Harry Potter and the Methods of Irrationality Ch. 5 (Patreon)

Daphne climbed down the stairs into Harry's trunk, looking slightly irritated as she grabbed her glasses from their hook on the wall and put them on.

Susan was lounging on a small sofa, draped over the armrest with her head hanging off as she held a magazine out in front of her.

“Hey, Daphne, do you know what Harry's wand core is?” She asked without looking up from the page.

Daphne shrugged. “It hasn't come up. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, Teen Witch just came out with this wand compatibility chart.” She turned the magazine over and flipped it upside down so that Daphne could read it. Not that it helped the blonde make sense of the chaotic chart, which listed dozens of wood and core combinations with interminable lines criss-crossing between them.

“My wand's walnut and unicorn hair. It says here I'm compatible with ash and phoenix feather, birch and unicorn hair, cherry and-”

“This is preposterous.” Daphne said. “Where is Harry? We're going to be late for our detention.”

Susan pouted at Daphne's brisk dismissal of wand-based matchmaking, but she gestured towards the painting that was hanging on the wall behind her.

One look at the painting that was nestled inside the gilded frame made Daphne sigh in exasperation. 

Against a muted (almost to the point of being non-existent) backdrop, a mountain troll was laid out, limbs jutting stiffly as its body twitched here and there. Near its head, with an almost maniacal grin on his face, Harry Potter was sticking his (mercifully gloved) hands inside of the troll's soft, squishy brain. The top of the beast's skull had been sawed off and had been placed off to the side like the lid of a cooler, exposing the top half of the troll's brain. Going by the way Harry's arms were bathed in dark crimson up past his elbow, along with many more splotches on his clothes, it was clear that Harry had been mucking about in there for quite some time.

Daphne walked over to the portrait, giving it a knock that drew the boy's attention, making him lift his head up. When he realized who it was, Harry grinned widely, as if he wasn't elbow-deep in brain matter. He pulled his hand out and waved enthusiastically.

Daphne tapped her foot impatiently as Susan giggled behind her.

“We're going to be late for detention. If I receive any further marks on my record, I will be very displeased.”

Harry gulped, “Sorry, lost track of time! I'll be right out.”

He took several steps back before running towards them, leaping out of the frame and rolling out onto the floor.

Daphne artfully danced around the tumbling boy, refusing to get bloodstains on her perfectly pressed robe. 

“I'll be waiting outside.” She said as she slinked off towards the ladder.

“I'll wash off quick!” Harry assured her.

Susan then piped up in a sing-song voice.

“Haaaarry, what's your wand core?” 

…

True to his word, Harry washed up very quickly, and while his robes were their usual ruffled mess, there was not a single thing to indicate that he'd been playing around in troll matter just a few minutes prior.

“I really think I'm close on this one, Daph. I just need to get bigger parts. You think we have enough money for a boat motor?”

Daphne stared back at him blankly. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Right. Sorry. Anyways, you know what's up with Susan? She got really happy when I told her what my wand is made of.”

Daphne shook her head. “Pay it no mind, now lets go, the gamekeeper's hut is a ways away.”

Harry followed after Daphne, who tried to brush off the knowing looks they received from everyone around them as they left the common room. It seemed that the rumours of them dating refused to die.

They were about to serve their first detention with Hagrid, the gamekeeper, which meant walking out onto the grounds and crossing over to the straw hut on the edge of the forest.

The sun had just set when they walked up to the large, imposing figure of the bearded man. He had an axe the size of Harry's leg hoisted up over his shoulder and he was accompanied by an equally massive boarhound that was happily panting away with its tongue sticking out.

“Ye' made it. And right on time, too.”

Harry reached a hand out to the dog, whose ears pinned back as he crouched away from him and began to whine.

Daphne grabbed Harry's arm and pulled it back.

Hagrid shook his head. “Great big coward as always, Fang. Anyways, you're Potter an’ Greengrass?”

The two teens nodded. “Yes, sir.” Daphne said.

Hagrid stroked his beard as he looked at Harry. “Look just like yer’ father, you do. But ya got yer mother's eyes.”

Harry's eyes widened. “You knew my parents?”

Hagrid shrugged. “Hard not to when you been here fer’ years. Yer mother was a saint, she was, one of the most brilliant witches there's ever been. Yer father was a good lad too,” Hagrid chuckled, and the two teens swore they could feel the vibrations on the ground. “Him and his friends were always gettin’ into some mischief or the other. I see yer’ following in his footsteps.” He laughed heartily at that.

Daphne coughed. “We were simply caught up in a misunderstanding.”

He snorted. “Right. Well, understand this, missie, you two are gonna go into the forest with me, we're gonna’ collect some bowtruckles for Professer Kettleburn's class.”

A thousand alarms and red flags flared up in Daphne's mind as she took one look at the ominous, foreboding darkness of the forest behind Hagrid.

“Cool!” Harry said with a grin.

“Wouldn't it be better to do this during the day? Bowtruckles are hard to find as is. Is this even safe?”

“You'll be safe as long as you stick with me an’ ol’ Fang here.” Hagrid said, ignoring her first question completely.

Didn't you just say the dog was a coward?

Harry was no help, and Daphne found herself trailing along with him behind the massive figure of the groundskeeper and his dog as they disappeared into the forest.

Hagrid held a lantern high above their heads, which allowed them to see a good few yards in every direction, which still shrouded the rest of the forest in oppressive darkness.

All around them, they could hear a cacophony of strange sounds. Chirps, squeals, squawks and hisses were peppered across every dark corner.

Harry's head was on a swivel as he twisted all around.

“Calm down there, lad. Most of em’ are harmless.” Hagrid grumbled.

“Can we go check them all out?” Harry asked excitedly.

Hagrid raised an eyebrow before letting out a hearty laugh. “A boy out for my own heart, I see. Sorry lad, but tonight, we're gettin’ bowtruckles and thass’ it.”

Harry sighed before leaning over to whisper to Daphne. “Remember to schedule a few more visits for us here, this place is a goldmine.”

“I will do no such thing.” Daphne deadpanned.

Harry's pout was lost to her as she stared straight ahead, making sure not to get too far away from their large guide.

“Here, have these.” Hagrid stopped to dig into his coat and toss a pair of burlap sacks at them. “You'll be collectin’ em in there.”

As they delved deeper into the forest, with the tree cover becoming thicker, Daphne was beginning to reflect on just how futile this little endeavor was. Then, Hagrid stopped in his tracks as they came up to a particular tree.

It looked unremarkable to Daphne, just as large and old as any other tree around them. 

“They're in that hollow?” Harry asked, pointing at a rotted out hole near the bottom of the tree.

“Tha's where they like ter’ sleep.” Hagrid said. He placed the lantern on the ground and shoved his hand into the hole, digging about until Harry and Daphne heard many high-pitched chitters.

Hagrid's hand returned with a bundle of living sticks, which were wriggling about trying to escape from his massive paw. He held his hand out to Daphne, who dutifully opened her sack and allowed Hagrid to dump the bowtruckles inside.

Daphne quickly sealed up the sack as she felt them squirm around inside. Hagrid gave her a nod before he returned to the tree. He was about to dig his hand in again when a pained neigh pierced through the night's sky.

Daphne felt a chill run up her spine as silence fell around them. The bowtruckles ceased their squirming at once, and Hagrid pulled his hand back, a panicked look on his face.

“It can't be!” Hagrid bleated, 

“What is that?” Daphne asked, her heart echoing with the sheer wrongness of the sound.

Before Hagrid could answer, Fang let out a high-pitched whine before sprinting off into the forest. Hagrid called out to him, but the dog was too far gone.

Daphne felt movement next to her and instinctively reached out, but she was too slow. She just missed Harry's sleeve as the bot ran after the dog.

“What in the blazes are ya’ doin!?” Hagrid screamed.

“I'll get him back!” Harry yelled back.

“HARRY POTTER YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT!” Daphne yelled out to him. But it was too late, Harry was gone.

“This is not good. This is not good at all.” Hagrid muttered.

“We need to go after him!” 

Hagrid froze for a moment, his mouth hanging open before he gulped under Daphne's frenzied look.

“Right… right yeah, that might be a good idea.”

Daphne was already running by the time Hagrid finished speaking, and the burly man just barely had time to pick up his lantern and run off after her.

Harry had not gone after Fang, who had quickly made a turn that led back towards Hagrid's hut and safety. Instead, he followed the pained wails as he stumbled through the forest. He had his wand lighting the way, which didn't prevent him from getting scratched up by branches every few feet.

He just couldn't let an opportunity like this pass. He was glad he'd come prepared for a situation just like this, and he felt his excitement rise the closer he drew to those wails filled with agony that seemed to make even the very plants quiver in despair. Even Harry could feel the fundamental wrongness in it, as if magic itself was crying out in despair, and it made him giddy.

What could possibly be doing this? Whatever it was, he wanted to slice it open and see what made it tick.

Only mostly lacking a sense of self-preservation, Harry began to slow down when he was sure he was dangerously close to his target, quieting his footsteps as much as he could, though he doubted a twig-snap could be heard over the ear-splitting screams.

He came out onto a clearing, and he couldn't help but gasp.

A juvenile unicorn was laying on its side, hooves twitching as it trashed its head about in desperation. Rivulets of blood - unicorn blood! - stained the grass as a small figure hunched over the poor creature's belly, gluttonously gulping down the creature's blood.

Harry reached into his robe, a slightly difficult endeavor as he found that his hands were shaking uncontrollably with excitement. 

A unicorn. He could capture a unicorn and a thing that drank unicorn blood! He couldn't believe his luck.

He calmed his breathing down as he pulled out something white that had been folded up in his robe. He shook it open, unfurling a net that should be wide enough to capture both creatures in a single go.

It was an experimental design, meant to trap magical creatures by using their own magic against them. The netting would absorb their magic and increase its weight. The more magic they expended as they tried to escape, the heavier the net got and the more exhausted the creatures became. 

Harry eased into the clearing. The creature was far too engrossed in its feast of blood to notice him, and so Harry managed to get just within range to toss the net over them.

“Yes!” He whooped as the net fell over both creatures. The small being began to trash about immediately, letting out inhuman screeches that made Harry wince as the net sank down further and further onto him.

“Man, at this rate I'll have you in no time.” Harry said as he watched the thing fire off what looked like a spell, which was absorbed by the net and caused it to tighten around it even more. 

The unicorn raised its tired head, relieved that it wasn't being fed from but also very distressed by the net that had captured it.

Just as Harry was thinking up ways to transport both creatures back to his trunk and convince Daphne that it was totally ok to experiment on a unicorn, the smaller creature let out a loud screech, and then several blades tore through Harry's net, cutting it to ribbons.

Harry's eyes widened as the creature rose from among the threads. He couldn't see its face under the dark hood it wore, but he had a couple of decent theories as to its emotional state.

This thing was pissed, and it wanted revenge.

‘Maybe I should have brought something to defend myself with, too’

Too late for that. Harry backed up, hoping that the creature would be slow enough for him to out run. 

It floated up into the air and rushed at him. Harry winced, raising his hands up to shield himself, when he heard the clopping of hooves as a large figure burst from the trees and galloped in front of him. 

A centaur had run in, blocking the creature's path and forcing it to flee, letting out angered wails as it drifted off into the forest like a wraith.

Harry sighed in relief as he looked up to the centaur, whose deep blue eyes seemed to be x-raying him.

“Do you guys comb your hair a lot?” Harry asked, noticing how well groomed the centaur's long blonde locks looked.

The centaur's frow burrowed, and before he could answer, there was more rustling from the trees. He turned to face the newcomers, hand jumping to finger the bow that was slung over his shoulder.

Out came Hagrid, followed by a terrified looking Daphne, who upon seeing the two of them, ignored the centaur and marched directly over to Harry.

“Hey, Daph! You won't belie-”

A resounding slap echoed through the forest as Harry's head turned. His face burned as Daphne kept her arm cocked, seemingly ready for another one.

“What in the name of mother magic were you thinking?!” She hissed.

Hagrid winced before he looked over to the centaur. “Hey there, Firenze.”

“Hagrid.” The centaur acknowledged. 

Hearing a small whine, Daphne and Hagrid finally registered the unicorn. Daphne gasped, her assault on Harry forgotten as her hands went to her mouth. She stared at the injured juvenile in horror.

Hagrid was just as horrified. “What coulda’ done this?!” He went to kneel in front of the unicorn, who whined in despair at the half-giant's approach.

“Mars is very bright tonight.” Firenze said as he stared up at the sky.

Hagrid shook his head as he reached into his pouch and pulled out some powder, which he began to rub onto the unicorn's wound.

“This is too much, I'll need ta’ bring him in.” He muttered.

Firenze looked at Harry. “You were very foolish, young wizard, but also very brave. Your attempt to rescue this sacred creature will not be forgotten.”

“Err, yeah.” Harry said sheepishly. “Yeah, you're welcome. Ummm…” He raised a finger up, trying to figure out how he could ask to collect some (or all) of the unicorn blood that had spilled out onto the ground without insulting the centaur.

Daphne's intense glare was enough for him to let the matter drop, his hand falling limply at his side.

Hagrid rose up from his crouch, cradling the frail unicorn in his arms. His salve had managed to stem the worst of the bleeding, but the young filly was still in a very bad way.

“We're leavin’, come on!” He barked at Harry and Daphne.

“I would advice against venturing into the forest again. Dark omens are gathering, mars is terribly bright this evening.” Firenze said as his gaze drifted skyward once more. 

“Thanks fer’ the help, Firenze.” Hagrid grumbled hastily as he stomped off towards his cabin.

Harry's eyes darted between the half-giant and the free blood on the grass, which the centaur was blocking him from accessing. As Daphne snatched his collar and pulled him away, he was forced to give up the fight.

When they came out of the clearing and reached Hagrid's hut, the half-giant hastily grumbled for them to return to the castle as he rushed to his cabin, kicking the door open as he prepared to do whatever he could for the wailing unicorn.

In the end, Harry didn't manage to get a single drop of unicorn blood, he didn't get to capture whatever that thing had been, and his newest invention had been bested. Also, Daphne yelled his ear off for running off so recklessly.

Overall, not a great night.

…

The next day in defense class, Harry noticed the usually cowardly professor Quirrell fixing him with intense, hateful looks every once in a while. Harry was confused, trying to recall anything that he'd done to get on the professor's bad book.

At the end of class, it seemed like the professor was going to ask him to stay behind, but a wooden beam from the ceiling wobbled and fell on the top of the man's turban, smacking him hard on the head. Harry didn't wait around for him to recover.

“Quirrell seemed really pissed today, for some reason.” Susan mused. 

“Perhaps he should be angry more often. It fixed his stutter, at least.” Daphne said. 

“Harry!” Hannah cut in. “Do you have those taste strip things ready yet? I have a lot of buyers lined up. Half the school saved their Hogsmeade money to get some. This is gonna be a big score for all of us!”

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I'm almost done, I'm just struggling with the firewhisky and butterbeer settings, since I haven't tried either of those.”

Hannah's eyebrows shot up. “What?! Just put out the regular ones right now! Then we can come out with the special booze editions and charge even more money!”

“You've got a pretty good business mind there, Hannah.” Ernie said from nearby.

“We can go work on those tonight.” Daphne said. She looked to Harry, only to have to turn around as the boy had stopped in his tracks.

Harry was pale faced and practically shaking in his boots, a complete reversal from the boy that had recklessly sprinted into the forest the previous night.

“Mr. Potter.” 

On the opposite end of the hallway was madame Hooch, hands on her hips as she pinned Harry down with a hawk-like stare. “You've still not passed your flying test. I've been told you currently have a free period. We can get that knocked out immediately.”

Harry backed away slowly. “Erm… Professor Quirrell said he needed me after class!” 

He turned tail and ran right back into the defense classroom.

Quirrell raised his head. Having been massaging his master's forehead under the turban. His eyes widened before narrowing back into slits as he registered the teen that was hastily slamming his classroom door shut.

“Mr. Potter!” He hissed, a small hint of his master's cold voice slipping in. 

“Hey there sir, I think you wanted to see me?”

Quirrell blinked. He had meant to grill the boy. It was his master's theory that the boy was one of Dumbledore's agents, and that he was aware that Lord Voldemort was going after the philosopher's stone. It was the only thing that could explain a first year rushing into the forest and using strange magic, magic that the dark lord himself did not know, to capture him.

Thankfully, it seemed neither Dumbledore nor the boy were aware of Quirrell's involvement, and it would be their downfall. 

Quirrell palmed his wand under his desk, ready to memory charm the boy at a moment's notice. 

“I heard of your escapades in the forest last evening, Mr. Potter.”

“You did?” The boy sounded surprised, but not nervous at all.

Quirrell sent out a subtle tendril of legilimency, delving into the boy's mind.

He was immediately knocked back by an unrelenting assault. It was like he'd tried to wade into a stream, only to find a violent current that wanted to tear him apart.

‘Fool, let me handle this’ Voldemort whispered inside his head.

‘Yes master’

Quirrell easily gave in, letting Voldemort take full control of his body as his dark eyes began to glow red.

“Are you alright professor?” 

“I'm perfectly fine, boy.” Voldemort said in a cold voice. 

“Well, anyways, yeah, I was in the forest. Actually…” Harry perked up with excitement. “Professor, do you know of any creatures that drink unicorn blood? I looked it up in the library but didn't find anything.”

‘What is this boy playing at?’ 

Choosing to not waste any more time, Voldemort sent out his own legilimency probe at the boy. Despite his greatly diminished powers, his skills in the mental arts were fully intact. Albus Dumbledore was the only person on this earth capable of matching him in a mental battle.

He found the boy's mind undefended, not even rudimentary occlumency shields that many pureblood children brought to Hogwarts were to be found.

Then, he entered a maelstrom. He was in a tornado, and there was nothing to find purchase on.

He was overwhelmed for a moment, but Lord Voldemort had experienced minds like this before, especially in his most loyal servant.

Bellatrix Lestrange, especially near the end, had departed from her senses, the facade of Black family decor cracking away as she'd reveled in the death and depravity of being a Death Eater.

Even Bella's mind had not been quite like this, but it was more than close enough, and Voldemort had years of practice navigating such a mind.

He soon ignored all the scattered noise, all the strange words and images that wanted to slalom into him like runaway trains.

Through some work, he located the boy's memories of the previous night, as well as the emotions that had been coursing through him.

What Voldemort found shocked him.

Excitement. Curiosity. Not a single care for morality.

He exited the boy's mind, looking at the Potter scion as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“Mr. Potter, you are quite a curious boy, aren't you? Intellectually so.”

“You could say that, sir. Now about that creature-”

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, did you really fashion that net by yourself?”

Harry frowned. “How did you know about the net?”

“Its no matter. Tell me, would you create something for me? For extra credit, of course.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know sir, I'm really busy with a lot of stuff. I barely get enough time to work in my own stuff.”

His eyes narrowed, but he held back the urge to curse the boy. Temptation had always been one of his most useful tools.

“I could make it worth your while. I'm sure there are rare ingredients and artifacts, perhaps some that are… not quite legal, that you'd wish to study.”

Harry's eyes lit up. “What do you need sir?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Nothing right now, I will call on you when the time is right. You are dismissed, Mr. Potter.”

“Ok.” 

…

 Winter break was fast approaching. Harry had produced his first batch of goblet strips, and they'd proven to be a massive hit. Practically everyone who had the money to pay had one to slap on their goblet, and the windfall from that along with the money from their potions had made Harry and the girls quite a pretty penny. They continued to buy second rate potions ingredients, seeing no reason to spend more money for only a marginally improved potion.

Things were good. Classes were going well and Harry had made a lot of progress in his research.

Not that the good times did anything to brighten Daphne's mood. The closer they were to returning home, the more somber and withdrawn she became.

“Hey Susan.” 

“Yeah?” 

The two of them were sitting by his desk. Daphne had gone off to answer a missive from home, something that had become more and more common over the past few weeks.

“What's up with Daphne? I thought things were good, but all of a sudden its like she's back in her shell.”

Susan looked at him. “You really don't know?”

He shook his head. “Am I supposed to?”

“I forget you don't know anything about pureblood stuff. Daphne's parents are really traditional.”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

“Well, her dad is making her go to a debutante ball for yule. Families that still do betrothals and stuff set them up, but usually they wait until the witch is seventeen.”

It took far too long for Harry's brain to fully process Susan's words, as his mind refused to put all the pieces together. 

“Wait, her dad is trying to… he's trying to marry her off to someone?”

Susan nodded. “Its really barbaric. Only a few families still do it, but they're all the rich moneypants ones.”

Harry stared off into space. “What about boys?”

“Boys?”

“Like, do heirs and stuff get invited to these things?”

“They do, but usually your parents have to register you in advance or request an invite or something. I'm not sure on the particulars, I've only ever gone to the regular snooty balls and my auntie takes care of all the preparations. I think you're a bit too late to attend, Harry.”

Harry's eyes narrowed, throwing a glance back at his workbench. “I think I'm gonna work on something, Susan.”

“Ummm… sure, ok, I'll be right here if you need anything.”

Susan left for the sofa and Harry put his head down, grabbing one of the incomplete prototypes for the new firewhisky goblet strips.

He'd honestly been floundering on this task for the past few weeks. It wasn't something that interested him, he wasn't passionate about it, it felt like hard labor and he'd kicked the can down the road now that Hannah was off his back thanks to the success of the originals.

Now, though, a fire was lit under him. He worked swiftly and efficiently, unraveling the quirks and kinks, pounding away at the task with a ruthless determination that he'd seldom ever felt before.

As he worked, his eyes weren't even focused on the strip. He was already thinking several steps ahead, his mind blazing a path towards his ultimate goal.

Before he knew it, his hands had stopped moving and he'd finished the strip. His chair scraped as he marched towards the ladder. 

“I'll be back.” He told Susan as he grabbed his glasses from the wall and climbed out of his trunk.

They'd long since placed his trunk in a previously abandoned room in the Hufflepuff dorms. Ever since he'd begun selling his wares and Hannah instituted the ‘Hufflepuff Discount’, he'd gotten a lot of leeway from his housemates. One of the older prefects had cleared this room out and allowed him to park his trunk here. For all intents and purposes, Harry had moved out of the first year dorm, though he only had a pile of pillows and a comforter on the floor. 

Harry left the room and ran down the stairs to the common room with the strip in hand. People all around looked towards him, but Harry ignored them as he left through the portrait hole. 

He walked for about ten minutes before he finally found them, outside by the courtyard. Thomas, Finnigan and Weasley tossed snowballs at each other while Longbottom sat off to the side, observing the proceedings with a paternalistic smile that looked weird on a fifteen-year old.

Weasley saw him marching towards Longbottom and he glared. “Oi! What do you think you're doing?”

Harry looked towards the boy blankly, but he never stopped walking towards Longbottom. “I just want to have a talk with Neville.”

“Yeah, you and a million other people.” Dean snorted. The three boys had broken off their game and were converging on Harry, ready to cut him off before he reached the Boy-Who-Lived.

Looking highly amused by the whole ordeal, Longbottom quirked an eyebrow at Harry. “Potter, isn't it? What do you want?”

“You can call me Harry.” He said cheerfully, “I just wanted to give you this.” He held out the strip, and the other boys reacted as if he was holding a grenade. Weasley jumped to tackle him but slipped on the snow and fell face first into an embankment. The others managed to rush towards him and seize Harry by his shoulders.

Longbottom stood up from his stone bench, strolling towards Harry as if he'd just been through a failed assasination attempt. “What is this… I already bought one of those.” He drawled as he recognized the strip.

“He bought one for all of us.” Ron said proudly as he dusted himself off. “He even mailed Gin one too!”

“This one's different, I just made it.” Harry insisted.

“You just… you're the one who makes these?” Longbottom asked incredulously. “But you're a first year!”

Harry shrugged, arms still restrained by Dean and Seamus. “Like I said, this one's different, this one turns your drink into firewhisky or butterbeer.”

That left the four boys flabbergasted. Harry was let go as they now stared at the strip as if it were made of gold.

“No fuckin’ way! That's gotta be impossible, thas’ like turning lead into gold.” Seamus said.

Dean looked at Harry. They'd known each other for years thanks to the pre-Hogwarts courses, but had never really interacted much, Harry was just too odd for Dean. Still, Dean knew very well what Harry was capable of.

“I can prove it.” Harry pulled out a small cup and tipped his wand ovet the brim. “Aguamenti.” 

Water poured into the cup until it was mostly full. Harry then held the cup out to Neville, but Ron snatched it out of his hands.

“I'm not gonna let you poison him.” Ron snarled before taking a gulp of water. “Its water.” He confirmed.

“Mate, were you really willing to poison yourself?” Seamus looked at Ron in bewilderment.

“Now.” Harry wrapped the strip around the brim of the cup, most of it hanging off due to the cup's smaller size. He pressed his thumb against the little image of a glass bottle, which began to glow.

Neville grabbed it before any of the others could. He swirled the liquid in his hand for a moment before taking a sniff. His eyes widened in surprise as he reared his nose back, then, he tipped the glass over and took a sip.

“Aaaahgh!” Neville made a face, his tongue sticking out as he smacked his lips. “Its firewhisky.”

The group of Gryffindor boys now stared at the cup like the first cavemen might have stared at a blazing fire.

Neville's face quickly went from awed to calculating as he narrowed his eyes at Harry. “And you want to give me this… as a gift? What do you want in return?” He was the saviour of the wizarding world. He knew that when it came to gifts, people always had ulterior motives in mind.

Harry grinned cheerfully. “Nothing too big. You get invited to those pureblood balls, right?”

Neville snorted. “Is that even a question? I'm a guest of honor at every single one.”

“Could you get me an invite to the… uhh… I think its called the debutante ball? Its in a few weeks.”

Weasley made a face at that. “Why would you want to go to one of those things? They suck!”

“I think its too late to get you an invite. But you can take mine, I wasn't planning on going anyways.”

Harry's grin widened. “That's great.”

Neville nodded. “As long as you beg for it.”

“Huh?”

“Beg me for it, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Can I please have that invite, Neville?”

The other boys snickered around him as Neville looked quite proud of himself. “Sure, I will generously gift you my invitation, heir Potter. House Longbottom never skimps on acts of charity.” 

Harry felt relief flood through his system. “Thanks a lot!”

He left the four boys laughing and giggling to themselves. Harry wondered if they'd maybe spent a bit too much time outside in the cold and were starting to get delirious.

…

Daphne straightened out the hem of her dress for the umpteenth time that evening.

She was standing by the fireplace of their home, waiting for her father.

Her family home felt colder than usual. It was certainly emptier. A few days into winter break, Astoria's condition had flared up, and she'd needed to be hospitalized in St. Mungo's. She'd been there ever since.

Winters were always hardest for Astoria. This was not the first yule she would spend in a hospital bed.

Daphne had visited every day, but she had not been able to visit her sister today. No, today her mother would keep watch over Astoria in the hospital. 

Daphne had obligations.

The light blue dress-robes she was wearing had been made on commission from a tailor in Milan. Her father had actually paid for an international portkey for the several trips back and forth to Milan to get the dress just right. Her shoes were from Spain, and her father had insisted she wear some of the finest pieces of jewelry from her grandmother's collection.

Daphne had never looked more elegant, never looked more beautiful. Tippy, her house elf, had spent hours on her makeup, laboring to get it just right.

Daphne was terrified.

It seemed that getting sorted into Hufflepuff had upset her father more than she'd thought. 

He wasn't planning on just showing her off at this party, slowly introducing her to the courtship scene. No, Daphne felt it deep in her bones, her father was going to push her off the deep end.

Daphne closed her eyes as she tried to get her breathing under control. Her heart was beating out of her chest and her hands were clamming up.

“Daphne, it is time.”

Her eyes snapped open as her posture stiffened. Her frayed nerves were still raging, but she kept them under the surface with practiced ease.

Paul Greengrass looked at his daughter with cold, calculating eyes. He was wearing plain black dress robes. 

“Yes, father.” Daphne held a hand out and her father took it in his. She felt no warmth in it.

“You look beautiful, Daphne. You will make someone a very happy man, soon.”

Daphne nodded stiffly. “Yes, father.”

With that, they walked towards the fireplace, which was temporarily connected to the ministry ballroom where the event was being held.

Daphne took a deep breath, dreading the night ahead.

…

“What do ya think, Hedwig?”

Harry's owl was busily disemboweling the mouse Harry had brought up to her. She did not react to the boy's question.

“I mean, I spent some money on it, so it must be nice, right?” Harry looked down at his bottle green dress robes. They did look nice, and he'd put in extra effort to make sure they weren't all ruffled up, since he knew Daphne hated that. He just hoped they didn't clash too much with the pink spellotape that held his glasses together or the white trainers he'd decided to wear.

Dress shoes were uncomfortable, and his robe was really long and flowy, so they'd never be visible anyways!

“I kinda wish Susan was around to help.” Harry said. He hadn't told the redhead of his plans, and Susan had gone back home for the winter, just like everyone else. Harry found himself the only person in his entire year, and one of a handful in the entire school, that hadn't gone home.

He'd spent a small chunk of his new-found money on a mail-order robe from Madame Malkin's. He'd had to guess at the size, and when he'd first tried it on he'd had to make a few snips here and there to better fit him, but as he looked at the mirror, he thought he'd done a commendable job.

As Hedwig ravaged the mouse, a few specks of blood flew onto the front of his robe.

“Oh no!” Harry rushed to rub out the spots with his sleeve, and thankfully managed to clean it up until it was a barely noticeable small red stain.

“Well, girl, wish me luck.” Harry held a finger out to his owl, only to have to pull it back as the owl angrily pecked at him.

Harry sighed, making one final attempt at fixing his hair before he left the owlery. He'd need to find Professor McGonagall, who had offered up her floo for him to use.

He wondered what Daphne's reaction would be when she saw him. His plan had succeeded so far, but this part was by far the most difficult.

To be honest, he wasn't even sure what exactly he planned to do at the ball, but he knew he had to be there for his assistant, no matter what.