Chapter Four: Revelations

There was a long moment, an awkward pause at the centre of a symphony of chatter and laughter that deafened those who cared to notice. It was a sort of hollow in the sound of the ball, somewhere music started up but Daphne wasn't paying much attention. There was a smattering of applause. Off in the distance she was sure people were dancing, as that was what people did at these sorts of events. But Potter's eyes were going hard, the initial shock fading away being replaced with an anger Daphne suspected had been building up inside him ever since Ginny Weasley had gone to the press.

"Harry," Weasley said eventually, trying to force a grin on her face, but panic was setting in. Her pretty brown eyes kept darting away from Potter's face, off into the crowd. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Potter pointed out stiffly, his voice seemed almost empty but his eyes, those emerald eyes were burning. "Since when have you been part of all this? Hermione, she never…" But his voice trailed off. His hand was at his hair. Running through it as he stared at her. The woman who'd torn his life apart.

"She doesn't know I'm here." Weasley confessed. "I was invited."

There was another pause. Potter was too busy trying to keep his fury in check. His fingers flexed. His eyes never left her face. But Weasley never met his gaze, not once, her eyes flicking back into the crowd again. Looking for someone. A name rose to the surface of Daphne's mind, something she'd seen in the newspapers. Cormac McLaggen. Junior head of Magical Games and Sports. The man Potter half beat to death. The supposed friend who had been subject to nothing more than a jealous rage. But then those eyes were on Daphne.

"Who's this?" Weasley asked eventually in an attempt to break the awkward silence and perhaps steer Potter away from her. It was a shame that Daphne wasn't about to give her that chance.

"Daphne Greengrass," Daphne said, before Potter had chance to say anything. "And I actually I only just met Harry. I'd ask who you are, but the Prophet did a good job making sure I won't forget you any time soon."

"Not the only thing they did a good job of," Potter seethed.

"Harry -" Weasley tried, her face going pale, the little colour it had drained.

"What?" Potter snapped. "Scared they'll find out what you did?"

"What I did?" Ginny demanded, several people nearby turned, curious to see what was going on. Lord Selby was almost gaping. Dress it up all he wanted he was a reporter at heart, Daphne knew he had more control over the Prophet than most gave him credit for and reporters always loved to see a good piece of theatre. But Weasley wasn't finished yet. "You pushed me away, Harry! You left, not me!"

"I loved you," something in Potter's voice sounded broken. Hollow.

"That's rich coming from the man who put his job above me. Not once did you ever put me first, Harry! Not in any of those months you spent chasing Nott and all the months that would've come after, all the ones that came before! I waited for you, Harry, but you never came back!"

"And him?" Potter bellowed.

Weasley didn't say anything for a moment, faltering, aware of the people who had stopped to listen. Aware of the fact her little story could fall down any moment. There was an agony of calculation, underneath the sudden burst of temper Daphne could see the fear. Weasley was scared of what might come out. But Daphne was already putting some of it together. McLaggen and Weasley. Surely she wasn't attracted to a man who would get seven out of ten when asked the question: 'what's your name?'

"When he's with me, he's with me. It's more than you ever did," Weasley said scornfully.

"Me? What about you? You're the one who slept with him!" Potter roared and suddenly the chatter stopped. All around people were turning, even the music had faltered. But Potter didn't notice. All he was interested in was Weasley. But there it was, for everyone to see. The truth. Turned out his jealousy had been for a reason, after all. There were whispers now. People were taking note, finally hearing his side of the story after all these months. The side of the story that for some reason he'd been refusing to tell. "You threw everything we had away!"

"What did we have, Harry?" Weasley shouted, her shock fading to be replaced by what she clearly thought was justified anger but what Daphne saw as a petulant child throwing a tantrum. She'd tossed her engagement aside because she felt Potter wasn't giving enough. "Tell me that! You were never there, not once! You put everything else first, your job, you even made time for your precious godson but never me!"

"What did you expect, for me to just abandon him?" Potter demanded. "He's my godson!"

"And I was your fiancée!" Weasley cried, Daphne had to prevent herself from sighing. She doubted that Weasley knew just how selfish she was sounding, and in a room filled with the most prominent members of Wizarding Britain. There were better places to do this, Daphne mused, but none that would get quite as much press coverage. People were openly talking now, but on the fringes of the crowd that had gathered around them there was a slight commotion. None other than Hermione Granger forced her way through the assembled masses, receiving many pointed glares as she did.

"Ginny, that's enough." Granger tried as she rushed forwards, much to the delight of some of the more engrossed members of the audience. "Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't know she was here, I never would never have asked -"

"It's fine." Potter snapped, his voice harsh. It was only when his eyes moved from Weasley that it softened. "Really, it's fine. I know you wouldn't…" His voice trailed off, he had finally noticed all the gathered observers. Some of them had enough humility to try and look ashamed when they met his gaze, but most continued talking, some pointing, others like Lord Selby, talking quickly to others who would no doubt be reporting on the truth that Potter had let slip the following morning. There was nothing quite like the non-existence of a reporter's morals to make Daphne remember just why she liked being an unspeakable, hidden away in the Department of Mysteries.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Granger said.

"No, you can't just leave Hermione. I'll be fine, seriously."

Granger didn't look convinced, but before she could object Daphne had stepped forwards. "I'll go, Granger, it's not as if I'm needed here. You stay, Ambassador Delacour seems to be looking a little lost without you." The Ambassador dressed in robes clearly not of British design and with the small, yet discernible even from Daphne's vantage point, emblem of the French Ministry embodied on the chest, was talking in what looked like rapid French to the small man beside. Granger's look of concern suddenly became conflicted. It was no secret that it had taken Granger months to convince Delacour and Trimbole to come to this ball, it would take just as long again if negotiations went awry.

"Go, I'll see you later." Potter said and before Granger had chance to object he was walking out of the Atrium, heading towards the visitor's exit rather than forcing his way through the crowd towards the floo network. Daphne offered a quick smile before heading after him. Behind them, as the ball began to get back to normal, a glass smashed. There was no need to look around to know who had thrown it. Temper, temper Weasley.

Potter didn't say anything as they rode up the false telephone box that would take them to Muggle London. It was only when they had left the far too close confines of the box that he spoke.

"You don't have to come with me you know." He said striding ahead of her, heading down the dark alley. Daphne wondered how strange it would they look to any passing muggles, dressed in clothes that did not suit wandering about the back streets of London. "I don't need a babysitter."

"And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company," Daphne smiled gently. Potter didn't look the type to trust easily, and with a fiancée who had run off with another man it was not hard to understand why. She knew that it was none of her business and that really she should leave well alone and go back to her dusty old home. But she had enjoyed talking to Potter, for once he hadn't been another boring lord or ministry official and by the looks of it he could use the company. More than anything though she was intrigued by him. After all, he wasn't the man that everyone believed he was. Some thought Potter was a hero, others thought he was a jealous boyfriend, although Daphne suspected that view might change. But Potter wasn't anything like what she had been expecting, not that Daphne had a definite idea - it was more of a sense. After so many years of hearing endless stories about him it was hard not to have one. Yet here he was, different and certainly not boring. Daphne wasn't about to let the chance to find out more slip through her fingers. Years as an unspeakable would do that to a person.

"Besides, Astoria won't be home until late, if at all, so you'll be doing me a favour." Daphne added.

"Do you normally do this?" Potter asked sceptically. "Follow strangers home?"

"Only the interesting ones," Daphne joked.

"I'm not one of your pet projects!"

"I never said you were," Daphne said calmly under the look of fury she was being subjected to. It wasn't for her, but Weasley was nowhere to be seen and anger like that couldn't be turned on and off. "What I meant is that, unlike the people who turn up to these boring balls, you are not putting on a show for political point scoring. It's rather refreshing for me to meet someone at one of these things who I actually enjoy talking to."

"You still don't have to come with me," Potter said stubbornly.

"If I don't you'll spend all night alone, which in the circumstances can't be fun, and I will be bored for another few hours before I can go home. I see little point in us both wasting our evenings when we might actually be able to enjoy what remains of it together."

"You're not going to give up are you?" Potter sighed.

"Not a chance," Daphne grinned.

"Fine," Potter said after a moment, holding his hand out to Daphne. After checking that there was nobody able to see them the dark alleyway they apparated. There was a familiar sensation, a rush of wind and colour and then stillness again and suddenly a dark front door was only inches from her face. Daphne knew enough about wards to know that Potter's house wouldn't be the easiest to break into. It was only reason anyone in their right mind would apparate onto a doorstep.

"It isn't much," he told her as he opened the door with a tap of his wand. "After you."

She pushed the large black door open, noticing as she did so the large Hippogriff knocker that hung in just above her head. It looked very similar to the one which had 'mauled' Draco. The house was dark, and for a moment she was staring into nothingness, her eyes taking a moment to readjust to the gloom when the door had swung shut behind them. Potter took the lead, wand in hand, lighting the candles that hung in brackets along both walls. The flickering light illuminated deep red wallpaper, nowhere near as bright as that of the Gryffindor banner, but a darker shade that made the hallway seem far warmer when bathed in candlelight.

"Nice place," Daphne remarked as they headed deeper into the house. The hallway opened up into a far larger room, where a huge staircase spiralled up to her left, next to an empty and more than slightly battered frame that hung on one wall. At the foot of the stairs stood an old coat stand, made of a deep oak that matched dark banister. On it hung two muggle coats, one slightly longer than the other both of the deepest black.

"It was my godfather's, not that he'd be able to tell anymore." Potter told her as he put his jacket on the remaining hook.

Daphne nodded. Everyone knew who Potter's godfather had been. Sirius Black, the man everyone had thought had been responsible for Voldemort finding the Potter's. At least, until Potter himself had gone public about Black's innocence. Conveniently for everyone involved the blame had been put on Barty Crouch Senior's shoulders - dead men couldn't argue. It happily meant that no-one who was still in the Ministry had to admit they hadn't done a good enough job investigating Black in the first place. Typical political move, blame everything on those who couldn't fight back.

"Redecorated?" He had good taste, Daphne had to give him that. It felt far more homely than her manor did. There were barely any signs that her house was in fact a home, but here pictures of people who could only be his family and those close to him lined one wall. Daphne recognised James and Lily Potter, having seen them in newspapers the year after the war had ended due to several pieces about Potter's past, waved happily from their silver frames. A small boy, who Daphne could only assume was the godson Potter had mentioned earlier, was laughing as he desperately tried to catch the small golden snitch that whizzed around him.

"Everything but the stuff we couldn't shift like that," Potter said pointing to the old frame. "There's a bloody permanent sticking charm on the frame."

"You've done a good job," Daphne commented as she walked further down the hall, her footsteps muffled by the thick light coloured carpet. It must have cost a fortune to redecorate the place, everything looked almost brand new. Potter must have gutted the place.

"It's not much," he said again as he pushed open a door to her right. She followed him down a flight of stairs and into the kitchen. This two had been subject to the same treatment, furniture that looked barely used, light pinewood worktops and even a new cooker. Bookshelves lined one wall, instead of the traditional display cases that Daphne had become so used to in her own house. On one shelf stood a small framed picture of a group of people, some of whom Daphne vaguely recognised except they were far younger than she had ever seen them. Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody and even Sirius Black, handsome and with a roughish smile. She forced herself to look away, a hollow pit had opened in her stomach. Most of these men and women were dead, fallen in wars with Voldemort, and yet so very much alive in the confines of the photograph.

"Tea?" Potter asked as turned on the gas cooker. "I've got a mug somewhere around here. I swear Hermione didn't use the last-" There was a pause as he opened a cupboard door and reached inside, retrieving a plain white mug. "There."

"Two sugars, thanks," Daphne replied turning to him, forcing the photo out of her mind. He nodded and set about making the tea, fetching milk and sugar from various cupboards. None of it was done by magic, Daphne noticed, seeing his wand lying on the work surface. It was not forgotten - he was an auror for Merlin's sake - just apparently not needed. It was as if his first instinct was to work by hand. Daphne filed it away in the back of her mind, a question for another time perhaps.

"Why did you never say anything?" Daphne asked as she took a place at the table.

"Sorry?"

"About Weasley? All those months and you never said a word, you just took what they had to say. Why? People hated you."

"People have always hated me," Potter told her darkly. "You get used to it."

"But you could've avoided it, told them what really happened." Daphne said again. It was the one thing that had been puzzling her. Listening to the two argue, watching Weasley's ill-justified tantrum and seeing Potter finally crack and dish out what she deserved, Daphne had wondered why he had never said anything before. If he had then months of press abuse could have been avoided. The Auror Department might not have forced him to take leave for another thing. "But you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Potter agreed. He sighed, turning to the kettle that was coming to the boil. The high-pitched noise filled the room before Potter lifted it off the gas and began pouring them both tea. "It was none of their damn business. It was no-one's but ours."

"Weasley didn't see it that way."

"Yeah, well Ginny likes an audience," Potter sighed. "She always has. There's a reason I don't go out to those parties anymore. It's because I never wanted to go in the first place. I just want to be left alone."

"That's never going to happen, Potter."

"Don't I know it?" Potter said with a slight laugh. But there was no humour in it. He was silent for a moment, taking the seat opposite her before setting down the mugs on the table. "You know, it's a shame no-one can decide if they hate me or not, it'd make it a lot easier."

"Fame is a fickle friend,"

"Lockhart told me that once," Potter grinned slightly. "About the only thing he ever said that was right."

"It wasn't what he said that was that bad, it was what he did, releasing pixies into a second year class is just asking for trouble." Daphne had fortunately missed that particular class but she'd heard about it, Malfoy wouldn't shut up about how useless the Gryffindors were at dealing with them. Slytherins and Gryffindors were kept apart for their own good and as much as the timetable allowed. Flying Lessons and Potions were the only lesson Daphne remembered sharing with the whole of Potter's house, not being stupid enough to take Care of Magical Creatures. Granger was odd in the fact that she took Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, one of the few Gryffindors that did.

"Duelling Snape was a worse idea."

"I don't know, Snape could've done more damage. What ever happened to Lockhart, anyway?"

"He's still St Mungo's I think," Potter told her with a shrug. "Accidental memory charm."

"How do you know that?" Daphne asked incredulously. Dumbledore had told everyone at the end of her second year that Lockhart was off travelling somewhere to conduct research for his new book. When he had never really resurfaced she had put his disappearance down to the acts of a werewolf or something that had gotten sick of that stupid smile of his.

"I saw him once, when we were visiting Ron's dad there." Potter said with a shrug, it looked as if he was on the verge of saying something else but stopped himself. It was almost as if he was reminding himself that whatever he was about to say was private. She could respect that, clinging to whatever shred of privacy he had left. But that didn't stop her wanting to find out more. Nevertheless she held her tongue. Potter wasn't something, as he liked to call it, that she could poke with a stick and see what happened. People rarely liked being prodded for information they didn't want to give. Besides, he'd just had a fight with his ex-fiancé and the last thing he would want was constant questions.

"Anyway, why don't you tell me about yourself?" Potter asked changing the topic with absolutely no subtlety. "Seeing as you seem to know so much about me."

"A constant public presence will do that," Daphne smirked, sipping at her tea which was beginning to cool to the right temperature. "I've only got one sister, Astoria, she's a couple younger than us and was in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. My father used to be an auror, like you, but now he's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. I've been working as an unspeakable for the past four years. I'm an awful cook but I can play the piano."

"You play the piano?"

"My father liked us to do something productive during the summer. Astoria learnt how to dance, and to say she was delighted when she managed to convince someone to invite her to the Yule Ball would be an understatement." Daphne replied.

Her father wasn't one for wasting time, long afternoons spent just reading a book or taking walks around Greengrass Manor, as Daphne had always done as a girl, weren't his idea of fun. When she and Astoria had been kids all they had done during one summer, with Tracey Davis in tow more times than not, was explore the manor playing stupid games for afternoons at a time. But that had all changed when Daphne had gone to Hogwarts. That was the year it all changed. The year she couldn't be a child any more.

"Why? It was awful."

"It wasn't the best," Daphne agreed. "But it was expected. Just like everything else in our world. Although, that seems to be changing these days."

"Changing?"

"Before your little fight with Lord Voldemort do you know the best that Granger could have achieved?" Daphne asked curiously, when Potter shrugged she continued. "Barely anything, most muggleborns go back into their own world after Hogwarts, those who stay find getting work difficult to say the least. But then came the war and you, a muggleborn and a blood traitor stood against Voldemort and his army of blood supremacist fanatics and we all know who won. You proved that blood doesn't always rule."

"It was never about that," Potter protested.

"Doesn't matter, it's what it became. Your war is symbolic, Potter."

"Your war?" Potter asked frowning. "You always say that, 'your', like you weren't a part of it."

"That is because I wasn't. My family didn't take a side. We certainly weren't throwing our lot in with Voldemort but, no offence Potter, you weren't a safe bet either. Nobody had a clue if you were even alive until you turned up at Hogwarts and by then all I wanted to do was get Astoria out of that castle."

She remembered what it had been like. The war and her father leaving the aurors. Potter's return, the Slytherins being sent down to the dungeons or evacuated with everyone else. Getting Astoria out had been all that had mattered. Once they had gotten back to the manor there had been little point taking a side and a few hours later the fighting stopped and the war was over. Taking sides, she came to realise, really was for the short sighted. It was risky and left the future up to chance and the hope that someone else would secure it for you.

"Makes sense," Potter nodded, "you were looking out for your sister."

"Not that she thanked me for it," Daphne said, remembering the protestations of her sister who had been desperate to fight as some of her friends had done. It was all so chaotic that anyone could stay behind if they wanted to. Only weeks later, when the dead were honoured and one of Astoria's friends, Clara Burgess, had been among them it was only then that the younger Greengrass realised why her sister had dragged her from the battle. It was so as she didn't have to drag her from the rubble. It was only when Daphne dragged herself from the memory that she realised Potter's eyes too had glazed over, lost in the past he could never return to.

"So, Potter," she said, bringing him back to the present, "tell me, who do you think will win, the Tornados or the Wasps?"

Daphne hadn't been expecting quite as much of an eager reaction as she gotten. Potter's face lit up at the mention of his boyhood sport and the two spent the next half an hour debating who would win the cup at the end of the season, who would be transferred to where and ultimately how badly the Chudley Cannons would do ever since they sold their top scorer, Eric Tilden. The conversation then drifted, moving back to Hogwarts, reminiscing from different sides of the House lines, although Potter never said more than she already knew, and talking about how the school had changed with McGonagall as Headmistress. It was only when Potter checked his watch that, after their third cup of tea, they realised just how late it was getting.

"Is this connected?" Daphne asked gesturing to the fire as Potter put their mugs in the sink.

"Jar's on the mantle," Potter said in answer what he likely knew would be her next question. The jar sat to one side of the light wooden mantelpiece, which stood bare of any ornaments except for the black round jar. She opened it, placing the lid on the mantel beside it.

"See you around then, Potter." Daphne smiled as she took a pinch of powder.

"Maybe we could go out for coffee sometime?" Potter suggested.

"I'd like that, I think," Daphne nodded. "Guess I'll see you soon then, Potter."

"Guess so, goodnight." Potter agreed, a small sort of smile pulling at his lips. It was strange seeing him smile, replacing the face of stone that he usually wore. Life hadn't exactly been fair to Potter, but then again, life was never fair to anyone. Daphne knew that as well as anyone but there was no point wallowing in self-pity, moving on was the only solution. You couldn't help what had happened, you could only make sure you didn't let it beat you, she'd learnt that a long time ago.

"Night," Daphne said just before she threw the powder into the burning fire and stepped back out of Potter's home and few seconds later was walking into her own. But instead of being greeted by a dark house, as she had expected, warm candle light bathed the room in a yellow hue. Sitting on the sofa, a book on her lap and out of her evening dress and instead wearing a fine silk dressing gown Draco had bought her, was Astoria.

"You're back late," she commented slipping in a book mark before shutting it. "Where have you been? We couldn't find you at the ball when we left. Someone said you'd left with Potter after that fight he had with Weasley but you've never even spoken to him."

"Not until tonight, Tori, no." Daphne replied heading for the door. She flashed her sister a quick smile and was given only a stunned stare in return. "Don't stay up too late."

And with that she walked out of the room leaving Astoria to only gape after her.