioned.

  On his st p back, as he passed the Owlery, he heard loud voices filled with worry. He was about to warg into Hedwig to check what was wrong, only to remember that she was hundreds of miles south on an errand.

  Pulling his trusty cloak, Harry sneakily approached the path to the Owlery and stood stock still on the edge of the path, where he found the source of the voices descending. He was surprised to find Luna Lovegood and a vaguely familiar girl. He wasn’t aware Luna had returned to Hogwarts, and he wondered why she would bother returning for the st couple of days. They seemed to be arguing over something, and Harry couldn’t help but listen in. He was about to turn away, but too te; he could hear them now.

  “You can’t just let them get away with this, Luna! And don’t you dare tell me it was the Nargles who took your parchment rolls,” A hint of frustration leaked into the worried voice. “Who was it?”

  It was Astoria Greengrass, looking completely outraged. Her tiny body, combined with her mane of bck hair styled in two sleek tails, made her look like an angry kitten.

  “It’s okay, Tori,” Luna’s reply was serene as if there was nothing wrong. “Maybe someone needed extra parchment for their homework.”

  Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding despite the blonde girl’s uncaring tone.

  Astoria had an incredulous look on her face, “What homework? Everything was cancelled st week, Luna!”

  The blonde girl appeared lost for words, and Harry could smell the apprehension and helplessness coming from her.

  “Okay, fine. Say someone is in need of some extra parchment,” Astoria stopped in front of her friend, halting them a few feet from Harry. “Maybe the thieves really were desperate enough to rob quills, ink, and parchment from a first-year girl because maybe they were too poor or pathetic to make sure they had enough for school. BUT! There is no way they would nick your slippers, shoes, jewellery, and your mom’s picture for any reason besides them being malicious arseholes!”

  “Tori, Language!”

  “Nu-uh, don’t give me the nguage card this time, Luna. I need names, and I needed them yesterday! If you don’t give me those names, then I'll – I…”

  Astoria was clearly agitated, and Harry could see her face was flushed and her breathing was harsh. This wasn’t normal, and he worried as the girl moved to lean on the cliff wall for support.

  Luna looked distraught, her serene expression forgotten, as she held her friend’s arm. “Tori, please! Calm down, it’s not worth getting upset over some quill and parchment.”

  The girl’s heaving became more ragged and hoarse and her white skin alternated from flush to pale at an unhealthy rate. Even so, her face had a stubborn twist to it, “Then tell me…”

  Her voice was getting weaker, and she colpsed on the ground making Luna visibly panic. “Astoria!”

  Before Harry’s brain could process what was even going on, his cloak was already stuffed in his pocket and he was by the fallen girl, making Luna leap in surprise.

  “Harry Potter! Where did you come from?”

  “Doesn’t matter, excuse me.”

  He gently grabbed the sickly girl and dashed towards the Hospital Wing as quickly as his legs could carry him. The girl was tiny and much lighter than he expected – he would be able to easily lift her weight in one arm. Harry could feel her temperature rising and falling haphazardly.

  Luna struggled to keep up with him as he breezed down the dirt path back to the clock-tower courtyard, and for a second, Harry entertained the idea of using one of the many secret parsel-passages he discovered. He discarded that impulse as quickly as it came and continued running to the castle proper, up the stairs to the first floor.

  As they hurried through the halls, he heard footsteps from a corner near the hospital, and, not wanting to waste time stopping or answering inane questions, he shouted, “Watch out!”

  He turned the corner only to crash into a figure in bck robes who fell to the ground with a loud crack. Harry barely acknowledged the cursing from the colpsed figure, muttered a quick, “Sorry,” while continuing his dash towards the Hospital Wing.

  Harry approached another corner, dodging students and even jumping over Mrs Norris at one point, the girl in his arms feeling worryingly faint.

  The hospital wing was just ahead.

  A*L*S*M

  About twenty minutes earlier.

  “Ugh, Poppyyyy, please do something. My tummy is killing me.”

  Madame Pomfrey gave her a scathing look over the cauldron of boiling potion before returning to whatever was wrong with Abbott and Bones.

  Daphne Greengrass was not having a good day. To be more precise, she could have been having a great day, but instead of going for breakfast in the Great Hall like any witch with two brain cells to rub together, she was goaded into a challenge; she never says no to a challenge. Especially when sweets were at stake.

  As she id on one of the hospital beds in apparent agony, however, she regretted taking on that dare.

  “That’s what you get for not knowing when to retreat with dignity, Daph.”

  “Et Tu, Tracey? Are we not sisters? Did we not swear oaths of eternal friendship over cups of cocoa?”

  Tracey Davis flicked a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear as she browsed the test edition of the Daily Prophet. Sitting on a chair next to her bed, all prim and graceful like a proper pureblood witch, her sharp green eyes gnced at her in amusement before returning to the paper.

  “To be fair, Greengrass. You were the one who accepted Pansy’s challenge on who could devour the most sweets. No one forced you to finish that entire tray of Chocote Cauldrons even when Pansy colpsed in defeat after eating only four of them.”

  Daphne turned her head to the next bed over where Millicent Bulstrode was helping her st dorm mate puke her guts out.

  A shaky grin appeared on her face.

  “Yeah…Not my finest moment, Millie. But, I am victorious!” Daphne arrogantly tilted her chin towards the sky for a moment, before looking down at the other bedridden girl with a measure of concern. “You alive there, Parkinson?”

  Pansy gred murderously from the top of the bucket. “Y-you’re a c-complete slob, Greengrass. Who would eat chocote so early in the morning? It’s your fault that I’m here,” her voice heightened another pitch, “who in their right mind would even accept that challenge?”

  Daphne’s grin turned wicked, all signs of pain and discomfort forgotten, as if they were never there. “What’s wrong, Parkinson? You aren’t going Pansy on me, are you? Couldn’t live up to the challenge you made in the first pce?”

  Pansy’s green face got a red tinge of anger, “Ugh, so vulgar. How could a pureblood heiress speak like–”

  Whatever Pansy was going to say was interrupted by her face turning a green so vivid it would make Sazar Slytherin proud, though he would probably gag as she dived back into the bucket.

  Tracey gnced at the scene in contemption as if she found the act of her cssmate vomiting to be more than mildly interesting. She gave a curious look at Daphne before a slight smile grew on her face.

  “You know, It doesn’t make sense that her vomit would be green. Did you eat anything aside from chocote, Parkinson?”

  Pansy slightly recovered and took deep gulps of air, “You were there, Davis. You saw that we ate nothing but Chocote Cauldrons, both of us. No, wait.” Pansy hesitated as she saw Daphne’s grin getting impossibly wide. “You cheater! You did something to the Cauldrons.”

  “HA! What proof do you have, Parkinson? We both ate from the same ptter. In fact, you were the one who got the Cauldrons yourself. Are you sure you didn’t mix something in them beforehand? By the way, that tea you made was delicious, Millie. Thank you for that, it certainly helped with my digestion.”

  Millicent Bulstrode sighed, unknowingly confirming for Daphne the st suspicion she had of the girl’s involvement. Between the four of them, Millie was usually the neutral party to whatever spat Daphne and Pansy came up with every few days to establish who was the top bitch in their Slytherin year. Considering there were only four of them and the nature of her and Tracey’s retionship, those spats always felt redundant as there was a clear divide regardless, causing Millie to side with Pansy.

  Especially as Daphne simply couldn’t be bothered to take them seriously, with how zy she was.

  She was a hedonistic scker and proud of it.

  “I guess you found out about the antidote in the tea. How did you even switch the cups?”

  Daphne jumped from her bed and stood straight, fit as a fiddle. Tracey did not even blink, having figured out it was a ruse earlier, while Pansy was shaking in so much rage at being bamboozled that she almost forgot she was sick.

  Almost.

  “Now, that would be telling. You sure you’re alright there, Parkinson?” Daphne strolled to Pansy’s bed as she enjoyed the pained look of her rival. “You’re shaking so much, you might have caught that muggle disease. What was it called?” The mischievous girl pced a finger on her chin as if in deep thought before snapping it with a smile. “Ah yes, Parkinson's.”

  The silence in the Hospital Wing was deafening. All occupants gred at Daphne in disbelief at the me pun.

  Except for the target of said pun. Pansy groaned in rage before heaving over her bucket once more while Millicent rubbed her back soothingly.

  It was Madame Pomfrey, of all people, who interjected with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Ms Greengrass, but that was bad even for you.”

  A look of betrayal struck Daphne’s face, “Poppy, how could you? Besides, it worked! Look at her, she is in absolute agony from the pun, and you know she deserves it.”

  The school nurse sighed as she looked at Pansy, who tried to look pitiful and pleading, only to flinch at the matron’s hard look. “And hopefully, she should learn never to spike sweets with a Ftulence Potion as the reaction of the cacao and sugar with the potion causes it to corrupt its effects, as you can all see. Even its normal counter potion is useless, as I’m sure you have discovered, Ms Parkinson.”

  Pansy looked chastised enough that Poppy took pity on her and bid her drink the special potion she had prepared. Within seconds of drinking it, the girl’s face regained its healthy colour, albeit with a dusting of pink from shame.

  “Now I know my advice will probably be forgotten by next semester, but take it from a former Slytherin like me. Don’t let your petty squabbles and hierarchy shenanigans get in the way of making friends, building connections, especially in the other houses, and doing well on your schoolwork. And for Morgana’s sake, read your potions books! I swear, this is a simple First Year potion that you brewed well enough, Ms Parkinson. How could you not know of its side effects? What is Severus teaching you in css?”

  “Not enough, it seems.” A smooth and husky voice sounded out from across the room, “My brothers compined about how strict and terrible of a teacher he was. They had to get tutors for their NEWTs because he wouldn’t accept any grade below Outstanding for his css.”

  They turned to Susan Bones, who stood next to her friend Hannah Abbott. Daphne wasn’t sure what was wrong with the blonde, but she was already there when they arrived an hour ago. She huffed at the reminder of their head of house.

  “Yeah, yeah. Professor Snape is the worst teacher in school. Like we don’t know that already, considering we have to deal with him on a daily basis. The boys might accept him, heck, even like him for some reason, but us Slytherin girls have always had issues with his greasiness. It’s why we come to you with our problems, Poppy. Why don’t you become head of house instead?”

  “And be responsible for the whole lot of you instead of just the girls? I think not.”

  “Shame.”

  Madame Pomfrey approached her and spoke in a quiet tone, “Your sister has missed her checkup for the third consecutive week. Didn’t you talk to her about this?”

  Daphne frowned, “I did talk to her st week. Don’t worry, Poppy. I will drag her here ter today if I have to. It seems I’ve been too x with her.”

  Poppy nodded before walking to Pansy’s bed and ushered her out. “If you’re feeling better, you may leave now. Perhaps some reading on your potions is in order, Ms Parkinson?”

  Pansy didn’t argue and dragged Millie with her out of the room, but not before throwing Daphne a scathing gnce.

  “You will get your due one of these days, Greengrass!”

  Tracey sighed at the now empty door.

  “Could she be more repetitive? How many times has she said that line to you now, Daph?”

  Daphne stretched and yawned as she seriously thought about it. “I lost count after twenty. Anyway, anything interesting in the Prophet?”

  “Just the one thing,” Tracey flicked the paper to the second page where a rge image took half the page. Daphne could see the Weasleys, Dumbledore and many others. She also spied Potter, Granger, and even Tori’s quirky friend Luna standing despondent in front of an open coffin–

  “Oh…Weasley’s funeral.”

  The self-procimed hedonist could not cim to have known the youngest Weasley boy, but it was still saddening that a fellow student was killed by their professor. It could have happened to any one of them really, and the fact the boy died trying to save his sister was admirable. If someone had ever dared kidnap her Astoria, then the world would burn before she would let them get away with it.

  “Yes, although it is strange that the article came a week after the instance, and still provided no concise information but a lot of baseless specution. No students or teachers were asked to give statements, instead, there was a ministry official guest hijacking the article over the security of Hogwarts and how the ministry should be more involved in the school.” Tracey frowned as she pointed towards the image itself, “Then there’s the mystery of the missing photographer. The Daily Prophet always credits who provide them their pictures and pays them handsomely to encourage more providers. Not this time it seems.”

  “Can’t tell what’s so strange about the matter,” Daphne hummed in thought. “Potter saved the Weasley girl, probably even killed Lockhart for killing his best friend.”

  “That’s not what I was getting to,” Tracey sighed. “Do you think the Weasleys would allow someone to take such a photo? Whoever took it must have sneaked in and did not want to bring attention to themselves or else risk retaliation from them.”

  “I see, good catch, girl.” Daphne grinned at her friend. As expected from one of the top students of their year, she’s so smart and intuitive.

  A pained moan from across the room caught her attention and she twirled in pce to stand next to Susan and Hannah, “And what happened to you, Abbott?”

  Hannah was struggling to put on her shirt, and Daphne could see some gauze along her arms.

  “Potion accident.”

  She raised an eyebrow and turned to Susan, whom she noticed had a potion kit with her. Daphne was tall for her age, but Susan was even taller. What the heck do they feed them Bonesies? The girl could pass for a fourth or even a fifth year with how…developed her body was.

  Calm down, Daphne. Your time to shine shall come, hopefully before the fourth year.

  Regardless, disregarding her height and assets, she had always wondered how much like blood her hair looked, especially since the rest of her family were blondes… aside from her scary aunt.

  The crimson-haired teen shrugged, “Exams might be cancelled, but csses are still open for those who want to attend. Since potions are one of our weakest subjects, we attended css with Professor Snape earlier, hoping it would help us revise. He simply told us to brew anything from the first or second-year curriculums with the provided ingredients, promising to check the result at the end. So we decided to brew a Babbling Beverage for a…friend.”

  Daphne smirked knowingly, and the other girl gave a slight smile in return, both of their gazes shining in mischief. Madame Pomfrey, who had just cleaned up after her earlier brewing, sighed and left for her office. It wasn’t unusual for them to spend some time with her every once in a while, and Poppy knew she could trust them not to make a mess. The one time they made one, they had all suffered her displeasure and let’s just say they had thoroughly learned their lesson.

  “Let me guess, Professor Snape happened?”

  Susan rolled her blue eyes as she helped dress Hannah. “The ingredients we used turned out to be misbelled. It caused an accident, and when we told him, he docked ten points from Hufflepuff for not being able to differentiate Valerian root from Valyrian root, even if it was his fault for misbelling them. Then another ten points for wasting his time and ingredients.”

  Tracey rolled her paper and joined them around Hannah’s bed. “I assume it caused an explosion? Both roots look remarkably simir, but Valyrian root is votile and fire-aligned compared to the more common and earth-aligned Valerian root.”

  The Hufflepuff nodded. “Indeed. The cauldron exploded, and the shrapnel, as well as the boiling potion, injured Hannah’s arms. I was lucky to have been preparing other ingredients at the time. As expected from one of the best potioneers in our year, you know your stuff, Davis.”

  Tracey smiled shyly while Daphne elbowed her lightly, her smirk ever present. “Hear that, Trace? Even other houses acknowledge your greatness.”

  “I’m still not as good as Granger, but thank you for the compliment.”

  Hannah gave a light snort and giggled, “Don’t sell yourself short, Tracey. No one is as good as Granger. That girl is a freak of nature.”

  Daphne was about to comment about how freaky she must be to put up with Potter’s adventures when they all heard hurried footsteps outside the door before it was kicked open, and Harry Potter, of all people, rushed in carrying–

  No!

  All amusement and humour instantly vanished from Daphne’s face to be repced with horror. Her sister was in Potter’s arms, breathing heavily, face alternating between pale and red, while her body shivered as if entering a seizure. Memories of the st time Astoria had suffered a simir episode flooded her mind, and it was as if all her hidden fears and nightmares had suddenly come true as she froze in pce at the sight.

  She barely noticed Astoria’s friend Luna rushing in behind them as she and Potter stared at each other for exactly two seconds before he opened his mouth.

  “POPPY!

  Tracey was the one to shout for the Matron, who immediately appeared from her office, probably having heard the doors bang open. She took one look at her sister before waving her wand at one of the beds, where two crystal vials of blood flew in from a cabinet and froze mid-air over the bed.

  “In here, Potter.”

  Harry Potter didn’t hesitate as he quickly but carefully, deposited her sister on the bed, and it was only then that Daphne found the energy to move.

  “Astoria!”

  She rushed to the bed only for Poppy to wave her wand and a pearlescent shield to spring up before her for a moment before dissipating.

  “Control yourself, Ms Greengrass. I don’t want any contamination to enter your sister’s system. Potter, stay close, I might need your help. Ms Davis, seal the doors and have any visitor wait outside. I do not want any distractions. Unless someone is dying out there, no one bothers me.”

  Daphne froze in pce as everything around her descended into organised chaos. Tracey went straight to the doors to seal them while Susan and Hannah helped her. Potter sat down on the nearby bed and closed his eyes as his brow scrunched up in concentration. Poppy had removed Astoria’s robes, leaving her in her pygmy puff-themed underwear and quickly formed a small incisor in her arm over one of her veins.

  Not wanting to watch further, she turned to the girl beside her, “What happened, Luna?”

  “I don’t know!” The girl looked distraught, her usual dreamy and airheaded mask gone. “We were arguing about something stupid near the owlery, and Tori got upset, then all of a sudden, she was breathing heavily and shaking. Harry appeared out of nowhere and carried her here.” The girl started sobbing, “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault. If I didn’t want to avoid trouble and just told her who was stealing my stuff, then none of this would have happened.”

  Daphne bit her lips as she listened to the girl, “It’s not your fault, Luna. It’s mine for being x with her health.”

  She turned back to the bed to stare at Poppy, focusing intently as she pointed her wand at one of the blood vials. The blood flowed from the vial’s mouth and swirled zily in the air before going through the incision to Astoria’s vein. Daphne could recognise some sort of diagnosis spell but had no idea what it did, yet it held Poppy’s whole attention.

  “This might not be my pce to ask, but what’s going on?”

  Daphne turned at Susan’s voice to find that the rest of the girls had joined her and stared at Poppy’s work.

  Tracey looked hesitant, but Daphne figured it was too te to hide things now. “I would appreciate it if this doesn’t leave this room. My sister would like to have a normal school life.”

  “Of course, Greengrass.”

  She sighed as Poppy drained the first blood vial and opened the other.

  “Astoria has a…disease. It made her frail and weak growing up and has been causing her to enter episodes where she severely cks blood. The…disease makes her blood boil and burn, which gives her a high fever, while the ck of blood makes her weak and cold. Blood replenishers have turned out useless.” Daphne's words turned into a frustrated hiss as she started tapping her foot. “There is no cure to the disease, only preventive measures. Measures that, sadly, my sister seems to have been neglecting. The only way to fight an episode is through a method a muggle-born healer devised. He calls it a blood transfusion, which Poppy is doing now.”

  The surrounding girls listened intently, with Hannah lending a handkerchief to Luna to wipe her tears and blow her nose.

  “So that’s why,” Luna had stopped crying and stared at her friend. “Is it normal for her to have episodes like that?”

  Daphne shook her head. “No. The st time she had one was about three years ago.”

  A sombre silence followed her words as they watched Madame Pomfrey drain the st of the blood vial into Astoria’s veins. The matron frowned as she waved her wand at the sleeping girl before motioning for Daphne to approach. She hurried over, Tracey joining her silently.

  “She’s out of danger for the moment, but she is severely anaemic. The stupid girl hated the potion regiment I put her through in order to extract her blood in case of an emergency. Those two vials were the fruits of the whole year.”

  They noticed Potter had not moved from next to the bed, a stoic look on his face. Frankly, while she was grateful for his help, she didn’t want him to hear her family’s secrets.

  “Thank you for helping my sister, Potter. Might I ask you to give us some room?”

  The shorter boy nodded and was about to move when loud cursing from outside, followed by banging on the door, interrupted them.

  “Potter! I know you are in there – open this bloody door immediately!”

  The Patronus charm is more complicated than Harry thought, and this is my take on why it is so damn difficult for many people. He is talented in magic, that's without considering whatever shenanigans Jon and Ghost joining him, as well as the in-progress ritual did to him. Even so, he only knows school taught spells for first and second year. Considering the major leap in difficulty that is the Patronus charm, it's only natural that he would face trouble with it.

  Harry has clearly been cursed with interesting times. A simple morning jog turned into quite an exciting situation.

  Suffice to say, I’m sick of the same way Daphne is portrayed in fanfiction. I mean, you have the perfect tempte for a pureblood witch OC, and all authors essentially write her the same boring way. Ice queen blue-eyed blonde. We already have that stereotype in Fleur, why make a copy of her character? Because yes, that’s what all those portrayals of Daphne Greengrass are, a British portrayal of Fleur Decour as she first appears.

  The same goes for Tracey as well. Expect a different portrayal of them both.

  I wonder whom Harry has pissed off this time.