Hello everyone!

First of all, happy holidays! I hope you all have had a spectacular time celebrating whichever you celebrate (or just relaxing, if you don't celebrate anything!); I know I definitely did. I'm far more excited for this chapter because it's far more original than the first. I intentionally wanted to put the Express ride and the Sorting into a single chapter, because there isn't as much room to add original scenes and content, and now I've been able to execute far more creative license. To quell one concern, I will be trying my absolute best not to have Daphne replace Hermione in any way. I've often found in these sorts of stories that people tend to (often unintentionally) wield their characters in such a way that they're essentially a replacement for another, which I'm actively trying to avoid. Daphne is intelligent, yes, but in the future events of the story, she will be handling far more of the political side of things while Hermione maintains her place as the Brightest Witch of Her Age. The story will grow to diverge more from canon beginning around Prisoner of Azkaban-ish, but that's still a fair ways away.

If you have any questions for me, or you'd simply like to read my endless ramblings about my stories, my Tumblr can be found at 'shadoworld'!

Enjoy :)

Edit: Thank you so much to everyone who let me know that the formatting was all wonky! I have no idea what happened (it looked fine when I posted it) but it should be all fixed now!

September 2, 1991

It was far too early in the morning when Hermione was tugging Daphne's curtains open, and she knew this because the sun had not yet risen over the horizon.

Groaning, Daphne rolled over to face the door, determined to catch at least five more minutes of sleep. Hermione huffed behind her, tugging the pillow from under her head and whacking her lightly in the back until she turned around to face the brunette with a look which could have been a cross between a squint and a glare.

"Hermione, what time is it?" Daphne asked sluggishly, passing a hand over her face in an attempt to wipe some of the sleep away.

"Just after five," Hermione responded cheerfully, ignoring Daphne's outraged gasp in favour of offering her a glass of water. Daphne begrudgingly sat up and accepted the small token of apology, running her fingers through her tangled hair.

"So, she woke you up too, huh?"

Daphne turned her head to the bathroom as Natalie walked out and back into the dormitory, in the midst of pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. Daphne nodded solemnly as Natalie snickered. "At least it wasn't only me."

Hermione was already moving on to Parvati by the time Daphne had managed to drag herself out of bed and into the shower. It didn't take long to wake herself up, despite the fact that she didn't really want to be awake in the first place, and by the time she re-entered the dormitory, wrapping her tie around her throat, Alison was irritably stomping around the room and tossing a glare in Hermione's direction every few moments.

Daphne may not have been thrilled by her early wake-up call, but if irritating Alison was one of the end results she wasn't going to stop it from happening again.

Clearly, Natalie felt the same way, tossing an eyeroll in her direction as Sally followed Alison into the bathroom. Daphne chortled quietly as she pulled the books and supplies she needed for the day out of her trunk and put them into a small fabric bag which had been given to her by her mother, charmed with an undetectable extension charm. It was lightweight, meaning that Daphne could carry all of her stationery around with her without feeling strained, and possibly one of the best ideas that her mother had had.

By the time Sally and Alison emerged from their respective showers, the rest of the girls in the dormitory were in various states of readiness for the day to come. It turned out that it was Lavender who had woken Hermione so early–albeit by accident–a fact which earned her several teasing jeers, causing the tips of her ears to turn pink.

Rather than wait for their final two dormmates, the remainder of the girls all made their way down into the common room by the time it was half past 6, and already the rest of the tower was beginning to wake up. A small group of senior boys were seated directly to their left playing a game of Exploding Snap, and two younger girls were sitting at a table playing what looked like a particularly vicious game of Wizard's Chess while a large group of girls were seated at a desk near one of the room's windows, reading over their textbooks.

Percy Weasley sat with his brothers, surprising Daphne, though as she walked closer she could see that the Gryffindor Prefect was actually doing his best to ignore the twins as they tried their best to distract him from his book. Fred and George tossed her identical waves as she nodded towards them, following the girls from her dormitory to the sofa and seats arranged in front of the fireplace. Natalie scooted closer towards Anna to make room for Daphne on the sofa, for which she was grateful, while the other girls fought between the chairs and the floor. Eventually they settled, just in time to see Sally and Alison march down the stairs and breeze past them with an icy glare in their direction.

"I guess she woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Anna quipped from Natalie's other side, Daphne snorting in response.

Hogwarts never ceased to amaze Daphne as she tucked in to some French toast. The girls had waited in the common room until half an hour before breakfast started before making their way down to the Great Hall, but Daphne initially remained behind to make sure that the boys actually got to breakfast in the first place. Finally, at five minutes before it was due to start, Ron and Harry stumbled down the stairs, vainly attempting to flatten their hair and straighten their ties. Daphne took a moment to help–Ron had somehow managed to put on his tie backwards, and she noted with a giggle that Harry's hair was never going to sit flat on his head–before they ran down to the hall and skidded into their seats.

Almost as if they had timed it, the moment that they had found their places at the Gryffindor table the food suddenly appeared, seemingly from nowhere. As she reached for a slice of toast, she could see people at the other tables either furtively chancing looks at Harry before whispering to their friends, or just openly gawking at the Boy Who Lived. She could tell that Ron had noticed, and they shared a look over the towering platter of pancakes in front of them before the redhead turned to Harry. "What have we got first?"

"Um," Harry dug his hands into his pockets, rummaging briefly before pulling out their timetable. "Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall."

"I heard she's super strict," Daphne shared with the boys, biting into her toast, "Mum said that once when she was in Transfiguration, the Professor assigned this one boy with detention cleaning the trophy room for a week because he kept rocking back on his chair."

"Wow, really?" Harry asked, intrigued. Daphne nodded in response, tugging the topmost pancake onto her plate. "Apparently he did it every day for years, but still."

"I heard that Snape always favours the students in his house. Maybe McGonagall does too?" Ron questioned as he made his way through his fourth pancake.

Daphne shrugged, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. "Mum said that the boy was a Gryffindor, but she could have gotten it wrong."

With a sigh, Daphne swung her legs over the bench and stood from the table. "I'm going to see if I can figure out where the library is before class starts. I'll see you there?"

After receiving nods from both boys, Daphne made her way to the doors and out of the hall, beginning her exploration through the winding corridors. Her mother had told her that the library was on the first floor, but it took a bit of time before she finally found the large double-doors, and it seemed like as soon as she opened the door she checked her watch to find that she needed to start finding her way to her first class.

"Of course," she sighed aloud, turning back the way she had come.

By the time Daphne had hurried across the courtyard and into the Transfiguration classroom, the majority of the first years were already inside. Frowning, Daphne glanced around the room and realised that she couldn't see Harry or Ron anywhere.

"Daphne!"

She jumped as a voice hissed her name from near the front of the classroom, and spent several seconds tracing the source before she saw Natalie gesturing to the empty seat beside her. Nodding, she rushed down the aisle and slid into her seat just as Professor McGonagall exited from her upstairs office and began making her way down the stairs.

"Almost didn't make it," Imogen whispered teasingly from the opposite row, causing Daphne to roll her eyes good-naturedly as she rooted through her bag before finding her Transfiguration textbook and parchment, setting it down on the desk in front of her as the professor stopped in the centre of the classroom, her eyebrows raising at the sight of the two empty desks in the centre aisle.

With a single resounding clap, the entire room fell silent.

"In this class, you will learn to perfect the art of Transfiguration, one of the most complicated magics taught within these walls. You will learn how to transform matchsticks into needles, and mice into snuff boxes, however if any of you mess around in my class you will leave and never return. Transfiguration is a complex and dangerous art, and you could cause yourself or your classmates severe danger if you play around with it.

"There are five branches of Transfiguration: Transformation, Switching, Vanishment, Conjuration, and Untransfiguration. Each of these has limitations set upon them both by nature and by Wizarding law. Transformation is by far the most general of these five branches, however as such it is also one of the most heavily restricted. For example–"

Abruptly, Professor McGonagall vanished into thin air.

Shocked shrieks and murmurs began to sprout up from each of the rows, Daphne herself letting out an astonished gasp. Natalie's hand gripped her forearm tight as she leant forwards over the desk, her eyes wide.

"Is that–is that a cat?"

At Natalie's question, the rest of the room attempted to move forwards to see that there was, in fact, a striped tabby cat sitting on the floor where the professor had once stood. The feline blinked owlishly up at its audience for several moments before, without much warning, it began to grow and warp until their eagle-eyed professor stood before them once more.

The room quietened instantly, the classmates who had stood from their seats sinking back into them without so much as glancing to anyone else in the room.

"Oh my god," Daphne heard Natalie mutter under her breath, though she paid no notice as she kept her eyes on Professor McGonagall.

"The process of becoming an Animagi–someone able to transform into a specific animal at will–comes under the definition of Trans-species Transfiguration. This is heavily restricted in Britain, and every Animagus is required to register with the Ministry. Similarly, Conjuration is limited strictly by the Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. As this is the most basic knowledge which you will require to pass this class, I would like you all to first turn to page 11 of your textbooks and copy out the three pages describing Gamp's Law."

As everyone pulled out their quills and began to copy out their work, the professor once again shifted back into her tabby cat form before leaping up to sit on the desk. Now that the original excitement was over, Daphne could see that the cat bore white markings around its eyes very similar to the glasses that their professor wore. Even as a feline, she seemed to be glaring, and so Daphne quickly turned back to her paper and began to copy out the passages they had been told to copy.

In all honesty, Daphne had almost forgotten that Harry and Ron were not in class until she heard the large double-doors at the back of the room slam open. Turning her head, she watched in fascination as the two boys hurried down the aisle.

"Whew, we made it!" Ron cheered quietly to Harry as they approached the spare desk at the front. "Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?"

Daphne winced, glancing quickly between the boys and the professor sitting on the desk. It was almost imperceptible, but Daphne was certain that the cat's eyes narrowed at Ron's words.

You're about to find out, she grimaced, feeling torn between fear and amusement as the professor transformed back into her human form as she approached Harry and Ron. Harry's jaw had dropped, and beside him, Ron seemed as if he wished he could swallow back his earlier words. Or, at the very least, he appeared to wish that the floor could swallow him whole.

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron tried to appease.

"Thank you for your assessment, Mr Weasley," McGonagall arched her eyebrows, glancing between the two of them. "Is there any particular reason that you have shown up to my class almost half an hour late? Perhaps if I were to transfigure one of you into a pocket watch, you might be on time."

"We got lost," Harry insisted. "We didn't mean to be late."

"Then perhaps a map?" The professor queried, though Daphne could see from where she sat that McGonagall's lips had almost twitched into a small smile. "Though I trust you do not need one to find your seats."

Heads bowed, Ron and Harry moved to their desk at the front of the room, directly across the aisle from where Daphne and Natalie were seated. Harry caught Daphne's eye as she glanced up from her work, biting back a grin, and she let out a quiet snort of laughter as he poked his tongue out in response to the widening smile on her face.

Ron's brothers–the twins–caught up to them as they walked from second period down to the dungeons for their first Potions class.

"Did old McGonagall turn you to stone?"

"Or perhaps into a rat for her to eat?"

Ron glared at Fred and George as they slung an arm over each of his shoulders, Fred further linking himself to Harry while George's other arm came to settle over Daphne.

"You knew?!" Ron exclaimed, turning his head to stare disbelieving at each of his brothers in turn. "You knew and you never, oh I don't know, told me?"

"Of course we knew–" Fred began airily.

"–but where would be the fun in telling you?" George finished, gripping Daphne's shoulder and tugging her out of the way of a group of tall Ravenclaw boys. She stumbled, and would have fallen flat if George's grip wasn't holding her upright.

"You all right?" He asked as Ron continued to interrogate his other brother.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Daphne managed a small smile in response.

"You'll want to be careful with Snape," Fred said, drawing them back into the conversation, and Daphne turned her head to listen to him speak as Ron and Harry seemed to hang on to his every word. "He always favours the Slytherins."

"He'll dock tons of House Points from you for doing even the tiniest thing wrong," George continued warningly, "and award the snakes points for doing the exact same thing. Just don't screw up too bad and you'll be fine!"

With a wave, the twins walked off in the direction of their next class, and Ron visibly relaxed.

"They seem like a handful," Daphne commented mildly.

"You have no idea," groaned Ron, his face turning stony as they turned the corner into the hallway of their Potions class to see a small crowd gathering around a rather obnoxious platinum head of hair.

"This can't be good," Harry muttered.

"–can't believe that they allow people like–" Draco was ranting, Blaise and Theo appearing equally bored at his side as he continued his tirade. From where they stood at the opposite wall, Daphne could see that the majority of Draco's audience were Slytherins that Daphne recognised—Pansy Parkinson, Bastien Queensbury, Millicent Bulstrode and Holden Ledbury only some of the familiar faces as the scions of pureblood elite. The boys, Daphne knew at least, had little interest in Draco and it was evident on their faces as they murmured quietly to one another.

"People like who, Draco?" Daphne called, pushing off from the wall and walking over to the group, sensing Ron and Harry following close behind. "Insufferable brats? I think I agree."

Draco's lip curled, turning to Daphne with a knowing smirk. "If you're talking about your sister, Greengrass, I think we both agree on something for once."

Narrowing her eyes, Daphne stepped closer. "What did you say?"

Clearly, Draco was pleased that Daphne had taken the bait. Draco's face turned smug as Harry and Ron each stepped closer, setting their hands cautiously on her arms in a weak effort to hold her back.

"Can't you hear, Greengrass? I said–"

"And what is all of this noise about?"

A deathly silence fell over the corridor as a tall figure appeared in the doorway to the Potions classroom. Professor Snape's dark eyes glittered in the candlelight lining the dungeon walls as he glanced over the scene before him. Quickly, Daphne realised how it looked–Harry and Ron, holding her back as she faced Draco down–and stepped back. This seemed to appease the Potions Master, for he jerked his head towards the doorway and stepped aside as the students streamed into the room.

"Greengrass, over here!"

Turning wildly, startled, Daphne relaxed as she saw Imogen gesturing to her row. A girl with pale brunette hair sat at her side, and beside the mystery girl sat Holden and Bastien who watched her with identical smirks. Gesturing to Harry and Ron, Daphne filed into the row and took the seat beside Imogen while Hermione snagged the seat between Harry and Ron, to Ron's evident displeasure.

"Ella Wilkins," the girl beside Imogen introduced herself with a grin, offering her hand.

"Daphne," the Gryffindor replied, and Ella giggled. "Oh, I know."

Nodding her head to the right, Ella gestured to Bastien and Holden beside her.
"Good to see you, Greenie," Holden greeted, causing Daphne to roll her eyes.

"I told you not to call me that," she reminded him half-heartedly, pulling out her parchment and shaking her head slightly at Harry's curious gaze before leaning in.

"We all met at some fancy function when we were kids. For the irony, my parents always made sure that my sister and I were dressed in green, so after about the sixth or seventh time, Bastien started calling us the "Greenies" as a joke. It stuck."

"Sounds like fun," Harry seemed almost wistful, reminding Daphne that he'd grown up with his magic-hating aunt and uncle. There wasn't any way that she could think of to comfort Harry, because she'd never been in his position, and she sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments.

"It was okay," she shrugged, unsure of how to respond, "For the most part, we would all end up sneaking into the empty side-rooms and playing games of Exploding Snap. The company wasn't always excellent–" Daphne glanced towards Draco, "–but it wasn't bad."

Quickly, she remembered that Harry had probably never heard of Exploding Snap.

"Maybe I'll teach you how to play sometime?" Daphne offered, glancing to the side as Harry pretended to think it over. "Yeah, alright."

They both quickly quietened as Professor Snape stalked down the aisle, his robe billowing out behind him as he turned on his heel to face the class.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," he intoned, the windows slamming shut and causing Daphne to jump in her seat. She heard Holden cackle quietly from further down the aisle and reached over to smack his arm as the professor continued. "You are here to learn the subtle art and exact science that is potion-making. Many of you will hardly believe that this is magic when there is so little involvement of your wands. Fewer still of you will understand the beauty of a cauldron, simmering softly with its shimmering fumes; the delicate power of liquids capable of slinking through your veins–"

As Professor Snape continued his monologue, Daphne's mind drifted back to when she was younger, and she and her sister were assisting their mother at Spellbound for the day over summer. Astoria was only a year younger than Daphne, but she was still at the stage where anything shiny was intriguing and so while Daphne sat at their mother's side by the cauldron, watching carefully as the potioneer added the ingredients bit by bit, explaining what they did and what would happen if you did it wrong. The room–located at the back of the shop–was filled with a vaguely lilac haze, and the air shimmered in front of her as Daphne was briefly distracted by the golden flecks around her. The tranquillity was broken by a loud crash, followed by a scream which sent both Greengrass women out into the store to find Astoria on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass and a neon orange potion spreading quickly in a large pool on the weathered stone. The new assistant, a third-year student at Hogwarts named Charlie, was already crouched at her side, turning her over to reveal the small cuts littering her arms.

As Genevieve rushed to her youngest daughter, Charlie cradling Astoria on his lap in order to keep as much of her skin out of contact with the potion, Daphne stood frozen by the doorway.

"Tori?" Daphne called quietly, her voice quivering as her mother's wand wafted over Astoria's arms first, then her legs–uncovered by the skirt she wore–healing her cuts and cleaning away the potion residue as she went. Finally, she woke Astoria with a rushed rennervate, and her bright blue eyes blinked open to the relief of everyone in the room.

"Is she okay?"

Genevieve and Charlie both turned to the doorway where Daphne stood, her fingers twisting anxiously in the hem of her shirt.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded quickly, quirking his lips in an attempt to smile, "she's alright."

Taking careful steps forward, Daphne dropped down beside her sister, trembling as she hugged her close. Her chest felt less tight than it had before, but she couldn't get the scream out of her head.

The air shimmered lilac and gold before Daphne's eyes as she zoned back into the class, shaking her head slightly as she noted the concerned looks from Harry, Ron and Imogen. Though her Slytherin friends already knew about what had happened, she wasn't particularly in the mood to discuss it.

"Daphne Greengrass."

It seemed that she had zoned back in at precisely the right time as the professor called her name from the roll. She answered quickly, rolling her head on her neck as she attempted to clear her head.

"Are you alright?" Harry questioned, and Daphne brushed off his concern with a small smile. "Don't worry about me," she replied, turning back to Professor Snape as he paused at the next name on his roll.

"Ah, yes," he spoke softly, "Harry Potter–our new celebrity."

Something about his tone sounded off, almost coy, and it sent the hair standing up on the back of her neck. She could see Draco, Vincent and Gregory sniggering in the row in front of them, and exchanged looks with Ron and Harry as the professor continued down the list. It certainly didn't sound like the lesson was going to go particularly well.

"Now, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses; I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory–" at this, the professor paused as his black eyes roamed the classroom, briefly locking eyes with Harry. "–and even put a stopper in death."

To Daphne, this spiel sounded like a rather incredible exaggeration. Potions could do many things, she knew, but any potion capable of granting its user fame or glory was likely to be illegal, at the very least.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly barked out. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Daphne knew the answer instantly, but she hesitated to raise her hand as the professor's eyes bore into Harry's own. She knew that Harry didn't have a clue–he had been raised in the Muggle world, and it was hardly a requirement for students to read their textbooks through before entering the classroom–and she had a sinking feeling that the professor was just as aware of this as she was.

"The Draught of Living Death," Daphne finally called out, interrupting Snape's staring contest with Harry as his eyes jumped to hers.

"Last I checked, Miss Greengrass," Snape's silky voice echoed through the classroom, the students staring in silence at the events unfolding. Even Draco, she could see, appeared a touch concerned as he glanced between her and the professor. "Your name was not Potter."

"With all due respect, Professor," Daphne bit back, "last I checked, students were not required to read through and entirely memorise their textbooks filled with a year's worth of information before entering a classroom. Harry was raised in a Muggle household; he didn't even know of the existence of magic until barely a month ago!"

Snape's lip curled, clearly amused by her display. "Be that as it may, if you speak out of turn once more it'll be five points from your house."

At this, Daphne could see several of her classmates shaking their heads in her direction, but she was pleased to note that Dean and Seamus in front of her seemed to be watching in encouragement.

In the following silence, the professor again turned to the boy to her left, and Daphne nudged him as a warning to keep quiet if he didn't know the answer, just hoping that he was able to understand her.

"Fame clearly isn't everything, Mr Potter, is it? Not when you need your friends–" the professor almost seemed to spit the word out of his mouth, "–to speak for you. Now," he continued, "let's try again, shall we? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"A goat's stomach," Daphne answered instantly, her fingers digging into Harry's arm to keep him from stopping her, "or perhaps in your storage cupboard."

Her quip caused a few of her classmates to titter quietly with reigned-in laughter as the professor's eyes hardened. Solidly ignoring Hermione's arm dropping disappointedly back into her lap, as well as the girl's glares for disobeying their teacher, Daphne maintained eye contact with the Potions Master as he strode into their row to stand before her.

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Greengrass, and yet you seem incapable of holding your tongue between your teeth. Would you rather I questioned you instead?"

"Well, I thought that that would be obvious, sir," Daphne responded. "At least I have a chance of knowing the answers."

Snape's eyes seemed to light up in amusement at her response, and a calculating curiosity sat behind his gaze which caused Daphne to shiver slightly in discomfort.

"Tell me, Miss Greengrass, the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."

The class seemed to be holding their breaths.

"There isn't one professor, they are both names given to aconite. I have a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi if you'd like to borrow it."

This time no one laughed as Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Name me the five ingredients of the Draught of Peace and list in order each of the colour changes that the concoction goes through in the brewing process."

Daphne fell silent. Swallowing thickly, she pushed down the images floating to the surface of her memory, images of a golden lilac haze and her sister lying motionless on the cold stone floor. Of all of the potions, he had to go and mention the one that she would rather forget. She couldn't even fathom why he would be mentioning this particular elixir. It had to be a fifth year potion, at least.

"Powdered moonstone, Unicorn horn and Porcupine quills, Syrup of Hellebore, and Valerian root," she recited in her best imitation of indifference, crossing her arms defensively across her chest as if they could ward off the memories rising behind her eyes. "And the Draught is first green before changing to blue, purple, pink, turquoise, purple, red, orange–" in the corner of her eye, Daphne could see Dean and Seamus nodding to the rhythm of her voice, "–turquoise, purple, pink, red, purple, grey, orange and white." Daphne finished triumphantly, barely suppressing a smile as Seamus let out a quiet 'whoop' after she was done.

"Very impressive, Miss Greengrass," Snape interrupted, his silky voice replaced with a hard tone that did not go unnoticed as the classroom fell silent, "points for Gryffindor for your competence in an apothecary," he continued, Daphne's expression making way for a look of shock which the professor seemed to revel in, "but not as many as you just lost for your insolence."

Though a few of her classmates sighed as her sentence was read–Alison Denshaw the loudest among them, with Hermione a close second–Daphne nodded with acceptance and a touch of pride as Dean shot her a thumbs up before turning back around as the professor settled back at the front of the class.

Their main task for the lesson was the brewing of a simple Potion to Cure Boils. They were to be paired, which meant that Ron was to work with Hermione ("Help me," Ron murmured to Harry as they stood to collect their ingredients) while Daphne was paired with Harry.

They quickly figured out that it was better for both of them if he read the instructions from the textbook while Daphne actually handled the ingredients. She could tell that he was trying not to ask her something, but she didn't push the issue as she crushed the snake fangs in her mortar. It was an oddly relaxing experience, breaking and smashing the fangs into a fine powder. After they were added to the cauldron, the dried nettles were the next to be poured into the mixture as the mixture began to heat. With a quick wave of her wand, Daphne and Harry were soon able to leave the mixture to brew, and Daphne knew that she would have to ask her companion about what it was he was avoiding saying.

"Harry?" She prompted, causing him to look away from the potion and in her direction. "What is it?"

He momentarily appeared confused, before running his hand through his hair. The movement gave Daphne a glance at the scar on his forehead, the branching lightning strike disappearing into his hairline before he habitually flattened his hair down over his forehead.

"What happened to you earlier?" He asked, and Daphne could easily guess that he was referring to when she zoned out during Professor Snape's introduction.

"It was nothing," she brushed off, "I just remembered something that happened at Spellbound a few years ago.

"Spellbound?" Bastien questioned from a bit further away, leaning closer towards them. "Was that when Astoria–"

"Yes," Daphne cut him off, shooting him a reproachful glare. He retreated but didn't seem to be terribly sorry for listening in on their conversation. "But like I said, it was nothing."

"What was it?" Harry pressed, and Daphne sighed as she twisted her hair between her fingers.

"It was an accident at mum's apothecary," she answered finally, forcefully pushing down the nauseated feeling rooting itself deep in her stomach, "Astoria dropped a bottle and it smashed all over the floor. She passed out, and had cuts all over her arms and everything. Charlie and mum were able to heal her, and she's okay now," she added hurriedly to assuage Harry's look of concern, "but it isn't my fondest memory."

"Wait, Charlie? As in my brother?" Ron asked from beside them, and Daphne nodded as she uncapped the jar of horned slugs and selected four of the slimy specimen to add to the cauldron before taking it off of the fire. "Yeah, one and the same. He apprenticed for my mum over the summers, he said it was so that he could earn extra money to head off to some dragon reserve. Russia?" She asked, carefully adding two Porcupine quills as the professor passed by. He raised an eyebrow at the cauldron before reluctantly nodding at Daphne–and Daphne only, she noticed, not Harry–and moving on.

"Romania," Ron corrected, and Daphne let out a small sound of recognition. "He's studying to become a dragonologist."

Finishing her stirring, the potion turned a shimmery navy blue to indicate that it was essentially finished, and Daphne waved her wand once more to finish the brewing process before taking several phials to fill with the elixir and reciting the incantation in the textbook in order to clear the rest from the cauldron. Setting their phial on Snape's desk and waiting for the professor's nod of recognition before moving back to her table, Daphne had just finished putting her ingredients away in her bag when she happened to glance up just in time to see Neville drop his Porcupine quills into his cauldron from his place next to her and Harry's work station.

While it still sat on the fire.

"Neville, wait!" She called in alarm, too late to do anything as a loud hissing sound filled the dungeon and thick, acid green smoke billowed into the air. Several students cried out in alarm, while Daphne pushed through them to get to the boy until she was forced to jump out of the way to avoid a seeping blob of what appeared to be the remains of the cauldron he had been using. Several people's shoes were being burned through as it continued to move through the classroom, the professor darting to prevent it from making an escape into the hallway.

Her attention was drawn back to Neville as he let out a loud moan, and Daphne couldn't stop the gasp escaping her as she looked down to see large boils covering Neville's arms and legs.

"Out of the way!" Snape demanded, pushing past to reach him. "Idiot boy," he admonished, snarling.

"Take him to the hospital wing," he ordered Seamus, who had been working with Neville, before rounding on Harry. "Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills, Potter? Did you think that he'd make you look better if you got it wrong?"

"Professor!" Daphne exclaimed, disbelief colouring her face as Snape turned quickly at the sound of her voice. "How was he supposed to know? He was putting away the rest of the ingredients while I handed you our phial; he would never have seen Neville until it was too late."

The logic seemed to satiate the Potions Master, which did little to quell his anger, but he stalked off without another word.

At the end of the class, Ron and Harry almost tripped over each other in their hurry to leave the dungeons and get to their brief morning break, but Daphne stayed behind for a few moments and waited for the classroom to clear.

"What is it, Miss Greengrass?" Snape asked boredly from his desk, where he sat examining each of the potions capped before him.

"I was just wondering if I could take Neville's bag?" She asked, gesturing to where the professor hat set it behind his desk after the boy had left the room. "I figured I would return it to him at the hospital wing before History of Magic."

This seemed to surprise the professor, who leant back to look at her for several moments, considering her with a thoughtful gaze before nodding his head to the bag, the corner of which had been eaten away by the acidic mixture Neville had accidentally created.

She didn't bother to say thank you, something which she knew that her mother would admonish her for if she ever did it at home, instead rushing out of the classroom and trying desperately to remember the directions that Snape had given Seamus earlier. At last, she found the infirmary on the fourth floor of what she later discovered was called the "Hospital Tower", shouldering open the doors while carefully holding Neville's bag in her arms.

"And just what are you doing here?" The school matron, Madam Pomfrey, gave her a querying once-over as she paused briefly in her treatment of a familiar face.

"Cedric?" Daphne questioned, walking over to the foot of the bed while Cedric winced when the matron prodded at his ankle.

"Hey, Daph," he greeted, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to return something to a friend, but I could ask you the same thing," she responded in kind, lifting the bag aloft very briefly.

"Only a small sprain," Cedric reassured, "nothing too serious. What about your friend?"

"Bad potion," she advised, fighting back a grin at the accompanying look that Cedric shot her at her words, crossed between screwing his face up at a pungent smell and having seen an acromantula. "Madam Pomfrey, where's Neville Longbottom?"

"Just over there," she nodded in response after Daphne turned to her. "The boils have almost receded by now, so he'll be out of here before his next class."

Offering her thanks, Daphne tossed a wave over her shoulder in Cedric's direction as she made her way over to Neville's cubicle. Pushing the divider aside, Daphne let out a small groan of sympathy as Neville turned to her in surprise. "Greengrass? What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd bring you your bag," she dropped it by the bedside table emphatically, "apparently you'll be fine for History of Magic?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking uncomfortable, "the boils have almost all gone by now. Thanks."

"No problem, Longbottom," she brushed it off, saying goodbye before rushing out the door and down into the Great Hall just in time to slide next to Ron and snatch up a bowl of raspberries.

"Where were you?" He asked.

"I went to see Longbottom at the Hospital Wing," she shrugged.

"The Hospital Wing?"

Miraculously, the twins suddenly appeared to sit on Ron's other side. Daphne held back a laugh at the look on Ron's face, instead turning to the older boys and affirming what she had just said.

"Longbottom added Porcupine quills to a Cure Boils potion without taking the cauldron off of the heat," she explained, causing the twins to wince. "But other than that, the class was fine, right Harry?"

Across from her, Harry screwed up his face in response.

"Snape have it in for you?" Fred questioned mildly.

"You'd think that he was a school bully, the way he was acting," Daphne scowled into her bowl, "it was completely ridiculous!"

"You didn't have to antagonise him," Hermione interrupted scoldingly from further down the table, "you lost us house points!"

"So you think what he was doing was fair then?" The blonde questioned, raising an eyebrow. Dean sat between them, his gaze flickering to each side as he cautiously continued to eat his sandwich.

"Of course not!" Hermione looked affronted. "But you can't just talk back to the teachers!"

"Why not?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "Why should we respect him when he clearly doesn't respect us?"

Several heads along the table nodded in agreement, causing Hermione to huff and mutter under her breath as she turned back to her own snack foods.

Table conversation dissolved into far lighter topics as Seamus regaled them with the story of how he found out that he had magic.

"Was she alright?" Daphne asked amidst the laughter.

"Eventually," he shrugged, grinning, "she didn't forgive me for a long while, though."

As the students around them began to stand to go to their classes, Daphne nudged Ron.

"Come on," she sighed, plucking the final raspberry from the bowl before it refilled itself. "We've got to get to History of Magic."

"How was that a lucky guess?"

Daphne shrugged playfully as she dropped down at the base of a large tree overlooking the lake. Despite it being their first day of classes, they already had several scrolls of homework to complete and after spending their last period in Defence Against the Dark Arts in Professor Quirrell's classroom, which smelled hideously of garlic, they had decided to study in as much fresh air as possible. Several other students were studying outside, including two Ravenclaws named Cordelia Gifford and Andrea Kegsworth, who were playing in the shallows of the lake. It wasn't very warm, being September, but the sunny day had warmed the air and made the grass perfectly pleasant to sit on as Daphne began to take out her books and parchment. Ron and Harry sat down soon after, still arguing between each other about how it was possible that Harry was able to guess the exact year of the Gargoyle Strike without ever having knowledge of the magical world until only a month ago.

Easily the most boring of their classes was History of Magic. Daphne found the subject itself really interesting, but all of her previous excitement for the class faded as they entered and realised that their professor was a ghost. Professor Binns had been old as it was when he fell asleep in front of the fireplace in the staffroom and woke up to teach his classes the following morning while leaving his body behind. His class was dull enough that about one third of the students fell asleep themselves just listening to him drone on about Uric the Oddball, which meant that it would almost definitely be the most difficult homework they had to complete.

By the time that the sun was beginning to set over the mountains surrounding the lake, the evening air had turned cold and the three of them had started to shiver beneath their robes. Hastily, they collected all of their belongings, shoved them into Daphne's bag, and raced one another back to the dining hall.

"What about Flitwick?"

As Daphne, Ron and Harry slid into their seats at the dining table, Daphne turned and raised an eyebrow to Dean.

"We were just going over our classes so far," Seamus explained from across the table. "What did you think of Flitwick?"

"Well," Daphne began, chewing a small carrot intently. "He was certainly amusing."

Professor Flitwick, the head of house for Ravenclaw and Charms professor, was a rather small wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk; as he'd been reading the roll, he'd given an excited squeak upon reaching Harry's name before toppling out of sight.

"Though," she continued, stealing a couple of small carrots from Harry's plate as she waited for the carrot plate to refill, grinning as he tossed an exasperated look her way, "so far Charms has been my favourite class. Did you see the look on Draco's face when Flitwick charmed his hair red for mocking Anna's lumos?"

The five of them–Dean, Seamus, Ron, Harry and Daphne–took a moment to gleefully recall how, after Draco had loudly blamed Anna's flickering Wand-Lighting Charm on her mother's Muggle-born blood, Professor Flitwick had quite casually turned Draco's hair a rather vibrant shade of vermilion. Draco, horrified, had stormed to the very back of the class to avoid people looking at his hair. Draco's hair had faded back to its platinum blonde by the time the class was over, but that didn't stop him from fleeing out of the door the moment that class ended. His cocky attitude had clearly returned by the time that they made it to Potions, but in hindsight it didn't really matter. Draco's face when he realised that the class were laughing at him and not Anna was more than enough.

"So, Daphne," Dean began, "how'd you know that Neville was about to make a mistake?"

Seamus and Neville appeared equally as curious for her answer, causing Daphne to shrug slightly as she twisted her pasta around her fork.

"My mum's a potioneer," she explained, "she runs an apothecary in Diagon Alley. I've seen her make the potion before while going through restocks."

"That's cool," Neville said admiringly, "that your mum's a potioneer. You must be an expert then!"

"Merlin, no," she scoffed, "I've never actually made one myself before, and I didn't used to hang out at the shop very often. I'd usually just wander down to Flourish and Blotts or to Fortescue's. But she always used to tell us what you shouldn't do when making certain potions, and I remembered her saying that we had to take the cauldron off of the heat before adding Porcupine quills to any potion unless we wanted to be wearing it."

"Solid advice," Dean nodded. "Mind writing my potions homework for me?"

Daphne laughed and shoved his arm playfully. "Not happening."

Later that night, Daphne sat curled in the corner of the sofa in front of the fireplace, glaring at the match on the table in front of her. She had been practicing the spell they learnt earlier in Transfiguration, and while she'd pretty much gotten the colour just right, it didn't show any sign of transforming into any sort of metal. With a sigh, she picked it up and tossed it into the fire, watching it burn for several moments before pulling another match out of the box.

"Wait, Hermione!"

Daphne called out to the brunette witch just as she reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the dormitories. It clearly came as a surprise, and Hermione blinked several times in succession before walking over. "What is it?"

"I wanted to ask for your help," Daphne admitted, setting the match on the table. "Watch."

Screwing up her nose slightly, she tried to concentrate on the end goal–silver, pointed, pointed–only to watch in disappointment as it again turned silver without otherwise changing its appearance.

"I've been trying to get it right all evening," she flicked it into the fireplace morosely. "But you got it right in class before! How did you get it to work?"

"Well," Hermione considered, perching on the edge of the accompanying chair, "it's all to do with visualising it, isn't it? If you can't imagine it actually looking like a needle, it won't."

"So I need to...picture it?" Daphne clarified doubtfully, glancing between Hermione and her matchbox. "That's all that you did?"

Hermione nodded before gesturing for the matchbox. Daphne complied, handing it over as the bushy-haired girl plucked two matches out from the box. "Here, watch."

Setting one match on the table, Hermione pulled her wand from her robes and closed her eyes for a time, her wand hovering over the match. Suddenly, she murmured the spell under her breath, and Daphne watched disbelievingly as it changed before her eyes into a silver needle. It wasn't fully pointed, but it was certainly more metallic than all of Daphne's previous attempts had been.
"Alright, then," she muttered under her breath, steadying herself as she raised her wand and closed her eyes.

Behind her eyelids, she did her best to imagine a needle, one that her father might have used to sew up the holes in the toes of his socks. It was silver and pointed, a rounded hole at the top with navy thread poking through, the metallic sheen glistening against the light of the fireplace. Quietly murmuring the spell, Daphne opened her eyes and grinned as she caught sight of her match on the table. Like Hermione's, it wasn't pointy enough to use to sew with, but it was no longer just a silver matchstick!

"Thank you so much, Hermione," she sighed in relief, slumping back against the couch as she rolled the match-needle between her fingers. "You're brilliant."

The girl beside her shrugged, pink tinting her cheeks. "It's alright."

As the brunette stood and moved towards the dormitory, Daphne called back out to her. "Wait!"

She raised her eyebrows as she turned, waiting.

"I'm sorry for what happened at lunch," Daphne began, her fingers twisting at the hem of her shirt. "I didn't mean to get so defensive."

Hermione shrugged. "It's okay. Besides," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "it was pretty cool."

Grinning, Daphne waved goodnight as Hermione climbed the stairs, looking into the fire for several moments in contemplation before pulling out her extended bag from her pocket. Rummaging through, she felt her fingers brush over a familiar leather spine and pulled until the dark green journal was sitting on the sofa beside her.

Tucking her legs up next to her, Daphne pulled the journal into her lap and began to read, only heading up to the dormitory as she felt her eyes struggling to stay open. She barely acknowledged the girls that were still awake, waving blindly at Natalie and Anna as she hurriedly shrugged on her pyjamas before slumping into bed.

If their first day had been this eventful, what could they expect from the rest?