Thank you for 2400 followers and 350000 views! Phew, some backlash I've got there. Okay, I admit that the 'drama' wasn't done nearly as well as it should have been, and in some time (though I don't know when) when I'll be rewriting this story to correct some grammar and other errors that escaped my attention, I'll most likely try to improve the last few chapters. I'm sorry, I know I should be giving my best all the time, but the author's block is merciless sometimes. I swear I'll do my best to improve myself in the future, and I'd like to thank all of you who still aren't done with me. Or, if not in the rewrite, I'll do my best to improve the 'drama' in the next chapters, clarify some things, add some depth, etc. But remember that I always appreciate constructive criticism, so whenever you feel like I could improve something, feel free to point it out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 22

"Why don't you hate me?" Daphne asked, breaking the silence that accompanied them until that moment. Harry and she were sitting in the Library, completing an essay that Professor Moody tasked them with. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, crossing out the last sentence he wrote.

"Why should I?" he asked hesitantly. Despite clearing the air between them after the Second Task a few days earlier, Harry could still feel the weird tension between them. It was similar to what was happening between him, Ron and Hermione when the Goblet chose him, and a part of him knew that Daphne felt it as well.

"Because I basically did what Granger did? I pushed you away and ignored you," Daphne replied, looking up from the scroll of parchment lying in front of her; Harry's face fell upon hearing her words. "I would have slapped you if our places had been reversed. Not to mention I wouldn't speak to you ever again. It surprises me that my… behavior doesn't seem to bother you at all."

Harry sighed heavily, leaning against the backrest of his armchair. He didn't need Daphne to clarify her question to understand what she meant – he wondered about it himself when the adrenaline of the Second Task finally evaporated from his body, and the day itself became a relic of the past. Especially when the Slytherin girl corrected his earlier assumption that she didn't do it to force him to learn something on his own.

He cleared his throat again. "You were in danger," Harry answered, pretending to read something in the book. "You remember what happened to Gabrielle, right? Who knows what would have happened if Professor Dumbledore didn't manage to rescue her." He shrugged his shoulders. "Getting angry with you just wasn't an option."

"Contrary to a common belief, you're not an idiot, Potter, so stop pretending to be one right now. I'm not talking about the Task," Daphne countered, slamming shut his book. "I'm talking about later. When we spoke at the Lake."

"Why does it interest you so much if I hate you?"

"Because it would be easier to understand than you forgiving me that easily," Daphne replied immediately, leaning forward in her chair. Arguing in the Library wasn't the best idea since Madam Pince could throw them away from their safe hideout at any moment. "You didn't do the same for Hermione."

"I needed her when she pushed me away," Harry replied, correcting his glasses. "When everyone did. I needed someone who could just… tell me what to do, I guess?"

"And you didn't need me before the Task?"

"And did you help me with it?" he countered, effectively silencing Daphne. "I mean, sure, it would have been nice to have some help, but I'm also glad I did it on my own, you know?" Harry stumbled over his words. However, Daphne's nod indicated that she had no problems understanding what he meant. "At first, I thought you weren't talking to me because I didn't send you anything for Christmas," Harry continued with closed eyes. He chuckled slightly at his own words. "Then, as I've said, I thought it was your strange way of pushing me into doing something on my own for once. Thanks for correcting me on that, by the way. I…, I think I wanted to hate you," he muttered after a while, sighing heavily. "You did exactly what Hermione did," Harry confirmed, not finding the strength to look at the Slytherin girl. "But I've already lost two friends, and I guess there was some fault on my side as well. I didn't want to go through that again. Not to mention that I don't want to find out if you would tell someone about the Map and the Cloak," he added with a chuckle.

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Daphne commented, nodding her head. "Don't you think it would be hypocritical if you didn't offer the same thing to others? I mean, I'm flattered, I guess, that you hold me in such high regard, but we've only known each other for a few months at best. You've been friends with others for years," she pointed out. Harry didn't fail to notice that Daphne didn't correct him about the current state of their acquaintance as she did weeks earlier.

"That's why it hurt much more than what you did," he muttered. "Ron is still wearing the badge," Harry added, finally looking at the girl. Nothing changed in that regard. If anything, it only worsened after the Second Task, when it became public knowledge that Harry would sorely miss a Slytherin.

"Okay, scratch Weasel," Daphne replied, shaking her head. "I admit he's childish and immature, just like Malfoy. But I think Granger would really appreciate it if you at least talked to her."

"Did she speak to you about it?"

"I haven't talked to her since the Ball," Daphne countered. "But I've caught her staring at me a few times. I guess she isn't immune to the rumors about us circling around the Castle. There again, she's sharing a room with two greatest gossipers in our year, so I shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

Harry blushed at her words. He heard them as well – sometimes whispered behind his back, sometimes said directly into his face. Apparently, the entire school was convinced that the Second Task revealed the Champion's love interests. The fact that three out of four hostages were the Tournament's Participants' partners at the Yule Ball only reinforced that belief. There wasn't a day when Harry didn't hear something about him and Daphne. Only a deaf person wouldn't hear those comments. And Daphne's words were all too true – Parvati and Lavender truly did an amazing job spreading those rumors.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this," he muttered, opening his book again.

"What do you mean?"

"No one bothers you about it? Those rumors, I mean," Harry clarified. "Ron is commenting on that almost every day, and he's not someone I would call subtle. And I know that it's not Malfoy's strong suit as well."

"Oh, I've been asked about that quite a few times already," Daphne replied nonchalantly as if the mere topic was beneath her dignity. "Some of my Housemates have cornered me and 'demanded answers,' but nothing bad ever happened. Malfoy is infuriated, of course, as well as those closest to him, but I believe that only because he is. Luckily, the three people who matter the most to me seem not to be bothered by it. It also helps that I started spending more time with them as well. It's easier to avoid being cornered when I'm in a group."

Harry nodded his head. He noticed it even before the Second Task. Wherever Daphne went, Astoria, Tracey, and Blaise always seemed to follow her. Or maybe she was following them? That was an unimportant detail. Even at that moment, the three other Slytherins were somewhere in the Library, like secret guards protecting something dear to them. Harry never thought a loyalty like that could be found in the House of the Snakes. There again, his friendship with Daphne proved that he still had much to learn about the Greens.

He had been approached by Daphne's Housemates as well, mostly Malfoy and his usual cronies. It seemed that the blonde boy thought it was his life goal to alienate him from the Slytherin girl, as his words indicated. And only when their confrontation approached the point of drawing wands did Harry react. He chuckled quietly, remembering how high Malfoy had jumped when he pretended to greet Professor Moody from afar.

"Hermione also told me why she's been ignoring me," Harry said, returning to the previous topic. "Will you tell me as well?"

"I'd rather not," Daphne replied with a sigh. She rubbed her eyes, fighting against the exhaustion slowly seeping into her. "As I've said, it's stupid… and petty, I guess. And no, it has nothing to do with you not sending me a Christmas present. If I had expected something from you, I would have sent you a gift. I…, maybe I'll tell you one day, but please, be patient with me."

"And what would you say for trading one information for another?" Harry offered. "I know what your father meant when he said your family owes Lupin and Black," he clarified, noticing her questioning expression. Daphne's eyebrow rose on her forehead. "I spent Christmas with them, after all. They've said that they helped your parents hide when Voldemort was still around," Harry continued; the fact that Daphne did her best not to flinch upon hearing the Dark Wizard's name didn't escape his notice. "They've hidden them after the Death Eaters approached them with the offer to join their ranks," he shrugged his shoulders. "That's all I know."

"I didn't know any of this," Daphne replied, biting her lower lip. "But I guess it would explain a few things."

"Like what?"

"My parents have always been somewhat wary when it came to attending parties. It's a common thing amongst the Purebloods," she explained, noticing Harry's puzzled expression. "They never drank during those and only ate enough not to be rude. Now I think they were simply afraid that some of the Death Eaters had escaped judgment. The World Cup is an example of that. Have… they told you anything else?" Daphne asked, making sure to choose her words carefully.

"Only that you were a small bundle back then," Harry replied with a chuckle, earning himself a glare from the Slytherin girl. "But no more than that. So, how about that trade?"

"You never heard me agreeing to that," Daphne replied, straightening her back; the left corner of her lips rose ever so slightly. Harry groaned heavily. "But I can tell you it had something to do with the Ball. And I refuse to say anything more," she added. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "As I've said, it was stupid and petty, so don't ask me anything. I promise I'll tell you one day, just not yet. I'm sorry, it's just…, it's too personal," Daphne added.

Harry cleared his throat. "And how did it go with your parents? You've said that Astoria wrote to them about the Second Task. How did they react?"

"I haven't heard from them yet," Daphne replied. "But, knowing my father, I'm sure he'll want to have a few words with our Headmaster."

"Am I in trouble as well?" Harry asked, chuckling nervously. "You sort of landed in that Lake because of me." Daphne rolled her eyes.

"I doubt that," she replied. "You didn't put me in there, after all. Though I must say that I'm intrigued by how my parents will react to the news that I'm someone the Boy-Who-Lived would sorely miss," she added; the left corner of her lips twitched again. Harry's face paled and blushed at the same time. "I'll be heading back now. Curfew is approaching, so I suggest you do the same unless you want to get detention. Goodnight, Potter," she said, standing up and collecting her belongings.

"Goodnight."

The nightmares returned that night. Azkaban shifted into the old house and back again, causing Harry to get completely lost as to what was happening around him. One moment, he was pointing his wand at a defenseless Auror, only to see the Muggle caretaker falling to the ground, consumed by the sickly green light. The number – seven hundred seventy-seven – was still present, though. However, that night, it wasn't limited only to the single wall of Azkaban. It was everywhere – on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and even in the old house. It lurked in the shadows like a beast, waiting to pounce on an unaware prey.

Even the people Harry saw in his dreams weren't immune to that mysterious number. When the Muggle died, his body formed a digit seven. Wormtail's limbs also twisted into the same number. The third man, instead of talking to Voldemort, was constantly whispering the same thing: seven hundred seventy-seven; his gaze was focused on Harry, even though the young boy was sure he couldn't see him. The snake also seemed to repeat the same thing as the mysterious man. At least, that's what Harry tried to understand from the serpent's hisses. He couldn't be sure of that, though, as Parseltongue wasn't a language that could be translated easily. In some ways, it felt like magic – alive and constantly shifting, dependent on what its wielder wanted to achieve.

The lack of pain in his scar when he woke up was a surprise, though he didn't dare to question that. Harry could still remember the morning after he first dreamt of Azkaban. He rubbed his forehead a few times to make sure everything was alright with his scar.

His watch showed four in the morning. With a tired sigh, Harry pressed his head into the pillow, certain he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. After a few minutes of lying motionlessly, he pulled out the Marauder's Map. A quick 'Lumos' provided him with enough light to study it. He once again thanked whoever it was who invented the curtains around their beds. They provided him with all the privacy he could possibly need.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he whispered, pressing the wand's glowing tip onto the parchment. Instantly, the blank pages started filling with words that created the map of Hogwarts. Even though he wasn't standing, his head spun a little each time he noticed the digit seven on the yellowish parchment. That floor doesn't exist, he reminded himself, recalling his conversation with Remus and Sirius. But if it didn't exist, then why was it appearing in his dreams? Harry shook his head after a moment of sitting and thinking, deciding to put that thought away for another time. Maybe Professor Dumbledore could say something more about it.

The Castle's corridors were empty, just as he expected. Except for Mrs. Norris walking down the halls and a few ghosts flying here and there, there wasn't a single soul out of bed. Out of habit, Harry checked Professor Moody's dot; it still remained in his office, unmoving. He rubbed his forehead, recalling how the Map failed him that one time when he was walking Daphne back to the Dormitories.

"Revelio," he whispered, pressing his wand against Moody's dot. Pettigrew and Sirius also couldn't be seen on the Map, and yet, Remus noticed them a few months earlier. And Harry had seen too much in his life to believe in simple coincidences. Something was amiss – he felt it in the back of his head.

And yet, nothing had happened. No one new suddenly appeared on the Map, and Moody's dot didn't as much as twitch. He rubbed his eyes, deciding to let it go. "He's just paranoid," Harry reminded himself as if he wanted to ease his worries. Still, that strange feeling and the tingling in his scar didn't disappear.

He turned a few pages until the Map showed the Dungeons. It was something he couldn't stop himself from doing, especially after the past few weeks, and it helped him to take his mind off other things. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Daphne was aware he was staring at the dot with her name. After all, she knew that he had the possibility to do it. Still, she never commented on that, so perhaps she wasn't aware of his habit.

Daphne was in her Dormitory, most likely asleep, surrounded by Tracey, Millicent, and Pansy. Harry watched the girls' room for a few seconds, recalling his conversation with the Slytherin. However, none of the three dots moved toward Daphne's bed. He didn't doubt her skills as a witch, but the element of surprise was equally as important in combat as one's spell knowledge. Luckily, it seemed that Daphne was allowed to sleep through the night peacefully.

Why don't you hate me? Her voice whispered softly in Harry's mind. He bit his lower lip. He answered her honestly when they talked earlier, though he wasn't sure if he said everything there was to say. Would he accept her apology, vague as it was, had Daphne not been trapped under the Lake? Harry seriously doubted it. However, the possibility of never seeing her again, reinforced by Gabrielle's temporary fate, dictated his actions and words that evening. Harry was almost sure that if it were Ron or Hermione he would have to rescue, he would be able to repair their fractured friendship.

As his thoughts traveled to Hermione, his hands flipped a few pages of the Map until he could see the Gryffindor Dormitory. As he expected, the bushy-haired witch was sleeping in her room with other girls from their year. He missed her - he truly did. And yet, Hermione was afraid of what their friendship could mean for her and her family. Harry didn't blame her, though. After all, it seemed that wherever he went, troubles followed him.

Still, he kept Daphne's suggestion in mind. Maybe some time later, when things would go back to normal, he would try mending fences with Hermione. Until then, he had other things to worry about – things Hermione clarified were terrifying to her. And the Tournament, of course, but the Third Task was still months away. Harry allowed himself to rest a bit for the past couple of days, and he planned to continue doing that for another week or so. Of course, he would still practice before the Third Task, despite not having any clue whatsoever what it could be, but for the time being, he was just content with keeping up with his schoolwork.

"I think that's enough," a voice next to him spoke, and before Harry knew what was happening, he felt himself being lifted high into the air. For a split second, it felt as if he was flying before he landed on a chair that squeaked in protest against the sudden assault. Harry coughed a few times. "The Muggles have a saying, you know? Curiosity killed a cat," Professor Dumbledore said, watching Harry from behind his glasses, though there was no trail of hostility or anger in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry coughed. "The cupboard was open, and-"

"I understand," Dumbledore cut him off, waving his hand. "Truth be told, I wasn't surprised to find you there. Just as I wasn't surprised to find you in front of the Mirror of Erised in your first year, Harry," he said, walking towards his desk. "But, just like then, I would advise you not to do that often. Or, at least, be cautious about it. The past is in the past, and lingering there for too long might make someone… lose themselves in it."

"What… what is it?" Harry asked, glancing at the circular dish he seemed to fall into earlier.

"It's a Pensieve, Harry," Dumbledore explained, also looking in that direction. "It's an incredibly rare and powerful magical artifact, allowing one to revisit their, or someone else's, past. I believe that the Muggle television is somewhat similar to it, though, as you must have noticed, the Pensieve can offer a much more powerful experience." Harry only nodded his head, still mesmerized by yet another magical thing he came across. "What you saw was one of my memories," Dumbledore continued as if he read the young boy's mind. "Though I guess you have figured it out on your own already."

"How does it…? How does it work?"

Instead of answering, Dumbledore stood up from his chair and approached the Pensieve once again. Stunned, Harry could only watch as the Headmaster pressed the tip of his wand against his skull. For a moment, nothing happened, until the old man slowly moved his hand away. In the beginning, Harry thought that some of Dumbledore's hair got stuck to his wand, as he noticed a silver thread at the tip of his wand. But after no longer than a second, that thread expanded and floated gently in the air, even though there was no wind in the Headmaster's office which could move it. It took Harry a few seconds to realize that the thread was made out of the same substance that filled the Pensieve. And then, Professor Dumbledore swiftly tapped his wand, and the silver thread fell into the round dish.

"Come here, Harry," the Headmaster spoke softly. Harry stood up hesitantly but obeyed the command nonetheless. When he was close enough, he looked down into the Pensieve.

The image differed much from what he saw earlier. The people he saw inside earlier were gone, replaced with the Goblet of Fire spitting out the names of that year's Champions. After a moment, he saw a small piece of parchment with his own name written on it.

"I've been returning to that night more times than I could count," Dumbledore whispered from next to him. "I've been trying to find something - anything - that would have explained what happened back then. Why the Goblet acted against its own nature? Why, and how, did my securities fail? With no luck so far," he admitted with a tired sigh that indicated the Headmaster's true age. "The Pensieve helps me with that. Sometimes, our own minds can deceive us. The Pensieve can't. But I believe you wanted to talk about something else when you came here. I'm sorry, Harry, but Mr. Crouch's disappearance has us all on edge, and the Minister insisted that I accompany him."

"No problem, sir," Harry replied hastily. "Actually, what I saw in the Pensieve… it's connected to what I wanted to talk to you about." Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows. "That man that's been judged… Mr. Crouch's son, he's…"

"What about him?" the Headmaster asked when Harry's own words failed him. The young boy cleared his throat a few times.

"That's the third man from my dreams," he said shakily. Dumbledore's frown deepened, and his eyes focused solely on Harry. "The one I had in the summer," the young boy clarified; the Headmaster nodded his head, indicating that he remembered. "He was there, in that house, with Voldemort and Wormtail. But if he got a life sentence in Azkaban, then how could he…? I mean, wasn't Sirius the only one to break out from there? The Daily Prophet would have written something about it if Mr. Crouch's son escaped, right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore muttered, resting against the cupboard. "But the problem is that Barty Crouch Junior died around a year after his imprisonment." Harry's face paled upon hearing that. It can't be right. "Are you sure that it was him?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied without hesitation. He had seen that face enough times to recognize it anywhere. The Headmaster wiped his face. "And Snape and Karkaroff… were they really…?"

"Death Eaters?" Dumbledore supplied. "Yes." No one stops being a Death Eater, Sirius' words echoed in Harry's mind. "But I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about, Harry. Professor Snape has been on our side far longer than on Voldemort's, and Igor gave us so many names of the Death Eaters that now he's too afraid to leave the safety of his own school or Hogwarts. Voldemort doesn't offer forgiveness for betrayal, and neither do those who follow him. And having those who fought for the other side close to us also has its advantage."

"I don't see how sleeping under the same roof with two Death Eaters can have benefits, sir."

"Tell me, Harry, have your nightmares intensified?" Dumbledore asked, pretending not to have heard the boy's comment.

"I had both of them a few nights ago," Harry revealed. "But this time, it was different. It seemed as if they were happening simultaneously. And I know that that floor doesn't exist, but it keeps repeating each time. It's like a focal point of those dreams at this moment."

"Who told you that it doesn't exist?"

"Sirius, when I visited him during Christmas."

Dumbledore sighed heavily again. "I've contacted some of the Ministry workers about that as well," he said. "None of them ever heard about floor seven hundred seventy-seven. They even studied Azkaban's maps per my request, but came up empty-handed. Is there anything else you can remember about that dream? Any detail you could have possibly missed?"

"I… I don't know, sir," Harry admitted shamefully. "Can't I just put it in the Pensieve for you to see? If you taught me how to do it, of course. I think you would be able to find something then."

Dumbledore was shaking his head even before Harry finished speaking. "Putting a dream in the Pensieve is too much of a risk, Harry," the Headmaster countered. "For the Pensieve to work properly, one has to know the exact beginning, the events, and the end of the memory, and that's the problem with dreams – you don't know when they start or end. You only know what happens in between. Think about it as a tunnel: you cannot enter one without an entrance and can't leave it if there is no exit. There were cases when wizards tried to relive a dream in the Pensieve, only to never be able to resurface."

"But I remember that dream," Harry countered, shaking his head. "I know how it starts, and I know how it ends."

"From what you told me, it doesn't end on its own," Dumbledore replied, stroking his grey beard. "Rather, you wake up upon seeing the floor's number. And before you argue any more, I want you to answer me this: are you able to remember the beginning and the end of one of those nightmares? They both must belong to the same one. Using an entrance from one memory and an exit from another also wouldn't end well," he warned him.

Harry was ready to say that he remembered it clearly: the flight to Azkaban was how the dream usually started. Then, walking through the narrow and dark corridors until finally reaching the cell on floor seven hundred seventy-seven. But as he focused more and more on that dream, he realized that he didn't remember only one of them, but all of them that ever happened. The events that led from the flight to the cell many times contradicted each other, and sometimes the nightmare ended earlier than the previous one; or later. And most recently, the dream about Azkaban merged with the nightmare about the Muggle caretaker's death. With a sigh of defeat, Harry shook his head.

"I appreciate your readiness to put your memories in the Pensieve, Harry, I really do. Not many people are ready to give away their memories like that," Dumbledore commented. "But it also must be done safely. And I don't want you to take this the wrong way – it's not that I don't trust you. I just don't trust dreams enough to visit them in the Pensieve."

"So, does that mean that I'm going mad?" Harry asked, blinking furiously a few times. "Voldemort, a man I've never seen in my life – a dead man on top of that – and Wormtail? And the floor that doesn't exist?"

"I've told you before, and I want you to remember it: you're not going mad, Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly. "Trust me when I say it, I want to see what you saw to the point that it might drive me insane if I don't. And while magic provides us with enough means to enter someone's mind, dreams are too fickle to trifle with. One wrong step and I could be trapped in your mind forever," he sighed heavily. "You're not going mad, Harry, of that I can assure you. But, unfortunately, I have no way of helping you right now. For now, I want you to try to remember as much from both dreams as possible. You can write them down if you want. Perhaps the future will shed some light on that matter for us. Meanwhile, I have to ask you to leave. I expect a visitor in… ten minutes," Dumbledore said, glancing at the clock, standing at the opposite wall. "And I don't think Ms. Greengrass' father is going to be gentle with me."

With that said, the Headmaster shooed Harry away from his office, locking the door behind him.

"So, a floor that doesn't exist, not one, but two supposedly dead men, and an actual dead man," Daphne summed up after listening to Harry telling her about his nightmares once again and his talk with the Headmaster. He conveniently forgot to mention the little detail about Snape and Karkaroff. It was disturbing, to say the least, but he trusted Professor Dumbledore enough to let him control the situation on his own.

"Yeah," Harry sighed heavily, casting some of the spells he already learned, just to make sure he remembered them correctly. The two students found themselves once again in the Chamber of Secrets. Following Daphne's example, Harry also cast the Air-freshening Charm before entering. He had no idea how he managed to endure that odor before. "Protego," he said immediately after noticing Daphne pointing her wand at him. Upon his request, the Slytherin girl promised to send some minor curses his way from time to time, just to train his reflexes. His shield blocked the Tickling Charm effortlessly, allowing Harry to return to his training.

"You should write a book one day, Potter," Daphne commented, observing his practice. "The 'Possible Impossible' for example." Harry chuckled tiredly at that. It took him some getting used to, but he finally realized that Daphne's small and sometimes quite lame jokes were just her way of collecting her thoughts about some serious topic.

"I heard that your father visited Professor Dumbledore yesterday," Harry said, allowing himself to rest for a while. He sat down on his school bag, grinning widely. "Do you think it went down as you expected?"

"You tell me," Daphne countered, squatting down next to him. "You saw the Headmaster yesterday evening, so you can compare that to how he looked today at breakfast."

Harry laughed at that. Dumbledore's appearance at breakfast that day spoke volumes as to how the confrontation with Daphne's father could have gone. Especially since he didn't show up for breakfast in the first place. Harry only saw the Headmaster during lunch, and he looked like his own shadow. There were bags under his eyes, his cheeks were sunken, and he looked even more fragile than his age would indicate. Clearly, Daphne's father must have said a great many things to him the previous night.

"On a serious note, though, I think you should follow the Headmaster's advice and write those dreams down," Daphne returned to their previous topic. "I mean, I can't compare your nightmares to anything I had, but perhaps, if you write them down immediately after waking up, you'll be able to pick up something that your own mind doesn't notice or just ignores." Harry nodded his head.

"Professor Moody bothers me as well," he said after a moment of sitting in silence.

"He bothers everyone."

"Something's wrong with him and the Map," Harry continued, ignoring Daphne's comment. "I know that he's paranoid, and all that, but something doesn't add up. I mean, from what Remus and Sirius told me, only the Marauders knew how to cheat the Map. Even Professor Dumbledore can be seen on it, so how can Moody protect himself from it?"

"Well, the Map does show him," Daphne reminded him. "Just not in the correct position. I honestly think you're looking for problems where there are none, Potter."

"It's just my luck that there are problems even if everything indicates there are none," he countered. "Add to that Mr. Crouch's disappearance, and you should understand why I'm acting like that."

Daphne nodded her head. Overnight, Barty Crouch seemed to vanish into thin air, despite the Tournament still going on. All three schools lived with his disappearance, allowing Harry and Daphne to get some break from the students' constant nagging. However, it didn't help that Barty Crouch was nowhere to be found, even on the Map. Sure, he could have returned to London or his home, wherever that could be, without telling anyone. But that wouldn't explain why no one was able to contact him. Harry didn't want to think about another possibility why the Map didn't show Mr. Crouch.

"I thought you would have reacted differently when I told you about your parents and Remus and Sirius," Harry broke the silence that settled between them, returning to their conversation a few days earlier. Daphne huffed gently, wrapping her robe more tightly around her body.

"Well, it's not every day you learn that you live because of the kindness of two wanted criminals. And before you get your wand in a knot, don't worry, I remember what you've said about them," she added hastily, noticing Harry was about to protest. "I just needed time to process it, I guess. I mean, of course, I'm grateful to them and all that. But try to look at it from my perspective. A few months ago, someone I barely knew decided to tell me that something the entire world believes in is a lie. I understand that you have seen enough proof to believe in Black's innocence, but still. It's your word against the world's. So, you have to forgive me, but until I see otherwise, Black is still going to be a wanted criminal in my mind. At least to some extent."

"I… I think I can see your point," Harry mumbled, processing her words and reasoning.

"Don't worry, if I ever see him or Professor Lupin, I'm not going to alert the Aurors," Daphne added. "I believe I should thank them. And perhaps listen to what happened last year from their perspective. By the way, have you talked to Granger?" she asked after a moment of sitting in silence.

"No," Harry replied, standing back up to continue his practice. "But umm… I think I will. Some day. Why?"

"Just asking," Daphne replied, shrugging her shoulders. "She's still staring at me during meals and some classes." Harry only nodded his head, casting some spells as a distraction. He raised his shield immediately after noticing Daphne's sudden movement; once again, her spell bounced off his shield harmlessly.

"Ron and Ginny are almost always with her, so it's impossible to talk to her alone. Though I have no idea how that works – the three of them argued quite heavily after the Ball," Harry said in self-defense.

"So, you just avoid them. Really mature, Potter."

"That's quite bold coming from you, you know?" Harry countered, looking at Daphne. "You did the same to me, so I'm learning from the Ice Queen herself."

"Touché. I thought you said you didn't hate me. Shouldn't it mean that you wouldn't bring that up?"

"Absolutely not," Harry replied immediately. "I still expect to get answers from you one day, so don't think I'll simply forget it."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Daphne sighed. Harry smirked and nodded his head.

"And I think you were right about Ginny wanting to slip me a Love Potion," he continued their previous conversation, recalling the argument he had with his Housemates after the Ball. "Hermione said that she knew what Ginny wanted to do."

"Of course I was right. Though it could have been anything," Daphne replied, shrugging her shoulders. "Love Potion was just my guess.," she said, casting another harmless jinx at Harry. Once again, the Gryffindor boy deflected it without any difficulties. "So, they haven't told you anything about the Third Task," Daphne more stated than asked.

Harry shook his head. "I only know that it will happen at the end of June. Bagman said they will tell us more a month before the Task, but there is no riddle or anything like that which is going to help us. I guess I just have to wait and see."

"Alright, you've had your time," Daphne said after watching Harry practicing his spells for another few minutes. "Now, step aside. I still have that Patronus to learn."

If you catch me skipping some events from canon, like now, it means that they went unchanged. Also, regarding the fact that the slow burn is still going on despite this story being over 100000 words long: I hope that gives you some indication as to how long this story is going to be. At least, that's what I think at this moment. I mean, I'm planning to go through years 4, 5, 6, and 7 and not cut it into parts. I always wanted to write a story a few hundred thousand words long. Not to mention that as much as I love your feedback, I'm also writing for my own satisfaction. And despite the fact that the slow burn starts irritating me as well, I really enjoy following the protagonists' relationship step by step. I don't know, it's just more satisfying, in my opinion. As always, please, leave a review, and see you next time!