CHAPTER ONE
October, 1977

     As she gazed upon the sun rising behind the Quidditch Pitch, Daphne Sullivan found herself wondering...Did everyone make hopes and resolutions before this new year?

     I mean, people who believe in those "new year, new me" things are just weird.

     But still, aiming to improve yourself, hoping to be the best in your class this time. Those things felt important to her, they held a lot of weight, knowing full well that she had harbored even grander ambitions prior to the onset of this year. Yet, she felt like a fool because she thought something positive would finally manifest in her life this time.

     It had been a month and a half since her 6th year at Hogwarts started, nine months into 1977, and Daphne always found herself putting off thinking about her life. Beyond the sense of helplessness that gripped her, a more pressing concern gnawed at her conscience: her passion. Was it her fault? Had she not tried hard enough? Was it because she wasn't from a pure-blood family with more opportunities? It didn't seem right. She was a good student, sometimes even a bit annoying, and her moms were the best parents she could ask for.

     So, what was it?

     What was stopping her from pursuing her dream of becoming a Healer? Were healing spells not adequately covered in her coursework? Or had she missed something important before starting her sixth year?

     Again, that couldn't be, she was too way too detail-oriented to miss something like that.

          "Goood Mornin'!"

     Ophelia Everhart, her closest friend from Gryffindor and also one of her roommates, was the most cheerful and bubbly person she knew, her infectious energy a constant presence. Having her around was mostly a comfort, sprinkling humor and levity wherever she went. Ophelia had a special talent for brightening her mood, even in the toughest times, with just a few words.

          "Oh, come on, not this again," Ophelia pleaded, adjusting her posture so her head rested in her hand, her legs fidgeting behind her.

          "What?"

     Ophelia gestured toward her with a pointed finger, as if accusing Daphne of something far more significant than her actual actions, "You're doing your your thing again. It's getting depressing."

          "You mean when I'm overthinking? That's not depressing," Daphne retorted, with emphasis on the last word. "It's just...a thing. That I do."

     Ophelia snorted, "Yeah. Every morning since last week."

     The woman rose from her bed with a heavy sigh before proceeding to retrieve her uniform from the cluttered depths of her closet. While she sifted through the chaos, Daphne couldn't help but shake her head in disapproval, stealing a glance back at the window.

     Ophelia was her friend, and she was aware of her struggles with adjusting to their classes. However, she couldn't shake the feeling that Daphne was trying so much to rush through life, especially when it came to her aspirations of becoming a Healer. True, she wouldn't be learning some of the healing spells or potions until the following year, which was beyond her control. Yet, it wasn't merely the timing that troubled her.

     Daphne harbored a nagging sense of unpreparedness, believing that even mastering those skills wouldn't suffice. What she craved was deeper insight, akin to the experiences of the residents at the local hospital in her hometown, in the muggle world.

          "You know, you can always ask professor McGonagall about it. I bet there's some way students can practice spells. Or potions. Just like those Quidditch pricks are always flying on their stupid brooms." 

     After delivering her suggestion, Ophelia continued to examine the uniform meticulously, her brow furrowing in concentration. She ran her fingers over the fabric, checking for any imperfections. With a small sigh, she straightened up, her expression shifting to one of determination as she refocused her attention on her roommate.

          "Yeah, there's already a way for practicing, but it's not that simple, Oph. I can't just go out and practice healing spells on a tree. Plus, you know we're not allowed to visit St. Mungo's for observations," Daphne sighed, her gaze remaining fixed on the window. 

     Lost in her own thoughts, Daphne's eyes remained fixed on the Quidditch players already swooping and soaring around the pitch. The echoing laughter and banter of the boys ignited an inexplicable anger within her, tinged with a hint of jealousy. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy, a longing for the same freedom and privilege they effortlessly enjoyed. Though the idea of someone overhearing her thoughts seemed far-fetched, what she truly craved was something far more profound than some frivolous sport where everyone flew around, dodging deadly obstacles.

     Ophelia sauntered towards her bed, casually dropping Daphne's uniform beside her. With an air of nonchalance, she leaned against the bedpost, her arm propped lazily on her hip. "See? Overthinking."

     Daphne whipped around to face her friend. "Sorry. It's not like I can just switch it off. I keep thinking I can figure it out if I just think about it hard enough. I've been buried in books forever, but it's like I can only imagine this stuff. I need to actually see those wounds, you know? I need someone to teach me."

          "If it's this is so important to you, then let's figure it out for Merlin's sake. I'll even help you practice." Ophelia shrugged casually, her fingers idly tracing the hem of her own robe now, her mind already racing with possibilities.

          "And how would you do that?" Daphne scoffed, her gaze still fixed elsewhere.

          "I could get hurt or something. And you'd fix me up." Ophelia shrugged.

     Daphne turned to her friend, her grey coloured eyes widened and her face contorted with worry. "Are you mental?"

          "Calm down, it's just a suggestion," Ophelia muttered, crossing her arms and sinking into her seat. "I wasn't planning on breaking my arm, anyway. We can start with something simple, like a paper cut."

     She knew exactly what her friend was thinking, yet the danger loomed large in her mind. What if she botched the spell? She wouldn't let Daphne touch her again. The idea didn't sound too terrible, of course, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was still illegal. 

          "It's either McGonagall or me jumping off a cliff. You choose." 

     Daphne hoisted from her bed, "Stop joking. I'll talk to McGonagall."

          "Who said I was joking?"

✶ 

     The Great Hall buzzed with students engaged in lively conversation, laughter ringing out as they enjoyed their breakfast. Despite the cacophony of noise and the crowded atmosphere, it felt like home to Daphne. Being a muggle-born witch, she couldn't care less about her origins; the Universe had set her on this path, and she embraced it proudly. 

     Though, summers could feel stifling without the freedom to practice spells at home. She longed to demonstrate her magical prowess to her mothers rather than explain the intricacies of Lumos. The only thing that actually bothered Daphne about her being a muggle-born were the occasionally faced disapproving glances from the Slytherin table.

     Most of the time she preferred to believe they weren't all as hostile as they seemed.

     Ophelia had been regaling her with stories of her latest encounter with a Ravenclaw boy ever since they left the dorm room. Daphne enjoyed her friend's anecdotes, especially those involving boys, as they were always the most entertaining. Ophelia wasn't your typical "it girl"; she was refreshingly unpredictable, often bordering on eccentricity, which only added to the amusement of her stories for Daphne. 

     However, her thoughts soon turned to her upcoming Transfiguration class and her plan to seek help from Professor McGonagall. She couldn't fathom why she hadn't considered it sooner— it seemed like the most sensible and intelligent idea Ophelia had ever proposed.

          "Are you listening?"

     Daphne turned her head to Ophelia, noticing that her friend had come to a halt and was studying her face intently, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. Sometimes, she could actually do just that. She felt guilty for her recent absentmindedness but was grateful for Ophelia's understanding and unwavering support.

          "Yeah, sorry. I was jus-"

     Before Daphne could even finish her sentence, she was interrupted by the sensation of some odd and cold liquid splashing onto her shirt and skin. She winced, her mouth falling open in a gasp as she recoiled from the unexpected chill. Her eyes snapped shut instinctively, but she could hear Ophelia taking a few steps back and shouting something unintelligible to her ears. Following her friend's urgent gestures, Daphne opened her eyes and glanced down at her uniform, now drenched in pumpkin juice. The orange liquid spread across her body, dripping from her skirt onto her black shoes.

          "Oh, so now I'm supposed to believe this was purely unintentional, huh?" Ophelia shot back at the two boys in front of her, her finger pointed accusingly at the drenched Daphne, her expression a mixture of frustration and indignation.

          "Calm down, woman! It's not my fault you can't watch where you're going," a male voice retorted, his tone tinged with anger as he defended himself.

          "We were literally standing still, you prick!" Ophelia countered, her voice rising with each word as she refused to back down.

     Daphne finally took a moment to register who stood before her, the boys' identities evident from their reactions alone. It was none other than the infamous, arrogantly charming James Potter and his equally chaotic companion, Sirius Black. Their Gryffindor affiliation was unmistakable, but neither Daphne nor Ophelia had ever entertained the idea of befriending them. Renowned for their inventive pranks and tight-knit friendship, Daphne had hesitated to engage with them beyond a few passing words.

         "Stop yelling at each other. It doesn't really change the fact that I'm drenched in this," Daphne interjected, her voice laced with exasperation as she gestured to her soaked attire. "What even is it?"

          "Pumpkin juice," they all said.

     James and Sirius exchanged tense glances with Ophelia before James decided to speak up. "I'm sorry, okay? It was my cup. I was trying to show Sirius something, and I kind of bumped into you."

     Daphne flicked the liquid from her hands, her frustration palpable as she let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, it's kind of not our fault."

          "Well, you girls were kind of standing in the middle of the hallway," Sirius countered, his tone defensive.

          "Excuse me?" Daphne bristled, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to defend herself.

     James frowned as the tension between the three of them intensified, particularly now that Daphne's calm facade had slipped. Their eyes locked, and he showed no signs of remorse for the condition of her attire. He maintained his unwavering stare at her face, and she reciprocated, her frustration evident in her fixed stare. Not only had her morning already been less than ideal, but now she faced the prospect of returning to the dorms, missing breakfast, and potentially even her Transfiguration class — the only one that mattered to her at the moment. 

     Once again, it seemed the Universe was conspiring against her, and these boys were proving to be just as stubborn as she had anticipated. 

          "Hey, team. Oh, what happened? Did you miss Snivellus again?" Peter Pettigrew inquired as he approached the group. "And by the way, have you seen Remus?" 

          "Shut it!" Both girls said simultaneously.

✶

          "Just in time, Miss Sullivan. I've been meaning to have a word with you."

     Daphne had been hoping fervently ever since she escaped that dreadful incident that she wouldn't miss her Transfiguration class, and to her surprise, she didn't. Ophelia was clever enough to cast a spell and remove any traces of juice from her, which lifted her spirits a bit — although she still smelled like a pie.

    But the commotion they had caused that morning was perhaps the sole reason Professor McGonagall sought to speak with her. Daphne was consistently one of the top students in all her classes, and she had never given her teachers any cause to deduct points or to request a meeting other than to commend her for her academic achievements.

     It wasn't unexpected that the head of her house wished to see her. Since her first year, she had made a concerted effort to behave, which was precisely why she avoided associating with James, Sirius, Remus, or Peter. Their reputation as troublemakers was well-known throughout the school, and she knew that aligning herself with them would never lead to anything positive.

          "I know why you wanted to see me and I'm deeply sorry for everything. I should have acted more maturely but you should know it wasn't my fault, professor. Those boys are always walking ar-"

          "What precisely are you referring to, miss Sullivan?"

     Daphne abruptly ceased speaking, her expression clouded with confusion. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth slightly ajar. It wasn't merely curiosity that stirred within her; there was also a hint of apprehension. She feared that Professor McGonagall might discover the incident and impose consequences upon them all, leaving her in the dark about the reason for their meeting. She wasn't concerned about potential retaliation from the boys; after all, it was their fault. 

     Nevertheless, Daphne was keen to avoid any ill will. While she would have been upset to miss her class, upon reflection, there wasn't much else about the situation that truly bothered her.

          "Nothing, Professor. Sorry if I made things confusing."

     McGonagall arched a brow, her gaze sweeping over Daphne from head to toe. Though she suspected there was more to the girl's story, she opted not to press the matter and instead delved directly into the topic at hand.

          "This morning, I have been informed that Madam Pomfrey is struggling to manage the influx of injuries from the Quidditch players," she began, her tone measured. "With the championship drawing near, they've intensified their training, often at the expense of missing classes. Consequently, Madam Pomfrey has requested assistance from myself and the other professors. She intends to organize training sessions between classes for selected students, deemed qualified to help her in the infirmary."

          "Oh, Merlin! That's fantastic, Professor! You don't even know how great! But, like, when are we supposed to help out with the injured ones?"

         "Madam Pomfrey has instructed me to inform you that she will convene with you in the Medical Wing, where she will provide detailed instructions. Following each training session or Quidditch match, you will treat and help your fellow students as necessary. Only three students from each house have been selected, so please inform Oberon and Abigail that training will commence tomorrow after your Herbology class."

     Daphne's face lit up with happiness and excitement. She was practically bursting with joy as she stood before the older woman. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much for this, Professor! I'll tell Oberon and Abigail right after class. Seriously, thank you!"

        "Thank yourself for displaying such passion for this endeavor, Miss Sullivan You were my first choice, and I trust that neither you nor your peers will disappoint me."

          "I promise you."

     As soon as McGonagall dismissed her, Daphne hurried out of the Transfiguration classroom, scanning the corridor for Ophelia. Spotting no sign of the girl, Daphne quickened her pace, her anticipation lending strength to her legs as she made her way back to the Gryffindor common room.

     She was still in awe, struggling to fully process what had just transpired. The realization that Madam Pomfrey herself would be training them left her feeling incredulous. At just sixteen years old, she was on the cusp of realizing her dream of becoming a young resident Healer. 

     It all seemed too surreal.

     Despite the overwhelming excitement, she couldn't shake off the weight of her previous doubts and uncertainties. For so long, she had grappled with self-doubt and uncertainty, tirelessly searching for a solution to her aspirations. Now, it seemed as though everything was falling into place. All she needed was a little more patience, and her dreams would soon be within reach. 

     As you might have guessed, Daphne was an overthinker. She had a tendency to believe that procrastination would somehow magically resolve all of her problems. It didn't matter to her that some of these problems were beyond her control. Now, with this unexpected opportunity before her, she couldn't help but acknowledge Ophelia's insight. Daphne had been desperately trying to fast-track her life, but she wasn't complaining either. These developments were essentially the solution she had been pondering with in her mind but couldn't quite pinpoint.

     Arriving sooner than expected, Daphne swiftly pushed open the door to their room, a wide smile adorning her face. However, her expression quickly faltered as she caught sight of her best friend snogging with the infamous James Potter in her bed.

          "So that's the Ravenclaw boy you've been telling me about." 

     The two of them turned their heads in perfect unison — James' hand still on Ophelia's ass — to the girl standing in the doorway. Ophelia's green eyes were wide with a mixture of guilt and apprehension, while James looked equally taken aback, albeit with a hint of confusion. Daphne felt a surge of emotions coursing through her, her initial shock quickly giving way to a seething anger and a profound sense of betrayal. 

     She locked eyes with Ophelia, her stare piercing like daggers, daring her friend to explain herself. Ophelia's mouth opened as if to speak, but Daphne could already see the excuses forming on her lips. Her gaze then flickered to James, a smirk dancing on her lips—a silent acknowledgment of the twisted irony that her best friend's lies had become more captivating than the truth.

     With her speech already well-rehearsed in her mind, Daphne couldn't help but silently thank her overthinker tendencies. It seemed it had prepared her perfectly for this moment, as she stood ready to face whatever lay ahead.

TESSA'S THOUGHTS . . .

yo, here it is! had a blast writing this. love throwing in a few plot twists. stoked to announce i'll be dropping new chapters every monday! if i ever forget to update you guys, hit me up. already itching to dive into chapter 2, especially since i wanna flesh out James and Daphne's dynamic. if you've got time, pls drop me some honest feedback. always looking to improve!

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