Chapter Eleven: He can Shove his Heroics up his Arse

Despite their conversation after Dumbledore's dramatic revelation that Harry would, unsurprisingly, have to eventually kill Voldemort, Daphne found her boyfriend pulling away from her. It wasn't meant to hurt her, even if despite her attempted protestations to the contrary that it did, nor was there anything she could do about it. She'd tried talking and that hadn't worked. She'd tried silent support, fat no there, too. She couldn't talk to her parents about it because they absolutely adored Harry, while Astoria would just suggest snogging him and having done with it. It was this quandary that led her to Tracey's living room, or more specifically living room carpet. She never could travel by floo when she was distracted.

Spluttering and silently wishing that she was a more functional human being, Daphne brushed herself off and waited for the customary stampede down the stairs. It took all of ten seconds. Tracey practically bounded into the plush living room, her previously shoulder-length brown hair was now cascading down into the small of her back - no doubt thanks to some particularly aggressive hair extension charms.

"Daph!" The hug was as suffocating as it was bone-cracking. "Hi! Ugh, where have you been? A week I've been back, a week! You'd think I'd died, not gone on holiday."

"I've been busy." Daphne managed to wheeze when she was finally released from her best friend's vice-like grip.

"Oh? And tell me what kept you from your amazing, wonderful best friend's company for a whole," she hesitated. Her eyes narrowed in sudden concentration. "168 hours?"

"You're in a good mood," Daphne noted. She chose to ignore the comment and instead slide comfortably into one of the gigantic sofas her mother had insisted on. Tracey's father, who only took interest in such things when he saw the bill, had almost fainted apparently. But they were worth it.

"Amazing what happens when I'm not ten feet from Blaise at all times." For the first time since their relationship had taken a nosedive off a large cliff, Tracey didn't sound like she wanted to crush the nearest person's skull at the mention of Blaise. "And good food. God, Daph, the food! I had a burger that was the size of my head."

"That sounds… precarious."

"It was and it was amazing!"

"Well, at least you're having a good time."

Finally, Tracey noticed. "You're not here to say hi, are you?"

"I wish I was."

"Yeah, yeah," Tracey teased good-naturedly. "C'mon, we'll go upstairs. Dad'll be back from golf soon, trust me, you don't want to get stuck in one of his stories." Tracey's father had taken up the 'sport' a few months ago and was obsessed. To the point that Daphne was starting to become convinced he only lived in awful jumpers and bright white shoes.

Tracey's bedroom was small, but personalised. Photos of various holidays, of her, Daphne and Astoria, another girl called Grace - a muggle that Tracey had gone to school with and then lost touch with - all hung from the fairy lights that twinkled above a small desk against one wall. The rest of the room was taken up by VHS tapes, which Tracey insisted were cool, and a gigantic stereo system that blared out music at an inhuman volume.

"So?" There wasn't a need for a follow-up. They'd been friends for too long for follow-ups. Desperately wishing she could just transport the information to Tracey via telepathy, Daphne huffily flung herself on the bed. It wasn't that she wanted to feel like this. In fact, she wanted to feel anything but this. She wanted to be kind, supportive, generous and loving. She wished she was all the things her favourite stories or those weird wireless dramas told her she should be. But she wasn't. She was stupid and independent and wildly unprepared for anyone other than herself to be a worry in her life.

Worse than that, she was worried. Worried that this could go wrong. Worried that she wasn't right for him. Selfishly worried that he'd realise he needed someone better than her to help through one of the worst times of his life. Worried and insecure were not a good match.

This would've been great to say. In fact, anything thought out and carefully constructed would've been great to say. Daphne, however, was not good at pre-planned speeches.

"Harry. It's, well, it's this thing. This huge thing. This life-altering thing. Like that dragon, but way bigger and with more just death and crap. And I can't tell you, Merlin's beard, I can't. It's not - but that's not - he's not okay. Which is fine. Who would be? I wouldn't. I'm not. I want to be."

"Daph, breathe."

"Sorry. It's just, he's not okay. He's really not okay and I want to help. I do, I know I'm not great at it." Tracey's small smile confirmed it. "Sorry. I just, I don't know what to say or do. It's not like those stupid dramas or mum's stupid advice or dad's stupid optimism. I say stuff and it works. For a bit. Then it doesn't. God, that's so selfish. That's selfish, isn't it?"

"It's not not selfish? But it's 'cause you want to help."

"And if I mess it up he'll leave."

"You're not serious?"

"Why not?"

Tracey laughed but Daphne's face didn't even crack. "Do you really think that boy would run away from you?"

"He keeps saying he wants to. And what if he does? What if, one day, I can't convince him not to?"

"This is about Riddle, isn't it?" Daphne nodded. There was no sense denying that much. It was written all over her face. "And let me guess, he's being the big hero and protecting you, right? Which, if I know you, is not going well."

"He can shove his heroics up his arse."

"I'll take that as a no." Tracey sighed, moving the chair she'd been sitting on closer to Daphne. Its wheels sweaked. The noise grated on Daphne's already thinning patience. "This must suck."

"No. It's great. I love my boyfriend wanting to leave me because of a homicidal maniac."

"You've just got to be patient, which is rubbish and I'm sorry, but that's what he needs."

She didn't want to say it, but true to every other day of her life the words fell out of her mouth anyway. "And what if I stop being what he needs?"

"That's the risk you take, trust me." It should've been a joke but all it did was make Daphne feel worse, bringing this on Tracey when she had enough to be dealing with. She hadn't even asked how her holiday had been or if she was okay. Oh no, just roll in and complain about her problems. Way to go, Greengrass. "Look, you love him, right?"

"No shit."

"And he loves you. He really does. Honestly, it's kind of disgusting."

"I blame you."

"As well you should, I'm a great matchmaker and a sensational friend."

"Yeah," Daphne admitted, falling back onto the bed in an effort to let her muscles finally relax. "You are."

"Don't get mushy on me now."

"I'm being nice," Daphne retorted, somewhat indignantly.

"Well stop it, it's weird. Butterflies and rainbows aren't your thing."

"And yet you lot still insist on hanging around."

"Rainbows are overrated," Tracey shrugged. "You are good enough, you know. For Harry. For me. For everyone."

"Shut up." It was a reflex and not one she was especially proud of. The trouble with being surrounded by such a warm, loving and sometimes irritatingly generous family was that when she failed it felt so much worse. Yes, they were embarrassing and Merlin only knew how her father was so cheerful all of the time, but they were good people. Daphne, for all of her efforts, knew that deep down she might not be good people.

"I mean it, Daph. You might not see it, you might obsess and over analyse and freak out, but you're worth ten of Harry by my count. Trust me, he's the lucky one. Not you."

Daphne hummed her acknowledgment, she didn't agree but that was what an over-active imagination did to her. A year ago the worst thing she'd had to worry about was exams or homework. Now? Now everything was so much more difficult, so impossibly, insanely complicated and she had no idea where to even start.

Little did she know that halfway across the country, sheltered from the world in a dingy kitchen of a man so hated by the world that he had to voluntarily imprison himself in his mother's home, that Harry was having the same conversation. Not with Ron, who wouldn't understand, but with the only person he could talk to about it that would understand more than he did. Hermione.

"She's clearly quite upset," Hermione concluded when Harry finished describing what had happened. It had been a little over a week since the Department of Mysteries bomb had exploded into his life. He'd tried listening to Daphne and whenever she told him it was going to be okay there was a part of him that believed her. She could, sometimes, drag him out of the ruin of himself. Other times, she couldn't. Other times he just wanted to run. Wanted to leg it into the countryside and never look back because, if there was any hope he might actually win this, he didn't want her to die for him. She was too important to just be a pawn in Voldemort's game. He'd been born on the board, but she'd entered late in the game. There was still time to leave.

"I can't say that it's surprising, Harry. I know you're trying and it's clearly very difficult -"

"Just a bit," Harry scowled darkly, but Hermione ignored him.

"And I'm not saying that you should completely change. You have every right to feel angry, really you do. It's just, you've got to try and understand it from Daphne's point of view."

He'd been trying that for days and so far had come up with nothing but confusion and lot of misplaced anger. Why couldn't she just understand that he was trying to do the right thing? He didn't want to leave. "Which is?"

"That she loves you quite a lot and is probably very hurt by the idea that leaving is the answer."

"Well, why isn't it?" Harry demanded. He was sick of being told what he could and couldn't do. Sick of having his choices taken away from him. Where he lived, where his life was going. For once, couldn't he just make a choice? "At least then she'd be safe."

"Safe but without you."

"So."

"So, Harry, she loves you."

"She can get over it." He regretted it as soon as he said it, but at least he'd said it to Hermione, who, unlike Daphne, didn't hex him. But it was true, wasn't it? They were teenagers, she'd get over it, meet someone else. More importantly, she'd be breathing.

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Yeah, well, life isn't, is it?"

"Harry. No. Stop it. Daphne knows what she's doing. We all do. What're you going to do? Send me and Ron away next? How about Sirius? It's not just you we're fighting for." She steadied herself, her eyes drifting away from Harry's face and when she spoke again it was with a voice filled with anguish. "Mum and Dad wish I'd go abroad, they mentioned it when we were skiing."

"You're kidding?"

"It's what you want to do." It wasn't said with malice, but it hurt all the same. "I think they wanted to try and show me the schools out there. But, we can't just leave, can we? Voldemort will be here whether we are or not. He'll kill people. People like me. Like Tracey and Ron. Like Sirius. Anyone that's different."

"But she's not different, is she?" Harry pointed out. "She's what Voldemort wants everyone else to be. She can - she doesn't have to."

"Die," Hermione supplied, not unkindly.

"Yeah." The word came lamely out of his mouth, as if stumbling and shambling into existence. But once there, it hung between them like the scythe of death, just waiting to fall on the very person he wanted it to avoid.

"She is by choice, which I'd argue is a lot more difficult. She's made that decision, you've got to respect that. If she wants to leave, she will. If she doesn't, please don't be stupid enough to try and push her away."

"I never knew you liked her that much."

"Of course I do!" Hermione smacked him on the shoulder looking affronted. "Boys. Honestly."

The conversation meandered away from Harry's terrible attempts at protecting his love life and before they knew it the day was turning into evening. The Weasleys appeared, loud and brash as ever. Harry did his best to joke and laugh with them, but he knew where he needed to be. Sirius already had the floo powder in his hand before Harry had even opened his mouth.

It was Aurora who greeted him. Her legs curled up and a book on her lap, her kind face warmed at the sight of Harry staggering out of her fireplace.

"She hoped you'd visit," Aurora smiled at him before waving her wand and freeing his jumper of soot and dust. He hated the floo network. "We can't have you looking like you've just spent a day in a chimney, can we? She's upstairs."

Harry quickly said his thanks and then hurried to where he knew Daphne would be. The upstairs of Greengrass was so vast it was possible to get lost for days, thanks to the various magical extension charms they'd placed on an already massive house. The pool was quiet, save only for the sound of water being displaced as the only occupant completed another length. Harry waited for a moment, unsure what to say or even if he wanted to interrupt. She was at peace in the water, he had a hard time ruining that.

Luckily, he didn't have to. As she rose for air, her eyes found him. She didn't smile, but she didn't glare either. That was something. Slowly, unable to force his limbs to move any faster, he made his way to the edge of the pool. Sickly green and blue light reflected across the high-ceilinged room as the smell of chlorine hit his nostrils.

Daphne didn't climb out, instead, she rested her arms on the side and propped her head between her forearm and the crook of her elbow. Her blonde hair was plastered to her scalp, water clung to her eyelashes and to Harry more beautiful than he could remember. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again.

"Come to tell me to leave again?"

He deserved that. "No. No, I haven't."

She frowned, clearly ready to go into a tirade about why what he was about to say was stupid. "Oh."

"I'm sorry." He sat at the edge of the pool. She didn't float to him, but he didn't expect her to. "I was just trying -"

"To do the right thing."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you always?" There was a fondness beneath the cool of her tone. "I mean, Weasley, that Delacour girl, even me. Can't you just for once put yourself first?"

"I'm trying." It felt impossible sometimes. He'd never been given the space to have a life and now he had one he was so desperate not to afflict the childhood he'd had on those around him. A part of him, sometimes small, other times far bigger than he could ever hope to fight, would say that's what he deserved. He should be the cupboard. "I am, Daph. I know it's hard, I know it's probably sucked."

"You can say that."

"But I didn't - I can't lose you."

"But that's what you were doing anyway? Don't you get it? Either way, whatever choice you make, there's risk. So what do you want?"

"You know."

"Do I, Harry? Really? Because you've been acting like it's not that obvious."

"It is. It always is. That's not fair."

"Neither's being told your boyfriend thinks you should disappear for your own safety. Merlin's beard, don't you think I've thought of that? We're not all damsels you need to save, you know. Sometimes, maybe you're the one that needs saving."

"I don't -"

"How would you beat him? Really? Think about it, on your own, how are you getting through this? You're not." Anger made her words echo in the large room, seemingly giving her pent-up anger even more power. "You're just going to die and then what? What good's your self-sacrifice when all it does is get us killed anyway. The only way we get through this, any of us, is together.

"So, what do you want?"

The word was soft. Simple. Yet so heartbreaking to think about he could barely manage to say it. "You."

She finally drifted closer to him. Droplets of water fell onto his jeans as she reached for his hand. Her eyes sparkled. "Then please stop trying to get rid of me." He nodded, words seeming to fail him. With his brain impossibly caught in a loop of relief and fear, he felt himself lean down to kiss her. He should've seen it coming. Spluttering, laughing, desperately trying to pull her closer and stay afloat, Harry finally relaxed. For the first time since Dumbledore had told him about Horcruxes and prophecies, he felt, if not normal, then normal adjacent.

The same couldn't be said for Matthias Greengrass.

The head of the Greengrass family, a position he would freely admit that he'd never taken that seriously, was confused. Confused and baffled and befuddled and, well, any other word for confused that he could think of. Somehow a chain of events had led him to be sat outside the Minister's office rather perplexed about the entire thing.

The door opened. Lucius Malfoy strode out. Matthias waved. It seemed to annoy him more. It was the simple things in life worth living for. Amelia loomed out of the door behind him, scowling through her monocle at the retreating form of one of Matthias' least favourite people. The gaze didn't soften, Amelia was never soft, but it definitely wasn't as hard when it fell on Matthias.

"Ah, I thought Stephens said something about you," she boomed. "Come in, come in." He showed himself into the office. Unlike when Fudge had been in charge, the room was ordered. Filing cabinets lined one wall, Amelia's medals sat neatly on the window sill beneath a - was that Italy? Yes. Italian skyline. Her chair was large and comfortable. His was rickety and squeaked. At least, until hse waved her wand and the chair popped into a padded, straight-backed piece of office furniture.

"I don't like him to be at ease." Who did? "Well, what can I do for you?"

"Isn't that we should be asking you?" His daughter wasn't the only one who deflected with jokes. His were just cooler.

Amelia let out a bone-shaking laugh. "If only. Ministerial business is paperwork and everyone saying you're not doing enough. Now, we've known each other a long time, so let's get it over with. I've a niece waiting for me. So, out with it."

So much for pleasantries. "How are you with hypotheticals?"

"Familiar. Go on. Unless it's Quidditch. I will not be kept from Susan to discuss the latest brooms."

"No. Not Quidditch. Well, I wish it was and actually -" he stopped himself. "No. Not the time. Later. Yes. Later." He blew out his cheeks. Amelia knew better than to interrupt. Awkward people filled silences. It's how she got people to confess. Matthias stroked his beard and sank into the chair she'd given him.

"Hypothetically," he began, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the glass of water she had been drinking from on the desk. "If I knew something about a criminal the Ministery was searching for, even if I knew for a fact that this criminal was, in fact, innocent; I would have to inform the Ministry?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

"Yes, you should."

"Even if they'd just lock up an innocent man?"

"Matthias, you'd better not be talking about who I think you're talking about."

"I'm not talking about anyone," Matthias forced a smile. "This is all hypothetical. A little thought experiment, you know, to pass the time."

"And my time is valuable."

"Then I'm glad it's a good experiment."

Amelia sighed, removing her monocle and polishing it with a handkerchief. She didn't speak until she'd replaced it in its rightful home. "Hypothetically," she said again, disdain dripping from the word like a failed potion. "Yes. You should report a situation like this to the Ministry to avoid being arrested yourself." Matthias deflated. "But as your friend, I would advise you to put your best foot forward."

He wanted to ask for specifics but knew she couldn't give them. It was surprising she'd even said that much. "Okay. Thank you. I'll, erm, yes. Sorry to take up your time."

She insisted it was no trouble. Matthias, utterly unconvinced, left before he could reveal the truth of what he knew. Amelia didn't need that kind of pressure. He didn't. He'd always avoided his responsibilities to pureblood society, always said that he'd never get dragged into anything like this, yet, here something was. Sat on his lap. A Hippogriff pup about to grow. The only question: would it maul him first?