The lab was in surprisingly good shape given the battle Daphne had described, though she said that was mostly due to their tireless house elf Flopsy. Once she had Harry settled in with her father's notebooks and had given him a rough reading order, she excused herself to add him to the internal wards and get them some lunch. About half an hour later she returned with a sandwich and tea for him and a whole cooked ham leg for her. Harry took the food gratefully and tried to ignore how she ate, mostly because it was triggering at least three separate instincts in him to run away screaming.
"Sorry," she said when she'd finished. "We've been alone for four months and I think we've forgotten a bit about how to be human. The beast inside comes out most strongly when we fight or eat."
He shrugged. "It's your house. Eat however you want. Honestly, once I manage to tamp down the fight-or-flight reflex, it's nice to have the company."
She stared at him. "Again, sentences I'd never thought I'd hear from you...from anyone, really. So nobody's waiting for you at home?"
"Just a house elf who hates me because I'm not a Pureblood. Ginny left me last week. She needed people around her, partly because that's who she is and partly because that's how she's dealing with her grief. I needed silence, so in the end she decided she could give us both what we wanted."
"Ouch." Daphne shook her head. "Cold. And that's coming from a girl most of the boys in Slytherin called the 'Ice Queen' because I wouldn't pretend they were worth my time."
"I defer to your expertise in the matter, then," Harry said.
"What about Weasley and Granger?" Daphne asked.
"Hermione hid her parents elsewhere for safety during the war," Harry said. "They're retrieving them and their memories now."
"I see. That was cold-blooded of Granger, but she probably made the right call. A lot of muggle-borns lost family members last year."
"Yeah. Sometimes there were no right answers, just ones we hoped we could live with." He looked down at the notes in front of him. "Or not, in this case. Are you sure you want me to do this?"
"Absolutely," Daphne said firmly. "Tori is, too, but she's focused on trying to enjoy life as much as she can in these last few days. I got that out of my system and I'm focused on making sure we go out on our own terms, not Father's."
Harry nodded. "I'll make sure you do, then."
The next few hours were a blur, and he felt himself settling in a comfortable routine again. It wasn't quite the same as a Saturday spent studying at Hogwarts, mostly because instead of Hermione managing the study session it was a giant anthropoid fox monster, but Daphne wasn't solidly in the top five students in their class for nothing and Harry found himself rapidly mastering her father's material. He burrowed so deeply into the familiar habit of studying that he barely noticed the fall of night outside, and didn't consider stopping until his stomach rumbled angrily at him.
"I heard that." Daphne gave another gentle "hurr, hurr" across the table. "We've probably done enough for now. Want to get some dinner?"
Harry blinked. "Um...yes, I think so. Sorry, I was really into the notes there, I guess." He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs of lost thought. "You're right. Let's get some food."
Daphne cocked her head at him as if a question was on the tip of her tongue...snout...whatever, but she chose not to ask it and instead led him downstairs to the dining room.
Tori and Draco were already at the table when they arrived. "We were hungry half an hour ago," she said by way of explanation, "so we asked Flopsy to make some bruschetta and open a lovely '94 Brunello di Montalcino."
"You ate bruschetta?" Daphne asked. "Neither of us have been interested in anything but meat for weeks."
She nodded primly, a motion so incongruous with her bestial form that Harry had to try not to laugh. "Of course," she said. "I have precisely one chance to host a dinner, and I refuse to mess it up."
Daphne's posture relaxed and her head dropped a little, and the laughter Harry had been holding in evanesced like his last good dream. "Oh," she said, "We're sorry to have kept you waiting, then."
Harry nodded and followed her silently to the table. "Thank you for arranging this," he said, doing his best to dust off his table manners.
"Yes, thank you," Draco said. He shot Harry a subtle nod, at once both appreciative and encouraging. Doing anything Draco encouraged instinctively worried Harry, but he pushed his concerns aside and tried to focus on being a good guest. A dying teenage girl wanted to host a dinner and damn him if he was going to be the one to mess it up.
Tori had Flopsy start them with a Caesar salad, which Harry supposed was savory enough that even Daphne could stomach it in her current form. She followed it up with a plate of pappardelle Bolognese, which Harry had never had before and seemed like a perfect choice given the circumstances. After a short break during which Tori absolutely insisted the boys drink some wine, which Harry had been trying to take slowly because of his unfamiliarity with alcohol, she asked Flopsy to bring out a pot roast braised in red wine and served with gravy, carrots, and something called polenta with some cheese on it. It was delicious, and even the polenta turned out to be decent. Neither of the girls touched their wine goblets, probably because they were worried about how to hold the delicate goblets in their clawed paws or drink from them with their large snouts. They also did their best to eat daintily, which generally involved spearing a bit of food on a claw and licking it off. Harry decided it was the thought that counted and soldiered on.
After the meat course, Draco excused himself to check on his mother. Harry attempted to make some polite conversation, but the girls/monsters looked a little uncomfortable and he ended up just drinking some more wine. He stopped when Flopsy materialized to refill the glass, though, since that made him realize both how much wine he'd already finished (one generous goblet) and how much wine he could theoretically finish (all of it), and both of those realizations worried him.
Draco came back a moment later. "She's still stable and slipping in and out of consciousness," he said. "I got her to drink a little."
"I'm glad," Tori said. "She'll need it."
"I'm really sorry I hurt her so badly," Daphne said. "I didn't know you weren't still Death Eaters."
"You couldn't have," Draco said bitterly. "I thought we were safe when Harry's testimony kept us out of Azkaban, but that was just the start, wasn't it? We're never going to be able to escape what we did during the war."
Harry poked with his fork at a bit of rogue polenta on his plate (what was that stuff?) and tried to collect his thoughts. "None of us can escape what we did during the war."
"At least people are happy to see you in the street," Draco shot back.
"I spoke at over fifty funerals in the fortnight after the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry said, his tone not rising to respond. "I can't even remember all of the names anymore. Whenever someone comes up to congratulate me in the street, all I can think of is whether they'll ask me about a lost relative and find out I couldn't even be arsed to remember their name."
A pall of silence descended on the table. After a long minute, Draco finally broke it. "I hated you for making me feel small, Potter. After all these years, I've finally realized you were right to despise me, because I really am small."
"Despise you?" Harry (or possibly the wine in his blood) snorted in derision. "I envied you, you prat. You had self-confidence to spare, the intelligence and skill to back that confidence up, wealth, power, and parents who loved you. I mean, they may have hated most other human beings on the planet, but they still loved you. I would have given anything for that."
Draco stared at him for a moment. "We had everything, didn't we?" he asked, his voice wavering. "We had everything and we threw it away."
Harry looked down at his food and said nothing. To agree would be cruel, but to say anything else would be a lie.
The other boy rose suddenly, almost violently. "I need to sit with my mother," he said, and hurried off into the darkened parlor.
Tori hastily wiped off her foreclaw (ripping the linen serviette in the process) and hurried after him without a word to her other guests.
"Damn it." Harry sighed, lost his mental battle, and took a drink of wine. "I promised myself I wouldn't bollocks up your sister's dinner and I ended up doing it anyway."
"For once," Daphne said, "I don't think this one was your fault."
"That would be a change of pace." Harry looked back toward the parlor. "So I take it Tori fancies Draco?"
Daphne made that laughing sound again. "Goodness, it must be obvious if even you can see it."
Harry glared at her. Intimidating a seven-foot-tall humanoid monstrosity wasn't necessarily easy or even likely, but Harry gave it his best shot, anyway.
"Oh, come on," she said. "You were legendary among my fellow girls for your massive obliviousness to the number of them who lusted after you."
"Really?" Harry's glare dissolved into laughter. "I had no idea."
"That's why it was so funny to watch them chase you," Daphne said. Her expression darkened...which was more than a little disconcerting on a visage such as hers. "After what you just said about family, do you think we're monsters for killing our father?"
He shook his head sadly. "Of course not. I'm just sad that bastard made you sacrifice your own family to protect the rest of us from him, and I wish I didn't know how much that loss hurt. For what it's worth, though, thank you."
Daphne rested her massive head in her clawed hands. "I appreciate that, Potter. I've been sitting here for the last four months with only Tori and my own guilt for company, so it's nice to hear someone else say I did the right thing." She sighed. "Bloody hell, this conversation has gotten depressing. Would you like some dessert? Tori would probably want us to pretend we're still polite dinner guests."
"Sure," Harry said. "What are you in the mood for?"
She shrugged. "I don't really eat dessert anymore. You can ask Flopsy for whatever you want."
"How about cookies?" Harry asked. "I've heard there's such a thing as 'dog cookies,' so you could have those while I have normal cookies."
"Don't worry about it," Daphne said.
"You don't get it." The angry hiss in Harry's voice caused her head to jerk up. "There's nobody at my manor, so I can have whatever I want whenever I want. That's all I have to look forward to when I go home in a few days: whatever I feel like. Do you know how meaningless all that choice becomes after a day or two? Every meal, you sit down knowing you can have anything you want except someone to lose the 'what do we eat' debate to. Do you know what I would give to have someone to debate dinner choices with again? So, yes, I want to know what you would like for dessert."
Daphne stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open. Finally, she said, much more softly than usual, "I never really liked cookies. What would you say to ice cream? Flopsy's always made fantastic ice cream."
"I'd love to try some of her ice cream," Harry said, and they both pretended his smile wasn't the only thing holding back his tears.
At least it turned out Daphne was right: Flopsy's ice cream was delicious.
They'd gone over notes for another hour that evening, but Harry's heart wasn't really in it and he ended up going to bed early. The guest room was well-appointed, if a little on the feminine side in its choice of floral patterns for the wallpaper, dresser, armoire, and bedding, and the bed was incredibly comfortable. After Harry's day, he knew sleep should come with no trouble, but he wasn't sure he could face what he knew would come next.
He lay in bed for several hours while the rest of the house grew quiet before eventually giving up and rising from bed. He slipped his shoes back on and threw on his robe to ward off the evening chill, then slipped out of his room. The stairs were blessedly silent under his steps as he descended, and as he passed by the parlor door at the base of the stairs, stray moonbeams illuminated Draco and Tori sleeping uncomfortably in armchairs while Narcissa lay on the couch.
The front door opened with nary a creak, a testament to Flopsy's untiring maintenance, and allowed Harry easy egress into the front gardens. The night was as chilly as he'd expected, but otherwise only slightly overcast. A half-full moon cast plenty of light around him, and he had no trouble finding a large bench to sit down upon and watch the sky. It was a peaceful night, an easy one in which to lose oneself in the stars. The night sky in London was terrible, and nights like this reminded Harry how much he missed the more sedate environment around Hogwarts.
After only a few minutes, though, gravel crunched behind him. In another time and place, he'd have leapt to his feet, wand already in hand. Now, though, he was just too tired to react like that, and he merely raised a hand and waved in the general direction of whoever was back there. It was either one of his hostesses or it wasn't.
"So much for stealth," Daphne said, and walked more normally up to the other side of the bench. "I heard you sneaking out and was worried you were going to try to escape."
"I understand," Harry replied. "I'm just enjoying the quiet night, though. Care to join me?"
She shrugged and sat down opposite him, the old metal of the bench groaning under her mass as she did so. "Fair enough. Honestly, though, I'm a little surprised you haven't tried to get away, or at least spend an evening at your own home."
"I promised you I'd help, and I will," Harry said. "Besides, all I've got there is a house elf who hates me and a house that I'm pretty sure feels the same way. Oh, and the constant requests for interviews and favors. Or marriage proposals. It's not a proper morning till I've vanished at least a six-inch stack of mail."
"Hurr, hurr," Daphne laughed. "You know, I owe you an apology, Potter. Ever since you showed up at Hogwarts, I thought you really were a fame-hungry arsehole. I should have ignored my father and idiot classmates and actually paid attention to you instead of just assuming they were right."
"It's OK," Harry said. "It's not like I ever gave Slytherins the time of day back then, either. I can't blame you for assuming they were right."
She cocked her head at him. "You forgive too easily, do you know that?"
He shrugged. "If I kept all of my grudges, I'd hate everyone, and that sounds exhausting."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Daphne said, and laughed again. This time, Harry couldn't help but join her.
They watched the stars for a few minutes in silence before the woman-beast spoke up again. "My sight in this form is a little fuzzy, but I can hear and smell far better than I used to," she said. "It's probably good that you didn't try to sneak out tonight. I smell some of Selwyn's minions on the wind."
Harry went for his wand, but Daphne waved his concern away. "No, no," she said, "they're pretty far off. Probably keeping an eye out to see if we're obviously injured after the fights with the Aurors and you. And they couldn't break through the wards without battling them for at least half an hour, so even if they wanted to attack Tori and I would have an unholy screeching alarm clock to let us know."
"Oh, OK," Harry said. "I've spent a lot of time relying on wards, so the idea of people skulking around outside them while I'm trying to sleep doesn't bother me as much as it probably should."
"Hurrgle," Daphne growled. It sounded kind of like a beast-woman lost in thought.
"What's on your mind?" Harry asked.
"I was going to ask you that," she replied. "I can also hear your breathing change when you think, and I know something was bothering you even before I brought up the Death Eaters. What's wrong?"
Harry sighed. "I suppose I was just wondering whether your attitude made it easier or harder to face death."
She didn't respond for a moment, and Harry wondered if he'd offended her. When she spoke again, though, her voice was tinged with sadness, not anger. "I thought it would," she whispered to the night, "but I'm still scared. Working on the artifact is a good distraction, though."
"Is Malfoy Tori's distraction?" Harry asked.
"More or less," Daphne said. "I guess I owe you thanks for this, too. Before you showed up, she was desperately trying to help me destroy the mirror, but she trusts you to be able to handle it, and I'm glad you were able to take it off her mind. She legitimately fancies Draco, and a teenage girl ought to be able to think about her fancy rather than...this. "
Harry chuckled, drawing a confused head-cock from Daphne. "Sorry," he said, "but I just realized your sister is probably the only person in the world who simultaneously thinks highly of both Draco and me."
Daphne laughed, too. "You're probably right. Tori's heart is somehow big enough for all of us. She's never really had the heart to fight anyone, but she insisted…" she trailed off, then forced the words out anyway, "insisted I let her come with me to confront Father."
"I got lucky on that count, I guess," Harry said. "When I went to let Voldemort kill me, I used an invisibility cloak to make sure none of my friends followed me and tried to do anything stupid."
"I could have snuck away," Daphne whispered, her voice low and scratchy. "I let her see me going because I was too scared to face him alone. I'm a damn coward, Potter, and now Tori's going to die because of it." Her body shook with what Harry was pretty sure were repressed sobs.
Harry slid over a foot and patted her on the shoulder. Her fur was bristly, oily, and unpleasant to touch, but denying her comfort because of the very affliction necessitating it just seemed cruel. She froze for a moment at the touch, then relaxed and leaned on him, resting her right shoulder on his left and her head atop his. Harry had to brace himself with his right hand to keep from being pushed over by her weight, but he still managed to work his left arm out from under her and pat her on the back. "It's not your fault," he said. "I had it easy: I just needed to die. You needed to win."
The sobbing ebbed and the woman-beast shook her head. "You're too damn nice, Harry Potter."
"And you're too damn heavy, Daphne Greengrass," he responded.
She threw her arms over her mouth to try to restrain a literal roar of laughter. "Thank you," she said once she'd gotten her breath back under control. "It was nice to forget myself just for a moment there."
Harry shrugged again and tried to resist the temptation to wipe the oil off of his hair or do anything else to remind her of her affliction. "No problem. Thanks for letting me help you a bit."
Daphne snorted. "You don't have to help everyone, you know."
"I know," he said, "it's just...helping someone takes my mind off of the people I couldn't help, at least for a little while."
"Nightmares?" she asked.
He nodded and yawned simultaneously. "Constantly. Ginny and I were sleeping in separate beds for the fortnight before she left. That's part of the reason I'm out here, if I'm being honest. I didn't want to wake anyone up."
She regarded him silently for a moment before reaching over with her right arm, grabbing his right shoulder, and pulling him down so his head rested on her lap. He tried to fight it, but her strength was so far beyond his that she probably didn't even notice his efforts.
"You may as well sleep here, then," she said. "My current form isn't good for much, but maybe it'll be enough to scare away your nightmares."
Her fur was rough and abrasive against the side of his face, but at least the muscles beneath it provided a decent cushioning over her femur. The beast's smell was overpowering in that position, but it wasn't so awful that he couldn't get used to it. Overall, he was so tired that he was willing to give anything a try, even this. "Thanks," he said, and rolled slightly toward his back so the skin of his cheek was no longer touching her fur. "What about you, though?"
She leaned her left arm on the back of the bench (the arm rest was too low for her height). "I'll be fine. Animals sleep in uncomfortable positions all the time."
Something about that statement bothered Harry, but his consciousness was already fading and, try as he might, he just couldn't grasp the thread.