Red Riding Hood

Pairing: Haphne

Universe: Post-Hogwarts, EWE

Rating: T (language)

Their feet were rooted in the meadows from which the family had taken their name. Rich earth, the scent of rain and sharp green blades. Roses bloomed and ivy twined thick across the walls of the Manor. The laurels planted at her birth had grown lush and full and perfumed.

They were of the earth, and when the earth called they were bound to answer.

Her mother lifted the cloak of red silk from the ancient chest and draped it around Daphne's shoulders, lifting her pale hair so that the soft curls unwound themselves down her back. "You make a fine sight," Iris whispered, though her eyes glittered with tears.

Astoria refused to turn away from the window, her spine a rigid line of fury. Noone cares about the old ways anymore, her sister had screamed after the Sending gave its message, Why do we have to be different?

Daphne had shuddered at her father's biting reply, Because we owe the land a debt that cannot be ignored.

Ever since the Sending had spoken she had felt the prickle of fear upon her skin. The taste of it upon her tongue. Your firstborn blood will follow the woodpath to Grandmother.

It had been many centuries since Grandmother had demanded blood. It had never occurred to Daphne that the Greengrass debt might not yet be paid.

Gritting her teeth, she bent and picked up the basket that had been filled with the traditional gifts: a necklace of tiny adder fangs, a laurel branch, feathers from a snowy owl and the ever-incongruous elf wine. Her knees shook as she straightened.

Hyperion stepped forward to place the garland on her head: lilies and ivy tied with unicorn hair, the whole thing strung with freshwater pearls. He brushed a dry kiss over her forehead and then his eyes moved past Astoria to where the sun was creeping above the dark shapes of the wood at the bottom of the lawn.

"It's time," he said, and were it not for the fact that he could not look at her Daphne would have believed that he did not care.

OOOOO

The path was lit with faint blue witchlights, guiding her onwards. Daphne felt as though her feet moved independently of thought. Mechanical. She remembered the word from a throwaway remark in her Muggle Studies class, years ago.

The trees made strange shapes above her, branches reaching over what should have been clear space to knit their spindly fingers into an organic cage.

Daphne could feel the prickle of sweat between her shoulderblades, over her temples. The sun was overhead, directing its beams between the cruel, pointed branches.

Time had become an odd thing, curling up and away from her, twisting itself into strange, refractory shapes. How long had she been walking?

The Dower House appeared suddenly around a bend that was straight ahead, and Daphne felt her shoulders drop. She'd been hoping, given the length of the walk, that the land might have decided it didn't want her after all. No such luck, apparently.

The basket weighed heavy in the crook of her arm, and she raised her hand to knock on the door.

Strong fingers gripped her wrist before her fist could hit the weathered planks. "What the hell are you doing?"

It took her a moment to answer, too surprised that anyone would interrupt something so sacred. His eyes flashed at her from behind his glasses, green as the meadows of her name.

"You shouldn't be here, Potter," she breathed, shock warring with relief. She wrenched her wrist, trying to free herself from his grip, "What are you playing at?"

"Astoria," he said, "She summoned the Aurors."

She realised suddenly that for all her efforts his hand was still wrapped tight around her arm.

"This is none of your concern," she breathed.

His dark brows drew together, "She said you were being offered as a sacrifice."

His hold relaxed slightly, letting her knuckles make the barest tap against the wood.

All at once magic screamed to life around them: growl and snap. Daphne felt the sing of it in her bones; the itch and scratch and howl.

Harry had gathered her in his arms, his grip too tight and too hot and too safe. "Don't move," he whispered, the words warm against her ear.

The woods shook and screeched around them and Daphne could feel the burning breath of Grandmother's creatures as they slavered against Harry's fingers on her neck.

"Fuck this," he murmured and reached into the basket, producing, improbably, a glittering sword. "Wow, what big teeth you have," he laughed loudly as he swung the blade, and Daphne heard the heavy thud of something hitting the loamy floor.

"Stop it," she hissed, twisting in the circle of his arm and raising her hands before her. "Our fight is done," she growled, directing her voice into the gap and sway of the trees. She felt the magic surge and coil and crack about the pair of them.

Eventually the wind dropped, and Harry took a deep breath, his hard stomach expanding into the curve of her back. "What just happened?" he asked, his shaking voice betraying the nonchalance of his tone.

Daphne turned in his arms, pressing herself against him. She fingered the delicate embroidery on his robes - bay leaves, green edged in red.

"You have a prize to claim," she breathed, turning her face up towards his.

For CarmineDuvale.

Lilith is described as 'Grandmother' or 'Grandmother Eve' in a few sources.