Posted 10/24/2013, Edited 12/13/2013

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It is always nice of people to review, so thanks for that. I do hope it is a good start as most of the reviewers seem to agree on. The intended couple will be Harry/Daphne; however, it will still take some time.

Concerning Daphne's appearance, a lot of people choose either blonde or black hair in their stories. Both have their merits, but to my knowledge after searching the books as well as three wikis, she was mentioned only once by name; she is one of the students to enter the Great Hall with Hermione for the practical DADA exams. Interestingly, as far as I know, it is also the only time in all of the books the name Greengrass is mentioned. Astoria is not once named in the books even though according to Rowling, Astoria is married to Draco in later life. In the epilogue, she is just called Malfoy's wife, no further description.

The introspective nature of Harry in the first chapter is something I would expect of a teenager who learned, in short order, that his dear godfather died, that Dumbledore had known about the imminent danger for the Potters and Longbottoms, that a prophecy had been made that provoked Voldemort into attacking in the first place, that the headmaster of the school knew all along of the danger Harry would be in once Voldemort returned and decided -Psych! -to forego any training for Harry so that he could have a childhood... you know, before he'd be hunted down and inevitably be killed due to lack of any training. Yeah, kind of a lot to take. That can make someone reconsider their life and future. Also, it is yet another betrayal Harry had to suffer, and yet another adult who abandoned him when he had needed it most. Well, at least Harry had a nice, normal, undisturbed childhood with his loving relatives.

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.

Chapter Two – Family

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When they arrived, Harry shook his head experimentally. He might never get used to wizarding travelling. Looking around, he found himself standing precisely on the stairs to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the house Sirius had left him.

"Yeah, that is really something to get used to, Apparition. But don't worry; it really is better when you do it yourself. Or perhaps you don't notice it when you are busy?" Bill didn't look at Harry. Instead, he scanned the surrounding area for signs of an ambush. Seeing none, he relaxed a bit.

"Alright then. Let's do it." He tapped the door with his wand, and Harry frowned. He understood why Bill did it: Dumbledore and the Order had to have added that part so anyone from them could come and go at will; it made no sense to have one of their own waiting to be let in. But it still irked Harry a bit to see someone else granting him access to his own house. Number 12, Grimmauld Place was his now, every wall, room, door, lock and key. But he shook his indignation away. It was his property, but he had no intention of ever living in the house or visiting more than necessary.

Not like he would have a lot of opportunities anyway, just until he would die, he added in his thoughts; with the way the war was going, there was a strong likelihood of that happening soon. What would happen to the house then, he wondered. Normally, it would fall to his heir. Who would that be? Well in the absence of a will... his relatives, mostly likely. Oh yeah, that would be awesome, wouldn't it? The Dursleys inheriting a wizarding home. A hoot, but perhaps they wouldn't scoff at it. A house is a house, and once they realized they could sell it to earn a bit of money for themselves... But then, hadn't Dumbledore said something about spells, about Black property only going to purebloods?

As they stepped into the dusty hallway, Harry turned to his companion. "Bill, I just thought about something. What happens to it –the house and everything –should I die?"

The man whipped around, a calculating look in his eye. Then, he sighed. "It was a mistake, coming here. You are not ready yet."

Harry shook his head. He would have laughed if the atmosphere in the house hadn't been so depressing. "Ah, no, that's not it! I just wondered. Dumbledore said something about enchantments that might force the house and everything connected to it to only go to purebloods. That sounds like something the Blacks might do, but I don't have that many pureblood relatives, do I?"

"Well, you aren't one either," Bill replied, "so there might not be one."

"Yes, I know. But there could still be enchantments to ensure it can only go to wizarding folk, right? They exist in theory, at least, right? Otherwise, Dumbledore wouldn't have feared enchantments to limit the ownership of the house to Blacks or purebloods in the first place."

Bill frowned. "I haven't seen one myself, but they do exist and are nearly impossible to detect."

"Then it would pass to the next living wizarding relative, right?" Harry continued.

"Unless there are other provisions like it had been in your case, yes, the closest wizarding relative."

Harry felt like smacking his forehead. "The Malfoys. Great."

Bill smiled. "Not necessarily, but probably. The Malfoys were among Sirius' closest relatives, and with Andromeda Tonks and her descendants disinherited and Bellatrix a wanted criminal... Let's go, shall we? Standing around won't do us any good."

Harry nodded. "You're right. Sorry, it was just..."

"Ah, don't be. It was a good question actually. Maybe you should look into it, just to be sure." He whipped out his wand. "Now then. Homenum revelio."

Nothing happened, and Bill relaxed further.

"Well, that's that. All clear, I'd say, but better be careful. Now, where did you want to go?"

Blinking, Harry stared for a moment. "Err, Sirius' room. Wherever that is."

Bill looked around the hallway. "Topmost floor. I had to fetch him once." And he began to lead the way, to the stairs and up. All the while, he scanned the surroundings for sings of possible danger.

"It's strange, being here again," Harry began. While he was willing to accept Bill's presence as his guard for the time being, somehow, the unnatural silence within the walls got to him. He could imagine Sirius sitting in the depressing darkness with nothing but a mad house-elf. "I don't think I've ever seen it that quiet," he said to hear something around him, even if it was just the echo of his words.

Bill grinned. "Well, you've only seen it with Fred and George here, didn't you? With them around, no house is quiet."

That got a smile from Harry, and somehow, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, seemed slightly less uninviting. But perhaps it was just the lack of screaming from Mrs. Black as they had passed her portrait without incident.

"You took everything useful from the house, didn't you?" Harry commented when his eyes found an empty spot where once an ornate silver plate had been. Sirius had said something about war efforts once, and as he had done so, he had looked less gloomy.

"Well, we didn't want to leave anything that could lead back to us, so yeah, we took a lot, but not all. You do have a point though; I think some things are missing." He frowned, thinking about that.

Something bothered Harry about that. Sure, he had no interest in silver or paintings or, for that matter, money. But it still looked as if they had taken more than he had assumed initially. And there was something else; if Bill thought something was missing that the Order hadn't taken with them, did that mean someone had been there after they had left? If so, why? And had they just taken something or had they left something as well, traps perhaps?

"Did anyone search Sirius' room?" he asked, trying to distract himself from worrying as well as wondering about it, "After... after..."

"When we left?" Bill interjected. Harry nodded thankfully. "Err, I'm not sure. We were in a bit of a hurry. I think so. Why?"

Harry looked around the corridor, his eyes coming to rest on the banister he was sure had once been adorned with a silver knob. "Well, I was just wondering, if anyone... might have been there, or whether we'll be the first. Whether something had been removed. Or disturbed since... the building had been vacated."

Silently, they ascended another flight of stairs. Bill once again scanned the surroundings. "Removed? Harry, what do you think we did here? Someone might have removed anything connected with the Order, and we might have taken some things we deemed useful, but, well... that's it, I believe. Or rather..." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I took something else, too. You see, when we were in the Order, I... Sirius, he knew about Fleur and me. And he was happy for me... for us, I mean. Quite happy, actually." The man turned around fully. "He promised me a brooch from an aunt, I think, should I tie the knot. Valuable, but more importantly, pretty. Well, I..."

Harry waved it off. "Don't worry. Keep it. I doubt it would suit me anyway, and if Sirius wanted you to have it, then who am I to disagree?"

"Ah, I wouldn't be so sure about that, actually, it might go well with your eyes." Bill turned again with a smile and walked towards the next staircase.

"And I'm happy, too," Harry added to fight the silence once more. "I'm sure Fleur and you will be a very loving couple."

"Thank you. I wish we could have told you earlier, but..."

Harry shrugged. "Ah, don't worry. I heard it quite early."

"Well, yes, but I would have preferred to tell you with the rest of the family," Bill explained, and for the second time in one day, he had referred to Harry as family. It was strange, Harry mused, how much it moved him. True, he never really had a family of his own, but had also believed to have outgrown such sentimentalities. He was, for all intents and purposes almost an adult, so why hadn't he outgrown this childish longing for family? After all that he had endured, all the losses, the hardships, after the injustices the Dursleys had called an upbringing, the many disappointments from authority figures, why had he still not learned his lesson?

More to distract himself than anything, he asked, "That spell you cast when we were downstairs..."

"Homenum revelio? What about it?" Bill glanced over his shoulder, yet Harry couldn't help but notice the careful look around the redhead sent through the hallway.

"I just wondered what it does. I gathered it is some kind of security spell from the way you used it, and I do know a bit of Latin; it's something about revealing people, right?"

"Something like that, yes," Bill confirmed. "It shows whether other people are in the house. I checked whether someone was waiting for us. It's not fail-safe, sadly, but still very good. It takes a lot, and I mean more than most would be able to, to trick that spell."

"It shows other people? I was right about that? How does that work? I didn't notice anything."

Bill shrugged. "Well, you wouldn't see it. The caster gets something like a gentle push, a vibration from the direction someone is. And as for the distance, well, that's a bit of experience coming in."

"... Why?" Harry had already forgotten why he had asked initially. Somehow, the topic intrigued him. Was it perhaps the connection to defensive magic? He had always been interested –and talented, to be fair –in Defence against the Dark Arts. And if he had to fight a dark lord anytime soon, knowledge like that might come in handy.

Bill blinked, and Harry explained, "Why would the spell cause a vibration?"

"Ah, well, the spell sends out a... well, a wave, you could call it. If this... wave hits a person, it is reflected back towards the caster who feels it as something like a shove. A wave. A vibration. Pick what you want. It's like watching waves break on a rock in a lake. Even if you don't see the rock itself, the waves tell you something is there."

"And how would one trick that? It seems pretty straightforward."

Bill smiled genially. "Curious, aren't you? Well, I already said people, not matter in general reflects it or it wouldn't pass through the ceiling and walls. I should have said, it is reflected by people's core, their magic, if you will. Exceptionally skilled witches and wizards might be able to prevent that, I'm not sure. But I thought about something else, actually. Any idea?"

Harry frowned. How should he know how to trick such a spell if he had no experience with it? "No. People's magic, you said? Perhaps a Muggle?"

Bill shook his head a bit. "No, but not that far off. Even Muggles have something of a core, they just can't use it. No, the answer is fairly simple. By not putting a person here. Inferi are, as far as the spell is concerned, objects. They don't reflect, but would still be quite able to attack. Or by setting a trap; just because no one is waiting for us doesn't mean there can't be any danger here. There is a reason why I still look around, and it's the reason you even need someone coming with you."

Harry's frown deepened. "But the spell penetrates walls and ceilings?"

Laughing, Bill nodded. "Of course, otherwise it would be kind of stupid, no?"

"But it only shows people in the house? Shouldn't it have shown you... well, everyone? The neighbours? People in airplanes overhead? Everyone in... Australia too?"

"First of all, please don't mention anything about airplanes to Dad or he'd start about those again. Second of all, no, the spell only checks the house the caster is in. That's why I used it when we were inside, instead of when we arrived on the porch."

Now that Harry thought about it, it made sense. Bill had waited until they were inside. But wait, something still wasn't right.

"How does that work? Shouldn't the spell still go on? You said the spell only checks the one house, not that you willed it to do so."

Bill chuckled. "Hermione does seem to have an influence on you, it seems; she would have asked the same. Well, all right. Homenum Revelio..." Bill hesitated. "Which electives did you take until now?"

Harry scratched his head confusedly. "Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, why? Is that relevant?"

Pursing his lips, Bill walked on. "I assume you listened to Ron's advice? I really should have taught him better than that. But anyway –yes, it is relevant, in a way. Depending on your electives, I would have given you a different explanation. Since you have neither Runes nor Arithmancy, I'll just give you the basic idea. Long story short, Homenum Revelio ends at the wards around a wizard's home. They stop the wave, simple as that."

"And how would that answer have been different had I taken different electives?" Harry asked. He still saw no reason how they would have factored in there, as even the simple answer was easy enough to understand, yet explained the underlying idea.

With a sigh, Bill ascended the last flight of stairs. "Had you taken Runes, I would have pointed out the specific wards and the reason why they stop the wave because, believe it or not, implementing a specific ward just for that would be ridiculously stupid, not to mention complex and dangerous for the protection of the house as a whole. Think of it as," Bill glanced off into the distance before continuing, "as stacking books. The more you put on top, the higher the risk that it collapses. The more wards you put around a property, the more likely it is the whole set will come down. One mistake with one of the wards and it will bring everything down with it." He let that sink in for a moment. "Had you taken Arithmancy on the other hand, I would have talked about the nature of Nothing, of the nonexistent space between this house and the next that would have marked the borders for the spell, and please don't ask me to explain that concept; we're hard-pressed for time as it is."

"Sounds complicated," Harry commented.

"Very. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure whether the concept of Nothing is actually taught in the O.W.L.-years. It is a bit tricky, not to mention completely irrelevant to anything outside of theoretical works. –We're there." He pushed open the door he was standing in front of. After a quick glance inside the room, he let Harry enter. It was very much like he had expected, yet completely different. Sirius had put up Gryffindor colours; not surprising since he had been very proud about that. The bed and floor were messy just like it had to be expected from childish men like Sirius had been one. A neat Sirius… no, that simply didn't fit. But then, all around the room, posters of scantily clad Muggle girls hung. Harry was impressed; his godfather had really done what he could to annoy his parents. Doing his best to ignore one picture of a blonde doing an impressive split and smiling seductively, Harry walked through the room and over to the desk. He had thought about the best place. Placing it on the bed seemed... odd, wrong in a way. The same was true for the nightstand. It wasn't meant that way, not meant for the hours of dozing or rest. Harry had meant it for a clear and aware mind, but more importantly, for Sirius. The desk was the best place, the only place, really.

He pulled the letter he had written and revised during the long hours at Privet Drive from his pocket and stared at the envelope once more. He knew Sirius would never read it, of course. It had torn him up to write it, to put to paper everything he had always wanted his godfather to know, had written about his childhood and the many injustices he had had to suffer. About each and every painful memory that he had, about the hopes he had found to be crushed by cruel reality and every fear that had been proven to be justified. But he had also written extensively about Sirius, about everything he had wanted to ask, to know about this link to the past, about the sorrow and worry he connected with Sirius. Harry had written about his school years, each of his adventures. And about his parents, about the nights when he had most missed them.

Rationally, he knew Sirius would never walk into the room, never read the letter. But there had been something very liberating about writing it. Perhaps it had to do with sorting through everything, or maybe it was the simple fact that, out of all the people he had met, Sirius was the only one Harry had felt confident would be able understand the hardships he had endured. And there was something else that only now, standing in the room of his deceased godfather, Harry realized –he had written what amounted to the only true recollection of his life, without the glamour or lies. As he looked at the parchment in his hands, Harry realized that it could very likely be the majority of his biography. He had written about the eleven years he had decent memories of –how much more could there be? One year? Two? How long until he would be struck down, killed in the war or maybe dying in a freak accident, a fitting and ironic end for a freak like he had been told he was?

He really had to write a will, and soon.

Harry shook his head slightly. No sense in grieving what could not be changed. Unless some miracle happened, Harry's days were counted. He placed the envelope on the desk like he had planned and envisioned. He had even dreamed about it, which had been a welcome deviation from his usual nights. It was just like he had thought it would be, except for one small detail.

The book was unexpected.

It looked heavy, a thick leather cover around what looked like maybe a thousand thin pages. Harry could imagine his godfather doing many things in his free time, but reading a book, and one that big? No. He glanced around the room. Posters, Gryffindor banner, a few photos. A comfortable looking bed and a closet. There wasn't even a bookshelf, no schoolbooks lying around or maybe an underwear catalogue like one would find in Dudley's room. The book, Harry decided, was very out of place, very out of character for Sirius, but still undeniably there. For some reason, it reminded Harry of the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. It would have fit there for sure. Maybe it was even from there, Harry thought, before remembering what Hermione had said about those books, especially how difficult it was to get one in the first place. There was no doubt left that books from the Restricted Section didn't leave the grounds.

His hand edged closer to it. Hadn't he wanted to learn something about Sirius? He couldn't ask him, but if he knew what his godfather had read before his passing, he would have something at least. And Dumbledore had thought this trip to be useless, a waste of energy. For only a moment he wavered in his determination. A book where there should reasonably not be one? An oddity, something that should alarm him, worry him? Perhaps a Death Eater had planted it? They would know Harry had inherited the house since the Malfoys hadn't.

But then, how would they have entered the house? And even if they had, how would they have known he would visit Sirius' room? That was very unlikely. And they hadn't faced anything unexpected on the way up as far as Harry could tell. And really, his whole doubts hinged on his belief that Sirius hadn't read a book in his life, not even out of boredom. Preposterous. Surely the son of a pureblood family would read books. And who's to say Sirius hadn't been researching something? He had had very little he could do for the Order, so why not use the time for some reading? And most importantly, Harry wanted to know. He wanted to know what this book was about. He grabbed it.

For the briefest moment, he held it in his hand. It was heavier than expected. But before he could think much about it, Harry heard a yell, and dropped it. With a bang, it fell to the floor.

Bill had jumped into the room. "What were you thinking?" His eyes wandered over everything, checking for discrepancies or attackers. He saw the book and Harry standing beside it with a surprised look on his face. Realisation dawning on him, Bill groaned. "Please, Harry, tell me I was imagining things and you didn't pick something up!" He shook his head. "Does it hurt? Anything strange?"

Harry blinked. "Ah. Err, sorry. Ahm. No, it doesn't hurt anywhere. I merely wanted to see this book. Sorry, I didn't want to startle you."

"Startle. Startle? Harry, you came here to leave something, not to touch or pick up. It could very well be cursed! It could be a trap, a portkey, for example. We do not need a repeat of the tournament."

"How would Death Eaters plant a book here? How would they get it into the house?" Harry replied mulishly. Yes, he knew he should have been more careful. But it was his, wasn't it? His book since it was in his house, so why should he defend himself?

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kreacher could have left it there, Harry. Do you trust him not to assist in your death? He doesn't exactly have the best of track records." He sighed. "I'll run a few diagnostics, and you will hold still if you know what's good for you."

And they did just that. Bill cast spell after spell on Harry, without so much as looking away, and Harry stood rooted to the spot. He hadn't thought about Kreacher. Of course the little worm would have been delighted to plant something like that, a nice little surprise for the new master. Maybe he should order the house-elf to kill himself –gut or drown himself, maybe –to get rid of the constant risk. But he also knew he couldn't do it. Kreacher, for his many faults, was still a living, feeling being, and letting it kill itself would not be right; ordering it to do so would be even worse.

After a while, Bill bent down to the book and started his casting again. Having nothing better to do, Harry let his gaze wander over the smooth skin of the pictured girls. That was something Dudley had never dared. Had his mother seen her little Duddikins putting up such disrespectful trash, would she have reacted? Harry guessed she would have taken action, and was silently grateful Dudley hadn't let himself get caught bringing anything risky home. Aunt Petunia would have acted, yes, and he, Harry would have had to suffer the consequences. She'd likely have thought up some conspiracy with Harry as the lead instigator, trying to incriminate her poor son with filthy pictures.

"Well, I can't find anything dangerous," Bill announced. "You were lucky."

"So it's safe to touch?" Harry asked. He didn't want to challenge the man, there was a reason, after all, why Bill had been sent with him.

"I'd rather you didn't, actually. Just because I can't find anything doesn't mean there is nothing there. Every curse and poison is encountered once for the first time; I learned that the hard way in Egypt. And it's not what we came here for, you wanted to leave the letter; no getting side-tracked, remember?" Bill pointed out. His worry was still evident and Harry couldn't fault him. True, the book seemed harmless. But then, they were still in a house with potentially dangerous artefacts and no back up.

"I just want to see what it is. Sirius and a book? Come on, you're curious too, and we are already here," Harry told Bill with a mischievous smile.

"Sirius and a book. Sounds like a good start for a joke." Bill swished his wand, and the tome opened. Bent low over it, he read, "The Mind Arts, by Josefina Smith." He frowned, suddenly alert.

Harry felt a jolt go through him. A book about the Mind Arts? Suddenly everything fell into place. That wasn't something Sirius would read. It was, however, something Sirius would find for his godson, him, Harry, who had had to learn Occlumency the last time they had really talked to each other.

"Whose was it?" Harry asked. Somehow the presence of the book reminded him of just how bad a godson he had been. How had he repaid Sirius this thoughtfulness? By luring him into a trap. And here it was, indisputable evidence of Sirius' care and love for his godson.

Bill swished his wand again, and going back to the first page, bending very low, he read, "Elladora Black." He raised an eyebrow. "Ring a bell?"

Harry shrugged. "Kind of. I'd have to look at the tapestry..."

"Out of the question. No getting sidetracked, Harry; you agreed to that. We really should be going, actually –the goblins are waiting for me."

"Well, alright. I think she was some ancestor of Sirius. Something like that –he mentioned her once if I remember correctly."

"Well, seems like Sirius had found something to occupy his time. Good for him," he sent the book a wary glance. "Well then, are you finished? No offence, but... this place is really intimidating, and I deal with goblins on a daily basis."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harry agreed, remembering his first visit to the bank. He wouldn't want to get on the creature's bad side either. "Before we leave, could you do me a favour and cast a slight Notice-Me-Not? On the letter? Don't want mice to find it."

Bill walked over to the desk and quickly waved his wand. Harry didn't have eyes for him, though. Following a sudden impulse, he picked the book up and stuffed it under his shirt. It felt right to do so –Sirius had surely spent days looking for it, had meant it to go to Harry, perhaps as a present. Not taking it would have been... disrespectful? Foolish? Inconsiderate? He couldn't say; all he knew was that he had to take the book with him. It was his –a memento of his lost godfather. Still, the leather was cold, clammy even on his skin.

Bill, having finished, returned. "Done." His eyes travelled to the spot where the book had been before; glancing to Harry with a frown, he looked at the bulge under his shirt as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged half-heartedly. "Alright then, let's get going or Mum'll have Kneazles. And I still have to report to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded mutely, thankful Bill hadn't said anything about the book, the last present of Sirius to his godson.

The descent was far quieter than Harry would have liked, but try as he might, he couldn't shake the anxiety he felt. Now without his letter, he felt exposed. The sunken eyes of the remaining paintings on the walls piercing them, spying for their own amusement or an unknown master, were very unsettling, and once again Harry, trying not to think of the book he was smuggling out of the house for an unknown reason, felt overwhelming pity for his late godfather who had had to endure it for over a year.

Having eaten her share, Daphne set down the Daily Prophet. It was luck that kept both of her parents busy that morning, her father probably already deeply immersed in some obscure research about long-lost secrets of potions, and her mother, if she remembered correctly, out with her friends, for lack of a better term. They were certainly more than acquaintances, having known each other for years and occasionally connecting more thoroughly. Hadn't they invested in some business a while ago in the south? Something along those lines, causing them to pay it a visit every once in a while. Or maybe they just wanted to go restock their wardrobes while the summer sun was still shining down on them. It didn't really matter to Daphne; her mother was not at home, which was fortunate; otherwise, reading the paper while eating wouldn't have been possible. It certainly wasn't proper, and not being proper was not acceptable, at least to her family, which in essence meant her mother.

Astoria –or the hell spawn, as Daphne liked to call her sister –was still asleep. Not unusual, at least during the summer and on days when the parents were gone, but still doubly fortunate. Dealing with her would have been irritating, and more so than usual on the twenty-eighth of July, if past year were any indication. Yes, the hell spawn did have her uses, but mainly to distract her father when he had one of his moods or inspirations. Why couldn't he be normal, happy when everything went fine and according to plan, and grumpy, when something went awry? How could he be so... ecstatic whenever one of his projects failed? Who was happy when they nearly burned down the house or wrecked part of it?

So, yes, the hell spawn was useful on some occasions. But on a morning during the summer holidays, she could be very annoying, not to mention a real pest. It was just lucky that she'd have friends over to keep her busy until late in the evening. It meant peace and quiet for Daphne, or as much quiet as could be had for anyone else in the house with the hell spawn around. Carrie would be able to get work done, for one. That would be sensible, for as long as Astoria and their father were still around, the house was just a bit too big for an old elf like her and any opportunity to get something done was valuable. A busy hell spawn, a relatively quiet house and the day just beginning also meant enough time to get homework done. True, the summer had just begun and she still had all of August ahead of her, but getting the assignments out of the way meant an untroubled mind. And really, with everything around the house and the many gatherings she would likely have to endure over the last month of the holidays, there wasn't really that much time for Daphne to get her schoolwork done otherwise.

Daphne brushed her light-brown hair behind her ear. Another reason why she was happy about the hell spawn's absence this morning was special. She would, once again and like every year, get her letter.

Not the Hogwarts letter, although she much preferred that one. Hogwarts letters changed slightly, which meant a surprise each and every time. With a new Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts each year, it also meant a new textbook for that class. Some were decent. Some were rubbish, even from her point of view. Last year's Slinkhard had been the latter. Frankly, without the generous help she had received from the upper-year Slytherins, she wouldn't have been able to get her O.W.L., even if it wasn't that great of one. With just the regular lessons from Professor Umbridge, who would have had a chance? No one, simple as that. In fact, it was quite likely the only reason she had received her Exceeds Expectations had been the dreadful performance of the rest of the class.

Hogwarts letters weren't the most creative, true, but they were at least the same for everyone. Her friends all got one, and so did their friends and siblings if they had some at school. It was part of every student's life, and as such, they were routine for everyone in Daphne's age group.

No, today would be the day she would once more receive her letter from Gringotts. Just like the year before that, and the year before that, and before that all the way back to her first year, every one of them having arrived a hundred-and-forty-four days before her birthday. Well, back then, in her first year, it had been her parents, not her, that had gotten the letter, but it had still been the same letter in essence. Each and every year, on the same day. Sixteen letters, the last five of which were exactly the same. Why the hell spawn always made such a racket about it Daphne would never understand. It was always the same; it wouldn't change unexpectedly, and as such, it was merely a routine. The only difference to past years, now that Daphne thought about it, was the finality this letter would bring. It would be her last, one way or the other. In the past, it had been a tradition, nothing more. She had gotten the letter, but had been well aware of how little it actually meant for her life. A small business arrangement with both sides –hers and his –sitting down and signing a simple settlement, and she would never have had to deal with the contract again; she'd have been free. It should have been solved that summer, the summer before her seventeenth birthday if all had gone according to plan.

But that wasn't to be anymore. It was no longer a simple formality. Her father couldn't free her from it; he didn't have the required assets to settle it on hand. Her mother wouldn't do it even if she believed in her daughter's plans and intentions or simply respected Daphne's wishes. His mother Narcissa couldn't sign if she even wanted to, again the nasty business, the same as Daphne's father's –a lack of funds. But why should Narcissa Malfoy want to dissolve the contract in the first place? The situation had changed dramatically in the last two months. Back then, she had been the wife of a powerful political advisor, in contact with the most powerful, with the Minister for Magic, it was said, and with several of the department Heads; that had been the Lucius Malfoy back then. Reformed and a productive and upstanding citizen, he had claimed to be. Horrified about the escape in winter, he had been. Dreadful business, he had lamented.

Then Malfoy had been caught, red-handed, marked; he had been in the company of numerous of the escapees, among them his sister-in-law. No idea, not even a doubt, the Minister had claimed. Dreadful, the Minister had lamented. It probably was –for him. With one of his backers literally unmasked as a Death Eater and imprisoned, the Minister hadn't had a chance to stay in power.

Frankly, Daphne agreed with his removal from office. No matter where someone stood, a Minister who was that inefficient, either getting caught in shady business with Death Eaters without any form of security or plausible alibi or not standing against the rising power of the Dark Lord, had no place as a leader for either side. Whether Scrimgeour was a good choice remained to be seen.

But the eighteenth of June had been the day Daphne's life had changed, too. Where before, there had been a vague risk of the contract activating, to be eliminated by a simple agreement that would have increased her family's wealth a bit –nothing more than a formality, actually –from the morning of the eighteenth, her life had taken a turn, and one for the worse, she thought, even if she hadn't known at first. Sure, she had known there might have been complications, that the ultimate settlement might not be signed until close to his birthday. When she had been young, she had toyed with the thought of simply letting it run its course, just to see what it would have been like. Back then, Draco had been different.

On the morning of the twentieth, his family's accounts had been frozen, leaving them with very little money. Too little for a proper pureblood family, Daphne had heard, but wasn't quite sure; it was, however, apparently too little to dissolve the contract. In any case, almost everyone in the dorm had realized the gravity of the situation before long. How could they not? Both Pansy and Millicent were well versed in the pureblood traditions. It had certainly led to a considerable rift with her friends with Pansy resenting Daphne for interfering with Pansy's dream of marrying Draco. But Daphne had no choice in the matter, and only time could tell whether they'd be able to reconcile.

So in a way, the letter would be special this year, she mused. Perhaps she should talk to her mother again. There had to be some way to get out of it. Did she really want her daughter to go through with it? Hadn't her mother always said how fortunate the settlement would be for the family? Even if she earned reasonably well, with her husband constantly causing considerable property damage, money was a topic, and one most purebloods didn't have to face. Even the bit that had been left by Daphne's grandparents wasn't of any use, tied up and left for the exact opposite purpose of what Daphne wanted at the moment –as a wedding present. The Greengrasses simply didn't have the money to spare for a settlement.

She was torn from her musing when the owl fluttered into the open window and landed in front of her. Daphne fixed her blue eyes on the bird.

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "A letter, for me, from Gringotts, how completely unexpected, whatever could it be? Well then, let's see, here you go, good journey, owl, and good riddance," Daphne spoke and took the letter from the bird. Every year it was the same. The hell spawn would have been jumping around in excitement if she had received the letter. Daphne didn't. She never had. It was a routine, and one she endured, but not enjoyed. Watching the owl flutter out of the window, she felt suddenly wide-awake. It wasn't like the other years, it was a special year. Her last, to be precise. The next, the owl wouldn't come anymore; she'd either be free or irrevocably stuck with Malfoy.

Good riddance indeed. She was tired of the yearly reminders from the goblins.

Shaking her head exasperatedly, she opened the letter. She knew what it would say, of course. It was always the same. Did they honestly expect a change? Not really. But it was tradition to send the letters, and traditions were important with purebloods, even if only to find new loopholes to abuse.

Daphne fingered the letter. If she hadn't opened it, she would have had to lie to her parents about it. Because they would ask, there was no doubt about that. And the hell spawn would, as well, until Daphne would perhaps confess to having simply thrown it in her room, unread and unopened.

She didn't mind lying. Not to the sister, not to her parents or friends or teachers or, really, anyone. But it would be stupid to have to lie. It was an unnecessary risk. What if her parents or Carrie or Astoria happened upon the unopened envelope? And if she had to open the envelope and pull out the parchment to ruffle it a bit, making it look like it had been read, then she could just as well look at it in the first place and avoid having to lie at all.

She skipped the introduction, because, honestly, who cared what the Goblins had to write? She would have stuffed the letter away after a half-hearted glance, she knew what it would say, after all, so she only had to have a reason to tell her family that, yes, she had checked the letter and seen nothing unusual. It wouldn't have been a lie while still saving her the effort to actually read what the goblins had written.

Only, it looked different, somehow. Longer, in a way. Her eyes quickly found the relevant paragraph, the one actually containing information instead of the introductions and boring reminders of idiotic rules no one cared about.

"On the subject of the outstanding contract," she read, "with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, we inform you of the existence of a potential candidate of First Rank, Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa Malfoy, daughter of House Black, daughter of Cygnus Black." Daphne knew that part. She had read it, or rather seen it, five times, already. However, the next part was unexpected. New. "On the subject of the outstanding contract with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, we inform you of the existence of a potential candidate of Second Rank.

"The due date is the fifth of June 1997."

Her head was spinning. She knew about Draco, of course. She had known all her life. It had been one of the reasons she had had trouble with Pansy at first who was vying for his attention. Only after they had talked about it had Pansy accepted her. Really, Daphne didn't love Draco; they were friends at best, and if Pansy managed to snatch him, good for her. Everyone would be happy, assuming the contract would be out of the way. Daphne had little interest in taking part in Draco's love life. Pansy had certainly put in a lot of effort over the years to first get and then keep Draco's attention, and Daphne had little interest in the sloppy seconds of one of her friends. She could do without that awkwardness. It should have been an easy case, hadn't Lucius Malfoy gotten himself caught last June. It would have been a simple agreement to dissolve the contract –a bit of gold to pass hands, to free Draco for worthier matches. Traditions respected, both sides would have walked away without any trouble at all. All that had been missing had been the signatures, and that had been planned for the summer. After Malfoy's imprisonment, however, the union hadn't seemed quite so bad anymore from their point of view. True, the Greengrasses hadn't become any more respectable in the meantime, but the Malfoys had a good opportunity on their hands. The tables had turned in a way, and now it would have been Daphne's family that would have to pay to get out of the contract to free their daughter for better matches.

Daphne was very much willing to dissolve, but the Malfoys either weren't able or willing to dissolve. Daphne suspected it was the latter. For them, the contract meant a good source of gold either way –easy money they needed, from what Daphne suspected and had heard. The Malfoys had cancelled the negotiations for the time being, at least, and were stalling. Since that moment, Daphne had resigned herself to her fate; if the Malfoys wouldn't budge, not counting her family somehow finding the money to free her or Draco suddenly dying, she would have to fulfil the contract and marry him. With the contracted House being the Blacks, even ignoring other demands the Malfoys might make during negotiations, the lowest price to buy out, a hundred thousand Galleons as stated in the contract, was very high for a minor pureblood house like the Greengrasses which had lost quite a bit in recent years and had invested the rest of their wealth for the long run. It was too steep a price for them, in fact, especially if the Malfoys wouldn't budge; and deciding not to fulfil, facing the consequences of breaking a magical contract was not an option for Daphne. Even marrying Draco was preferable to that unknown risk. Hadn't she heard enough about magical contracts in her youth to know not to fight them?

It had been tough weeks, seeing her life and visions shatter in front of her. Instead of a minor inconvenience, she had suddenly found herself confronted with the loss of freedom and choice. She had lost weight. She had had an unusual amount of trouble sleeping or focusing on a task. She had resigned herself to a loveless marriage to Draco. If it came to that, she could only hope they would each find another bed to share.

Her parents had been understanding, or at least, as far as they could. Her father, kind though he was, really hadn't quite grasped her problem with the situation. He was at home between bubbling potions, volatile brews and dusty tomes, not overtly comfortable with talking about feelings and emotional attachments, and as a result, struggling to be sympathetic. Her mother still clung to the illusion of the proper pureblood family she saw the Malfoys as. Death Eaters? Criminals? In the eyes of Daphne's mother, it had been a conspiracy to discredit a successful family, or so she claimed. Perhaps she just chose the comfortable delusion instead to of the truth; that was what Daphne suspected. If so, then in her mother's eyes, having to marry such an upstanding young man like Draco shouldn't really be a sacrifice. Perhaps Daphne's mother even hoped for love to bloom between Draco Malfoy and her daughter, no matter how unlikely that was. With these conflicting emotions, Daphne's mother hadn't been able to be the best of support. And going to Astoria with any worries would have been inviting trouble in itself.

And so, with resignation, Daphne had awaited the looming wedding to Draco Malfoy.

But something had to have happened, the miracle she hadn't dared to hope for. None of the other letters had mentioned another candidate, irrelevant of rank, yet suddenly one had popped up out of nowhere. True to tradition, Third Rank or below were not mentioned. They existed, yes, but were not part of an obligation for one reason or another. Most were too distantly related to be suitable, simple as that. Some were under other obligations that took precedence. And some, those without a rank, were unsuitable due to contractual clauses. Many contracts demanded pure humans as a condition; that way, halfbreeds were excluded who weren't proper partners for contractual unions, if at all in the opinion of purebloods. Some contracts had clauses about personal wealth. After all, what family wanted to give their child to some pauper? Some contracts had clauses about blood purity. Helena, Daphne's cousin once removed, wasn't suitable for that reason. Blacks, after all, only marry purebloods, and conversely, marrying a Black implied a pureblood; assuming anything else would have seemed highly insulting to the Blacks. Similarly, Squibs were generally out as well.

Again true to tradition, Second Ranks were mentioned, but not named. They were there, but not normally considered as candidates. They were a possibility should all First Ranks die, hardly more, and only then would the likeliest of Second Rank be elevated to First Rank to be named in the letters. Before, none of Second Rank had existed. Now there was one. The goblins were very thorough with it, checking each year, so something had to have happened over the last year to cause the sudden change and bring forth that mysterious Second Rank. Since the contract with the Blacks only allowed an age difference of seven years, there couldn't a new one have been born. The goblins were thorough; they wouldn't have overlooked a candidate before. Bastards were not suitable, so that was out, too. The most probable theory was a Third Rank getting elevated to Second Rank. It wasn't impossible, just very rare.

But there was more. The goblins had written about a potential candidate of Second Rank. That was more than just a phrase, the implication being that this new candidate had a realistic chance to become her contracted partner despite Draco still being around. That was why this new candidate was really peculiar –he was Second Rank, and the due date, Draco's birthday, proved that no change in the plan had happened yet. So should nothing happen, either Draco dying or one of the affected parties buying out, then she would still have to marry Draco Malfoy. First Rank trumped Second Rank no matter what. So why was this new candidate even called a potential one? He shouldn't be, unless his status wasn't as fixed as it appeared to be. The only one who should be able to fulfil the obligation and therefore be called a potential candidate should have been Draco. But then, from the phrasing, this mysterious new boy that had come from nowhere could too, despite being a lower rank.

How? Could he become a First Rank somehow? Could he somehow take Draco's place? And just who was he?

Daphne decided she would have to check Nature's Nobility for clues. And she needed inside information. She needed to ask someone who knew the Black family tree. She had to ask Millicent.

That's another chapter down. Harry got the book, which is nice; Daphne got her letter about the marriage contract with the Blacks containing the startling and completely surprising information about a second candidate. Can you say plot twist? A first explanation about contracts in-story will be in chapter four, but for the time being:

- Contracts rank the candidates for the fulfilment of the terms according to the relation to the family, for example Blacks as First Rank, children of Blacks as Second Rank, grandchildren as Third Rank. If no First Rank exists, the likeliest candidate of Second Rank is elevated to First Rank, partly to be named in the letter from Gringotts. Blood purity and the like can be considered, but need not be. They do not follow the traditional rules of inheritance and are more concerned with purity of blood, age difference, and proximity of blood to the original signatory to prevent children from having to marry half-breeds.

- Contracts were meant as either means to alliances or as securities to protect against other families (you don't fight those you might have to wed a child to one day).

- Contracts can either be general, stating that a child of one family has to marry a child of another, or contracts can be personalized, stating that person A of House A is to marry person B of House B. Should a contract of the first kind be activated, it will be replaced with one of the second kind.

- General contracts can be fulfilled by marriage, dissolved for a payment stated in the contract itself by an affected party, or simply end after a certain time set forth in the contract itself, for example three generations. Neither clause is required in a general marriage contract, but they are part of almost each one for obvious reasons.

- If a contract is dissolved, both sides sit down and agree on the specific terms. This can mean a higher payment of gold to reflect a gain in status or additional items like books, jewels, heirlooms or other possessions.

That should do for the moment, I think.

For the given case, since no born Black can fulfil the contract, a Second Rank is elevated to First Rank. Malfoy being closer in age to Daphne means he's a First Rank and named in the letter to faciliate negotiations. Had Daphne been born after Harry, it'd have been him once Sirius died.

.

To address concerns brought forth over the visit to Grimmauld Place, I changed the chapter slightly to stress, first of all, Bill being wary because of the book they find lying around in a room without a very good explanation; in his words, "Just because I can't find anything doesn't mean there is nothing there. Every curse and poison is encountered once for the first time; I learned that the hard way in Egypt." Keep in mind, even school children are already told about undetectable poisons. Second of all, I added the sentence, "Bill frowned, suddenly alert" after Bill reading the title of the book out loud, and have him notice Harry taking the book, hesitating, but ultimately not saying anything, for which Harry is thankful; keep in mind Bill might still have no explanation for the book about the Mind Arts lying around, depending on whether the Order as a whole had been informed about Harry's Occlumency lessons. If not, then it is a suspicious book in a potentially booby-trapped building. Third of all, I had Bill's explanation of the possible dangers waiting for them in the house include traps in addition to the Inferi it mentioned before. All three should make my intention concerning Bill's behaviour clearer.

To address concerns over the clarity of the Daphne part, I changed the phrasing of her recounting of the history around the marriage contract slightly to clear it up a bit, for example replacing "his mother" with "his mother Narcissa". I specified the help Daphne received for her OWLs as coming from her house's sixth and seventh year -those had Lupin and Crouch-as-Moody in their fifth year -to clear up the confusion about Slytherins in the DA. In the same vein, I specified the OWL she did get -Exceeds Expectations -and alluded to Daphne's belief the grades might have been bumped up slightly to reflect the lower standards of their year. I also stressed the point of the Greengrasses not having the funds to buy out of the contract, the Malfoys suddenly finding themselves either unable to - lack of gold - or willing with the intention of getting their hands on Greengrass gold one way or another. Similarly, I included lines about her being stuck with Malfoy, unless a miracle happens. Lastly, I specified the rules about Ranks in the explanation about contracts as well as added a stray thought of Daphne's about Blacks never being something other than a pureblood and the assumption otherwise being highly insulting to them.