Unofficial Portkey Archive

The frigid snap of a whirling snowstorm pounced on them as they finished their semester exams. It was a breeze for Harry because the first semester exams were all theoretical. There weren't even any exams for Battle or Strategy class. Indeed, by the time he looped his last word on his Transfigurations essay, he was already to study some of the Occlumency notes Hermione had procured for him. When he originally asked why he couldn't just use books from the library, she succinctly replied, "My notes are better."

Even Malfoy would have raised an eyebrow at her arrogance.

As Harry packed his bags, Blaise walked over with a scrunched nose as he surveyed the clothes on Harry's bed. Blaise had a habit of picking through his things without asking, so Harry let him be for just a few moments but sensed that Blaise wanted to say something.

"What is it?" Harry finally asked.

"You do know you're going to the Davis family for the hols. At the very least, you'll have one proper dinner at night and a few excursions during the afternoon if they're particularly uppity. My Mum doesn't usually care what we do, but that's probably on the account of so many holiday without one of her husbands."

"So what's it to you?"

"Have you seen your robes? Your clothes? You might be the Boy-Who-Lived but its offensive at the very least to show up wearing a shirt to dinner. Not to mention those ugly trainers." Blaise sniffed at nothing, wrinkling his nose to show his displeasure.

"These trainers have won me more battles and duels than you ever will."

"Bravo," Blaise replied dully. "I know you're not hurting for any Galleons. The Potter family is rich and they must have left you something."

"It's not like I exactly have time to swing by Diagon Alley isn't it? Tracey says we're going straight to their house - well, mansion - after the train."

"Take some of my stuff. It'll be a little longer on you but nothing that a few mending spells can't fix."

"Blaise, I can't -"

"Don't be so dense, Harry. You have to make a good impression on her parents." Blaise winked.

"It's not like that," Harry sighed tiredly. "You've went over to her place too for break."

"But she doesn't talk about me all the time," Blaise pointed out.

"I'm her friend."

"Sure."

Sometimes, Harry really hated Blaise's cockiness. Sucking it up, Harry procured some of Blaise's more elegant clothing - no, you can't take that - and mended it to shape his body - we want it to fit you, not strangle you - and finally took two pairs of nice leather shoes that were just his size. It wasn't a complete wardrobe change, but Harry had to admit that he at least looked like a proper Slytherin instead of an obvious Muggleborn.

"You think you'd grow a little by now. What do those Muggles feed you when you go home for the summer?" Blaise wondered as he picked a loose thread.

Scraps at the end of Dudley's plate.

Armed with a few new clothes and the rest of his belongings, Harry closed his luggage and placed a Lightweight Charm on it for easier general use. Tracey was supposed to meet them at the bottom of the stairs as the herd of students left for the break. Generally, there were a few that stayed, but for once, Harry was glad that he had somewhere to go. Blaise and Tracey went home for the past two breaks and that left him with nothing but his studies and endless trips to Trow's classroom to use the Stationary Omnioculars. Not that he didn't enjoy reviewing, but there was a certain hollowness once the staff decorated the Christmas tree.

Not that Snape ever joined the festivities though. The headmaster could be seen hawkishly staring at the rest of the staff while conversing with either Moody or Trow. Harry usually gave the headmaster a wide berth during that time and minded his own business. He hoped that Blaise wasn't too right about the Davis family though. He didn't want to embarrass her.

Tracey smiled at him as he reached the bottom step and he tried hard to smile back but Blaise had set him on edge. He hadn't given much thought to the Davis family, but it occurred to him that the only family he knew were the Dursleys. While he hoped the Davis family was nothing like those repugnant pigs, he had little contact outside of his own experience. Tracey must have noticed his clamminess because she asked, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," he replied, "I'm just cold."

Again, she fixed him with that same look that said, "I don't quite believe you." It was getting harder and harder to fool her, but she didn't press. Tracey wasn't assertive or bossy like Pansy or even Hermione, but she had her own way of discovering things. It was usually guilt through attrition.

The herd to leave the school thickened at the school's atrium and as soon as the doors were opened, Harry could feel the chill blast of the winter air. It seemed there were more people going home than usual but that wasn't a big surprise. The semester had been tough on all of them and a week or two without the sight of Snape stalking you during Battle class or Moody and Trow going over lesson plans repeatedly would be a welcome sight to all.

On the platform, Harry's wandering eyes took him across the platform to the group of Gryffindors. The snow was swirling around them, the gusts of wind making it appear sandy in consistency. Even through the haze, he spotted the diminutive brunette talking to Longbottom with her head leaned towards him. Blaise babbled something to Pansy about his Mum's new husband, but Harry tuned him out as he thought of the progress he made with Granger.

She was different. That was the easiest way for him to describe her. The way she thought wasn't like most other people in his House or even in the school. Differing perspectives had done much to improve his skills not only at single dueling but also during House matches as well.

She looked up as if called upon by an inaudible voice and they met eyes. So far, their public interactions were moot and uneventful, so nonexistent that calling it clandestine wouldn't be an appropriate term. Still, he had yet to thank her for deflecting the spell during their scuffle with the Hufflepuffs.

He inclined his head ever so slightly, a movement that was barely noticeable were it not for the determined way he stared at her. Even with Longbottom close by, Granger purposefully looked back at him and dipped her chin into her chest in response.

"What are you looking at?" Tracey suddenly asked, blue eyes peering sideways at him since they were roughly the same height.

"The snow," Harry quietly said.

As he looked up and away from his actual object of observation, Tracey looked at him with pondering eyes.

* * * * *

The train ride was uneventful save for a few menacing glares from Hufflepuffs passing by. They were still smarting over their proverbial slaughtering in the dungeons and Harry almost suspected some form of retaliation. As such, he instructed the rest of his House mates to group themselves into compartments and to be prepared for such an altercation.

Luckily, it was a drama free affair and they were at King's Cross in what seemed like little time even though a few hours had passed. Since this was foreign territory to Harry, he followed Tracey off the train as she searched for her parents. Blaise said his good-byes as he spotted his curvaceous mother with some poor sapling on her arm. Pansy split off as Harry spotted her equally pug nosed parents standing haughtily with what looked to be fur robes.

That left him alone with Tracey and even though it was still snowing and the wind chilled him through his jacket, Harry felt his palms clam up and his heart start to race. How could it be that he was so patient and calm in Battle class yet the mere thought of meeting Tracey's parents sent him into a nervous flutter? That was a question Harry couldn't ponder for long as Tracey gave a confirmatory squeal as she spotted a middle-aged couple.

"Mum! Dad!" Tracey excitedly rushed towards said couple and barreled into her mother first.

Veronica Davis was a thin, almost reedy, woman with a tuft of black, curly hair. Whereas Tracey's face was full and cheeky, Mrs. Davis had a gaunt and narrowness to her. Even her fingers were spindly though they were covered by leather gloves. Her eyes were a majestic blue though and it was clear as day that Tracey received her eyes from her mother.

Ian Davis was tall as thickly built. An imposing sight for Harry, the closely cropped beard and accompanying mustache seemed out of place for what was supposed to be a Pureblood family. Maybe it was his picture of the Lucius Malfoy, majestically groomed to the point of incredulity, that threw Harry off a step. Either way, Ian Davis reminded Harry of a bear and this particular bear had sought and found new prey.

"Mr. Potter." His voice was neither booming nor timid but an assured placidness that reminded Harry of a less slimy Snape. He strode forward and as was custom, nearly crushed Harry's hand in a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry courteously responded.

"Mum. Dad. This is Harry," Tracey introduced him.

"Hello, Harry." Mrs. Davis smiled at him and moved her hand forward in a more gentle handshake than her husband. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Who hasn't?" Mr. Davis followed up. "Come on now. Glibby said dinner would be ready as soon as we get back and I'm a bit famished. This all your luggage then?"

"Yes, sir." Harry moved to take the bags and place them in a trolley but Mr. Davis waved him off.

"Nonsense. That's what we have the Ministry for."

Levitating them, Mr. Davis turned a corner that Harry wasn't accustomed to on the platform and saw a man outfitted in standard Ministry-blue robes. He rushed forward to pick up the luggage and placed it in the trunk of a sleek looking car.

"The car's magic. Our house isn't too far away from here," Tracey explained.

Truth be told, Harry was more comfortable riding around in a car than whatever contraption he envisioned in his head. Ever since the wildly dangerous Knight Bus, Harry was more than a bit suspicious of magical vehicles. Luckily, it was a rather smooth ride once they got in and it seemed as if the Muggles didn't even notice the car squeezing into impossible places.

They were all seated in the back, a space that was much larger than it appeared. It was almost a limo, the cushions stretching out without any seat belts or standard seating procedure. Harry chose a spot next to Tracey, partially from coincidence but also to use her as a buffer from her parents. While he wasn't gregarious, the suddenly imposing presence of the Davis family weighed heavily on his vocal chords.

The gray dullness of the clouds helped blur the London skyline as the magical car navigated impossible alleys and shot through narrow passageways until they emerged on a less developed road. Dirt kicked up around them as they passed a few manors that were aged well, but it wasn't until they flew through a large, metal gate that Harry finally saw the worth of the Davis family.

Coming from Number Four Privet Drive, Harry wasn't used to the isolated mansions of the upper echelon of society but judging by Tracey's distinct lack of caring via an animated discussion with her mother, this sort of palace was the norm for her. It wasn't built like a castle like other manors that dotted the countryside. Instead, it was mostly flat but impossibly large in width. Windows and windows of multi-faced sections of the house glittered in the sunlight and even the door, usually ornate and wooden for this kind of mansion, was clear and visible. Harry bent his head to see the other sides of the house but it seemed circular in nature instead of the square and rectangular hexes that houses were usually built upon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry knew that Ian Davis was watching him carefully and Harry tried his best not to look shocked at the sheer size of the mansion? Manor? Whatever it was. An untimely bump on the road gave Harry an excuse to stop examining the house and turn his attention back towards the family. The Ministry driver came to a stop and Veronica Davis nimbly stepped out with the help of the Ministry driver. Mr. Davis insisted on Harry exiting first and so Harry ambled out of the car to take in the splendid manor in its entirety.

"Come on, let's get inside," said a shivering Tracey.

Harry opted to keep his mouth shut again, postponing his questions about the estate to a later time, preferably out of earshot from her parents. Just then, a tiny creature appeared next to him. It was a wrinkled and mangled thing, barely coming up to his knee, but Harry knew what it was from the stories that Tracey and Blaise told. It was a House-Elf and it was a miserable looking thing.

"May I take your bags?" The House-Elf spoke in what seemed to be an unusually gravelly voice.

"Go on, Glibby. Make yourself useful," Mrs. Davis said flippantly.

The House-Elf bowed lowly, placed his hand on the carriage of luggage and disappeared with a snap of his fingers, taking the bags with him. It was an extraordinary feat of magic but, again, no one seemed to notice but Harry. There's a new normal that I should really adjust to, he thought.

If Harry thought there was going to be a slight reprieve of awe, it wasn't when he entered through the glass doors of the Davis estate. A large expanse was deemed the foyer though Harry was sure Number Four would have fit within the entire hall. Rooms opened to the left and right of it but instead of a circular staircase that led upwards - for that was what Harry pictured in his mind when he entered - there was instead a staircase that went down.

"Come on," Tracey tugged him along by the sleeve of his jacket. "Let me show you your room."

As Harry followed Tracey, Mrs. Davis called after them. "Don't forget supper is soon! I'll send Glibby for you."

"Yes, Mum!"

As they descended into the house, Harry discovered that instead of it being several stories high, the Davis estate expanded downwards instead. Low lights from ornate lamps and candles basked over the hallway and Tracey took him down to the third level after explaining to him the four levels of the Davis estate.

"The family line is actually from my Dad. My Mum's maiden name was Prewett before she married Dad -"

"Wait, Prewett? Aren't the Weasleys from the Prewett line?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, but my Mum and Weasley are second cousins. Everyone's somewhat related, but I'd be horrified if I was anywhere that closely related to Ron bloody Weasley," she shivered to emphasize her point. "Think of that barmy ginger hair."

"But anyways, the estate was built sometime after the Muggle World War Two by Granddad. They were tired of the bombs falling on them and after a stray Muggle bomb crumpled half of the old estate, they built a new one that went into the ground instead of up. We have to magic the windows, but I like it better. Makes it feel more homey."

"I'd shudder to think what other houses are like if this is homey."

Tracey stopped and smiled sadly at him. "We'll have to visit Blaise's soon. His mother has no sense of propriety. Then you'll see what I mean by homey."

Harry nodded idly as he passed by room after room, some of them converted studies whilst others were simply guest rooms. Tracey explained that they often had visitors and it would be inappropriate if there weren't enough rooms to accommodate them. While Harry didn't see the need of twenty-three guest bedrooms, who was he to argue? He was a guest of this house after all and he knew better than to question the seemingly embarassing amount of riches from this reportedly modest lineage. He was afraid to even imagine what the Malfoy estate resembled.

"And this is yours!" She stopped at the end of the hall and stepped aside to let him in his room.

Much like the manor, his room was circular as well, giving him a slight vertigo feeling as he looked around. The bed was to his right and Harry's eyes widened at the king size bed. After all those years under the cupboard, the king bed was a monstrosity. Delicately designed furniture framed the bed whilst a large dresser and other furniture that didn't have an immediate purpose to Harry littered the room. It was all over a deep, plush carpet that immediately comforted Harry's feet even through his shoes.

Unsurprisingly, his luggage was already there and Harry suspected the House-Elf could do more than just transport his luggage with a snap of his fingers. In short, it was amazing and far bigger and better than any room Harry had ever stayed in barring his dormitory at Hogwarts.

"If you need anything, just call for Glibby. He'll show up right away and if he doesn't, he'll usually try to kill himself," Tracey explained.

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. He just does." Tracey shrugged ineffectually. "'I'm upstairs right above you, but all you have to do is tap this bar to reach me."

She walked over to a series of bars attached to the wall running parallel to each other. In all, there were seven bars that jutted out about one foot from the wall. Selecting the second one to the right, she tapped it once and Harry heard a distinct chime overhead.

"Its much quicker than sending a Patronus or trying to shout down the stairs, so don't hesitate to call me. I would have just stayed down here across from you but my Mum said it would be inappropriate."

"Well, I wouldn't do anything like that," Harry scoffed.

Tracey smiled pithily again and cocked her head. "Of course you wouldn't."

After making sure his things were settled, Tracey took him on a tour of the house, showing him the nooks and crannies and regaling him with stories of her childhood. It occurred to Harry that it must have been lonely sometimes to live in such a cavernous house by herself. Regardless, she showed a lot of passion and excitement when talking about the various rooms and the houses and forts she had built. Harry was even beginning to enjoy himself and forget about the vastness of the Davis estate when Glibby popped up behind them again.

"Master Tracey and Master Potter, supper will be ready soon. Your mother has said to prepare yourself, Master Tracey," Glibby said in that unnaturally deep voice again.

"Oh okay. I'm going to go get ready. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded absentmindedly, suddenly grateful for Blaise's last minute advice.

As it turned out, clothing was the last thing he would have to worry about during supper.

* * * * *

Dressed as well as he could in Blaise's dress robes and shoes, Harry entered the dining room well before Tracey, just in time for a face to face session with Mr. Davis. The older man was sitting comfortably at the head chair, sipping on an amber liquid that was probably filled with spirits. Though the furniture was not nearly as extravagant as a royal court, Mr. Davis' posture was one of a king. Unsure as to where to sit, Harry stood by the doorway for a moment, wondering whether or not the family sat together at the large, rectangular dining table or whether they sat apart.

"Come, Harry. Take a seat." Mr. Davis gestured towards his left and Harry implicitly knew he was placing him on his weaker side since he was right handed. It would have been a slight if Harry took it seriously, but it was probably just a ploy for someone of his stature.

According to Tracey. Mr. Davis worked in the Ministry as part of the Wizengamot. Though they were unelected officials, they still wielded considerable power and most of the Wizengamot were dotted with Purebloods whose seats had passed down the line. Even though Mr. Davis didn't fit the usual image of an aristocratic Pureblood, Harry stood on guard. He knew enough of Slytherins than to blithely wander into the den without the proper amount of skepticism.

"Veronica and Tracey will probably take their time aspiring to be the next Majestic Maggie," Mr. Davis commented on the popular magical musician.

"They are both beautiful enough for the role."

Arching an eyebrow, Mr. Davis looked at him coolly and Harry knew he had already made a misstep in attempting to compliment them. "Quite right."

Hoping to change the subject quickly, Harry commented, "Your house is grand. It's quite a spectacle if you don't mind me saying."

Mr. Davis laughed deeply. "Don't let Lucius hear that. That man has his head so far up his ass that a compliment to a house such as mines would be taken as an affront."

Harry decided that whatever happened, Mr. Davis did have his grudging respect in that regard.

"But that is kind of you to say. Tracey says you were raised by Muggles."

The slight disdain in his tone as he mentioned the blasphemous last word did not go by unnoticed. Then again, Harry didn't think much of his Muggle relatives either.

"Yes. As you can imagine, it was nothing like this."

"Yes, I can quite imagine. It is remarkable that someone in such circumstances could grow up to be such a component student in Hogwarts if what Tracey tells me is accurate."

The mocking yet pitying nature of his classification of Muggles was yet another sign that Mr. Davis, despite his reservations against the elder Malfoy, was no doubt a Pureblood first and a insurgent second, if at all. Still, Harry nodded his head and changed tact again, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their solitary talk.

"Tracey does very well in classes, especially this semester. Higher on the Master List than some of the Fourth and even Fifth years."

"But none quite so high as you. Tenth, wasn't it to start the semester? That's quite a way to start out the year. Of course, they didn't have anything like that in my day, but I dare say the changes have been for the best..."

Harry wanted to ask him about Hogwarts in his day, but recognized the lecturing tone. Smartly, he shut his mouth for once and let Mr. Davis speak instead.

"Snape's done a good job, I've heard. I don't doubt Tracey can do better but its heartening to know that someone with such great...promise...is at her side. She says you were friends from the first day, were you not?"

"Roughly," Harry responded, allowing himself a smile.

"That's good. Surrounding ones self with high value always has its merits, does it not?"

Harry didn't particularly disagree but the way he phrased the statement made Harry uncomfortable, as if he were an asset to Tracey's worth. Still, he nodded, not wanting to antagonize the bear any further. Praying to whatever Merlin there was, Harry was relieved when Mrs. Davis stepped into the dining room, steeped in a simple black dress that nonetheless bore the look of richness.

"I hope he's not boring you too much, Harry. Ian does tend to go on about the Ministry." The smile took the bite out of the barb, but there was still a tightness to her grin that was not entirely genuine.

"You think of going into politics after school, Harry? Or maybe join the Aurors with that immense talent of yours?" Mr. Davis quickly interjected.

"I - I don't know, really. I haven't given it much thought."

Mr. Davis clicked his tongue and shook his head. "With your talent, you should be thinking ahead, Harry. It would be a shame if it went to waste."

A shame for who?

His nerves were starting to fray and Harry tightened his hand underneath the table as he gave another conciliatory expression. It was a marvel what Mr. Davis could do without so much as uttering a threatening word. Harry was beginning to realize that perhaps lineage wasn't the only thing that made for a good politician. The ability to slice into his self-esteem with just a few well placed questions was no doubt forged by years of arguing with similar avatars.

Fortunately, Tracey entered, dressed in a summery grown that was in contrast to the wintry weather. It was blue, bringing out the azure in her eyes and Harry knew enough manners to stand as she entered the room. Mrs. Davis did the same but Mr. Davis stayed in his seat, sipping on that amber drink.

"Sorry I'm late," Tracey apologized demurely as she took a seat next to Harry instead of next to her mother. Knowing what he know knew about Mr. Davis, Harry suspected she was using him as a buffer just as much as she didn't want to sit next to her parents.

"Glibby, we're ready," Mrs. Davis called out.

Dinner was a quiet affair, filled with stories exchanged between the families. Harry stayed quiet for the most part, enjoying the elegant beef stew followed by some appetizer that Harry didn't recognize at all. Goat cheese, Tracey would later inform him, was the main ingredient and Harry did his best to eat as much as he could despite the off-putting taste.

"...so Parkinson comes striding into the hall, demanding that we pay for his House-Elves as recompense and Bones, bless her liberal soul, tells him to bake his own pies!" Mr. Davis regaled them a tale of a House-Elf gone awry.

Settling down from his chuckle, Mr. Davis focused his attention on Harry and he again had the distinct feeling of being sized up for butchery.

"Harry says he doesn't quite know what he wants to do after Hogwarts. Looks like you're just two peas in a pod, Trace."

"I'm only thirteen, Dad," Tracey grumbled. "I don't know what I want to wear tomorrow. How am I going to know what I'm going to do in four years?"

"Four years isn't a long time. You're very clever, Tracey. Certainly talked me into buying a few things I wouldn't have. I think the Wizengamot would make a good place for you."

The shakiness of her fork said otherwise and while Harry wanted to leap to her defense, there was nothing he could really say to quell Mr. Davis' domineering request. He was certainly the alpha male of the house and Mrs. Davis didn't lift a finger to stop his inane stories about the Ministry.

"Yes, all of your stories are absolutely captivating. Why wouldn't I want to join?" Tracey looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye and they shared a slight smile that they disguised with a bite into their venison.

"Sarcasm is unbecoming of a lady. This is dinner, love," Mrs. Davis reminded her daughter.

"Bollocks sarcasm," Mr. Davis intoned as he downed another tumbler. "You need some of that to go up against some of those half-wits in the Ministry. Did you know I was one of the ones who voted yes on the Hogwarts bill? A bunch of other cowards thought it would turn Hogwarts into something like Durmstrang but we don't have idiots like they have. We have Snape and some of the finest students in the land. Tell me, Tracey, what place are you on the Master List?"

Tracey mumbled something indistinguishable and though Harry knew she wasn't as studious as he, it was still a matter of pride to know your rank.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Davis asked.

"121st."

"I suppose I would have been higher but good show deary," Mr. Davis mused thoughtfully. "Though if you were a bit more like our Harry here, you'd definitely be higher. It's no excuse, Tracey. Harry was raised by Muggles of all people and is still doing well."

"Yes," Tracey said quietly, "Harry is very good."

One ounce of guilt and two measures of embarrassment were the ingredients for this concoction of dinner so far. Harry didn't know whether it was the drinks or just his overbearing personality, but Mr. Davis seemed hell bent on embarassing his daughter.

"Tracey's also very good. Just the other rotation, she fought well against Hufflepuff," Harry said.

"Hufflepuff! Anyone could fight well against those. Makes me want to re-do school all over again," Mr. Davis gave a loud guffaw and this time, even Mrs. Davis shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You're going to the Wizengamot, young lady. Even if you don't place that well, we've set up a good track for you."

"What if I don't want to go to the Wizengamot?" Tracey finally shot back, her voice shaky.

Harry was caught right in the crossfire, cross between looking at Tracey's anguish and pained face and Mr. Davis' calm and foreboding one. They contrasted each other well yet were strangely similar. Tracey had her father's cheeky face and his fine nose but they differed in their minutiae. An eye shape difference here or a jaw line there.

"What else do you think you're going to do after Hogwarts? Surely, not the Aurors. I doubt you have the stomach for that sort of thing."

A Hippogriff could have ravaged the rest of the house and even that wouldn't have moved them from their seats. Harry sensed this was a confrontation long brewing but found his mouth glued shut. It wasn't often that he lacked a retort or an interjection simply based on principle, but there was nothing to be said here. Harry recognized when it wasn't his fight.

"I want to travel. I want to see the world. I want to see other cultures," Tracey responded shakily, all wit and logic seemingly deserting her. "I don't want to join the stupid Wizengamot and all your stuffy friends."

"Tracey Viola Davis!" Mrs. Davis admonished her, the knife in her hand clattering against the plate. "Your manners! This is dinner!"

Mrs. Davis was leaning forward, her hands gripping the table tightly as her blue eyes danced wildly from Mr. Davis to Tracey. Her mind wanted to stand up to admonish her daughter but her body was willing itself to stay seated, manners and properness above all. Mr. Davis had yet to move from his casually relaxed position but his jaw was clenched in a manner that bristled his beard while his eyes regarded his daughter coolly.

"You're young, Tracey. You'll look back and laugh at this, but don't think you're going to travel the world on my money."

"I'm not joining the Wizengamot, father."

"You will do as you're told." The icy reply was spoken at a normal decibel but somehow, that made it all the worst. Harry was rooted to his chair, stuck like Mrs. Davis, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth.

"You're spoiled and ungrateful for the life we've brought you. What if you were a Muggleborn, Tracey? What if you weren't as fortunate? And here I present you this opportunity to make immediate connections with the Wizengamot and the Ministry and you want to do something so silly as travel the world? I was part of what is making Hogwarts the best school in the world and these recent changes have only further progressed the program. You will go into the Ministry and you will carry this family name with dignity and honour."

"Or else what?" She spit back acidly.

Mr. Davis rose from his chair and Harry did so in return, afraid as to what would happen. He was massive as he drew himself up to full height, a huge barrel chest and and a mane around his neck that seemed to stand on end.

"I have spent too much time and too much money sending you to this school to have you turn into some traveling trollop." Mr. Davis spoke the words so finely, a verbal sword cutting through Tracey's protestations.

"I'm not some bloody investment that you get a return on in four years! You're awful and you do an awful job and..."

"TRACEY DAVIS. THIS IS DINNER!"

Mrs. Davis finally snapped but managed to stay seated. Her hand was gripping a fork so hard that her knuckles had turned pasty and the manic look in her eyes was incongruent with her proclamation that it was dinner. Tracey took one look at her mother, astonishment written across her face, before fleeing the room.

The shattered pieces of the argument were worn on Mrs. Davis' face as Tracey fled. Mr. Davis was still standing, his hand calmly resting on the rim of his tumbler, the sour smelling amber wafting from his mouth. Harry realized he was standing as well and deemed that sitting to finish dinner would have been an awkward affair given the current outburst.

"If I may be excused..." Harry somehow remembered his manners.

No answer came from Mr. Davis except for a cold glare from his fiery eyes. Mrs. Davis somehow managed the wherewithal to excuse him from the table and dressed in the best robes and shoes Blaise could offer him, Harry walked as quickly as he could in pursuit of Tracey.

* * * * *

She was in her room, silhouetted by the magic moon outside of her makeshift window. Though it was underground, each window was charmed with a view from the outside that could be changed by the witch or wizard. Tracey was sitting on the windowsill, looking at the magicked moon with her legs tucked up underneath her and her chin resting on her knees. The shadow cast from her body stretched all the way to the door and she didn't even bother to look up as Harry knocked on her door.

"You don't have to knock," she sniffled.

"Manners."

A half-sob, half-chuckle came from her and Harry was pleased to at least bring a little laughter out of her. He approached her carefully like she was a wounded animal and stood on the other side of the windowsill, looking at the contemplative moon.

"I used to think he was just joking when he said I would join the Ministry, but without any other sons to carry on the name, if I don't go on before I have a child then..."

"...he'd lose the seat."

Tracey didn't answer affirmative, already knowing that Harry put the puzzle together. Wiping a tear from her eye, Trace laid her cheek on her knees to look sideways at him.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said through a couple hiccups.

"It's okay. I've seen worse."

"You have, haven't you? Here I am complaining about my father having connections to the Ministry and then you have those Muggles..."

"It's not being a Muggle that makes them bed," Harry responded quietly. "But you have your own problems as well. It's all relative."

Silence fell over them in a hush as neither of them spoke, content to wallow in their respective miseries. The moon even cast a light in the room and Harry silently took a seat on the windowsill, leaning back against the frame as he kept his focus on the sky and not on Tracey's smeared face.

"I must look pathetic to you."

"On the contrary, you look positively delightful. If Blaise were here, he might even go as far as saying you look acceptable."

"If Blaise were here, he and father would be talking endlessly about the Wizengamot and investments in troll muck and whatever stupid shite they talk about. I love Blaise, but sometimes..."

"He gets a little involved when money comes around," Harry finished.

A new set of tears rolled down her face and Harry was unable to do anything but watch. Comfort had never been one of his strong suits and while he wanted to reach out to...do anything really...he couldn't bring himself to reconcile her. It was an emotional stunt, he knew, but what was he supposed to do? So he did the only thing that came to mind.

"When I was little, my cousin Dudley would always pick on me when his parents weren't around. It got so bad one day that he wolloped me over the head and gave me a bruise. When I told my Aunt, she gave me a pack of ice and told me that I shouldn't have gotten in his way."

Tracey's jaw dropped. "That's awful!"

"The awful part was that afterwards, Dudley hit me in the same spot again. When I told him I would tell Aunt Petunia, he said to do it. I did and she came up with some excuse for Dudley again."

"If you're trying to get me to feel sorry for you to distract me, it's working."

Harry chuckled as he looked out at the magicked beyond. "No, that's not what I'm trying to do. All I'm saying is I know when parents are sometimes blinded by their view of their children. I don't know your father very well, but I think he does care about you - just - in his own way."

Tracey snorted but didn't respond. She contemplated his words for several minutes, twirling away at her hair as they sat quietly on the windowsill together. Harry wondered why neither Mrs. Davis nor Mr. Davis interrupted them or even sent Glibby to inquire what was happening, but they must have at least respected Tracey's wishes to be left alone. There would be hell to pay later and Harry resolved to stand besides Tracey as best he could when it happened.

"Thank you, Harry," she finally said.

She reached out to poke his foot with hers and smiled at him. It was that sad smile, full of complacency and acceptance tinged with irreversible sadness and failed expectations.

"I'm glad you're here."

Harry shrugged as he leaned his head against the somehow cool window. "I have your back, Trace."

* * * * *

The rest of the break, Tracey studiously avoided her parents, bringing Harry along with her whenever she could. There seemed to be some sort of implicit agreement with her mother where they would have dinner seperately. It also helped that Mr. Davis was frequently at the Ministry during this time despite the holidays. Eventually, they fell into a routine where Harry would tap the bar to Tracey's room to see if she was awake. If she was, Harry would come to the second floor and join her on the windowsill as they watched the magically changing landscape.

They talked for hours on end, about nothing and everything, learning about Tracey's childhood and as much of Harry's childhood without revealing certain inconsistencies. Harry was a good liar and while Tracey could usually spot his discomfort, it was easy for Harry to convince her that Dudley was just a bully and his relatives just enabled him. It was far easier to digest than the truth.

Eventually, the holiday break was over and Harry had to suffer through a terribly awkward good-bye as Ian Davis shook his head with steely determination while Tracey avoided even speaking with her father. Mrs. Davis wished him a kind semester while imploring that he should return and Harry stuttered out an acceptable response, replaying that loud argument over dinner in his head as a cautionary tale.

Tracey declined from mentioning her hopes and dreams after Hogwarts. Harry knew she was never truly invested in Battle School studies, but not to the extent that she wished nothing to do with the usual Ministry job that would accompany graduation. But it wasn't for Harry to judge what she wanted to do with her life. He wanted her to be happy, whatever the case may be.

Joining the rest of the Hogwarts returning students, Harry and Tracey found Blaise and their friend regaled them of stories about a hilarious dinner where his mother's new husband found himself with a rather strange case of warts on his arse. It might have had something to do with the potion Blaise spread on the toilet seat, but who was he to say?

As they returned to Hogwarts, Harry found a certain ball of discontent as he failed to spot Granger on the platform and again in the train. She wasn't in the Great Hall for the return ceremony nor was she there for breakfast on the first day of classes. He didn't want to panic, but it was a symbiotic relationship. How was he supposed to learn a new spell and Occlumency without her astute researching skills?

When she neither appeared in classes nor at dinner, Harry knew there was something amiss with the empty seat in the Gryffindor table. But who could he ask? All of Gryffindor hated him and Granger made few friends outside of the House. He did, however, know the one person she confided in regularly besides himself.

Tracking down Longbottom was an easy task as he regularly traveled by himself. The fat, little boy looked even more glum than usual as Harry intercepted him on his way to Charms.

"Longbottom, I need to speak with you."

There was fear in his eyes as he shied away from the infamous Slytherin and Neville gulped as he realized that he was alone in the hallway with the one and only Harry Potter.

I hope he doesn't squeal like a pig.

"I don't want anything from you," Harry even showed his wand with a palm upturned, the universal sign for non-aggression. "I just want to know where Granger is."

Neville's eyes narrowed, his wits coming back to him as he stood a little straighter and puffed out his chest a little more.

"What do you want with her?"

"For an assignment for Snape," Harry smoothly lied.

"What assignment?"

"Well that's between me and her, innit?"

Neville shook his head as he looked Harry up and down. "If you have an assignment from Snape, then you would know where she is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Gryffindor boy looked at him incredulously, almost offended. He didn't respond as he started walking away, not caring that he was alone in the hallway with Potter. Harry rushed after him and even though he was at least a stone lighter, he pulled him back by his arm.

"Longbottom!"

"Let go of me, Potter!" Neville squeaked. "You should know."

"Know what?" Harry threw his arms up, wondering if all Gryffindors were this maddening.

"You really don't know."

Neville squinted at him like he was testing the truthfulness of Harry's existence. Harry kept his lips shut, tired of pounding the stupid boy with question after question, only to be met with constant rebuffs. If only I had some Veritaserum, Harry thought. Neville opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, like a gaping fish. Exercising extreme patience, Harry patiently waited, a portrait of annoyance with his arms crossed and his foot tapping incessantly against the cobble floor.

The Gryffindor finally spoke, his words hushed and his face pained.

"She's not here because her parents died."

* * * * *

A/N: So I missed my estimate by a long shot. I almost had it out by the time I estimated earlier, but work fell on me and I vacationed for the holidays so here I am. I loved writing this chapter and getting away from Hogwarts for a bit. Things will start to accelerate from here on out and I hope all of you enjoy (or not enjoy depending upon what happens) the upcoming chapters. I appreciate all of your reviews again and hope I can finish Part 1 of this story in a few months. Leave your thoughts!

Estimated update time: 14 days

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