Marry You

by Dorothea Greengrass

Harry and Daphne find themseves trapped in a hasty marriage after a drunken night, and there is no way out. How will they cope with that? Warnings: underage drinking, probably a lemon or two, and Weasley bashing. Also, English is not my first language, so be prepared for strange language quirks or don't read. Chapter 3 partly rewritten.

4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: A big thank you to Haphne24 for editing this chapter. Any mistakes that remain, are mine.

MY

I've rewritten parts of chapter three, so I'd suggest to go back and (re)read that chapter first, before you continue with this chapter, or parts of it won't make sense.

The next morning, Harry woke up stiff and sore, but he would rather swallow his tongue than admit it out loud. The long, hot shower he took did nothing to loosen his muscles and ease the pain. When he hobbled downstairs for breakfast, he thought of a way to tell Sunny to get him a pain relieving potion without Daphne noticing it.

Daphne was already at the breakfast table, reading the Sunday Prophet. It was a lovely summer day, but one look at her face told Harry that a storm was brewing. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and a deep frown marred her beautiful features.

He stepped behind her and dropped a kiss on her head. 'Good morning, Daphne. What has you so riled up?'

She gave a start when she heard his voice and turned her head around. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she raised her hand to caress his cheek for a brief moment. 'Good morning, Harry. Skeeter has struck again; it seems she's got an informant at St. Mungo's, but see for yourself.' She shoved the newspaper to him as he sat down. Again, her eyes became dark with anger.

One look at the newspaper told Harry that her anger was justified.

Potters - Domestic Violence!

Surprise Marriage Already Broken!

by

Rita Skeeter

Unnamed sources at St Mungo's told this reporter that last night the Hero of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, was taken to St Mungo's via emergency portkey. He was accompanied by his alleged wife, Daphne Potter, nee Greengrass. To the shock and amazement of the bystanders the alleged Mrs Potter claimed to have hurt her husband severely by hitting him into the ribs.

This sad event, dear readers, casts a damning light on the state of the alleged Potter marriage. What began with a statement that caught all friends of the Saviour of the Wizarding World by surprise, obviously already dissolved into domestic violence and hate. It makes this reporter wonder if those sources who claimed that the Chosen One was lured into this alleged marriage by unsavory means are right after all.

Harry clenched his fists. His first instinct was to run to the Sunday Prophet , force Skeeter to change into her Animagus form, and stomp the damned beetle to a bloody pulp under his feet. However, six weeks of marriage to a Slytherin had done a lot to develop his inner Slytherin, and he began to wonder if there was a better way to get back at that woman without getting his hands dirty.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, and then looked at his wife. 'All right, Daphne. What do you suggest?'

Meanwhile, Daphne's face was crimson with fury. Harry couldn't blame her, though he was glad that her ire wasn't directed at him. She didn't scream or rant and throw hexes like Ginny. Instead, she went unnaturally calm while her eyes threw deadly daggers.

'We've got to talk with Percy. This time, she went too far. Freedom of the press is nice and well, but I won't let her write downright lies about me!' Daphne fumed.

He considered her words. 'You're right,' he finally admitted. 'A threat with a lawsuit and loss of money is probably the only way to get at these people.' He gestured towards the newspaper. 'I don't want you to go through what I had to endure from Skeeter during the Triwizard Tournament and the summer after that.'

She put her hand on his. 'I knew back then that Malfoy gave her all the information about what was going on at school, but it never occurred to me what that meant to you, Harry. I'm sorry! I should have done something about that.' Her voice sounded contrite.

'I can't see what you could've done, Daphne since even Vaisey and Bletchley agreed that he had too much clout in your house. It doesn't seem to me that you could've stood up against Malfoy without harming yourself,' Harry replied.

'True,' Daphne admitted. Her face was still flushed, but her anger seemed to have drained off. She bit her lips. 'Sometimes, I wish I hadn't been such a coward back then.'

Harry laughed at that. 'Wrong word, kitty. You mean cautious. You know, I begin to wonder if you didn't get the better deal. Just look where my Gryffindor bravery got me. I can't count all the times I woke up with a bloody nose in the infirmary after one of my oh-so-brave deeds.'

She joined his laughter, obviously consoled. She then picked up her knife and began to spread jam on a slice of toast. 'I'll write to Percy that we're going to see him tomorrow,' she announced. 'With your permission, of course, my husband,' she added in a formal tone as if as an afterthought.

Harry interrupted himself spooning scrambled eggs on his plate and gave his wife a warning look. 'Daphne, don't start with that nonsense again!'

Her cheeky grin as she bit in her toast told him that she just had taken the mickey successfully.

MY

After the trouble at breakfast, they relaxed with a visit from Andromeda and Teddy in the afternoon. If Andromeda had read the Sunday Prophet , she at least didn't let on. Harry and Daphne were thankful for her discretion. They enjoyed playing with Teddy, who seemed to become more alert of his surroundings with each day that passed, and set out to conquer that big and fascinating world with the curiosity and zeal only very small children possess.

They had agreed to meet with Dudley at the Needy Kumquat after dinner. Harry's secret hopes his cousin would get cold feet and decline the offer had crashed when Dudley promptly answered his letter. When they entered the pub, Dudley was already there, and he sat at a table in the corner with a glass of coke in front of him. They exchanged greetings, and Harry went to get drinks for his wife and himself. When he placed a glass of wine in front of Daphne and sat down, he could hardly suppress a laugh.

Even in normal circumstances Dudley wasn't one for many words, if you put it nicely. The close proximity to Daphne's dazzling beauty seemed to have bereft him of the last vestiges of his limited vocabulary. His face was flushed, and his eyes were glazed.

'Don't forget to breathe, Dudley,' Harry grinned and took a sip of his lager.

Dudley shook himself as if awaking from a dream. 'How did an ugly little squirt like you get a woman like her, Harry?'

'He picked me up in a pub,' Daphne replied, giving Harry a conspiratorial wink, and linked her fingers with his.

'I'm not so sure about who picked up who,' Harry replied with a laugh. 'But that might be because I was pretty pissed that night.'

Dudley's eyes went wide. He looked from Harry to Daphne and back. 'So, you didn't meet at that school of yours? I always thought your kind got hooked up at school rather early and married as soon as they've finished school.' He had lowered his voice at his last words, and looked around as if to make sure that no-one listened in on them.

'Don't worry, Dudley, I've set up Privacy Wards around our table as soon as Daphne and I arrived. You can talk as you please,' Harry said, reading his cousin's thoughts.

Dudley gave a start. 'Don't you need to wave your wand for that? Daedalus was waving his for pretty much everything he did.'

Harry stared at Dudley. Was that really his cousin? What had become of the boy who would whimper at the mere sight of a wand and cover his behind with both hands? He couldn't reconcile the boy he used to know with the Dudley who was now sitting in front of him and had no problems attending a wizarding ball or talking about wands. It seemed to him that he wasn't the only one whose life had undergone a tremendous change since they last met.

'Uh – no,' he replied. 'I'm able to do all my spells wandlessly and silently since the end of the war.'

Dudley looked impressed. 'That isn't normal, is it?'

'Yes and no,' Daphne threw in. 'In theory, all fully qualified wizards and witches should be able to cast all of their spells silently. However, most still need to mutter their spells to make them work. Some of us can perform every day spells that don't need a lot of power wandlessly. I've never seen someone using silent and wandless magic as naturally as Harry does, his abilities are surely unique.'

'You're exaggerating, kitty!' Harry protested.

'I'm not,' she replied and leaned against him to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Then she turned back to Dudley. 'To answer your other question - of course, Harry and I knew each other from school. We were in different houses, and even though we shared a couple of classes, I don't think we exchanged more than twenty words while we were still at school.'

'If that much,' Harry agreed. 'We met again after the war and just clicked. The rest is history, as they say.' He exchanged another glance with his wife; there was no need to tell Dudley the whole story. 'Why did you want to talk to me, Dudley?' he asked.

Dudley turned red. He lowered his eyes to the table, and his fingers fidgeted with a beer mat.

Harry felt how Daphne shifted in her seat impatiently. He put a restraining hand on her arm, knowing from long experience that Dudley needed time until a thought formed in his head, and that it could take even longer until that thought was formed into words.

Daphne rolled her eyes, but relented. She leaned back into her seat and sipped her wine.

Finally, Dudley was ready. 'S-sorry, Harry.' He took a deep breath, and looked at his cousin. 'I'm sorry for the way I treated you when we were at school.'

'It's all right, Dudley. It's not entirely your fault. Much of the blame lies with my aunt and uncle.'

Dudley shrugged. 'I don't know. I thought a lot after these dementi things chased us. They made me see –' He broke off and shuddered, obviously lost in the memory of that day three years ago.

Harry remembered as if it had been yesterday how shaken up Dudley had been after the event. He had been whisked away to Grimmauld Place soon after the event, and had hardly seen Dudley when he returned to Privet Drive for the summers after his fifth and his sixth year. Now, he remembered that Dudley had been unnatural quiet during these times and hadn't once tried to harass Harry. He even had put a cup of tea in front of his door, Harry remembered. When the Dursleys left Privet Drive, Dudley had asked why he didn't come with them and then told him he never considered him a waste of space. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what the Dementors had forced Dudley to see; it must have been earth-shattering, considering the changes in Dudley's attitude towards him. 'It's all right, Dudley,' he repeated.

Dudley gave him an unfathomable look. 'No, it's not,' he stated. 'I wanted you to know.' With that he stood up from his seat, but Harry held him back by grabbing his arm.

'How are my uncle and aunt doing, Dudley?'

Rather reluctantly, Dudley sat back on his chair. 'Not good,' he admitted. 'We were allowed to leave the safe house at the end of June. When we returned home, we discovered that our house had been destroyed. Gas explosion, the neighbours said, but Daedalus told me it was that Voldy guy and his gang.'

Daphne snorted at the malapropism of the most feared name of the wizarding world, hastily masking it as a cough when Harry threw her a warning side glance.

Luckily, Dudley wasn't deterred by her. 'Dad was unable to collect the money from the insurance, because it hadn't been paid after we went into hiding. On top of that, Grunnings fired him, and dad had a heart attack after hearing that. It was touch and go for a while, but he finally made it. He left the hospital last week and we're now living in a small flat in Stockwell. The area isn't nice, but all we can afford with social aid. I've been doing some odd jobs and will be returning for my last year at school in September. With a little luck, I'll find a better paid job with the A-levels under my belt, so I can help mum and dad.'

Harry looked at his cousin, his mouth open. He had no idea what to reply. There was a part in him that wanted to rejoice because his uncle and aunt met their just deserts, but another part of him felt sorry for them.

'I'm sorry, Dudley,' he finally managed to say.

Dudley nodded in acceptance, and then got up once more to take his leave.

Again, Harry held him back. 'Where can I find you?'

Dudley gave him an address on Gaskell Street, and then left.

Harry and Daphne finished their drinks in silence. They didn't talk until Harry had apparated them back to The Hideaway .

'Do you want to talk about it?' Daphne asked, still holding his arm as they appeared in front of the house.

Harry rubbed his face with his free hand. 'Yes – no. Hell, I don't know! It's so complicated.' He gave his wife an apologetic look. 'Do you mind if I take a walk? I need some time to think – alone.'

'Of course not,' she answered, squeezing his arm lightly. 'I only want you to remember one thing, Harry. Whatever you decide to do about the Dursleys, the only one who matters is you. You have to feel comfortable with it. Please, be selfish for the first time in your life!'

He looked at her with wide eyes. Then he couldn't help himself, he had to laugh about her advice. 'You're such a snake,' he said, shaking his head.

Obviously pleased by what she considered a compliment, Daphne gave him a kiss on the cheek and then walked towards the house.

His eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the door. Then he turned around and walked to the beach. The sun was just disappearing behind the cliffs in a dazzling display of fiery red and gold – Gryffindor colours, he thought. Yet, he was going to push his Gryffindor tendencies aside and follow the advice of a Slytherin: for the first time in his life he was going to ask what something he might or might not do would mean for him . He wouldn't care about "the right thing to do". He would consider the term "what was right" only in regards of his own well being.

Lost in his thoughts, he had reached the foot of the cliffs. Though the sinking sun still cast last rays on the opposite part of the beach, this part of the beach already lay in dark shadows. He sat down on a boulder and rubbed his face with the palms of his hand.

There was no denying that part of him rejoiced in the misfortune of the Dursleys. The way his aunt and uncle had treated him while he grew up in their house was appalling. No decent human being would act like that. In the light of their crimes against him, their current predicament seemed like poetic justice.

He didn't dwell on the way Dudley had treated him. He was the product of the misguided doting love of his parents and couldn't be blamed that he followed their lead when he was too young to know better. After all, he had been able to admit to his wrongdoings. That counted a lot in Harry's book. However, there was also no denying that Aunt Petunia as well as Uncle Vernon had a deeply ingrained fear of everything that was "unnatural" in their eyes. Despite all that, they had taken him in and sheltered him from Voldemort until he was of age; that also counted a lot in Harry's book. The loss of their house was a direct result of that. The Death Eaters had done it because they wanted to get back at Harry. They didn't know that he hated the place where he grew up. The chances that the Dursleys would have become victims without their connection to Harry were slim, and the same reason applied to the loss of Uncle Vernon's job. He would never have ran away if he hadn't had to protect his family and himself from Voldemort's minions. Uncle Vernon probably wouldn't have suffered a heart attack either, although, there was no saying, as fat as he was, Harry thought.

Again, he rubbed his face, and let out a deep sigh. No matter how he looked at it, he felt responsible – and thankful. As soon as he came to that insight, he knew he had to do something to help his relatives.

"A Potter always pays his dues!" had been one of Grandfather Fleamont's maxims, Director Ragnok had told him. Well, he was a Potter, and he would pay his dues to the Dursleys, or he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror. His mind made up, he slid from the boulder and walked home to Daphne.

MY

The next morning he woke up, refreshed. As always, Daphne had snuggled up to him and buried her head into his chest. He caressed her silky hair, and she stirred.

'Good morning, kitty,' he smiled at her as her eyes fluttered open.

'G'mornin,' she mumbled, not yet fully awake. She yawned and stretched, and then smiled at him. 'I didn't hear you come back last night.'

'You were already sound asleep and I didn't want to wake you,' Harry replied and threw off the duvet to get up.

Daphne gave him a thoughtful side glance while she also got out of bed. 'So, you took your time to think,' she stated. 'Have you come to a decision?'

He nodded while he took fresh clothes out of the spacious wardrobe they shared. 'Yes; you'll be pleased with me; I came up with a very Slytherin plan.'

She raised her eyebrows at him with a questioning expression.

With a broad grin, Harry vanished into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Daphne's enraged: 'Harry James Potter!' followed him through the door.

MY

His wife glared at him when they met at the breakfast table. She took the teapot and kept it away from him. 'Spill it, Potter, or I'll let you suffer from caffeine withdrawal.'

He gave her his best puppy-dog-eyes. 'Aw, come on, Daphne!'

She didn't reply, but poured herself cup of tea and added some sugar, while still withholding the teapot from him.

'Woman, you fight dirty,' he groaned as she took the first sip. The Cheshire-Cat-grin on her face was the broadest he had ever seen.

'Alright, you win,' he relented. 'I've come to the conclusion that I'll help my relatives.'

She bent toward him and kissed him on the cheek. 'I thought as much,' she smiled and poured him some tea. 'See, that wasn't so hard, was it? What's your big plan?'

He picked up his cup and sipped greedily with closed eyes.

'Idiot,' she snorted.

Harry opened his eyes and grinned at her while he took another sip. Then he put down his cup. 'Obviously, they need a home in a decent area and money. I had a look at the list of Potter real estate in the ledger last night. There are three houses in Muggle areas without any magical protection on them. I sent Sunny to look if the houses are habitable, and he told me they're all three in excellent condition. So, Aunt Petunia can have her pick.' He paused, playing with the handle of his tea cup. Then he grinned. 'I've also decided to include the Dursleys in the Black family.'

Daphne gave a surprised start. 'Is that even possible? The Blacks were such a dark family; you should think they'd have taken precautions against something like that ever happening.'

'Ah, but that's the beauty of it,' Harry replied, still grinning like a maniac. 'The Blacks weren't always that dark. Their motto, Toujours Pur, stems from a time when the family was a light family and took pride in defending their Muggle neighbours from enemy invasions with their magic. The spells I used to bring Andromeda and Teddy back into the family also originate from that time. According to the Black Grimoire, they were designed to bring Muggle orphans into the protection of the family magic.'

Daphne stared at him, open-mouthed, and a slice of toast midway between her plate and her mouth. 'You're taking the mickey,' she exclaimed.

'No, I'm not,' he defended himself. 'You can read it up in the grimoire for yourself, if you don't believe me. Whatever, I didn't like the thought of giving the Dursleys money from the Potter holdings. It seemed somehow – wrong.'

'That's understandable, Harry,' Daphne said softly and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

He cast a weak smile at her. 'If I include the Dursleys into the Black family, I can set up trust vaults for them with money from the Black holdings. It'll have Old Walburga rolling in her grave, if she knew, while Sirius would think it the greatest prank ever. Best of all, to get at the money, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will have to let me perform magic on them voluntarily. I'm very curious to see what side will win: their greed or their fear of magic.'

Daphne burst out laughing. 'What a shame you talked the hat out of placing you into Slytherin,' she wheezed. 'You would've made a much better Slytherin than Malfoy ever was.'

'I knew you'd like my plan,' Harry grinned and spooned some scrambled eggs on his plate.

MY

After breakfast, the Potters Apparated to Diagon Alley for their meeting with Percy.

The young solicitor listened silently to their plans. 'You are entitled to sue a newspaper that prints lies about you,' he told them. 'I have to warn you: it has never been tried before. The Sunday Prophet , as well as the Daily Prophet , is held by a consortium of very influential and wealthy Pureblood families. So far, nobody in the wizarding world could afford to go against them; either because they didn't have the money, or because their reputation wouldn't have survived it.'

Harry leaned back in his chair. 'I think they'll find it hard to go against me, Percy. Without wanting to sound conceited, I guess they'll have a hard time to go against my reputation. Also, I probably own more money than the ten wealthiest Pureblood families combined.'

Percy nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, if anyone can pull it of, it's you, Harry. Since you treasure your privacy, I'll announce your intentions with a press statement this afternoon, which I will also send to The Quibbler and the correspondents of the big international newspapers. I'm sure that'll cause quite a stir.' He allowed himself a small smile.

'That's exactly what we want,' Daphne interjected. 'These idiots need to learn a lesson or two.'

MY

Shortly after that, the Potters took their leave from Percy. Hand in hand, they walked to the Leaky Cauldron . Thankfully, it was still early in the morning and the alley was still sparsely populated. Nevertheless, they got a lot of curious stares from passers-by.

'I suppose that's because we're wearing such fashionable Muggle attire,' Daphne deadpanned as they entered the pub. 'Damn Skeeter!'

They quickly made their way through the pub and out onto Charing Cross Road. Neither of them had an idea where their second destination for the day was, so they took a taxi that brought them to Gaskell Street.

The drive across the Thames wasn't long. Barely twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a rather run down looking complex of council flats. The young couple shared an uneasy glance. Harry made sure that his holly wand was in easy reach in the back pocket of his jeans. He grabbed Daphne's hand, and they went looking for the staircase where the Dursleys lived.

His heart pounded when he rang the doorbell. He had no idea how his aunt and uncle would react to his appearance at their doorstep, Daphne in tow, but he knew for sure they weren't going to slaughter a sheep to greet the lost son. The best he could hope for was that they didn't yell at him.

Dudley opened the door. His eyes went wide when he saw them.

'Who is it, Duddikins?' Harry heard Aunt Petunia's voice calling from the background, over the noise of the telly.

Dudley turned his head and called over his shoulder: 'It's Harry – and his wife.'

Aunt Petunia didn't answer immediately. The sound of the telly broke off. Then her head appeared behind Dudley's shoulders.

She scowled at Harry. 'Did you come to gloat over our misery?'

He shook his head. 'I've come to help you – if you'll let me; I know that everything that happened to you is because you took me in.'

'It's about time you admit that,' Aunt Petunia huffed.

Beside him, Daphne let out a small, enraged growl. Harry took her hand and squeezed it lightly. As much as he appreciated her anger on his behalf, he would rather get over with the confrontation with the Dursleys without a yelling contest, or – Merlin forbid – his wife hexing the Dursleys into the next millennium.

Aunt Petunia obviously wasn't aware of the danger she was in. 'Let them in,' she told Dudley.

Dudley stepped aside and held the door open invitingly.

Harry and Daphne found themselves in a narrow hallway that smelled faintly of furniture polish. At the end of the hallway, a door stood ajar. That was where Aunt Petunia led them. Walking ahead without any further greetings, she opened the door to a small living room, and ushered them in.

The furniture in the room was threadbare and obviously bought second hand after the Dursleys discovered the loss of their house and all of their belongings they had to leave at Privet Drive. However, each piece was impeccably clean. The surfaces of the cabinets were polished until they made reasonably well mirrors. The huge television screen the Dursleys had taken with them when they went into hiding was the centrepiece of the room. Some things obviously never changed, Harry thought with an inward grin.

Uncle Vernon lay on the couch, but got up when they entered the room. Harry would have barely recognised him had he run into him on the street. He had the ashen looks of someone who was still recovering from a severe illness. His pale skin was wrinkled, as if it was too big for his body: a sure sign that he had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His clothes, hanging from his body, and his grey hair and moustache reinforced that impression.

Harry gave his uncle a polite nod. 'Uncle Vernon.' Then he put his arm around Daphne's waist and said. 'This is my wife, Daphne. Daphne, meet my aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley.'

Daphne also nodded politely. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs and Mr Dursley.' She made no attempt to shake their hands.

It wouldn't have done her any good, anyway. Petunia gave her an appraising look from top to toe. 'You knocked her up, didn't you? That's why you had to marry her when you were not yet eighteen,' she stated.

'She's one of your kind, isn't she?' Uncle Vernon asked at the same time, recoiling as far from them as was possible in the small room.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. His relatives behaved exactly as he had thought they would. While he could deal with that – after all, he had survived sixteen years under their "loving" care – he was embarrassed and angry by the way they treated Daphne. He gave his wife an apologetic side glance. 'I'm sorry, Daphne; I told you how they would be.'

'Don't worry about that, Harry. My parents didn't behave much better to you,' she replied with a thin smile.

He squeezed her slightly in thanks for her understanding, and then turned back to his relatives. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Petunia, but Daphne isn't pregnant. Yes, Uncle Vernon, she's a witch.' He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. 'As I said before, I've come to help you – if you let me; I have two proposals for you I'd like to discuss with you.'

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon exchanged a look. Then Aunt Petunia indicated with her hand to the small sofa. 'Take a seat, please.' Her voice actually sounded polite.

Harry and Daphne sat down, while Uncle Vernon sat back on the big sofa, and his wife moved to sit down beside him. Dudley settled in one of the two upholstered chairs.

Harry looked at his wife, not sure how he should begin. She took his hand and gave him an encouraging smile. Emboldened by her support, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out three magical photos he had asked Sunny to take that morning. He put the photos on the low coffee table in front of his aunt and uncle.

'These are photos of three Muggle houses my grandfather left to me. They are all within Muggle areas, without any magical features or protections. This one is in Oxford, that house is in Bristol, and the last one's in Huddersfield,' he explained, tipping the photos with his index finger. 'Each house has four bedrooms, and is in excellent condition, I've been told. Take your choice out of these three. I promise not to set up any magical wards around the house you choose, as there were around Privet Drive. I'll have someone maintaining the place, since Dudley will be leaving soon to pursue his education, and Uncle Vernon obviously is not in the shape to do much.'

He leaned back in the sofa and was rewarded with another supportive squeeze of Daphne's hand. He exchanged a small smile with his wife, while he waited for the decision of his relatives.

Aunt Petunia leaned forward, and took the photo of the house in Huddersfield in her hand. 'This is my parent's house,' she breathed.

Harry's eyes grew wide. 'You mean, that's the house where you and Mum grew up in?'

His aunt nodded. 'Yes; we had to sell it after our parents died. Lily and I still had to finish our educations, and we needed the money for that. The real estate agent told us he had an offer not even five minutes after the house was put on the market. The buyer accepted the rather outrageous price we demanded without any bargaining. I always thought that weird, but back then I was so relieved that Lily and I had the money to see us through our last year that I didn't ask any questions.' Her eyes never left the photo in her hand while she talked.

His aunt's revelation made Harry sit bolt upright. 'I had no idea!' he exclaimed. A soft smile spread over his face. 'I suppose Dad heard that Mum needed money, and asked Grandfather to buy the house. After all I've heard about my parents, he was already infatuated with her back then, even though she wouldn't give him the time of the day.'

Daphne chuckled at that. 'Like father, like son, huh? Obviously, you both can't hide your Gryffindor side.'

He flashed her an amused smile, but then turned back to his aunt. 'Thanks for telling me. Do you want to live there?'

Aunt Petunia put the photo back on the table with a reminiscent smile, but she shook her head. 'No, thank you. I hated it up there, and swore never to return. If you don't mind, I'd like to live in the house in Bristol.' She picked up the photo of the house and showed it to Vernon. 'I think, living at the seaside would do you good, dear.' Looking at Harry, she added, 'Vernon will still need a long time to recuperate from his heart attack, and the doctors don't expect a full recovery.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Harry replied, and he meant it. He squared himself for the next part. Knowing his aunt and his uncle, he was sure this was going to be difficult.

'Dudley told me you lost your job, Uncle Vernon,' he began. 'I'm sorry about that. Nothing of this would have happened to you, hadn't I lived with you.' He made a motion with his hand that encompassed the whole room, while his uncle harrumphed. Though, he noticed that it lacked much of the anger and spite his uncle had shown towards him in the past.

'I feel responsible for you, and I want to compensate you for what you've lost. I've recently come into some money...' He felt Daphne silently chuckling beside him. "Some money" surely was the understatement of the year. 'However, to be able to transfer it to you from the wizarding world to your Muggle bank account I'll need to perform a magical ritual on each one of you that will make you a member of a magical family.'

His uncle and his aunt both blanched at his words. Uncle Vernon's face became even more ashen, if that was possible. Aunt Petunia took his hand, and looked him in the eyes.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Never in all these years of living with the Dursleys he had seen his uncle and aunt being affectionately towards each other. Seeing them holding hands felt somehow indecent, and he shifted in his seat. He felt the urge to bounce his feet, while he watched the seemingly endless silent exchange between his aunt and uncle. Only Daphne's example, who sat beside him as calm and cool as a cucumber, kept him from showing his nervousness outwardly. Instead, he employed the calming breathing exercises she had taught him to keep himself under control.

The silence in the small room dragged on until it became oppressive.

'I'll do it,' Dudley's voice interrupted the silence. He got up from his chair. 'What do I have to do?'

His aunt let out a small whimper, while some colour returned into the grey cheeks of his uncle. Instead of recoiling into his seat, he sat upright. 'You can't allow that – that –' he started, but his voice and demeanour lacked the anger and spitefulness Harry had always associated with Uncle Vernon.

His wife interrupted what was a weak shadow of the diatribes he used to throw at Harry. 'Vernon, dear, please calm down. You oughtn't to get upset, the doctor said.' She put a hand on her husband's shoulder and patted it.

Uncle Vernon sunk back in his seat. The colour drained off his face, and he made a motion with his hand as if waving aside the whole world.

Aunt Petunia's eyes were full of pain as she looked at her husband.

Harry suddenly realised that he felt pity for his uncle and aunt. With pity came forgiveness. He motioned at his cousin to sit down. He had planned to give his relatives the choice between accepting the ritual – and the money –, or remain dependant on social aid. He never intended to give them any explanations. It was a small and probably catty way to get back at them for the many years they had kept the truth about his ancestry from him. In the face of what had become of them, he couldn't go on with his plan.

'Let me explain what I'll do before you make your decision,' he started. 'I found the spell I'm going to use on you in the Family Grimoire. That's a collection of spells, potions and other magical developments that are kept within the family and not shared with any outsiders. Trade secrets, so to speak,' he added for the benefit of Uncle Vernon.

To his amazement, his uncle nodded in understanding.

'This spell has been developed during the times of the Norman Conquest,' he went on with his explanation. 'The times were dangerous back then. Many families had lost their head and provider of income, and there were frequent Danish attacks. The Head of House Black at that time took pride in the fact that he cared for his Muggle neighbours, and used his magic to protect them from the frequent attacks. Even though he was very powerful, he couldn't prevent many Muggle children from becoming orphans. He felt it his duty to protect and provide for these children. Since they weren't magical, he thought of a way to include them into the protections Magic offers for magical families, and came up with the spell I'm going to use. Nowadays, the protection detail isn't that important anymore, though the connection the spell will create between you and me will let me know if you're in danger. Today, that spell is necessary if I want to make provisions from the Family Trust for people who are not magical, or not members of the family. Otherwise, I won't be able to access the trust on your behalf.'

His aunt and uncle exchanged another look. Then Aunt Petunia cleared her throat. 'Will – will the spell change us?' she asked.

At first, Harry was puzzled by the small, hopeful sparkle he saw in her eyes. Then he remembered the letter she had written to Dumbledore, and he shook his head. 'You'll be glad to know that the spell won't make you magical. All you'll feel is probably a sense of protection, if that much. It depends on how sensitive you are to magic.'

'Oh,' Aunt Petunia mouthed. The sparkle in her eyes died, and an expression akin to disappointment flickered across her face.

Dudley stood up once more. 'I'll do it,' he repeated.

This time, his parents didn't object.

Harry took out his wand. 'Are you sure, Big D?'

His cousin grinned at him. 'Just go ahead. Do you think I don't know how many times you dreamt about pointing that stick at me, and turning me into a guinea pig? You finally have your chance. So, what are you waiting for?'

'Scratch the "guinea", but other than that you're right,' Harry chuckled. He took a deep breath. While the spell wasn't long, it demanded a lot of concentration and power. He closed his eyes and let his magic flow through him. Then he raised his wand and performed the spell on Dudley.

A bright mist surrounded his cousin, and then slowly faded away.

'Wow, you did it silently,' Dudley said, while Daphne remarked, 'That mist was much brighter as the one you produced when you performed that spell on Andi and Teddy.'

Harry took another deep breath. 'It's probably because Dudley is a close blood relative of mine,' he told his wife. 'How are you feeling, Dudley?' he asked his cousin.

Dudley shrugged his massive shoulders. 'Not much different. But I somehow feel connected to you.'

'Good. That's exactly how it's supposed to be,' Harry told him. He then turned towards his aunt and uncle. 'Are you willing to let me perform the spell on you?'

Aunt Petunia took a deep, shuddering breath. She exchanged a last look with her husband, and then stood up. 'Go ahead,' she told her nephew with an audible gulp.

Harry could see the terror in her eyes. 'I won't hurt you,' he promised, and raised his wand. A second later, his aunt was surrounded by a mist as bright as the mist around Dudley had been.

'I don't feel anything,' she said after the mist had faded away. Harry thought he sensed a trace of disappointment in her voice. She sat down, and gave her husband a gentle nudge. 'It's your turn now, dear.'

Uncle Vernon got to his feet slowly and clumsily. He shook like a leaf when he stood in front of Harry in expectation of the spell.

Afraid that he might suffer another heart attack, Harry hurried to perform the spell on him. This time, the aura wasn't as bright as before.

'That confirms your assumption that the brightness of the aura depends on whether you perform the spell on a blood relative or not,' Daphne observed when the mist ebbed away.

'It looks like that,' Harry agreed, while he stashed his wand in his back pocket. He carefully avoided to look at Uncle Vernon, whose knees had given out the moment the spell had been performed, and now leaned back in the sofa, his eyes closed. Small beads of sweat formed on Uncle Vernon's forehead, while he clutched the area of his heart with his right hand.

Harry exchanged a look with his wife when he sat down beside her. The worry in her eyes mirrored his own concern about his uncle's state of health. Neither his uncle, nor his aunt were paying attention to him. Uncle Vernon's eyes were still closed, and Aunt Petunia leaned over him, patting his hand, and murmuring soothingly. He dared to cast a silent and wandless Diagnostic Charm on his uncle. It was one of the nifty spells he and Hermione had found when they went through the books Hermione had hoarded in her beaded bag; back during these endless days when they made no progress in the hunt for the Horcruxes, and went through the books over and over again in the hope to find a hint. To his relief, the spell told him that there was no imminent danger. He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. 'He'll recover soon,' he whispered to Daphne.

Dudley looked at him with raised eyebrows. 'Have you performed healing magic on dad?'

Harry shook his head. 'Only a Diagnostic Charm. I was afraid for a moment.'

'Good,' Dudley said. The relief in his voice was palpable. 'We're worried about him. The docs say he's still very weak; it's a miracle he survived.'

Harry gave his cousin a noncommittal nod. The diagnostic charm had told him that his uncle was in a very bad shape, and probably wouldn't live another year, but there was no need to worry his cousin and aunt, besides that the charm he had used wasn't the most accurate, anyway.

They waited in silence until Uncle Vernon had recovered enough to open his eyes and sit up. To Harry's amazement, he gave him a small nod, that could have been meant as a nod of thanks.

'I'll have one of the Potter house elves taking care of the house,' Harry told his relatives. 'Bemmy has maintained the house during the last twenty years since my grandfather died. You only have to call him if you need something done at the house. He'll also help you to move, though you won't need much beside your personal things. The house is fully furnished. But please, don't overwork him. In tomorrow's mail, you'll be notified about the accounts that are set up in your name with a Muggle bank.'

His relatives stared at him, obviously having a hard to come to grips with the self-confident way their nephew and cousin took charge of their lives.

Soon after that Harry and Daphne took their leave. Originally, Harry had planned to apparate from his relative's living room, because he knew that would vex his aunt and uncle to no end. In the light of his uncle's weakness, however, he suppressed that childish urge.

As soon as they had left the living room and entered the narrow hallway, Aunt Petunia put a hand on Harry's arm. 'Wait a minute,' she told him, and vanished through another door that led into a bedroom. Seconds later she returned, a small jewellery box in her hands. 'It was beside you the day we found you on your doorstep,' she explained, shoving the box into Harry's hand. 'That headmaster of yours wrote we should have it to pay for your keep. I still remember how happy Lily was the day your father put it on her finger. She always wore it. How could I sell it?' Her voice sounded choked.

Harry held his breath as he opened the small box. On a bed of velvet was the biggest diamond ring he had ever seen. It gleamed faintly in the dim light of the windowless hallway. He shared a look with his wife over the open box. 'This was supposed to become your ring, Daphne.'

She shook her head. 'I don't need it, Harry. You already gave me your grandmother's ring, and I love it very much.'

He exchanged another look with his wife. As Daphne nodded slightly, he shut the box and handed it back to his aunt. 'Keep it, Aunt Petunia, and wear it in memory of your sister.'

His aunt stared at them, speechlessly, as they slipped out of the flat.

The moment the door to the Dursley's flat closed behind them, Daphne flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.

'What was that for?' Harry asked, amused, as she finally broke off the kiss. 'Not that I'm complaining.'

'That's for you being you,' she told him with a radiant smile. 'You've got so much power on your hands, Harry, and yet you haven't once abused it. Just the contrary, you're using it to make people happy. You had your family at your mercy today, but instead of letting them have a dose of their own potion for the way they treated you, you handled them with respect and care. Don't get me started about the power you wield in our society!' She broke off, and kissed him again.

'Don't you think you're exaggerating, Daphne?' he asked.

She shook her head when she grabbed his arm to allow him to apparate her back to The Hideaway . 'No, Harry. You're every inch a true Slytherin, powerful, yet not abusing your power. And that's why...' She broke off and turned beet red.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but she refused to say more, so he spun around and apparated them back home.

MY

The annoying buzzing of the Banishing Box greeted them the moment they entered the house. Harry rolled his eyes, but went to gather the mail; however, not without having received a small nudge from his wife before. 'Slavedriver,' he muttered under his breath.

'I heard you,' Daphne called over her shoulder from her way to the kitchen.

As he had expected, there was a long list of Howlers sent to Daphne. He put it aside for Percy to deal with it, and joined his wife at the kitchen table. They read their mail while Breezy made the last preparations for lunch.

'Lisa asked to meet the gang tonight at the Leaky Cauldron, ' Daphne told him as Breezy placed a bowl of soup in front of her. She gave the small creature a smile of thanks.

'That sounds like we'll be going out a lot this week,' Harry replied, also nodding his thanks at Breezy as she placed another bowl in front of him. 'Your Uncle Gordon invited us to dinner at the Chat Noir for Wednesday; he wants to talk to me about my duties as a member of the Wizengamot.'

Daphne gave him a stern look across the table. 'That settles it, Harry. Tomorrow, we'll be going to Twillfitt and Tattings and order more robes for you. We need to order our school robes, anyway.'

Harry groaned in response. 'Must I?'

'Stop whining. That's unbecoming of the Saviour-of-the-Magical-World,' his wife told him without a trace of sympathy in her voice, and ate another spoonful of soup.

MY

Shortly after dinner, the Potters entered the Leaky Cauldron from Charing Cross Road, both wearing Muggle clothes. They had decided on having dinner at a Muggle restaurant before meeting their friends, and dressed up for it: Daphne in a summer dress with a wide skirt that not quite reached her knees, but showed off her long, shapely legs in high heeled sandals, and Harry in tight black jeans, a button down shirt and a leather jacket.

Harry's arm was draped around Daphne's shoulders, and he laughed about something she said as they entered the pub. As always in the evening, the pub was crowded and noisy, but the moment the patrons recognised magical Britain's most talked about couple, all conversations ceased, until you could have heard a pin drop to the floor.

Daphne looked at Harry with wide, innocent eyes. 'Is something wrong with my dress?'

'You're as beautiful as always, my dear,' Harry assured her, with a trace of laughter in his voice, and kissed her cheek.

'Daphne, Harry, over here!' Lisa waved at them from a long table at the back of the pub.

Harry grabbed his wife by the hand, and they threaded their way through the silent crowd until they reached the table where their friends sat, casting broad smiles and lots of "excuse me" towards the still shell-shocked patrons of the pub while doing so. The greetings, when they finally reached their table, were boisterous.

'It seems as if the news about your impending separation were highly exaggerated, Potter,' Fabian Vaisey laughed as he clapped Harry on the shoulder in greeting.

Harry held out a chair for his wife to sit down. 'You know how Skeeter is, Vaisey. I swear, that rag of a newspaper has deteriorated even more ever since she started writing. One of these days she and her editor will find out they bit off more than they can swallow.'

Vaisey raised his eyebrows when he sat down. 'Is that so, Potter? Well, in that case you can count on the support of the House of Vaisey.'

'And the support of the House of Bletchley,' Miles Bletchley chimed in.

'Not to forget the House of Longbottom,' Neville smiled from the head of the table.

'Where a Potter leads, a Macmillan will follow,' Ernie said, somewhat pompously, and raised his glass to Harry.

'Hey, don't leave me out of that!' Terry exclaimed, and everyone broke out into laughter.

'Thanks, guys, Daphne and I really appreciate that,' Harry said as the laughter died down.

Hannah chose that moment to approach them and take their orders. As if finally recalling their manners, the patrons of the pub quit staring at them, and listening into their conversation, but resumed their own conversations.

'That was about time,' Lisa grumbled. 'Tell us, Harry, how did you and Daphne manage to get onto the front-page of the Profit with that headline?'

'It's all Daphne's fault,' Harry grinned, and nodded his thanks at Hannah who just placed a butterbeer in front of him.

Daphne elbowed him in the ribs. 'I resent that, Potter!'

'Ouch, she's doing it again,' Harry complained, rubbing his side in an exaggerated way.

'You begged for it,' Daphne deadpanned, and took a sip of her Elven wine.

They laughed again.

'Stop bickering, children, and tell us what happened,' Vaisey said after the laughter had died down.

'Yes, daddy, ' Harry grinned, of course setting off the gang once again.

Among much laughter and teasing, Harry and Daphne managed to tell the story of their visit at St. Mungo's. The hilarity knew no bounds when their friends discovered that the bludger Daphne had sent at her husband resulted in an assumption of domestic violence.

'Tell me, why do things like that always happen to you, Harry?' Dean wheezed, and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.

'The Wrackspurts must've got to him once again,' Luna remarked serenely.

'I have no idea,' Harry replied, ignoring Luna's remark with long practice, and drained his mug of butterbeer. 'I didn't think it especially funny when I discovered the article yesterday. I know that the newspapers are bound to be curious about my life, and by extension also about Daphne. I've got used to it, but I'll draw a line where they write outrageous lies about my wife.' His eyes became dark with anger.

That sobered the mood.

'You're absolutely right, Harry,' Fabian Vaisey finally agreed. 'It's not a laughing matter that they spread details about your visit at St. Mungo's in the newspaper, thus violating your privacy and turning around a harmless teasing you, Daphne and the Healer had. As I said before, I'm on your side with everything you decide to do against that newspaper.'

The others nodded in agreement.

From there, the conversation turned to happier topics. Hannah had persuaded Tom, the barkeeper, to put up a dart board at the back of the room. Dean took it upon himself to introduce his friends to the popular pub game. With exception of Harry and Dean, they had all been brought up in the magical world and never heard about darts.

Soon, the group of young people was engaged in a boisterous game that got noisier as the night – and with it the consumption of butterbeer and Firewhiskey – progressed. It didn't take long, and the young wizards and witches tried to come up with magical ways to play the game. However, their aim deteriorated the longer the night went on. They were caught by surprise when Tom announced the last round, and parted with much laughter and promises to see each other soon at Ernie and Morag's joint stag-and-hen party.

MY

The next morning Harry woke up with a massive hangover.

'Look at it from the bright side,' his wife told him as she handed him a phial with Hangover Potion. 'You're already married and can't make the same mistake again.'

He grabbed for the potion like a drowning man for the life buoy, and downed it in one gulp. 'Who said I made a mistake?' he then smiled at Daphne and got out of bed, leaving his wife speechless as he sauntered towards the bathroom. A long shower helped a lot to restore him. He felt as good as new when he sat down at the breakfast table.

Daphne leafed through the pages of the Daily Prophet , a frown on her face. 'They didn't print a word about Percy's press statement,' she told him.

'That's not surprising, isn't it?' Harry replied, grabbing for the sports section of the newspaper. 'They wouldn't print anything that casts them in a bad light. Percy also sent it to the foreign newspapers and The Quibbler, didn't he? You can bet they will have a field day with it.'

Daphne nodded at that, and began to read the society column. Not even a minute later she let out an angry hiss.

'What's the matter, kitty?' Harry asked, looking up from an analysis of the latest game of Puddlemere United against the Ballycastle Bats.

'Look for yourself,' she replied and handed him the newspaper, pointing out the article that had affronted her with her index finger.

The article wasn't long, just a mere three lines about Harry having met with friends at the Leaky Cauldron last night, and leaving in a rather inebriated state. However, there was no word about Daphne.

'Technically, they told the truth,' Harry said, handing the newspaper back to his wife.

'Yeah, but after the article they printed on Sunday, everyone will just assume that you went to the Leaky Cauldron alone to drown your sorrows about your unhappy marriage,' Daphne replied, biting her lips.

Harry sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. 'Daphne, I hate to tell you, but when it comes to me, the magical world will always "assume", and never bother to ask for the truth. You know that their assumptions are wrong, I know that their assumptions are wrong, and our friends also know. That's all that matters to me. All we can do is prevent the newspapers from printing outright lies; we can't change the idiocy of the wizarding community.'

'That's not fair,' his wife whispered, obviously at the brink of tears.

Harry got up and gathered her in his arms. 'Fair is where they judge pigs, kitty. You'll have to learn not to let them get to you.'

She let out a rather watery laugh as she buried her head at his shoulder. 'I'll try.'

MY

After breakfast, Daphne dragged a protesting Harry to Twilfitt and Tattings.

'Stop whining, Harry. If you're a good boy, I'll treat you to lunch at that new cafe on Diagon Alley,' she promised.

Harry knew when he had lost a battle with her, and resigned to his fate. 'You know, Daphne, you're enjoying this far too much,' he told his grinning wife as he took her arm to apparate her to Diagon Alley.

Three hours later, an exhausted Harry and a highly satisfied Daphne emerged from the tailor's shop.

'That wasn't that bad for one morning,' Daphne remarked as she linked arms with him. 'We've ordered our Hogwarts robes, you finally have enough dress robes and casual robes befitting to your standing, and we even managed to order your formal Wizengamot robes.'

'Yeah, and my feet are killing me, and I've almost been pricked to death by magical pins,' Harry grumbled.

Daphne gave him a peck on the cheek. 'Poor boy,' she crooned. 'You'll feel better after you've had your lunch.' With that, she dragged him to the cafe that recently had opened in the rooms of Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour.

The cafe was crowded, they found out to their dismay. While they were still looking for an empty table, a woman with flaming red hair waved at them. 'Daphne, Harry, come and join us!'

Their faces lit up when they recognised Moira and Aaron Vaisey. Hand in hand they walked to their table, while the other patrons eyed them curiously, and then stuck their heads together and whispered.

Moira and Aaron greeted them warmly. Soon, the two couples were engaged in a lively talk about their families.

'You said you've got two sons, Moira,' Harry asked. 'I've already met Fabian. Where's your other son?'

'Gideon is on vacation in France,' Moira told him. 'He'll be a Slytherin sixth year prefect next school year.' The pride in her voice was evident.

'Fabian and Gideon – you named your sons after your brothers, didn't you?' Harry mused.

Moira nodded, a sad smile on her face. 'Yes, that's true. My brothers never would've tolerated Molly's behaviour. Both of them were rather open minded.'

'Sorry, Moira, I didn't want to bring back bad memories,' Harry excused himself.

'You didn't,' Moira assured him, and surreptitiously wiped away a tear. 'Hardly anyone talks to me about my brothers, thinking it'll make me sad. It's like killing them all over again.'

Harry gave her a broad smile. 'In that case, will you tell Daphne and me about your brothers?'

'I'd love to,' Moira replied. Over their meal, she entertained them with stories about her brothers that had Harry and Daphne in stitches.

'Now, I know from which part of the family the twins inherited their prankster genes,' Harry laughed.

'No doubt about that,' Moira agreed, also laughing. Then she sobered. 'I've been told the older twin was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts? How's Molly coping?'

Harry also sobered. 'Not good, I'm afraid. She already was a mother-hen when I first came to the Burrow, but after Fred's death she got even worse; downright suffocating. She forbade Ron to accompany Hermione - that's our mutual friend - on a trip to Australia to search for her parents, saying it was too dangerous to go there on a Muggle plane. When she discovered that Ron had left without her permission, she cried for three days in a row.'

Moira thoughtfully traced the rim of her glass with a finger. 'I can see where she's coming from,' she said quietly. 'We lost our brothers during the first war. Losing a child must be tenfold more painful.'

They fell into silence.

The bright flash of a camera startled them out of their pensive mood. Stars danced in front of Harry's eyes as he looked up to see who had taken a photo of them without bothering to ask. Rita Skeeter's gold teeth flashed at him. Her smile reminded him somehow of the pictures of sharks he had seen in his science book when he was still at primary school.

'Skeeter!' he spat. 'Who gave you the permission to take our picture?'

Skeeter gave him a false smile. 'Well, you're a person of public interest, Harry; especially since your marital problems have come into the open.'

'You mean, since you've made them up,' Harry corrected her hotly. He was about to jump up and hit that stupid woman in the face, when Daphne put a hand on his arm. 'Don't heed her, Harry,' she said with a clear voice. 'She's trying to goad you into a statement she can use against you.'

Skeeter rummaged in her crocodile leather handbag, finally pulling her notepad and her poison-green Quick-Quotes-Quill out of it. Without asking for permission, she pulled an empty chair from the next table towards her, and sat down at their table between Harry and Moira. The look she gave Daphne could only be described as murderous. 'Any comments about the state of your alleged marriage, Miss Greengrass?'

'The name is Potter,' Harry and Daphne corrected her unison.

'Nobody invited you to sit next to us, Skeeter,' Aaron's calm voice interrupted Skeeter before she could ask her next question. 'Since I know how persistent your kind is, we're going to take our leave now.' He stood up.

The others followed his example. They hastily made their way to the exit, Harry and Aaron dropping a couple of galleons at the cashier, and left the cafe.

'Quick! She's following us,' Aaron murmured.

The two couples hastened through the crowded alley to the Leaky Cauldron . Harry looked over his shoulder. Aaron was right. Skeeter was not far behind them, her faithful photographer Gozo in tow.

When they reached the pub, they exchanged a hasty good bye with the Vaiseys. The older couple then took the Floo, while Harry and Daphne continued through the exit to Charing Cross Road. The second they left the pub, Skeeter and Gozo burst into the taproom through the entrance from the alley.

Hand in hand, they ran to the side alley beside the pub to apparate back home from there. Harry gripped Daphne around her waist and started to spin. The moment he apparated them away, he saw a frustrated Skeeter appear in the entrance of the alley.

MY

'That was a near thing,' Harry panted as they appeared in front of The Hideaway .

'Yeah,' his wife agreed, tucking a strand of hair that had come out of her ponytail behind her ear. 'The next time I see that woman, I'm going to hex her first, and ask questions later.'

'You'll also want to look out for green beetles,' Harry told her, putting his arm around her shoulder to walk her inside the house.

She looked up to him, a surprised expression on her face. 'What do you mean, Harry?'

On their way into the house Harry told her everything about Skeeter's Animagus form.

'That's how she managed to stay in contact with Malfoy during the Triwizard Tournament,' Daphne exclaimed. 'I knew he was giving her information, but I've always wondered...'

She was interrupted by the persistent noise of the Banishing Box. With an amused side glance at her groaning husband she slipped out from under his arm, and went into the study to gather their mail.

'Percy kept word and sent us the translations of the articles about our press statement in the foreign newspapers and the Quibbler,' she told him when she joined him in the living room, a thick wad of papers in her hands.

Harry had made himself comfortable in a corner of the big sofa. Daphne sat down beside him, leaning back against his chest. He slid an arm around her waist, and together they read the articles Percy had sent them, Harry looking over Daphne's shoulder.

The international European press and the big newspapers of the Commonwealth countries unanimously applauded their decision to go against the Sunday Prophet , reminding their readers of the disreputable role the British magical press had played in slandering Harry's reputation during and after the Triwizard Tournament, thus "endangering the fragile self-esteem of a teenage boy who had not only been entered into that horrible tournament against his will, but also had no adult in his corner who cared enough for him to put an end to the harassment by the self-styled star reporter Skeeter," the French Paris Match Magique wrote. The Magical Times of India pointed out that by the way the British press had continued to slander Harry's name after the tournament, they not only "aided the corrupt British Ministry for Magic to suppress the news of the return of Voldemort, but prevented the guileless British magical population from preparing themselves for the impending war. Not to mention the danger that ostrich-like stance posed for the other Commonwealth countries, since Voldemort's followers tried to recruit new members for their terrorist group in these countries."

'I suppose neither Skeeter, nor the owners of the Profit will like this,' Daphne remarked.

'I bet,' Harry snorted. His expression became thoughtful.

Daphne gave him a curious side glance. 'What are you scheming, husband of mine?'

'I just thought about the rules for the press of the Muggle world some of these newspapers pointed out, and that have obviously been adopted by other magical governments. Skeeter said I'm a person of public interest, and that gives her the right to take photos of me. Well, I agree as long I'm attending official functions, for example taking my seat on the Wizengamot. I think it's taking it too far to say she's allowed to take pictures of me wherever she pleases.'

'You've got a point there,' Daphne agreed with a straight face. 'I don't want to see pictures of my husband taken in the men's room, with his trousers down, popping up in the Profit.'

Harry choked, then laughed out loud. 'You're impossible,' he told his wife when he had regained the capability of speech. 'I wouldn't put it past Skeeter to do just that.'

He dropped a kiss on Daphne's head and swung his legs over the edge of the sofa to get up. 'I'm going to write to Percy about Skeeter's stunt of today. He'll have to extend the lawsuit, I'm afraid.'

MY

They found out about the reaction of the owners of the two Prophets to the articles in the international press, and Skeeter's reaction in particular, the next morning at breakfast. If a newspaper could foam at the mouth, that edition of the Daily Prophet did.

ATTACK ON THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS!

by

Rita Skeeter

That headline greeted them when they sat down at the table. The article beneath the headline accused Harry of using his fame to gag the press.

Inside of the newspaper, in the society column, they found the picture Skeeter's photographer had taken of them at the cafe when they were thinking of what the war had cost Molly Weasley. It showed Daphne and Harry sitting side by side, staring down at their plates, and a pensive expression on their faces. Moira and Aaron had been cut out of the photo.

'Strained Silence Between the Alleged Spouses!' Harry read aloud the caption under the photo.

'That was to be expected, wasn't it?' Daphne replied, looking over his shoulder. 'After all, we did nothing short of declaring war on her and her employers. I suppose we have to get used to a lot of more nasty headlines until this is over.'

Harry grabbed for her hand that rested on his shoulder. 'I never wanted to drag you into this, Daphne.'

She gave him a kiss on the cheek before she slid into her seat at the table. 'Don't worry about me, Harry. Do you remember our conversation at the Georgian Tearoom ? We knew back then that we'd become the focus of the press eventually. We agreed to face the storm together, remember, and present a united front to the world. As long as we stick to that plan, they can't harm us.'

Harry mumbled his agreement, but as he looked at the faint lines of strain that had appeared around her eyes when she read the article, he wondered if his young bride wasn't in for more than she could tolerate.

MY

'Daphne, Harry, it's nice to see you,' their hostess Mary McDougal greeted them as they approached their table at the Chat Noir.

To the amazement – and joy – of the Potters their hosts had also invited Alex and Susanne Potter, who had come over by International Portkey from Switzerland. The elder Potters greeted their young relatives warmly. Only seconds after Harry and Daphne the last guests of the dinner party arrived: Kingsley Shacklebolt and his lady-friend Hestia Jones.

'Why, I'm of the impression that it's no accident that you also invited Alex and Kingsley when you want to talk to me about my seat at the Wizengamot, Gordon?' Harry asked, spreading the napkin over his lap after the first course had been served, and their host had cast a Privacy Ward.

Kingsley let out a booming laugh. 'I've told you he'd catch on as soon as he saw Alex and me, Gordon.'

Gordon joined the laughter. 'You're right, Harry,' he then told his young guest. 'I not only wanted to give you an overview of what to expect during your first Wizengamot session, but Alex and Kingsley wanted to ask you for your help with a special project.'

Harry frowned, and gave his mentor and his cousin a sharp look. 'You'd better not want me to make your poster-boy,' he warned.

Alex looked alarmed at the venom in Harry's words, but Kingsley only chuckled. 'Calm down, Harry,' he advised his young friend. 'When Gordon said we need your help, he meant more than giving your name for one of our projects. We need you to work with us.'

'Oh, in that case it's all right, I guess,' Harry replied, the frown disappearing from his face.

Daphne shook her head at him with a small chuckle. 'You'd better ask them what they want from you before you make any promises, Harry.'

That had Kingsley laugh again. 'So, your wife has also become one of your advisors, Harry?'

'Absolutely,' Harry agreed, and dabbed his mouth with his napkin before he took a sip of wine. Thus fortified, he asked, 'First things first, what will I have to do as a member of the Wizengamot?'

'Straight to the point,' Gordon said approvingly. 'Well, balach , as a member of the Wizengamot you'll have to attend the meetings regularly. The meetings are scheduled for the Wednesday afternoons every third week of the month, beginning in September, and lasting through to May. Most members of the Wizengamot are members of a faction. The factions usually meet the Wednesday a week before the Wizengamot session, and prepare for the topics that will be discussed.'

Harry quickly did the math in his head. 'I'll have to attend to twenty meetings during my last Hogwarts year.' He exchanged a look with Daphne. His free time quickly dissolved into nothingness, with the workload of his last year, his duties as head boy and now his duties as a member of the Wizengamot on top of it. Not to mention, the frequent meetings with Director Ragnok and his other managers that were necessary to keep him up to date with the ongoing in the management of the Potter Holdings. He began to wonder if he would still be able to play on the Quidditch team that year.

'At a minimum,' Gordon replied to Harry's horror. 'Every now and then an emergency meeting is scheduled on short notice.'

Harry exchanged another look with Daphne. 'It's going to be a tough year,' she remarked, taking his hand.

The older adults chuckled. 'Nobody said it's going to be easier as soon as you're of age,' Hestia winked at them.

'No kidding,' Harry agreed. He shot a grin to Alex and Kingsley. 'I have no idea how I'll find the time to help you with your plans, but just go ahead and spill it.'

Kingsley chuckled, putting down his cutlery, and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. 'Well, our plans have to do with your dream to kick magical Britain into the 20th century, Harry. You remember that we talked about that right after the war?'

Harry nodded, vividly remembering the long nightly conversations he and Kingsley had had in the Great Hall of Hogwarts when they both were unable to sleep because of the horrors they had been through. They had discussed how to get rid of the corruption in the British magical world, and how to introduce more democracy.

'It's not only about modernising the British magical society,' Alex interjected. 'As I told you when we last met, Harry, Magical Britain has always lived separately from the other European countries. That's dangerous, because the rest of magical Europe is quickly developing away from them.'

'When the ICW agreed on the Statute of Secrecy, and the magical population decided to hide from the Muggles, Europe was less populated than it's nowadays,' Kingsley picked up the thread from Alex. 'It was rather easy to hide from the Muggles at the magical places that were for hundreds of years populated by wizards and witches. For some strange reason we do not yet understand, the Muggles tended to settle down in the same places.' He paused to take a spoonful of his soup.

'As you can imagine, that leads to a lot of problems,' Alex continued seamlessly. By the way he and Kingsley kicked the ball of the conversation between them, Harry felt strongly reminded of the twins. 'In Europe, especially in the small, crowded countries like the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg, but also Switzerland, wizards and witches have changed their view on the Statute of Secrecy. Out of sheer necessity they stopped hiding themselves, but chose to hide their magic instead. After the gruelling experiences with Grindelwald and the huge death toll of that war, the bigger countries like France, Spain, Italy and Germany followed suit.' He took a sip of his wine, and then went on. 'Today's stance on the Statute of Secrecy in Europe is rather to hide the magic than ourselves. We live and work side by side with our Muggle neighbours. Our kids are sent to Muggle school. Quite a lot of us have Muggle friends. I've been told it's not much different in the Asian countries.'

'That sounds too good to be true,' Daphne interjected with a dreamy voice. 'Just imagine – not having to wear those ugly, old fashioned robes anymore!'

The whole party broke out into laughter, Daphne included.

'I can imagine you'd like that, kitty,' Harry chuckled. His chuckles subsided, however, when he turned to Kingsley and Alex. 'You want my help in changing the attitude of the British magical population towards the Statute of Secrecy? Thank you very much, that's a job for someone who likes a hopeless mission.' He rolled his eyes, while he fortified himself with a sip of wine.

'Well, that's just down your alley then, isn't it?' Kingsley deadpanned.

Harry couldn't help himself, he had to join the laughter that followed Kingsley's comment. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up Daphne's efforts in taming it for their visit at the sophisticated restaurant. His wife rolled her eyes at him, but Harry ignored her. 'Honestly, I wouldn't have an idea how to do that.'

'I disagree,' Alex replied. 'You and Daphne just need to continue what you're already doing.'

Both Potters gave him a look full of incomprehension.

'In the short weeks of your marriage, you and Daphne have already become the epitome of a young, modern magical couple,' Kingsley elaborated. 'Though you didn't make a statement about it, everybody knows that you've spent your honeymoon at a Muggle resort, and even went there by plane. The few times you made an appearance in Diagon Alley, you always wore Muggle clothes. Each piece you wore has been discussed in the ladies' magazines immediately afterwards. Madam Malkin is making a pretty galleon these days by selling copies of the clothes you wear.'

Harry snorted. 'I never would've thought I'll become a fashion icon one day.'

That remark earned him another round of laughter.

'It's not only a matter of fashion,' Alex told him after the laughter had died down. 'The circle of friends you and Daphne chose is also remarkable. It covers the width of our society, from Purebloods to Muggleborns. Also, you included members of all four houses, and didn't stick to just Gryffindors. That has not only be noticed by the population, but was also well received.'

Gordon cleared his throat. 'You have no clue how many people are afraid that you'll use your fame to promote only your Gryffindor friends, Harry, thus ousting alumni from other houses from leading positions at the Ministry, and causing the political tide to turn to the Muggleborns. They're afraid that this will mean the end of many of our cherished traditions. In their eyes, it means exchanging the dictatorship of the Pureblood class against the dictatorship of the Muggleborn class. That attitude is dangerous. For the changes our society needs, we need to get all parts of the magical population on board.'

Kingsley nodded to that. 'That's the reason why I'm happy you're attending the Wizengamot under Gordon's guidance. While we all agree that changes of our government and society are necessary, we'll fail if we don't manage to persuade the vast majority of the magical population of that. With your and Daphne's help that'll be much easier. You epitomise the best of both worlds.'

Daphne and Harry had listened to the three older men in silence. Now they exchanged a look. 'I've never looked at it this way,' Harry mused, Daphne nodding to his words.

'We want you to continue with what you're already doing, only to advertise it a bit more,' Alex went on. 'We know that you're currently fighting the bad press you're getting from Skeeter and the Prophet . The wizarding magazines as Witch Weekly and Teen Witch are still on your side, and so are the international newspapers. All you'll have to do right now is to stop and talk to their correspondents when you attend official functions.'

Again, Daphne and Harry exchanged a look. 'I don't think I've ever seen another reporter than Rita Skeeter,' Harry said.

'There was a photographer of the Sunday Prophet at our ball,' Daphne contradicted. 'Mother invited him, but I know he wasn't allowed to approach us or any of the guests for statements. Though, I have to agree, I can't remember having seen a reporter of the magical magazines or the international press once when I attended an official function with my parents.'

Kingsley let out a rumbling laugh. 'I easily believe you, Mrs Potter. The Prophet is controlled by the members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. So, only their reporters are tolerated at most Pureblood events.'

'You'll meet representatives of the magical magazines and the international press at Morag and Ernie's wedding,' Gordon told them between two bites of the excellent Chateaubriand with Sauce Bernaise they had been served. 'Neither Ernest Macmillan nor I are averse to let them report from important events of our families, if it helps to promote the cause of the light traditionalists.'

Daphne looked thoughtful. 'I think we can do that,' she finally said.

Harry grimaced, not liking the thought of seeking out any member of the press, but nodded to Daphne's words.

'Thank you,' Alex and Kingsley said unison, both looking immensely relieved.

From there, the conversation turned to lighter topics. Gordon regaled them with anecdotes about his first year on the Wizengamot that had them in stitches. It was already rather late when the party broke off.

MY

The opportunity to carry out their promise to Kingsley and Alex presented itself the next night. Ernie and Morag were getting married the coming Saturday, and had invited all their friends to a joint stag-and-hen-night at the Barnabas the Barmy , a newly opened, Muggle style night club on Knockturn Alley.

'It's the newest place to be seen,' Daphne told Harry over her shoulder as she sat at her dresser and applied her make-up.

He snorted. 'I take your word for that, kitty. You know I don't care a damn about these things.'

'Neither do I,' she smiled at him in the mirror, while she fidgeted with the tube of lipstick. 'Lisa told me when we met at the Leaky Cauldron . She keeps up to date about things like that.'

She stood up and whirled around. 'How do I look?'

Harry gulped. 'You look just – wow !'

She wore a red halter-top dress with a flaring skirt that ended way above her knees and left a good deal of her back bare. Matching high heels, and the earrings he had given her as a wedding present, completed an outfit that was bound to scandalise every conservative Pureblood in magical Britain, especially since it was worn by a scion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. 'Must we really go to that party?'

She purred with delight, but put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him away. 'Yes, we must. You can play later, Harry!'

'You're no fun, Daphne,' he groused.

She gave him an impish grin. 'Just the contrary; you have way too much fun with me.'

'Minx!' he grinned. He looked at his watch. 'We should get ready. Our portkey is due in five minutes.'

They walked down to the living room and picked the invitation from the mantle of the fireplace, which would serve as the portkey. Seconds later, they were whisked away and landed in a roped in area in the foyer of the club. A security wizard greeted them, checked their invitation, and then ushered them to the lobby of the club.

Harry got an impression of red carpets and mirrored walls. A line of wizards and witches had already formed in front of them, all waiting to greet their hosts who stood at the entrance of the club. Finally, it was their turn. They both hugged a beaming Morag and Ernie, and then went into the club.

Blaring music and a staccato of light greeted them. Harry was not surprised when he saw Lee Jordan in the DJ's booth. This was just down his alley. The dance floor in front of the stage was already crowded with people. Off the dance floor was an area with comfortable looking leather lounges and small tables for drinks.

Lisa and Terry waved at them from one of these lounges. Harry and Daphne threaded their way alongside the edge of the dance floor until they reached their friends.

Thanks to excellent charm work, the music was still audible in the lounge area, but not as loud as to make conversation impossible. They greeted Lisa, Terry, Neville, Hannah, and took a seat. In the adjoining lounges, Harry could see Dean and Luna with the Patil twins and their dates, two Indian men in their early twenties who looked so much alike that Harry was sure they were also twins. Fabian Vaisey and Miles Bletchley waved at them from another lounge. They both had girls by their side Harry vaguely remembered as Ravenclaws two years ahead of them.

Since the Barnabas the Barmy boasted to be a Muggle style pub, they served only Muggle drinks. Harry knew that he was going to have to apparate later in the night, if he didn't want to rouse Sunny out of his sleep, so he decided to stay with coke. Daphne, however, had acquired a taste for Muggle cocktails during their honeymoon. She and Lisa poured over the drinks menu, and finally decided on a Bellini.

'Oh, that tastes wonderful,' Lisa remarked after their drinks had been served. However, neither she nor Daphne were capable to sit for long. Soon, they dragged Terry and Harry onto the dance floor. Hannah and Neville followed suit.

Harry had no idea how long they danced, but he enjoyed dancing with Daphne, as he had at the ball. When they finally returned to their lounge, Morag and Ernie, Luna and Dean and Fabian Vaisey and Miles Bletchley with their dates joined them. The lounges were designed to house eight people at the most. Conveniently forgetting that they were witches and thus capable to solve the problem with a simple Extension Charm, the girls silently and unanimously decided to save room by sitting down on the lap of their significant other.

Daphne put one arm around Harry's neck and played with the hair at the nape of his neck, while she and Lisa chatted a mile a minute. Harry sat wedged between Terry and Neville. He enjoyed holding his wife, his arm wrapped around her slim waist, and discussed the latest Quidditch results with his friends, when the light of a camera blinded them.

He let out an inward groan. Not that Skeeter woman again, he thought. When the stars that danced in front of his eyes eventually faded away, he saw a small, pudgy woman smiling at them from under dark bangs. There was nothing of the malice that was so typical for Skeeter in her round, chocolate brown eyes.

'Thank you for the lovely picture, dears,' she smiled at them. 'The readers of Witch Weekly will be delighted to see that our youth is having fun after the dark times we've had.'

'It's our pleasure, Mrs Herr,' Ernie replied politely.

With a farewell smile, the reporter from Witch Weekly made her way to the next lounge to take photos.

Harry bent forward and looked at Ernie from behind Daphne's back.

Surprised by the sudden unexpected movement, his wife shrieked and flung both arms around him to keep her seat.

'Don't worry, kitty; I've got you safe,' he grinned at her. Then he turned to Ernie. 'Who was that?'

'That was Trude Herr, a reporter from Witch Weekly. She's one of the nicer ones of her profession. Dad always makes a point to talk to her, and he advised me to do the same,' his friend replied.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. His eyes followed the reporter as she made her way among the lounges, taking photos and having a brief chat with all the guests. He couldn't help but notice that her eyes moved to Daphne and him ever so often.

'Maybe we should run into her "accidentally" later this evening, and talk to her,' Daphne said into his ear under the cover of the music and the ongoing conversations, while she still played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

'Good idea,' Harry replied and kissed her cheek.

Shortly after that, the girls decided that they wanted to dance some more. Harry enjoyed himself, but suddenly Daphne grabbed him by the hand and dragged him off the dance floor. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, but she only smirked in reply. She led him out of the main room, into the empty foyer, where she gave him a little push towards one of the deep leather chairs that stood there. The moment he sat down, she was in his lap and kissed him until he thought he was on fire.

'So much for the rumours about marriage problems,' an amused voice behind Daphne's back said.

Harry broke off the kiss, slightly disorientated. However, though she masked it very well, he could see a triumphant gleam in Daphne's eyes. He peered around her back.

Trude Herr grinned at him like a player who had just won the jackpot. In the terms of her profession, she probably had.

Harry looked at his wife. The smugness in her eyes was even more pronounced. 'Sly little snake! You've planned this,' he mouthed to her.

Daphne didn't deny it. She bent towards him and gave him a quick kiss, before she turned around in his lap and smiled at the reporter in front of them. 'They are just that, rumours,' she told the reporter. 'There's not an ounce of truth about them.'

Mrs Herr took a seat in the chair opposite of them. 'Why did your husband end at St Mungo's that night, Mrs Potter and why did you claim that you hurt him?' she asked.

'It happened during a Quidditch game with friends,' Harry informed her. Daphne still sat on his lap, and he had his arms wrapped around her waist, while she had her left arm slung around his neck. 'We played on opposing teams; Daphne as beater, and I as seeker. When I was about to catch the Snitch, Daphne sent a bludger at me. It was a fair move; I'd have done the same in her place. Unfortunately, the damned thing hit me straight in the ribs. I've had worse during Quidditch games, though, and managed to heal most of it during the game. When Daphne saw the big bruise after we'd returned home, she freaked out and insisted that I had to see a Healer.'

'The healer made a joke and asked Harry if he got the bruise by playing Quidditch or because of domestic violence,' Daphne continued. 'Someone probably listened in and told the press; I guess that's how the rumour started.'

'I see,' Mrs Herr nodded. 'However, that story caused a lot of trouble for you. Personally, I wish you good luck with your lawsuit against the Prophet and Skeeter.' The way she spoke the name of her colleague wasn't a raucous applause for the self-proclaimed star reporter. She started, as if an idea hit her. 'Mrs and Mr Potter, would you like to do an inside story with Witch Weekly ?'

Harry doubted that this was a sudden idea. The question probably was as random as their arranged run in with the reporter.

Daphne turned around and looked at him. They both knew that this was exactly what Kingsley and Alex wanted them to do, so Harry gave his wife a short nod. She turned back to the reporter. 'We'd love to,' she smiled. 'We'll owl you the place and the time, is that alright with you?'

'Absolutely,' Mrs Herr smiled. 'One last question, if you don't mind. What about the reports that you're trying to become the next Minister of Magic when the Wizengamot meets again in September, Mr Potter?'

Harry and Daphne burst out laughing. That had been the headline of today's Daily Prophet . Of course, their meeting with Gordon and Kingsley had not been unnoticed. Thanks to the excellent privacy charms Gordon had put up, the other patrons of the restaurant Skeeter had interviewed about that meeting could only speculate about the contents of their conversation. As always, Skeeter had made up for that with her own creations.

'Sorry, but I have other plans, Harry told the reporter, still laughing. 'If you allude to the meeting we had yesterday with Gordon McDougal and Minister Shacklebolt, it wasn't anything that exciting. I've discovered lately that I've inherited a seat on the Wizengamot from my godfather. Gordon McDougal offered to be my mentor for the first year. Minister Shacklebolt and I fought together during the war, and Alex Potter is my cousin. Since I wasn't raised for it and have no idea what awaits me at the Wizengamot, the three men graciously agreed to introduce me to my new duties. Yesterday's meeting was the first of many still to come, I'm afraid.'

The reporter also laughed. 'How boring!' Then she stood up. 'I don't want to intrude on your privacy any longer,' she winked at them, and walked back to the main room of the club.

'Well, that went better than expected,' Daphne said with a broad smile after the door had closed behind the reporter.

'That was a masterstroke, Daphne. Remind me never to get on your bad side,' Harry said, and kissed her on the cheek. 'You'd probably run circles around me.'

'Don't you forget it, Mr Potter,' she smiled, and kissed him back.

MY

Regardless of their late return after Ernie and Morag's party – Harry had apparated them back home in the wee hours of the morning – they were up early the next morning for their appointment with Headmistress McGonagall. They both had been mindful not to drink too much, so they didn't suffer from a hangover. A few cups of tea helped them to become fully awake, and soon they were on their way to Hogwarts.

Harry apparated them to the entrance gates. Hagrid was still travelling, so it was Professor Flitwick who opened the gates for them.

'Ah, Mrs and Mr Potter! It's a pleasure to see you. Let me congratulate you on your nuptials.'

Harry and Daphne thanked the diminutive professor for his well-wishes, and together they walked up to the castle. Harry let his eyes wander around the grounds and the castle exterior. The Black Lake blinked in the summer sun, with the giant squid lazily luxuriating on the surface. The castle stood tall and proud as always. Nothing on the outside had remnants of the fierce battle that had taken place there three months ago.

He felt how Daphne's small hand stole into his and pressed it lightly as he turned his head to look at his wife. 'I'm good, kitty,' he smiled into her concerned eyes.

She looked as if she didn't believe him, but let it go as they reached the entrance. Professor Flitwick opened the door. Together, they entered the castle and parted ways with the Charms Professor on the third floor. While Professor Flitwick turned into the direction of his classroom and office, to make the last preparations for the upcoming term as he said, Daphne and Harry continued to the headmistress' office.

Inside, the castle looked as immaculate as on the outside. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Daphne slid her arm around his waist as they walked on, hugging him lightly. 'You've been apprehensive to return, haven't you?'

'Yes,' he admitted. 'I was afraid I'd be reminded of the battle at every turn I take. Hogwarts looks as always, as if the battle has never taken place. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I'm not haunted by the ghosts of the battle, but somehow this immaculate state also feels wrong.'

She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked on. 'I think, I see what you mean. It's as if we're forgetting about everything that happened in order to move on. We have to remember these dark times, and teach future generations about them, or it will happen again.'

They had reached the gargoyle that guarded the spiralling staircase that led to the headmistress' office, so Harry was excused from an answer. To his amazement, the gargoyle jumped aside without asking them for a password. Silently holding hands, they rode up the staircase to the door of the headmistress' office.

'Come in,' they heard Headmistress McGonagall's clipped voice as they knocked on the door.

Still holding hands, they entered the office.

Headmistress McGonagall sat behind the big desk that had already served Dumbledore, but when they entered the room, she got up and walked around the desk to greet them.

'Mrs and Mr Potter! I'm happy you agreed to this meeting. Firstly, take my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage.' Her gaze fell on their still entwined hands. 'I'm also happy to see that Skeeter's article about your supposed marriage problems are nothing but her usual hogwash.'

Harry laughed as he shook hands with his former head of house. 'It surely is, Professor McGonagall.'

Instead of sitting behind her desk once again, and inviting Daphne and Harry to take a seat on the visitor's chairs in front of it, Professor McGonagall led them to a small seating area in front of the open window. While they walked over and took a seat – Harry and Daphne side by side on the small sofa – Harry surreptitiously examined the familiar room.

The pictures of the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were still on the wall. Most of them were dozing in their seats, but Harry could see they were faking it, ever so often glancing at Professor McGonagall and her visitors from under their eyelashes.

A few were awake and waved at him, but Harry paid them no heed. His gaze was drawn to a big picture that hung directly behind Professor McGonagall's desk. It showed Professor Dumbledore, sitting on his throne-like, gilded chair. In contrary to the portraits of the other headmasters and headmistresses, his portrait was sound asleep.

'The picture has been finished and delivered a few days ago,' Professor McGonagall remarked, noticing where his gaze had wandered. 'It usually takes the portraits four to six weeks to adjust after the animation spell has been cast, before they can interact with their surroundings.'

'I see,' Harry replied. He had no idea whether to be disappointed that he couldn't talk to Professor Dumbledore's portrait, or relieved that this was not possible, considering his still conflicting feelings about the man he had not yet dared to analyse.

Professor McGonagall summoned a house elf and asked for tea and biscuits. While they waited for the refreshments, they made small talk about the lovely summer weather – it was one of the hottest and sunniest summers the British Islands had experienced in a long time – and Daphne and Harry's honeymoon.

Harry took the opportunity to watch the headmistress' office more closely. The shape of the circular room had not changed. The many bookcases were still there. Besides that, nothing remained of the times of Professor Dumbledore. The bookcases were still filled with books, but instead of overflowing from Professor Dumbledore's eclectic collection of books about all magical fields, the books were put up in orderly rows and alphabetically sorted. They were mostly about Transfiguration, Harry noticed, though there was also a section about the history of Scotland, and another about Wizarding Chess.

The big, overstuffed chairs Professor Dumbledore had offered to his visitors were also gone. They had been replaced by high backed chairs with cushions in the pattern of the McGonagall tartan. Gone were also the many silver trinkets Professor Dumbledore had kept on small tables beside his desk and throughout the office, as was Fawkes' perch beside the window. The latter gave Harry a sharp pain in his heart, he wondered if he would see the magnificent phoenix ever again in his life.

Instead of the perch, Professor McGonagall had installed a small seating area where they sat now. Without Professor Dumbledore's many knickknacks, the room seemed spacious and airy.

A small house elf, dressed in a white tea-towel toga with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on it, served tea.

'I'm happy you accepted the honour of becoming head girl and head boy, Daphne and Harry,' Professor McGonagall said while she poured the tea, and handed the platter with biscuits.

'Well, it is a great honour, professor, and we're thankful that you chose us. While you made an excellent choice with Daphne, I'm not so sure about me, though. After all, I never was one to care for rules,' Harry replied with a lopsided smile.

The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth quirked up. 'Don't I know that,' she said with feeling, which made Daphne chuckle into her teacup. 'However, there would have been an outcry in the magical world, hadn't I made you head boy this year. Just like your father back in his days, I thought that was the only way to get you to obey the rules for a change.'

Harry and Daphne laughed out loud at that. By now, Harry had told his wife enough about the exploits of the Marauders that she could understand Professor McGonagall's private joke.

'Speaking about rules,' Professor McGonagall said, and summoned a thick pocketbook from her desk. She duplicated it with the Gemino Spell and placed one copy each in front of Harry and Daphne. 'The new Board of Governors hasn't been idle ever since it has been formed. These are the revised rules of conduct for Hogwarts students, and the punishment the students have to face by overstepping the borders. You'll be happy to discover that the possibility of abuse of the house point system by prefects and professors as well has been eliminated. The new rules of conduct state explicitly for which violations house points can be taken, and also limit the number of points that can be taken. On the other hand, students who feel they have been treated unfair, either by prefects or professors, can take their case to a panel consisting of the four head of houses and the headmaster or headmistress, who are required to investigate. Also, we are enforcing a no-tolerance-policy from now on. The prefects are demanded to keep a record of the points they have taken. Once a week there has to be a meeting of the prefects and the head girl and head boy, where these records are discussed. If one student stands out with a certain number of points taken from him or her, or a certain number of offences committed over and over again, the panel of prefects and head girl and head boy is free to hand out detentions. However, if the same student has to be punished that way a second time during one term, the case has to be handed over to the panel of the head of houses and the headmistress. We'll hand out more severe punishments, such as suspensions or even expulsions. Also, there are a number of violations of house rules that are considered so severe that they result in immediate suspension or even expulsion. The use of the term "mudblood" is such a case, but other forms of bullying will lead to the same consequences. Bullying in any form will no longer be tolerated at Hogwarts.' Her eyes sparkled resolutely. 'Can you follow me so far?'

Harry and Daphne nodded to that. Daphne cleared her throat. 'I suppose that applies to any form of bullying, no matter from which house?' she asked.

'Absolutely,' Professor McGonagall confirmed. 'The last thing we'll need is three houses letting the fourth house have it for the mistakes committed by adults. I plan on uniting the houses, not alienating them even more. For that reason, everyone in this school has to be more approachable. I suppose you've noticed that you needed no password when you came up to my office?'

Again, Harry and Daphne nodded.

'I've abolished the passwords for every professor's office and common room,' Professor McGonagall explained. 'Instead, they're warded by powerful runes to prevent pranks from outside. From now on, the entrances are public knowledge. A simple knock on the door should suffice.' She gave Harry and Daphne a small smile. 'I would also like the two of you to think about ways to unite the houses, instead of separating them even more after the war.'

Harry exchanged a look with his wife. As she nodded at him encouragingly, he cleared his throat. 'Actually, that's a point Daphne and I have discussed a lot during the last weeks since we got your letter, professor. We both think that the house system with their separate common rooms is diametrical to house unity. The students never dare to visit the common room of another house. I'm also pretty sure that none of the houses would tolerate students from another house in their common room. Unfortunately, there's no place in this huge castle where students from different houses can meet and spent time together.'

Professor McGonagall let out a frustrated sigh. 'I know. It was already like that when I was a student. What do you suggest to overcome that prejudice?'

'Forget the house common rooms,' Harry replied coolly, ignoring the shocked expression that appeared on Professor McGonagall's face. 'Turn them into extra study rooms for the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students. Merlin knows there're not enough places in the library to study, and there's no way you can study without interruption in the common rooms. Set up a common room for each year that is accessible for all four houses. After all, there are more than enough empty and dusty rooms around here that aren't used.'

'I think we should do more to welcome the first years,' Daphne continued. 'At the moment, they are left on their own devices to find their way around the castle and make friends with other students. There should be an orientation day for the first years to get to know the castle. Harry and I have made plans for a kind of scavenger hunt. Groups of four first year students from all of the houses are tasked to find certain items within the castle and on the grounds. Thus they'll have to travel all the main passages and will learn to find their way. It has also the added bonus that we can get students from the different houses together. Here are the plans we made.' She pulled a shrunken scroll of parchment out of the pockets of her robes, enlarged it, and handed it to Professor McGonagall.

Daphne and Harry waited silently while the headmistress scanned their plans. Daphne took Harry's hand, thus preventing him from fidgeting impatiently while Professor McGonagall took her time to examine their ideas.

He gave her a grateful side glance, while he wondered how she managed it to look that calm and composed, though he knew that she was as anxious as he to find out what Professor McGonagall thought about the plans they had spent so much time on to develop.

Finally, the headmistress lowered the scroll into her lap, and gave them one of her rare smiles. 'This is a fantastic idea! I'm behind it one hundred percent. Of course, you can't do it all by yourself. I'd suggest that you explain your idea to the other prefects during the train ride, and tell them what they have got to do.'

'Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall,' Daphne said as she took the scroll back from Professor McGonagall.

The headmistress regarded her with a faint smile. 'I guess that isn't all, is it, Daphne?'

A small smile flickered over Daphne's face as she shook her head. 'No, it isn't. After the dark times everyone has been through at this castle during the last year, we thought there should be some fun things to build up good memories. We came up with the idea to introduce social functions, beside the customary Hogsmeade weekends.'

'We thought of having something for the years one up to three, like an afternoon of board games, or obstacle broom races, and a dance once a month for the years four up to seven,' Harry picked up where his wife ended. 'Heaven knows we all need some fun and it would also be something that involves all the houses.'

The headmistress nodded thoughtfully. 'I can see your point. Actually, it is a good idea. Unfortunately, there's not much money left in the Hogwarts household for extra curricular affairs.'

'We won't need much money,' Harry objected. 'We planned on letting the students organise these extra curricular affairs. It'll give them a chance to apply the magic they have learned in class, and it will also be bonding time for students outside of their houses.'

Professor McGonagall's face lit up at that. 'In that case, I don't see any problems with the board of governors; I'll run your plans by them, Harry and Daphne, but I'm positive that they will be approved.'

She raised her wand and summoned a small badge from her desk. Handing it to Harry, she said, 'When we were sending out the Hogwarts letters, we were not sure if we were going to get the Quidditch pitch in order in time for the new school year. For a long time it looked as if we were forced to cancel Quidditch yet another year. I'm happy to tell you that we managed the impossible. Thus, I'd like you to become Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain once again, Harry.'

Harry looked at the golden badge with a red "C" on it, lost in thought. His time as Quidditch Captain had been one of the best times he had had at school. It was tempting to relive that time again, to be a carefree student once in his life…

He looked up, and exchanged a look with his wife. The sight of Daphne made him realise that he couldn't turn back time. He was forced to return back to school for his last year by law, but he had already outgrown the boundaries of the life of a student. He was a married man and head of his house. He had an orphaned godson to raise, a business to manage, and a seat on the Wizengamot. There was no way he would find the time to coach a Quidditch team on top of all of his other duties.

With a smile of regret, he handed the badge back to Professor McGonagall. 'I'm awfully sorry, professor, but with everything I have on my plate this year I won't be able to do the team justice.'

Professor McGonagall sighed as she took back the badge. 'I was afraid you'd say that. Who do you suggest as captain, Harry?'

Harry didn't have to think twice about that. 'What about Ron? He lives for the game, and he's the next senior member on the team after me, anyway.'

Professor McGonagall nodded to that, though she didn't look happy. 'You're not going to be the only married couple this year,' she then informed them. 'There are going to be at least three other couples. For that reason, we decided to reopen the corridor with apartments Hogwarts provides for married students, rather than to add rooms to the dormitories.'

Harry and Daphne exchanged a look of relief. They had been afraid that they would have been forced to live in separate dormitories. That would not only have been dangerous to their magic, but also something they dreaded, since by now they had become used to their intimacy.

Soon after that, Harry and Daphne took their leave. They spent the rest of the day studying the little pocketbook Professor McGonagall had given them. To their delight they found out that adult students were allowed to leave the castle to attend to their family business.

'That means we can still visit Teddy on the weekends,' Daphne beamed.

Harry rolled his eyes at her, but had to laugh. 'You're so wrapped around his tiny finger.'

'As if you fare any better any time he smiles at you,' Daphne replied. She shut the pocketbook with an audible noise and tossed it onto the desk. Then she got to her feet and stretched. 'Whatever; this looks as if it's going to be a very busy year for us. We'll probably be happy for every time we can get out of the castle and catch our breath.'

Harry gave an affirmative nod to that while he still studied the school rules.

Both of them had no idea how prophetic Daphne's words would turn out to be.

MY

No thought of the busy year ahead of them was on their mind when they arrived at the Portkey spot for the guests of Ernie and Morag's wedding the next afternoon. Daphne had warned Harry ahead that it was going to be a big affair, and so they had both dressed in their finest. While he ambled towards the pavilion in the park of Gaellun, the ancestral home of the McDougal family, his beautiful wife on his arm, he was glad that Daphne had insisted on getting him formal robes from Twilfitt and Tattings, though, of course, he never would admit that. However, she had made sure that he didn't stand out between the other guests. Well, at least not for the way he was dressed. After all the bad articles in both Prophets about them, he wasn't surprised that they got a lot of curious stares.

Daphne handled them with the calm and cool composure he by now associated with her public face, as he called it. Pride of his beautiful wife welled up in him as he watched how she waved and nodded at the other guests, ignoring their curious stares. Quite a lot were relatives of hers, and ever so often she would stop and exchange a few words with an elderly cousin. When they finally reached the rows of white chairs that had been put up in front of the pavilion, Harry had lost count to how many people she had introduced him, and how many times he had bowed over the hand of a witch and kissed her knuckles.

The ushers showed them to their seats on the side of the bride. Since Daphne was a close relative of the bride, they were seated near the front, together with Isabella and Cyrus, and of course Tori.

It was the first time they met Daphne's parents after the disastrous end of the ball in honour of their own wedding two weeks ago. So much had happened since then that Harry had hardly noticed that Daphne's parents had not once asked how she was feeling after the attack on her. However, this was not the time to take them to task for their behaviour, so he suppressed the urge to glare at them, but instead bowed over Isabella's hand and exchanged a handshake with Cyrus.

Tori hugged first her sister, then him, and he realised that he had become attached to the bubbly girl in the short time since he knew her; she was the little sister he had never had.

Soon after their arrival the wedding began and a pale, nervous Ernie walked down the aisle with Justin Finch-Fletchley at his side. Then came the bridesmaids, Hannah Abbot and Morag's younger sister Abrianna with Susan Bones as the maid of honour.

The music signalled the arrival of the bride. Harry stood up with the rest of the guests as a beaming Morag walked down the aisle on her father's arm. When he had first met her, he had thought her a rather unremarkable girl. Today, he had to revise his judgement. Dressed in a delicate lace brides gown, there was something ethereal about the petite girl. Harry felt himself reminded of the pictures of fairies in his primer at primary school.

One look at Ernie told him that he obviously wholeheartedly agreed. The look he gave his young bride was full of love, happiness and pride. Justin touched him briefly on the elbow and murmured something to him. Probably he had to remind his best friend to breathe, Harry thought with an inward laugh as he watched Ernie holding out his hand to receive his bride from Gordon.

With a wistful smile, Gordon put Morag's hand in Ernie's, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and then sat down beside his wife.

The officiator began the ceremony. It was very short and straightforward, and soon he came to the important part.

'Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimonie, as your magicke demands? Wilt thou love her, coumforte her, honor, and kepe her in sickenesse and in health? And forsaking all other kepe thee only to her, so long as you both shall live?'

'I will,' came Ernie's answer. His voice sounded hoarse, but steadfast.

The officiator turned to Morag. 'Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded housebande, to live together in the estate of matrimonie, as your magicke demands? Wilt thou be his, obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and kepe him in sickenesse and in health? And forsaking all other kepe thee only to him, so long as you both shall live?'

'I will,' Morag answered, loud and clear, as soon as the officiator ended.

A soft ripple of laughter ran through the congregation.

The officiator then motioned Ernie and Morag to take each other's hand, and pulled out his wand.

Ernie's eyes were dark with emotion when he looked at his bride and said: 'I, Ernest, take thee, Morag, to my wedded wife, to have and to holde from this day forwarde, for better, for wurse, for richer, for poorer, in sickenes and in health, to love and to cherishe, til death us departe: and thereto I give thee my trouth and my magicke.'

The officiator circled his wand around their joined hands.

Harry felt goosebumps running down his spine; the vows sounded oddly familiar to him.

When it was Morag's turn to say her vows, she had such a radiant look of love and trust on her face that Harry felt a lump form in his throat. Beside him, he heard a soft sniffle. Turning his head, he saw how Daphne surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye. Then she looked up to him. The breath caught in Harry's throat. The light in her eyes was as radiant as the look on Morag's face. Without realising it, he took Daphne's hand, and she leaned against him.

'I, Morag, take thee, Ernest, to my wedded housebande, to have and holde from this day forwarde, for better, for wurse, for richer, for poorer, in sickenes and in health, to be yours, to love and to cherishe, to obey and to serve, til death us departe: and thereto I give thee my trouth and my magicke.'

Once more, the officiator circled Ernie and Morag's joined hands with his wand. He than began to chant a long and complicated Latin spell. Then he said, 'Ye have declared your consent in the face of magicke. May magicke strengthen your consent and fill ye both with its blessings.' For a last time, he circled their joined hands with his wand. The moment he took his wand away, a bright light erupted, engulfing Ernie and Morag, and obscuring them from the sight of the congregation.

By now, Harry was sure that these were exactly the vows he and Daphne had exchanged, though he still had next to no memory of the actual event. He remembered the moment Kreacher informed him about their marriage. Kreacher has never seen such a bright aura as in the moment master and mistress exchanged their vows. A sudden epiphany overcame him. Was the brightness of the light any indication of the love the couple shared? But that would mean... Again, he looked down at his wife. Their eyes met, and as on the day of their wedding ball, he had the distinct feeling that something was shifting between them.

Loud cheers and whistles erupted from the assembled family and friends, startling Harry and Daphne back into reality. As the light faded away, everyone started clapping.

A beaming Ernie bent down to kiss his wife, and Morag slung both arms around his neck, responding enthusiastically. Ernie then took his wife by the hand, and together the happy couple walked down the aisle, followed by their family and friends.

Harry and Daphne had no chance to talk while they waited in the reception line until it was their turn to congratulate the newlyweds. After that, they were ushered to the ballroom of Gaellun, where a festive dinner, and after that the wedding ball, would take place. They found themselves at a small, round table they shared with Lisa and Terry and Luna and Dean.

'I can't believe that Morag consented to these ancient vows,' Lisa exclaimed as soon as she sat down.

Harry and Daphne exchanged a surreptitious look. 'What do you mean by that?' Harry asked.

Lisa fluttered her hand. 'You've heard it! Morag just bound her life and her magic to Ernie. There's no way back from that.'

'Yeah, but if I've heard right, Ernie did just the same,' her fiancé interrupted what rapidly seemed to become a passionate rant.

'Not to the same extend,' Lisa contradicted. 'Morag practically became his property with these vows. She made them on her magic! Heaven knows what will happen if she ever breaks them.' She looked genuinely upset for her friend.

'Magic always demands a price, but will also give you back a lot in return,' Luna's serene voice chimed in.

Lisa's head jerked up. 'What does that mean?'

Luna gave her an angelic smile. 'You'll see that Morag and Ernie won't find it difficult to keep their vows. They have a lot at stake, but magic will help them to focus on their feelings for each other. That is what these magical vows were created for. If you accept them with all of your heart, you'll find great happiness.'

The look on Lisa's face betrayed that she didn't believe her eccentric housemate. 'If you say so,' she relented.

'Just you wait and see,' Luna smiled, but she looked at Harry and Daphne while she said the words.

The young couple was rather silent through dinner. Harry couldn't wait to talk to his wife. From the way Daphne shifted in her seat and surreptitiously glanced at him ever so often, he knew that she was as impatient to get away from the wedding ball and talk to him as he was to talk to her.

The first chance to exchange a few private words came when the dancing started. However, when he held his wife in his arms and steered her over the dancefloor in a waltz, the right words seemed to fail him.

Daphne did nothing to make it easier on him. She just smiled at him, with a light in her eyes that made him want to kiss her senseless just there and then. Of course, such a behaviour was out of the question. Instead, he asked: 'Do you regret that you didn't have a traditional wedding like this?'

Daphne shook her head. 'Not at all! You know that a traditional would have meant that I had to marry Nott. You've heard my father: there's no way he would've given his consent to a marriage between us. Thank you, but I'm absolutely happy with the way we got married.' With a wink, she added, 'Though I don't remember much of it.'

He laughed, and pulled her as close towards him as good manners allowed, knowing that in spite of Ernie and Morag's big day a lot of curious eyes watched every step they made.

There wasn't much opportunity for them to talk after that. Tori claimed a dance with him, and so did Isabella. After Lisa, Luna and Hannah approached him, too, Harry had the feeling that they all were in a conspiracy to keep him away from his wife.

Finally, came the moment for Morag to throw her bridal bouquet, and then to leave with Ernie on their honeymoon. He watched and laughed with the other guests as Hannah and Susan fought to catch the bouquet. Hannah won and cast a radiant smile to a blushing Neville.

'It seems we'll be attending many weddings in the next couple of years,' Daphne chuckled and linked arms with him. 'Shall we say our thanks and farewells to Uncle Gordon and Aunt Mary?'

He nodded, and they joined the queue of guests that had formed to bide their good byes to their hosts.

Fifteen minutes later Harry had apparated them back to The Hideaway. He at once turned around to his wife and grabbed her hand. 'We have to talk,' he stated.

'That we have,' Daphne agreed.

It was a warm night in late August, so they walked in silent agreement to the bench that overlooked the moonlit bay.

'We haven't talked about us for a rather long time,' he began after they had settled down.

'That's true,' Daphne replied, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Her put an arm around her to give her more room. 'These vows Ernie and Morag exchanged,' he began haltingly. 'They sounded so familiar. Are they the same vows we exchanged over the anvil?'

'I think so,' Daphne replied, while she snuggled up to him. 'Though my memory of that event is hazy, I have to confess.'

They lapsed into silence. Harry leaned his head on Daphne's. 'Do you think Luna's right? That the vows we exchanged help us to make our marriage work? After all, though we talked about it once, we never made the contractual additions that will give you back your freedom.'

She raised her head and looked at him. 'That's because it isn't important to me anymore, Harry. The Potter house charter gives me a lot of freedom. Besides that, I trust you never to abuse the power our vows gave you over me.'

Harry looked down at his wife. He could see it in her eyes that she meant what she said. They had an expression of absolute trust that made him feel humble and small. But there was also something else in her expression that made his heart race.

He took a deep breath, gathering all his Gryffindor courage. 'We've become best friends, haven't we?'

Daphne nodded to that, her gaze never leaving his face.

With another deep breath, he put both arms around her and pulled her close. 'Tell me, Daphne, is it just wishful thinking on my part, or are we on the brink to something more?'

A radiant smile crossed her features that made Harry's breath catch in his throat. 'It's not wishful thinking, Harry; I think I'm beginning to fall in love with you.' She blushed deeply at these words, but held his gaze steadily.

Harry's heart missed a beat, then bumped a drumroll. A huge smile split his face into halves. 'Brilliant! I think I'm beginning to fall in love with you, too.'

Daphne flung her arm around his neck, and their lips met. Their kiss was long and full of promise. When they stopped, their foreheads still touching, they smiled at each other, goofily.

Harry was the first to sober. 'Mind you, Daphne, I'm lousy at this. You know how I grew up. I have no idea how to love someone, so it's very likely I'll mess up at one point. I promise not to fight whatever there is between us.'

She raised her hand and gently caressed his cheek. 'You know that my home wasn't much better than yours, Harry. My parent's example certainly never taught me how to lead a happy marriage. Let's just take things as they come, and see where it'll lead us.'

'Good idea,' he agreed, and rested his head on the top of hers. They sat like that for a long time, softly whispering to each other, until they finally walked into the house arm in arm.

When Harry made love to his wife that night, sweet and slow, they both knew that for the first time in their marriage the act meant more to them than just to quench their desire. They fell asleep, holding each other.

MY

Harry walked down to breakfast, whistling, and with a spring in his step.

'My, aren't we chipper this morning?' Daphne greeted him from the breakfast table, a twinkle in her eyes.

He stepped behind her and took her in his arms. 'That's only because of the excellent company I keep,' he quipped, and kissed her.

'Flatterer,' she smiled, but leaned against him with a content purr.

He let go off her, but not before giving her another kiss, and slipped into his seat. 'Anything on our agenda for today?' he asked while he grabbed his breakfast.

Daphne shook her head. 'No, we have the day all to ourselves.'

'That sounds too good to be true,' Harry replied, and picked up his fork.

'We deserve it after last week, don't you think so?' Daphne asked.

He only nodded in reply, already occupied with the Quidditch results from Saturday.

His wife rolled her eyes at him, but pulled the main section of the Sunday Prophet towards her. Skimming the newspaper, she remarked: 'Morag and Ernie's wedding got a lot of coverage.'

Harry looked up from the sports section. 'I expected that after your uncle told us how he and Mr Macmillan deal with the press. At least this event was all about Morag and Ernie, so they won't be interested in us.'

'You wish!' his wife snorted. 'The Chosen One and his alleged wife seemed to have put aside their marriage problems to attend the wedding of the supposedly former Miss Greengrass' cousin, albeit the alleged spouses were hardly seen with each other during the ball. The Saviour of the Light was seen dancing with quite a number of other women, but hardly ever with his alleged wife,' she read aloud from the article.

Harry shook his head. 'Not by my own choice,' he protested. 'If I had my way, I would've danced each dance with you, kitty.'

'Good answer,' Daphne chuckled, but Harry could see a small trace of worry in her eyes.

He got up and took her in his arms. 'Stop worrying about these damned newspapers, kitty. They've already cost us enough nerves lately. Let's do something fun today, just for the two of us.'

'I'd like that,' she replied, and leaned back in his arms.

They were still discussing the merits of a flight on their brooms along the Cornish coast – of course under Invisibility Charms because of the many tourists – over a visit in one of the many gardens Cornwall boasted, when the buzzing of the Banishing Box interrupted them.

'I'll get it,' Daphne said, and slid down from Harry's lap where she had somehow ended during their discussion. She returned into the kitchen with a single envelope in her hands. Her face seemed calm, but Harry noticed a wary expression in her eyes, though she hid it well.

When she handed him the envelope, he understood her apprehension. The letter was from Hermione. He had completely blocked out the fact that his best friends would return today. Never before in his life had he been less enthusiastic to receive a letter from one of his best friends, Harry thought as he turned the letter in his hands.

'Don't you want to open it?' Daphne asked.

Instead of returning into his lap, she had sat down beside him. As always, she gave him space in a difficult situation, and he acknowledged her thoughtfulness with a soft smile.

'To be honest, no, but I guess it can't be helped,' he replied, and opened the letter.

Harry,

At least you got my last letter. I'm glad Greengrass didn't keep it from you. Thank you for writing back and trying to reassure us.

As you see, we are back in England, and more worried about you than ever. The newspaper articles Molly collected for us about your marriage are disturbing, to say the least. You will be happy to know that I found authoritative precedent that will enable you to dissolve your disastrous marriage within no time.

Meet us tomorrow, provided that Greengrass lets you.

Don't worry, Harry, we will help you out of this. You know that Ron and I always will have your back.

Your friend

Hermione

Harry hardly suppressed an expletive as he handed the letter to Daphne.

Her calm face didn't give away her thoughts while she read. 'She more or less ordered you to meet her tomorrow,' she remarked, looking up from the letter after she had finished reading it.

'Yeah; and I'm very tempted to write her back and tell her to shove it,' Harry fumed, and messed up his hair with both hands.

'That would only mean to put off the inevitable,' his wife remarked, always the practical Slytherin. 'You'd better talk to them and explain to them how it came that we got married.'

'You're right,' he admitted. 'Though, judging by this letter I somehow doubt they will listen to anything I'll tell them. It seems to me that they've already made up their minds about you and our marriage. Hermione will have quite the nasty surprise tomorrow when we tell her where she can stick her authoritative precedence.'

'We?' Daphne replied, sounding surprised.

'Of course, we! The sooner Ron and Hermione learn that we come as a package, the better.'

His wife gave him a blinding smile. 'Thank you for including me, Harry, though I doubt your friends will be happy about that.'

'I'm not going to hide you, neither am I ashamed of our marriage,' Harry told her adamantly. 'Remember, we agreed right from the beginning that we'll be strong as long as we are united. That does not only pertain to the press, but also to Ron and Hermione; I won't let them badmouth you!'

Daphne gave him a worried look. 'You know that this can lead to a serious rift between you and your best friends, Harry?'

He took her hand in his, and pulled her onto his lap. 'Only if Ron and Hermione let it come that far, and don't change their attitude towards you. No, don't give me that worried look, love. We're married, and as my wife you have an important place in my life. Ron and Hermione will have to accept that, whether they like it or not.'