CHAPTER 2: A Man of Wealth and Taste (Part 1)

Most of the students rarely came down to the Great Hall on the last day of school, especially this early in the morning. With the last of the common room parties and plenty of tearful sleepovers that tended to become all-nighters, everyone was either sleeping, trying to fall asleep, or groaning over a hangover while still in bed. Besides Hermione, there were ten, maybe fifteen others already down there, their breakfasts served beside their books and quills. It was her usual crowd, the only people as erudite and obsessed as her. Padma and Pansy were there, sitting at their respective tables. They were the only ones from her year whom she had been expecting. She also knew the rest, having tutored the younger ones in the last few years and asked for help from the older ones when she first went there. It had been a stab at her pride, but more out of an attempt at friendship during those first lonely months than anything else.

The way they were all looking at her made her wish she hadn't come down today.

She kept her head as high as she could, ignoring the eyes on her as she crossed into the hall and sat at the Gryffindor table. It had been easy to brush off all the attention when it had been directed at Neville. Hermione had spent years rolling her eyes at him for being so self-conscious about it, never truly understanding what it felt to be the centre of attention until people actually started looking at her instead of past her. In some other life, maybe, she would have thrived on it. She'd always chased it, hadn't she? Wasn't that the reason why she worked so hard on proving to everyone in the classroom that she was the best? Why she'd fall over herself, raising her hand so that the teachers could pick her out of the crowd. But back then everyone used to look at her with jealousy or awe, now they didn't even spare her the slightest pity.

All the students inside this room were just like her, copies of who she used to be just a few months ago. Smart and ambitious. Driven and relentless. Pompous and conceited. Before Hogwarts, Hermione didn't think there could be anything worse than jocks. Self-absorbed, superficial prats, using whatever athletics and good looks they had been luckily given to prop themselves up without caring about who they stepped on. Even after being sorted into Gryffindor and having to live with a whole pride of them, only Fred and George became exceptions for her, and that was probably because they were Ron's brothers. Now she realised she was just as bad as them. These were people who used to come to her for help, she used to run laps around them and make them look like seven-year-olds, and now, whenever they looked at her, it was always with disgust, and disdain, as if she was some sort of deformed animal that should be avoided at all costs.

It wasn't as if she didn't know this would happen, there was a reason why she had tried so hard to hide her condition at first. But if the long list of excuses she ran through or Umbridge giving her special privileges to take the OWLs weren't enough to give her away, her stupid stutter took care of the job. Soon after she had been cleared to come back to the castle, the news had spread and rumours had sparked, causing her to become the latest freak for everyone to gawk at over the past couple of weeks. And while most of the castle had simply written her off as a retard, a harmless, brainless Mudblood who could barely make coherent sentences, her peers weren't as ambivalent. They were mocking, though not explicitly so. Cruel in their abrupt change, seeing her as some sort of cautionary tale, almost blaming her for ending up the way she did.

Hermione could see the superiority in their eyes, and she hated them for it. She slammed her books on the table, much harsher than she ought to have done, and started grabbing a quick breakfast.

She wished she could say she would have acted differently if the situation was reversed. That she would have been empathetic and compassionate. Understanding. Maybe even trying to be helpful. But she wasn't convinced. Maybe she would have been that way, but she would have had that same superiority that she now constantly saw. After all, didn't she think herself better than Ron and Neville because of how smart she was? Because she was studious and ambitious, while they had been lazy and irresponsible. She judged them, deep down, and even though she didn't say it to their faces, nobody said it to hers either. Hermione didn't know what was worse, the fact that she could understand why they were acting that way, or the fact that she would have been no different from them.

It was a small breakfast, and a quick one at that before Hermione pushed away the plates and brought the tomes to her left. With a stack of parchments on her right and a quill in her hand, she opened the book and started reading.

The healers told her that she had been making good progress over the past couple of months. She didn't stutter as much, she could focus longer, and had improved her reading comprehension. Her parents had said so as well, and even Professor Dumbledore came in one day and praised her for her determination. Hermione didn't feel any different. She used to cherish tearing through books, soaking up whatever knowledge she could, writing down everything she found interesting so that she could go over it in her spare time and see if she could come up with theories or connections with other branches of magic. Now, just trying to read a single page felt like a colossal task. She lost herself all the time, and whatever she did manage to read took her an immense amount of effort to fully understand. Even stuff she already knew sometimes felt like it was trapped in her mind, hidden from her just so that she could struggle and fail more often.

It had been nearly two months since she had started studying again, and she was only just starting to cover what they saw in their third year. There was still so much to cover and so little time. Umbridge and the rest of the Ministry were being lenient, to the point that it was almost insulting. All the practical sections of the exams had been cut, and replaced by unbiased assessments from past and present teachers from each subject, and even with the added months she was given, she was constantly reassured that there would be no time limit for the exam and that the evaluators wouldn't be too strict with grading the essay questions. She couldn't complain, not with how vital the OWLs were in determining her future as a witch, but the fact that she was the only student being given this preferential treatment, not just now but since the inception of the exams, felt like a spit in the face. A free pass. The purebloods with power told her she wouldn't be capable otherwise, disguising mockery with aid.

She could do this on her own, she would have aced all these exams ten times over only a few months ago. She wasn't some helpless thing that needed to be babied. And yet, every time she thought about going to the Ministry and telling Scrimgeour she wanted to take the OWLs just like everyone else, she saw a flash of a wand being snapped, heard the crack, and all the courage immediately left her. Once upon a time, maybe she was capable enough, but being a witch meant too much to her to be it out of pride.

So, just like she'd done every morning since the night of the sieges, Hermione gave everything she had. Reading the pages four, five, and sometimes even six times until she managed to somewhat understand it and write enough notes for her to be satisfied. One by one, she forced herself to be patient, and as she started losing focus once students started coming in, she doubled down and forced herself to keep her eyes on the book. She went on, unperturbed, for God knows how much time before Neville entered the Great Hall. She felt it before he had even crossed the threshold, something just shifted inside the room as everything went quiet.

Everyone was glaring at Neville. The glimpses of disdain she was met with were nothing compared to the sheer anger that could be felt from the Great Hall towards Neville. She'd seen it countless times since her return to Hogwarts. When everyone had turned against Neville at the beginning of the year, people had been more cold than hostile. Sure, you had your Malfoys and Parkinsons who relished making their lives a living hell, but for the most part, people just avoided him, maybe scoffing at his presence. This time, they shoved him as he walked, yelling "Pretender!" through the halls. They spit at his shoes and hexed him from across the classroom, not even Umbridge's lackeys were enough to stop the outright venom from the rest of the students.

Ever since the Daily Prophet released its series of exposes, framing Neville as some attention-seeking brat who used his parents' death to bring fame and glory to himself. Using the report from the Department of Mysteries that Harry was in fact the Chosen One instead of Neville - having the phoenix and the pictures to prove it - to turn the entire country against him. The Boy Who Shouldn't Have Lived, they called him now. It wasn't just the tabloids and sensationalist journalists looking to squeeze everything they could out of the story who did so, but the whole country. The students, the store owners from Hogsmeade, healers who attended to her at St Mungo's, and even some Wizengamot members called him that derisive name. The whole country demanded retribution, seeking out anyway in which they could make Neville and the Longbottom family as a whole pay for their supposed betrayal. They revoked his Order of Merlin, and his parents' too. They took his Award for Special Services to the school from him, despite having actually saved Harry and Ginny from the basilisk. The Longbottom name had been tarnished, broken beyond repair, as some said, and though people were still hesitant to go toe to toe against Augusta herself, the fear they had of her didn't extend to her grandson.

Not that she put much of an effort at stopping said treatment.

As usual, the mutterings started. Spews of hatred and mockery disguised as quiet conversations between housemates, and though Neville tried to hide it, Hermione could tell how much it affected him. Her friend had changed over the past couple of months. His face was gaunt, his skin pale, almost gray. He was worse than how he'd been at the start of the year. At least then, he had some anger, signs of life behind his eyes. Now he seemed defeated, walking with a slump, not even bothering to pretend he was alright. And though it was clear to everyone how much they were hurting him, it still wasn't enough for the others. Silas Bell, the sixth-year Ravenclaw who was one of the Beaters in the Quidditch team and was aiming to be next year's Head Boy, stood up abruptly, crashing into Neville and pushing him against the ground. "Watch where you're going, cripple!" He sneered, causing the hall to explode in laughs and shouts.

The few teachers inside the room immediately snapped into action, trying to gain control of the situation, shouting for attention, but without Umbridge or the threat of detentions, none of the students cared. They started ganging up against Neville, shoving him around as he started to get up. Hermione felt the urge to step in and help, but all her confidence was lost as she imagined herself stuttering for them to stop. She felt helpless, gripping her book as it all unfolded before her. Then something in the air changed, she felt her spine straighten, and a sense of dread spread from within her chest. Whatever it was, the others must have felt it too, because even as the Great Hall remained in chaos, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that had been messing with Neville suddenly looked as afraid as she felt. And when Neville pushed his way through, no one else tried to stop her.

He sat in front of her, barely glancing at her as he began picking out his breakfast. She tried to catch his eyes, find a way to convey an apology without risking herself looking like a retarded twit, but he wouldn't look at her. He was twitching, looking at his side, almost looking as if he was trying to keep himself from doing something. He looked a lot like that lately. She wanted to talk to him, help him, and do anything to get her friend back. But he always brushed her off, and with Ron, he wasn't so kind. They'd tried everything, even run out of options. Hermione just wished he'd listened to her in those moments when she managed to get herself to talk. There was so much she wanted to tell him; how grateful she was that he had risked his life when she knew she was in trouble, how scared she had been when the orb burnt off his arm, how desperate she was that he knew she didn't blame her for what that woman did to her. She had fifteen notebooks worth of things she needed to say to him, but she could never get the words out.

Neither said anything to the other. Hermione continued writing down notes, and Neville played with the food on his plate as he slowly ate. But with him at the table, she began losing her focus more often. Her eyes were drawn to his face, his clothes, the iron fingers peeking out from within his robes. In front of her lay living proof of how badly she had failed this past year. It had always been her job to keep her boys safe, only this time, she had been the one to blame.

Ron and Ginny appeared soon after, rushing to the table and grabbing whatever was nearby. Late was the Weasley standard, which meant that it would only be a few minutes before the teachers started herding them into the carriages. Neville was enough of a distraction on his own, with the others there she wouldn't be able to get anything done.

"What were you reading?" Ginny asked as Hermione started putting her books away.

Unlike Hermione and Neville, Ron and Ginny had been spared from any long-term effects of the Death Eaters' curses. It was an important fact, at least to her. A voice in her head never failed to remind her that whenever she felt annoyed at one of them. They wouldn't understand, not in the way Neville or someone like Harry would. It was selfish, condescending, spiteful, and she hated herself for even thinking it, especially during those moments when she'd watch their facade drop as the shadows of the night of the sieges became more apparent behind their eyes.

Ron grabbed the stack of parchments before she could answer, and for once, instead of being angry at him for it, she was grateful. "Boggarts, kappas, grindylows. See, you're already up to third-year Defence!"

It wasn't enough, not for her, and even though she knew he was just trying to comfort her, it wasn't working. But instead of snapping back, she swallowed up her words and gave him a tight smile. Ron was so concerned with her lack of an answer that she managed to easily snatch back her stuff and jam it into her book bag.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," he rushed out, standing up. "I can help you with that."

"No, thanks," she finally said.

"Hermione…"

"We can help out, you know?" Ginny joined in. "We could write down the notes for you, that should help you work through the years faster."

"There's also our notes," Ron continued. "I still haven't thrown out my notes from the year, and I think Mum can just use the ironing spell on the parchments to clear out the wrinkles. Ginny also has her fourth-year notes, which should help too."

"I'm fine."

"No one's saying you're not fine," Ginny assured her.

"Or that you need help," Ron added. "We just want to make ourselves useful-

"Then stop!" The words tore through her throat. "Ju-just stop, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine. I've told you I'm fine, and you, you… uh, you don't listen. If I- If I need help, I'll ask, okay?"

Her outburst wasn't strong enough to silence the Great Hall, but Hermione could still feel the attention on her. Their gaze burned through her robes, singing her skin. It was everywhere, and it only made her flush with embarrassment.

"Sorry," Ginny said. "We just…" we just wanted to help, Ginny wanted to say, and it only made Hermione feel worse. "We're sorry."

"Yeah, you're probably better off," Ron said lightly, trying to joke past the uncomfortableness of the situation. "Our notes don't exactly meet the Hermione standard, do they?" There was no bitterness, no hint of it having any deeper meaning than what was on the surface. And it was true, in the past, she had rejected his notes because of how sloppy and vague they were. She hadn't realised how awful she had been until now.

"No, it's not that. It's just… I… it doesn't help. I know you're, uh, you're trying to, but it's… it's…" She had the words on her tongue, but they wouldn't come out. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but couldn't find a way to express it. And the more she struggled, the more she wanted to stop talking. "It just doesn't work. This… it's just something I need to do on my own."

The station was completely filled. Kids ran back and forth, rushing to find their pieces of luggage and hurl them onto the train, as everyone became desperate to find a compartment. The loud horn blasts from the train were being drowned out by everything else; voices, screams, laughs, teachers herding everyone inside and making sure all students were accounted for. It was the dullest, most tedious form of chaos, somehow lacking anything exciting despite having the rush and urgency he would attribute to soldiers arming themselves up for war. It was reminders like this that strengthened his resolve, confirming why he'd chosen to leave what he'd once thought of as his perfect life. The life of an average student just wasn't for him any more, and even with everything else that had been going on, these past six weeks had been just as mind-numbing as his time in Aurora's world.

Pansy had been ruthless, whipping him and Theo back and forth, day and night, throughout the whole month they had free until their OWLs. The others were involved as well, even Crabbe and Goyle were her subjects for an impressive three days before their stupidity made Pansy explode and banish them from her study group (a punishment that Harry, and most others, saw more as a mercy). But while Daphne Blaise and Draco had the freedom to quit at any time they liked, Harry and Theo weren't so lucky. They were always the last ones to go to sleep and the first ones to wake up, rarely given breaks from their studying for things other than eating and keeping themselves clean. It caused many arguments between them, Theo had to step in as peacekeeper near the end of the month, but he always ended up coming back for their sessions. He'd missed the entire term, after all, he didn't really have the luxury to slack off, even though he really wanted to.

It didn't take away how lifeless it all was, waking up and studying all day before going to sleep and repeating the same thing over and over again. Rufus Scrimgeour ended up being his saviour, forcing him out of the castle for hours nearly every day since Fudge stepped down and he took office. It spared him from Pansy's wrath and made things a little more interesting, but it still wasn't enough. During his spare time, he did anything he could to keep busy, to make his adrenaline rise, even if just for a moment. Nights in the Room, Quidditch pick-up matches, keeping up with his training. It helped, and ever since he finished with his OWLs, life became that much more bearable. Now that the term had properly ended, and he was finally free from Hogwarts for a few months, Harry was feeling that twitch in his stomach. A feeling of anticipation that had been mounting ever since his talk with Scrimgeour nearly two months ago.

Oh, how he'd been looking forward to this summer break.

Harry made his way through the crowd, pushing his way forward, with Draco and Pansy trying to keep up behind him. With his luggage weightless and everyone turning to look at him as he walked past, he had it easier than most.

"Goodbye, Harry!" Hannah Abbott called out to him from afar, smiling large and waving, while her group of friends giggled.

"Have a good summer, mate," a sixth-year Gryffindor boy told him, slapping his shoulder as he kept on walking by.

"See you around, Montgomery," Harry said, that well-practiced grin on his face as he shared a nod with the boy before turning to Hannah and waving back at her.

He had barely been able to make his way through the station without someone trying to stop him. A hug, a handshake, or just a quick "Have a nice summer, Harry!" Anything to get his attention, a final word before they all went their separate ways. It didn't matter the year or the house, or how much they had hated him in the past, they all did so because they were all as fake as his replies. He hated it, just like he had when he was forced to pretend to be the other Harry back in the other world, but it was necessary, and here, he at least got something out of it. The months of practice had served him well, he didn't think he would have had the patience for it without them.

Pansy latched herself onto his arm, and after a few too many times being stopped or stalled, she started glaring at people. She better than anyone knew how important it was to keep up appearances, but it seemed she had grown tired of the constant harassment from the entire castle. It wasn't like she was the only one, Theo had run off with Blaise and Daphne for that very reason. Draco, though, thrived from the attention. While Harry hated putting up his facade, Draco never seemed more at home than when he was leeching off his success. He was a snake, through and through, and Harry wasn't surprised by it. Draco wouldn't be Draco if he wasn't.

"You're unbearable," Pansy scoffed under her breath so no one other than him or Draco would be able to hear.

Harry's lips quirked up, the focus still on the two Slytherins, even as a few second-years shouted to him as they ran past them.

"It's called socializing, Parkinson," Draco drawled, unfazed by Pansy's comment. "Maybe if you did it every once in a while, people would like you more."

"It's called preening, and you look ridiculous doing it," Pansy's face shifted into a snobbish look as she imitated Draco's voice. "Ah, yes, Father actually built me a Quidditch pitch right outside the manor. I could host those pick-up games, start training for next season earlier than the rest of the peasants."

A snort escaped Harry's mouth, and Draco turned sharply to him. "I don't have to take this abuse."

He turned around and marched off, only to crash against a group of students who got in his way. Draco let out a sharp scream as he fell, something not unlike how he imagined Daphne would scream, while the red-headed boy he crashed against fell with him, taking most of the brunt of the damage. Harry finally lost it, breaking all character as he laughed at Draco's misfortune, and though Pansy didn't join him, there was a satisfied smirk on her face. Ginny turned towards them, and instead of lashing out at them like he thought she would, she laughed before picking Ron up from the floor.

"Watch it, Weasley," Draco sneered, pushing himself off the ground and smacking the dust from his robes.

"You're the one that bumped into us!"

"Even with the station empty, you'd still find a way to land on your arse."

"Don't be a git, Malfoy" Harry stepped in before things got ugly, and for once, a real smile spread across his lips as he realised who was with the Weasleys. "All good, Ron?"

"He's fine," Ginny said. "He just likes complaining."

As Ron made a cry of outrage, Harry caught Draco's eye. Ever since Harry had come back, the two of them had got better at silent communication, especially when it came to one of their hobbies. It was petty, unnecessary, and cruel, but then again, so had Longbottom during those times he came down to the basement and taunted him while he was in his cell. Sure, they had worked together that night against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The Weasleys and Granger were out of bounds, but that didn't mean he couldn't still have his fun with Longbottom. He'd earnt it, after all.

And with a slight nod, Harry knew Draco had understood.

"We have to get going," Harry cut in abruptly, stopping the impending Ron and Ginny argument as all eyes landed on him. "Daphne is waiting for us on the train. But I'll see you guys over the summer?"

"Oh, definitely," Ginny exclaimed. "Mum'll want you for dinner at least once a week."

"That's fine with me," he looked down at the girls' luggage. "Are you two going to be alright carrying those?"

Draco smirked and turned towards Longbottom. "We could always lend a hand." It was like someone had fired off a curse, the smiles dropped from their faces. Ron glared at Malfoy, Hermione turned towards Longbottom with concern, putting a hand on his arm. And the one-armed wonder himself, he was looking as murderous as they came. Harry felt his magic, it would have been suffocating if not for his own being just as powerful. "Sorry," Draco added after a moment, looking completely unrepentant. "Poor choice of words."

"Malfoy," Harry warned, looking at Pansy, who rolled her eyes and stepped forward.

"Come on," she grabbed Draco's arm and began pulling him away. "We need to get to the prefects' carriage."

Everyone turned to him, and though last year he would have taken any chance to mock the cripple, he'd learned it was more satisfying not to. The entire castle did that for him regardless. "Sorry about him. He can have his moments, but Malfoy is still Malfoy, you know?" He focused on Longbottom, getting a thrill at how his response only made the rage behind those eyes grow fiercer. "I'll have a word with him on the train, he was out of line."

"Yeah, right," Longbottom spat under his breath

"But I meant what I said," Harry continued. "I can help out with your trunks, if yo-"

"No, we don't need your help," Longbottom interrupted him harshly. "Just fuck off already."

"Neville," Ginny snapped. "He's just trying to help."

"He's just…" he barked out a laugh, angry and mad all at once. "Come on, Ginny, you're not this stupid."

"Mate, just calm down," Ron tried to grab Longbottom's shoulder, but the boy shrugged him off.

"It's fine," Harry said. "Don't worry, guys. It's fine. Again, I'm really sorry about Malfoy."

He walked away, finally allowing himself a small laugh as he made his way towards the train door. And when he turned back, he was glad to see the four Gryffindors arguing with each other. The queue to the train was already brimming, and barely moving as people inside the train went back and forth with their trunks trying to find the right compartment. But being the saviour of the wizarding world wasn't without its perks, people let him through without Harry having to say a word, shoving themselves to the wall just so that there was space for him to walk. Acting gracious had never been so easy.

When he found Daphne, she was alone in the compartment. She was wearing a set of elegant purple robes, tailor-made, like all of her clothes, and perfectly accentuating her figure. Her blond hair was long and voluminous, cascading over her shoulders as she looked up at him, already expecting him. The five trunks were already there, but no one was around, and Harry got the feeling that it was her doing. He entered the compartment, hurling his trunk up on the racks above them before lowering the blinds. He pulled out his wand, but before he could use it, a spell flew past him, locking the door. Daphne raised an eyebrow at him, holstering her wand once again.

"Theo and Blaise?"

"Theo went off with some of the Quidditch team. Blaise is asking Megan Jones if he can owl her this summer. Pansy and Draco?"

"Prefects meeting, shouldn't be back for another half hour or so."

"Good."

Daphne grabbed him by the tie and pulled him downward. He landed on top of her, his knee beside her leg and his arm holding onto the wall behind the seat as their lips met. The kiss was hot, passionate, rough, like everything they did together. Her tongue was soon prodding at his lips, and they lost themselves in that struggle for dominance that drove him crazy. It went on longer than it should have, and by the time he was breathless, he had Daphne fully pinned down below him, lying across the seat with her legs in between his knees. Carefully, he pushed himself off and landed softly on the ground, where he started fixing up his clothes. Thankfully, his hair was always short and messy nowadays, Daphne's work on it wouldn't raise any eyebrows to anyone but the two of them.

He felt her move behind him, and before he knew it, her lips were kissing at his neck. He craned his neck to the side, giving her more space to explore.

"Blaise and Theo could come back at any minute."

Daphne hummed in agreement, the smell of her perfume clouding his mind.

"They'll know just by seeing the blinds down and the door locked."

"I know," she said.

The feel of her lips on his skin was driving him mad. It was taking all he had not to jump on her again.

"We have to stop."

She smiled against his skin, before leaning back and whispering in his ear. "Are you saying you don't want this?"

"No," he breathed out, already craving her touch.

"Then kiss me."

He turned around in an instant, grabbing her hands and pushing her against the backseat. She was smiling cockily, her eyes dancing and lips swollen. She never looked as beautiful as when he had her to himself like this. He reached forward, her cold breath tickling his face. He was only inches away. Their eyes were closing, he could feel her lean in slightly, and then he let her hands go. He smirked, watching her realise what he was doing before he stood up and sat on the seat in front of her. She was flushed, angry, and horny all at the same time. He could feel the need rolling off of her in waves.

"Maybe later."

She scoffed, glaring at him as she too began fixing her clothes. Harry unlocked the door and opened the blinds before he started fumbling around the pockets of his robe for something to keep him distracted until the others came back.

"We're going back home, you know, we won't have many chances for this until we come back next term," Daphne grumbled.

He could tell she wanted something from him just by the way she was looking at him. Daphne had let him take the lead most of the time, deciding when and where. She never pressed, not about this. "I take it your father wants you to stay close to me, even in the summer."

She didn't look bothered by the comment. "It's not like you wouldn't enjoy it."

"And you? Do you enjoy it or are you just doing what you're told?"

She smirked. "Can't it be both?"

"It's not going to work, you know? Trying to manipulate me. Make me fall in love. It's not going to happen."

"Then you have nothing you should be worried about."

Augusta stood still as she watched the train pull up to the station. She could feel the glares of disdain that were aimed towards her, always from the sides and behind, because even after what her idiotic grandson had done to their family, they all knew better than to challenge her. The Longbottoms had lost their power, and their respect and even their finances had become affected ever since the stupid brat revealed his phoenix to the world. But despite all of that, she was calm in the face of adversity. The Longbottoms had been one of the strongest families in the country for centuries now, and she wouldn't let the actions of two children destroy that. At that moment, she was thankful for Albus' ridiculous schemes, having the boy as her ward gave her all the power she needed to build everything back up.

She spotted him from afar. Not because the boy was easy to notice, but because of the phoenix he had with him. Immediately, the crowd at the station reacted with awe. Witches and wizards pathetically ran to the boy, thanking him for joining the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, asking if they could pet his phoenix, all while the pack of photographers and journalists flashed their cameras and yelled out questions for Potter to answer. He was everything he hadn't been the few times she had met him, gracious and humble without looking weak, charming and sociable despite being a misanthropic brat, a senseless animal who was good for nothing but murder. It was an act, Augusta had witnessed the true version of the boy too many times that she noticed the edges of the mask.

The fact that he had learned to wield the power his fame brought him was no more than a nuisance, but it still angered her to her core.

Her grandson, the gormless twit, scurried off towards her. What had once been the pride of the Longbottom name, the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, a boy recognised by the entire world, was now invisible. Noted only by those whose hatred for him superseded their admiration for Potter. He kept his head hung down, the perfect image of a petulant child too weak to be able to hold himself together. Seeing him again only confirmed what she already knew, her grandson would never be a great man, he would have tarnished the Longbottom name if he had ever become the Head of the Longbottom house, but he managed to do so even without it. He would only be a failure. A crippled disappointment. Her poor Frank had been murdered for nothing, because that's what the boy was worth.

"Mister Potter! Mister Potter!"

The reporters got louder the closer they came to Augusta. Everyone's attention was finally turning towards them, a crowd surrounding them, almost threateningly close. Augusta kept her nose up and sent a warning glance at her grandson to straighten up, but of course, the miscreant was avoiding her eye.

"Mister Potter, are you sure you'll be safe staying at the Longbottoms?"

"Is the Ministry involved with your guardianship?"

"Will Aurors be posted in the residence?"

"Can't you ask to stay in a safe house? Surely, the Minister could make an exception."

"Please, please," the Potter brat called out as soon as he reached Augusta's side. "I appreciate the concern, but I assure you all, everything will be fine. The Minister is well aware of the situation, and there is no fiercer woman than Augusta Longbottom. She has proven to be a kind, suitable guardian, I could not be in better hands."

The crowd exploded in outrage, journalists pushing through the masses as they attempted to ask more questions. Potter tried to handle it, but there were too many people. It wasn't until the Aurors became involved, and the people were forced to disperse, that Augusta could finally haul the two boys across the station and towards the floo chimneys. They arrived at Blackstone House, and Augusta watched as Potter crossed through the same chimney that had once sent him into Black's trap. But her anger was too overwhelming, especially after that spectacle Potter made with the crowd, it was hard to feel any satisfaction about the role she had played in that.

Augusta saw the exact moment in which Potter's mask faded entirely, and the arrogant boy hiding behind it was revealed. He began admiring the house, strutting around the entrance hall as he whistled a repetitive, grating tune that put her on edge.

"It's late already, so tomorrow, we'll discuss how you can repay the Longbottom house for so graciously taking you in," she ordered coldly. "For now, you'll be staying in the guest room on the seventh floor, it's the only one there, you couldn't miss it. The house-elves will not attend to your needs, any food you eat you must pay for, and you will not be allowed in any of the common areas other than the kitchen and the grounds. Is that clear?"

He turned, with a self-satisfied look on his face. "No… I think I'll take the master bedroom, actually."

"I beg your pardon."

"The master bedroom. I think I'll be comfortable there."

"If you think I'm going to allow a swaggering, buffoon of a nobody inside the bedroom of the great Lords and Ladies of the Longbottom house, you are dearly mistaken, boy."

Potter laughed, throwing his trunk on the ground before stepping closer to her. He was taller now than he'd been before, and though height had never been something that intimidated her, it made it clear how different he was from the boy she met last winter. "Not only are you going to do that, but you're going to thank me for it."

Augusta scoffed. "And why is that?"

"Because Rufus Scrimgeour is on his way. I had Aurora call him over for dinner, we have one or two of those every week to talk about the state of things. We were due one soon and I… I just couldn't help myself. I think my winter break would make for a pretty interesting topic of conversation, don't you? I mean, back then when I was a nobody and a suspected serial killer my word didn't hold much ground, especially to Augusta Longbottom, the grandmother of the Boy-Who-Lived. But, well…" he turned towards Neville and smirked. "Things have changed, haven't they? I don't have to tell you how devastating it would be for you, for your House, especially given the current climate. Conspiracy to imprison a minor, one that ended in his wand being snapped, now that's bad enough. But with me being the saviour and everything, well… you might as well have damned the entire country to Voldemort."

He stepped even forward, and Augusta couldn't help but back up slightly as he did so. The look in his eyes was predatory, and any thoughts that he might be bluffing quickly escaped her mind.

"Azkaban may have been taken over, the dementors may have defected, but I think I can find a cell sufficiently dark and dirty for the likes of you. And while you're there, alone, eating whatever scraps the Ministry will give to you, you'll be there knowing that the Longbottom House, everything you've worked your entire life to protect, will be in shambles, destroyed, a pathetic shadow of its former self. Your perfect reputation will be tarnished after the trial, the Longbottom name will be said with nothing but spite, and in time, its name will be lost to history, I'll make sure of that. We can do that… or we can do things my way, and it'll stay our little secret."

"Why would you do that?" Augusta challenged. "If you hate us that much, why not tell Scrimgeour and be done with it?

"Because it's more fun when I can have you around. The great Augusta Longbottom, the feared witch of the Wizengamot, humiliated and reduced to be my personal house-elf… there's nothing more fitting. See killing the people who made your life a living hell is really satisfying, beating them at their own game even more so, but keeping them around, visiting them, and ridiculing them for losing to you… there's nothing quite like it. You taught me that, after all."

There was a knock on the door behind them, the sound echoed across the entire manor. Potter's eyes fell on her and he raised an eyebrow at her. A question. A challenge. The bastard was happy either way. He didn't care if she died in a cell, it would still be a victory in his eyes. But to be reduced to that, to be forced into doing whatever he was planning, was the most demeaning thing he could have done to her. It wasn't meant to go like this, this wasn't how her life would end. She would live to fight another day, but still, it was hard to get the words out. "Very well. I'll have the house-elves clear the master bedroom."

Potter grinned. "Perfect. Have them move your things to the… smallest cupboard they can fit you in. A guest bedroom is too good for you, besides, I plan on having various guests over throughout the holidays." Then, he turned towards a fuming Neville, and his smile broadened. "Cheer up, mate," he slapped him in the back, hard enough for Augusta to know it wasn't a friendly gesture. "Someone finally put the bitch in her place. Too bad you couldn't manage it."

Strolling, and whistling that obnoxious tune once again, Potter made his way to the door. His hand was on the knob before he suddenly turned around. "Oh, Augusta, I think you're missing something."

She gritted her teeth and cursed Harry Potter's name a hundred times over in her mind. She would kill the brat, kill him with her bare hands if she had to. But until then, she was left with no choice other than to say the words.

"Thank you."

Thank you for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed this new chapter.

I'm hoping to get back to my long forgotten weekly schedule soon. So you should look forward to start getting more frequent updates :)

By the time I'm posting this, I'm THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and I'm starting the third arc of this book titled Show of Hands! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

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