The morning light in the courtyard was sharp and cold, catching the edges of the stone arches. Draconia walked with a measured pace, her robes sweeping against the frost-nipped grass. She had spent the previous afternoon feeling remarkably successful after her performance in Charms, though the exhaustion of the wit was starting to settle into her bones. The courtyard was mostly empty, save for a few laggards and a small group of first-years who had clearly lost their way. Three of them stood near a stone plinth, looking entirely bewildered by the sheer scale of the castle.
One boy was clutching a heavy textbook to his chest as if it might fly away. A girl beside him was frowning at a map, her eyebrows knitted together in a way that reminded Draconia of her mother when she was lost in the Malfoy estate gardens. The third child, a small boy with messy hair and glasses, was staring up at the high battlements with wide, blinking eyes. Draconia slowed her stride, watching them. They looked small and vulnerable, a sensation she usually found irritating in adults but strangely endearing in those who had not yet learned how to be cruel.
"The North corridor is that way, if you can actually read the ink," Draconia said, her voice cutting through the morning stillness.
The three children jumped. The girl with the map looked up, her face flushing a bright pink. "Is it the North corridor? We thought it was the West passage."
Draconia stepped closer, noting the way the smallest boy looked at her robes. She felt a strange pull of responsibility, a sudden urge to be useful rather than clever. "It is the North corridor, and you are currently standing in a dead end. If you keep walking that way, you will end up in the kitchens, and you will be too late for breakfast."
"We are not lost," the boy with the book insisted, though his voice wobbled. "We are just... investigating the architecture."
"Investigating is a very long word for being lost," Draconia replied. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the girl's map to straighten it. "The scale of the map is tilted. You are holding it crooked."
The girl let out a small, frustrated huff. "It is very heavy. And the stairs keep moving."
"The stairs are temperamental, but they are not moving on purpose," Draconia said. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest. She found herself leaning down to their level, not to mock them, but to actually assist. She took the map from the girl's hands, her movements precise and calm. "You have to walk with intention. If you hesitate, the castle senses it. You must pretend you belong here."
The boy with the glasses watched her with intense focus. He didn't look afraid of her; he looked curious. Draconia liked that. Most people looked at her with either envy or a wary sort of respect, but these children saw her as a fixed point in a spinning world.
"Can you show us how to walk with intention?" the smallest boy asked.
Draconia smiled, a real smile that didn't reach her eyes in the usual way. "It is simple. You keep your chin up and your shoulders back. You do not look at the floor, because the floor is not where the interesting things happen. The interesting things happen in the air."
She began to lead them through the courtyard, her pace adjusted to their shorter strides. She pointed out the gargoyles and the way the light hit the fountain, explaining the history of the stone in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. She did not use her usual sharp, biting tone. Instead, she spoke with a clarity that made the complex layout of the school seem less daunting.
"Does the ceiling always look this high?" the girl asked, looking up at the vast expanse of the sky.
"It is as high as you want it to be," Draconia answered. "If you believe the ceiling is close, you will feel cramped. If you believe it is far away, you will feel free."
The boy with the book finally stopped looking at his textbook and started looking at the world around him. Draconia felt a sense of triumph, not the kind she felt when she won an argument, but a quieter, more substantial victory. She was being a guide. She was being a mentor, a role she had never considered for herself.
As they reached the entrance to the corridor, Draconia stopped. She straightened her robes and looked down at them. "There is the door. Do not stop to look at the carvings, or you will be late for your first lecture. A late student is a noticed student, and being noticed is rarely a good thing in the first year."
"Thank you, Draconia," the girl said, her voice much steadier than it had been.
"You are welcome," Draconia replied. She watched them disappear into the doorway, their small figures swallowed by the shadows of the stone arch.
She turned to walk back towards the main hall, feeling a strange lightness in her step. She had spent so much time perfecting her wit, refining the way she could use a single sentence to dismantle a man's dignity, that she had forgotten the utility of being kind. It was a different kind of power, one that didn't require a sharp tongue or a clever retort.
A movement to her left caught her eye. Harry Potter was standing near the edge of the stone walkway, his hands tucked into his pockets. He had been watching the entire exchange from a distance. He didn't look smug, and he didn't look surprised. He looked as though he were processing a piece of information that didn't quite fit the previous equation.
Draconia didn't look away. She met his gaze with a steady, unblinking stare, waiting for the inevitable comment or the raised eyebrow. She was prepared for him to make a joke about her sudden maternal instincts, or to point out how uncharacteristic her softness was. She waited for the bite.
Instead, Harry simply stood there, his eyes tracking the way she had smoothed the girl's hair and pointed out the sky. He looked at her with a quiet, profound realization.
Harry watches her be good at something that isn't cruelty and the whole book pivots.