A little while later, in the Slytherin common room, Daphne sat in the armchair that was the unofficial throne of the Gray. In front of her, two sofas sat at acute angles to her, producing a long diamond shape with a low table in the middle and her at the tip.
On the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy sat with the Dark in an almost identical set-up. Their armchairs were such that she and Malfoy could see each other with a turn of their heads but weren't looking at each other all the time.
In front of her sat Tracey, Blaise, Flint, and a few other children of the Gray, spread out over all seven year groups. One spot on Tracey and Blaise's sofa was conspicuously empty.
Occasionally, Daphne shot a glance to the Slytherin common room door. No one had come through it for a while now. The duelling trials should have finished by now. Soon, it would begin. Any moment now.
Tracey wrung her hands. "You could at least look a little worried, Daph."
Daphne looked up from her transfiguration homework. "Hermione will be fine. You saw the troll thing in the paper. Nott won't stand a chance."
Tracey looked at her. Her face betrayed a hint of exasperation. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?"
"Potter!"
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "What about Potter?"
"Have you seen him all evening?"
"Well, no."
"He could be at the duelling trials! He beat you, Daph. Did you forget that? He might be able to beat Hermione too."
Blaise looked over his charms book. "You know Tracey, you seem to keep quite an eye on Potter. Is there something you want to tell us?"
Tracey folded her arms and huffed. "I just think you're all taking him too lightly. Something's up with him. He acts far too confident considering how the house treats him. He never gets angry or sad, he just smiles as though the whole thing is a damn joke! And he's still from a noble house, even if he's not the heir."
Flint growled. "A Light noble house-no- the Light noble house."
Tracey didn't back down. "And he was sorted into Slytherin, not Gryffindor. When was the last time a Potter was sorted into Slytherin, hmm?"
Flint didn't get time to answer Tracey's question though, because at that moment the Slytherin common room door opened and a large group of Slytherins entered, led by a dazed and white faced Volf. The duelling captain looked like he'd seen a ghost. One you weren't supposed to see that is. His eye was blackened. His robes were shredded, crusted with mud and dirt, and he gripped one arm as though it might fall off.
Daphne's lip curled up slightly before she quickly schooled her features.
The common room went silent as Volf stumbled forward.
The various duelling club members spread out across the room, each one joining their respective year groups, ashen faces collapsing into sofas and chairs, and in the case of a fourth year witch, straight onto the floor by her friend's table, her legs apparently giving out beneath her.
Nott made a beeline for Malfoy's group and started whispering urgently with him. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, then widened in shock.
From the back of the group, Hermione emerged and made her way over, sitting herself down next to Tracey. Her face showed shock with a hint of awe. She stared off into the middle distance, seemingly unaware of their presence.
Daphne frowned. "Granger, what's going on? Why does the duelling club look like they just met the Dark Lord?"
Hermione turned to look her straight in the eyes. "Potter." Her voice sounded dead.
"What?" asked Tracey, without a hint of emotion.
Hermione took a deep breath, leaned forward and hissed, "Potter just took out the entire Slytherin duelling team!"
All heads around the table snapped up. Suddenly the name 'Potter' could be heard circulating the room.
Flint scoffed. "You're bullshitting."
...
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