Before we begin: I'd like to thank those who have favourited, followed, or reviewed the story and the last chapter. I have a few responses to some of the reviews.
smarak mohanta 26: I feel like I have to be honest. Hermione'll play a part at some point down the line, but she won't have a major role to play in the story. Sorry.
Katie: Yeah, you can assume that there's perhaps a little more goodwill towards Harry and Ron after the incident over Christmas. I've taken a little inspiration from the books on how to show it without letting the story get bogged down by it. There're a few lines throughout the books where you get the sense that Harry really did have a friendship of sorts with some of the students from the other Houses. I've tried to incorporate that sort of style.
Tenjo: Hey, different strokes for different folks, that's fine. I don't know whether you're still reading or not. If not then this response will just be me talking to myself. Ha. But I agree somewhat with your points. Snape is a deeply unlikable character, which I've tried not to shy away from. Dumbledore is also in many ways equally flawed and have tendencies that I'd describe as unlikable, too. But I don't agree that Harry's reaction in the office didn't make sense. I actually debated with myself back when I first wrote that scene whether to give him more of a backbone already back then, but decided against it. Most eleven-year-old boys would, I think, have a hard time standing up for themselves in situations like that. Especially when they actually did do something wrong and already feel slightly guilty like Harry did. And as the story progressed Harry and Ron start standing up for themselves against Snape. Yeah, just my two cents.
KingPlotBunny: Yeah, completely agreed, which was why I wanted to change it up a little. Not sure if it improved anything, always felt Quidditch was one of those things that worked better in the movies than the books, but we'll have to wait and see, when I get to actually write about the games.
Canuto-90: Haha, those reviews were like a rollercoaster to watch tick in. The mood has changed for the lighter for now, yes, but it will probably shift again sometimes in the future.
rey29: Cool to see you can see a difference. The chapters back then are about five years old. And you're right, there's a lot going on at the beginning, happening very quickly, but it all serves a purpose for the future. And the Man in Black will play a major part further down the road, where hopefully everything he has done and will do will make sense.
Yeah, seems about right. Onwards with the story.
The Wandmaker
Daphne awoke to the silence of an empty dormitory, and though she was overwhelmed with an array of fierce emotions – today was the day, after all – she woke without grace, bleary eyed and in possession of a demeanour with an abject lack of vigour.
She was not a morning person. Not at all. Never had been, never would be.
Thankfully, as was a weekend tradition, she woke without witness. Most girls in her year were morning persons, Pansy in particular, always buzzing about, blabbering on about, well, everything and everyone.
But on this morning, on this wonderful day, Daphne had little trouble forcing herself out of bed, despite the mounting urge to lay there forever. Had little trouble ignoring the state of her hair, though she still bemoaned it on her way to the showers.
Thirty minutes later, a wash, hair combed and controlled, and make-up applied, she stepped out of the girls' dormitory in her finest robes, and slipped down the steps and up to Harry and Ron's place. The Common Room was empty and no one saw her.
Their dormitory was empty, too, and Daphne, with one disdainful look at the underwear splayed out on the floor, stepped through their room and into the bathroom.
Into their makeshift Potion Lab, as Harry had fondly dubbed it.
Wheezing and coughing a little, she stepped through the fumes of the Polyjuice Potion, which held the bathroom in a thick embrace, and beheld the fruit of the last month's labour. Her work, precise and immaculate, seemed to have wrought true, a text-book substance of thick mud-like liquid boiling gently in her cauldron, which sat on the floor above a small, smouldering blue flame that never wavered or extinguished.
She smiled a smile full of nerves and excitement, then – this was the day – and knew it was a remarkable accomplishment that stood before her. A testament to her skill, and the work she had put in over the years.
Ever since… yeah, well, then.
She sighed, best not go there. But it was too late. She was on her mind again. Never quite gone, never quite forgotten…
Shaking her head, she stood with narrow, hardened eyes and the feeling of accomplishment, of victory and triumph, lay forgotten in the shadow of regretful memories and uncertain futures.
She was twelve, she told herself fiercely – again and again the same old song – and she had no reason to feel regret. What happened wasn't her fault – she couldn't have saved her.
She couldn't. Nobody could.
Nobody can save…
Turning away and heading out of the room, lest the vile memories of her younger years should beset upon her mind more so completely, she went in search for her two boys.
Her wonderful, stupid boys.
And the thought of them – of their last month together, filled with plans and stealing from Snape's personal chambers and laughter and honing of her skills – blossomed a smile onto her features that wasn't in anyway forced and faked.
She went to the Great Hall, through the array of excited conversations about Hogsmeade and a castle abuzz, and found them, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table by themselves. They were laughing merrily, easily, and you couldn't spot a single sign of worry upon them. No matter how careful you looked. There was no indication that they were about to break just about every rule a school could impose upon its students.
Daphne stood at the entrance and stared for a moment, smiling to herself, and maybe to the world. Why did they never fail to make her smile so? It had been a month, most moments spent together, and she knew the two boys now – knew them better than anyone else. Knew their quirkiness and their recklessness. Knew that, despite Harry's brilliance, despite the obvious mistreatment he must have suffered during his childhood…
It had only made him…
What – what had it made of him? She wasn't sure. He was once, she knew, for she had seen it before… in herself… after her – he was once such a lonely, brilliant boy.
And it had only made… what?
What?
To Daphne, who had for the longest time she could remember – all she could remember sometimes – only grown cold and distant by loss, it was a marvel.
He was a marvel, and she wasn't even sure why.
And Ron – he was, in a way, far more easily gleamed. Loyal, brash Ron Weasley… full of envy and longing for the lives and fortunes of others, still he bore the strength to live above it. To not give in… to be better than the demons that wrought his soul at night in the dark.
He was a wonder, too.
Of course, being boys, Daphne thought, they didn't see it. But that only added to their charm, didn't it?
And they had, at last, let her in. And she had let them in.
She flicked a stray hair out of her eyes and approached them, smiling brightly. The last remnants of sleepy, drowsy dullness evaporated from her mind like fog beneath the face of the sun.
She was ready for the day – the day – to begin.
"Hello, you two."
"Morning, Daphne," said Harry, as Ron mumbled his own greeting through a mouth full of toast. "Up and about at last, are you?"
Daphne scoffed good-naturedly, smiling. "Oh, don't be cross like that. We've time on our side this morning."
"Time's only on its own side," said Harry, frowning a little for some reason. "We still need to pluck the hairs of three older students."
"Already taken care of," replied Daphne, sitting down beside Ron, across from Harry. Rummaging in her bag under the table, she held up three different vials, usually used for potions ingredients, which contained three different strands of hair. "Last night, in fact. We're ready when you're done here."
Ron blinked, frowning. "You're not gonna eat anything?"
"Not hungry."
A furrow, frown deepening, creased the redhead's brow. Like he couldn't possibly understand how such a thing could occur. "Why?"
"Nerves," she answered honestly.
Harry nodded, and Ron, after a moment, seemed to let it go, too, going back to his breakfast.
"How was last night?" asked Daphne after a moment.
Harry swallowed his food, looking about, then he leaned in over the table. Daphne noticed Ron do exactly the same, and she found herself doing the same.
"Better and getting better," answered Harry. "Onwards and upwards and all that. I don't get the headaches anymore – always a good thing, that."
"What does Dumbledore say?"
Harry shrugged, though he wore a puzzled expression upon his face. "He seems satisfied, perhaps even impressed at times. But I'm not sure he's the type of teacher who'd voice his disapproval."
"I think that he is," said Daphne. "He's taking the time to teach you, isn't he? If he thought you didn't perform as well as you should, he'd say it."
"Maybe."
Ron nodded. "Definitely."
"And it is a fascinating subject," said Daphne, when it was clear that Harry'd offer no more. "Even if the results are not very clear to you."
"Yeah. Maybe." Harry stared down at his breakfast; his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "I just wish there was, you know… some kind of obvious payoff. Even if only a little."
"Has the Harry Potter found something he finds difficult?" said Ron mockingly, a smirk playing about on the edges of his lips. "Don't think too much on it, you might hurt yourself."
Harry laughed. "Shut up."
A screech of a bird, accompanying by yet more screeches, broke the hum of excited chatter, and soon the Great Hall was filled with owls flying about, bringing letters and papers in a flutter of wings, falling packages, and the occasional droppings, which was usually accompanied with an outraged yelp of disgust.
"Weird," muttered Ron, looking up at the owls with a frown creasing his brow. "Why're there so many?"
One such tumbling package, the Daily Prophet, landed near Daphne, who snatched it before anyone could claim it. Looking at the front page with disinterest, intent upon merely killing time, she gasped as her eyes found the headline.
"What is it?" said Harry quickly.
"Wait a moment, Harry."
She scanned the front page quickly, eyes growing bright and horror-struck, feeling a pool of sickness lurch through her stomach, and she turned to page three and read the article.
"What is it?" repeated Ron, his food forgotten, as he beheld Daphne with baited breath, apparently somewhat wise to her fright. The Great Hall, Daphne noted absentmindedly, had grown as quiet as their little trio.
"He… he's struck again, Ron," said Daphne softly.
"Who?"
She felt her face pulled into a mask of disgust. "The Illusionist."
"Oh." Ron paled before her eyes, swallowing dryly. "No. What did he do?" he asked, voice hoarse and whisper-thin.
"Who?" asked Harry.
"The Illusionist is a dark wizard. A cruel one." Daphne paused, for a strange, escapist sort of thought occurred to her. Why was it up to her to explain this, anyway? Shouldn't there be some sort of course for Muggleborns before they were introduced the their world? Something like hey, listen, these wizards are not to be trifled with and should be avoided at all cost.
Apparently, Ron agreed.
"What, didn't anyone ever tell you?" asked Ron disbelievingly.
"Tell me what?"
"How can you not know about him?" said Daphne.
"Okay – let's all skip the part where we question my lack of knowledge and get straight to the explaining part, shall we?" said Harry, a tight frown marrying his face.
"Right. Well, you remember when we read up about your history?" said Ron. "When we learned about the Unforgivable Curses?"
"Bit hard to forget, mate."
"Yeah, okay, right, err, but this wizard – see – the Illusionist – he took one of them to a whole other level. Mastered it… in a way it hasn't been before."
"Which one?"
"Which one?"
"Which one of them?"
"Oh." Ron rubbed his nose, looking at Daphne. "The Imperious Curse. He could cast one so well; rumours went during the war that he could make those under his control cast the spell on others. Nobody knew where his limits were in the end. He got so good at it, people starting thinking he could have entire armies at his fingertips, doing his bidding against their will."
"It was never known whether he joined You-Know-Who during the war or not," said Daphne. "Which should tell you something about him, really."
Ron nodded. "A man who could, apparently, refuse You-Know-Who with the power of a single spell isn't someone to take lightly."
"And after the war," continued Daphne, "he started doing things like this!" She slapped the paper onto the table between them. Nobody seemed to pay her outburst any attention. Everyone were hurdled together around newspapers, discussing in hushed voices the exact same thing they were. "Look, Harry! This is the Illusionist."
He looked down and read, and Daphne saw the horror she felt mount in his eyes. She thought they, for a heartbeat of a moment, burned like green fire.
"He made the mother… do that…"
"Yes." Daphne nodded. "And left a memento behind – see!"
She pointed at the picture on page three, depicting a living room that had descended into chaos. The two black couches were torn to shreds, lying like debris all over the floor, the walls slashed and full of cracks and holes, remnants of spell-fire and dark curses, and everything, every corner, every object, was soaked in blood – the blood of a family. Daphne fought hard not to let the sickness she felt get to her, her eyes held prisoner by the most disturbing part of the moving picture. For on the wall, written in blood – of which Daphne just knew belonged to the puppet perpetrator, the mother – were the words The Illusionist written in a careful, lopsided handwriting.
Like he had made her write the words, his tittle, in glee.
Harry, with great care, closed the paper on the table between them, and snapped Daphne out of her trance-like stare.
"Okay…" he whispered, covering his face with his hands. "That's… something…"
"Fucking Ollivander!" one of the seventh years said loudly, who was also deeply engrossed in the paper.
"Ollivander?" Ron frowned. "What's he got to do with it?"
"Well, The Illusionist was a Muggleborn, remember?" said Daphne quietly. "Only joined our world after he had grown up. Ollivander sold that murdering psychopath a wand so he could do that."
"That's not Ollivander's fault," said Harry.
"Oh really?" The seventh year turned in his seat, having heard Harry. "And who's fault is it, then, Potter?"
Harry looked at the older, larger boy, and Daphne thought she saw little sense of self-preservation in the way he beheld him. Like the boy was being so thick he might as well have been a troll.
"Well, the one with the wand, of course! The Illusionist."
"He couldn't've done the things he did, unless Ollivander sold him that wand!"
"You wouldn't even be here, unless Ollivander sold you your wand!" said Harry angrily, sitting up straighter in his seat.
"I'm not going around forcing Pureblood wizards and witches to slaughter their own families!"
"No, but how was he–"
"No! Shut up, Potter!" snarled the older boy. He had dark-brown hair and blue eyes that sparkled with rage. He was entirely unremarkable – save for his display of open outrage. "You clearly haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about!"
And Harry, for a wonder, felt Daphne, actually shut up. Gazing in gloomy thought and with sightless eyes at his forgotten, half-eaten breakfast, he seemed to deflate in on himself.
Daphne, feeling guilty for some reason, kicked him gently under the table, and caught his eyes, smiling softly. After a moment, where he stared at her as though he was unsure who she was, he returned the smile. It was a token gesture, not even really a smile, but Daphne felt thankful for his effort.
After a moment, wherein the teachers seemed to have noticed the growing unrest, the Head of Houses went about the tables and started collecting the newspapers, mentioning loudly how this was definitely not something that children should be concerning themselves with. Harry laughed scornfully, Ron shrugged, and Daphne, well, she didn't know what to do with it all.
She held it up, glad to be rid of it, and Snape snatched it out of her hand without word a moment later. She thought she saw him sent a funny look Harry's way, but he was gone before she could be certain.
Soon chatter turned to brighter subjects, chiefly among them the trip to Hogsmeade barely an hour away. And at last, with Ron done eating, Daphne could drag her two boys back to their dormitory and get the show on the road.
She carried the cauldron with the Polyjuice Potion out into their Dormitory with great care not to spill a drop and placed it between Harry and Ron's beds, where they were sitting and waiting in a hushed, stiff silence.
Harry and Ron looked on in utter astonishment as, with no effort, Daphne fitted her entire arm into her very little black leather bag. After a moment, wherein a great clatter of heavy objects moving about could be heard, her hand – her entire arm, in fact – emerged with the vials she had shown them at breakfast.
She gave both vials a critical eye, discerning which was which – trying oh so hard not to giggle – before passing two of them on to the two boys. Then, reaching into her bag again, she pulled out three small silvery cups, and quickly scooped three healthy servings of the vile looking potion into them. The rest of the potion she placed in a large container, sealed it shut, and forced it into her bag.
She then passed a cup to each of the boys. "All right. Now, all you got to do is place the hair into your cup, let it simmer for a moment, and then it's ready to be consumed."
"This looks disgusting!" said Ron, breaking the tense ambience of the room like a sledgehammer through glass.
Harry nodded. "Revolting."
"Like something Crabbe or Goyle would produce the morning after a Halloween Feast."
Harry blinked, looking impressed. "Disgusting, but surprisingly accurate, no doubt."
Daphne sighed. "Are you two done being gross?"
"You're no fun," said Ron, grinning broadly.
Daphne, however, was very nearly done in by the suspiciousness she could see colouring Harry's gaze.
"Why're you in such a hurry, anyway?" asked Harry. "We have the whole day."
"Nerves," lied Daphne easily, hiding her smile. "Plus most are already going to Hogsmeade right now. It'd look suspicious if we don't get going soon, too."
Harry shrugged, and went about preparing his potion, plucking it out of the vial and dropping it into the potion. Swiftly, it began to froth and smoke in clear, white puffs and then, all at once, it turned into an azure-colour, bright and shimmering.
Daphne and Ron quickly did the same and watched as their potions turned different colours, too, forest green and a deep red, like strawberries.
Standing and looking about each other, each with a silver cup in hand, they all seemed to wait for one of them to plunge onwards.
"All right," said Harry at last. "Let's go – bottom's up!"
Daphne, Harry and Ron drank. Altogether, all at once, they gasped and grimaced as the potion hit the back of their throats. And without delay, without warning, without sound their skin distorted and bubbled like wax under intense heat. Ron shrunk and his hair grew, turning blonde, even as Harry and Daphne shot upwards. Daphne's hair, though largely the same colour and length, grew thinner. Barely a moment in the new body and she already wanted her own hair back. She, however, forgot it quickly as she began to laugh when both Harry and Ron started to notice their own current predicament.
Harry, the first to react, yelped, and clawed at his hair, pulling the long, dark strands of hair down in front of his face.
"I'm a girl!" he shrieked, his voice cracking, like a shrill of a wraith in the blackest night, shocked and disgusted. "I'm a fucking girl! Would you stop that!"
"Sorry," Daphne said through her laughter, giggling so madly it hurt her sides. "Sorry, it's just – I've never seen Tracy Plumberg with that sort of horror-struck expression…"
"I'm Plumberg?" asked Harry, then looked as though he tried to get his eyes to look inwards, as though he wanted to see through his skull. "Why does my voice keep doing that shit?"
"No – Ron is."
"Oh. Ha!" Harry turned and pointed at Ron. "HA! Let's go find your boyfriend, Ron."
"You – you did–" Ron sputtered, face crimson, pointing a finger with accusatory hatred at Daphne. "You did this! You did!"
"Ron and Macalister, sitting in a bathroom…" said Harry in a singsong tone of voice.
"If we – if he – if we run into him… if he tries anything – funny business. I'm going to end you, Daphne Greengrass! You hear me? End you!"
But Daphne was laughing too hard now to pay any attention to them, shuffling around in a mad fit of giggles atop Harry's bed.
Ron rounded on Harry, who was still singing merrily. "You know, Harry, I think I recognize you."
Harry stopped laughing and singing at once, and seemed to appreciate the abject lack of levity, the fierceness, that lay hidden in Ron's tone of voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," said Ron, and his smile was far too vindictive for a boy so young. "I think I saw her snog a boy from Ravenclaw the other day."
Harry, wide-eyed, paled considerably. "No…" He, along with Ron, rounded on Daphne now, glaring. "What the fuck is this?"
"They were the most mature looking," said Daphne, trying – and failing – to contain her giggles. "It made sense to–"
"I'm a girl – why do my voice keep… shrieking!"
"Harry, it's just your voice."
"I hate it."
"It is quite squeaky." Ron nodded compassionately. "Not at all manly."
"Ron," said Harry, "you have tits."
"So do you."
"I know! I hate it! They're all… droopy."
"Hey!" cried Daphne, feeling a sudden urge to defend, well, the girls. "They're not droopy! They're quite lov–"
"Yes, they are!" said Harry and Ron in unison.
"Look!" Ron stepped forth, pushing his chest out and flapping it about. It did things to his body that Daphne wished, dearly wished, she could've unseen. "It's like they have a mind of their own!"
"It's just because you're not wearing a bra!"
"You make it sound like I want to wear a bra!"
"Of course you'll wear a bra."
"Daphne," said Harry calmly, "we don't own a bra."
"Well, I do."
Harry frowned and looked her up and down, as though it would help him any. "You do?"
Daphne felt herself heat up, whether in embarrassment or impotent rage she wasn't sure, but she levelled Harry with a revolted stare.
"I nicked some of their clothes. I've got their underwear and robes here," she said quickly, reaching into her expanded bag and pulling out two pairs of robes along with some underwear. She threw it to the boys. "Least wear the bras, please."
Ron caught it on pure reflex. "You're trying to traumatize us…"
"We'll have to see them, well, us… naked?" asked Harry, and Daphne wondered if it had honestly first occurred to him then.
She rolled her eyes. "Trust me – give it a year or two and you'll thank me."
Harry blinked. "Why would I ever thank you for this?"
"Maybe three," muttered Daphne, closing her eyes and counting to ten. "You're taking all the fun out of this, you know?"
Daphne got the sense Filch had seen their doppelgangers pass and remembered – if his suspicious eyes as he allowed them out were any indication. Trudging along in front of Harry and Ron, she kept glancing back to the castle that loomed over Hogsmeade, waiting for someone to come running and dragging them back.
No one came.
They hit the High Street, the centre of the small town, and students filled the streets, going to and fro with intent in their steps and excitement in their hearts.
"Just keep going," muttered Harry. "We don't wanna meet anyone."
"If some bloke tries to snog me, I'm gonna curse his arse off!"
Harry sighed. "We'll probably have to play along."
"No fucking way. I don't give a Merlin's virgin arse about your plans, mate!"
Daphne felt out of touch with them. Doubt gnawed at a point in her, deep and in the dark where she couldn't touch it, change it, but feel it nonetheless. Feel it strangle, at the edge of endurance, until she might suffocate, yet never tilting over and breach her whole and complete.
Ron and Harry, unfamiliar with the town, followed her as she turned a corner and came upon the less trudged paths of the town. Hog's Head, a dreary looking pub, stood on a little side street, looking abandoned and lonely.
"We can call upon it at the end of this road," she said, voice whisper-thin.
Harry and Ron grunted behind her, their cloaks up and about their heads, hiding their appearances. It was largely pointless by now. They had left behind the students on the High Street.
At the end of the road, Daphne drew her wand hand and, with a moment's hesitation where she searched for any witnesses, raised it, hailing the Knight Bus.
There was a loud BANG, and Harry, not expecting something quiet so violent, shrieked with girlish fright. Ron laughed himself silly at that.
For a split second they stood quite still, wherein Daphne wondered if this was the beginning of the end for her time in Hogwarts, then the double doors split. A conductor, dressed in a purple suit, leapt forth with great vigour.
"Welcome to the Knight Bust, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this mor–"
The conductor stopped abruptly, and he seemed to notice that a few things were amiss. With squinting eyes, he caught sight of the three girls standing before him, all suspiciously young, at the edge of Hogsmeade, on what looked to be another Hogsmeade Weekend.
"You three hailed the Bus?" he asked rather nervously. Daphne noted that he looked to be about the same age as the girls, who's bodies they were currently inhabiting. He had large, protruding ears and pimples littered his face.
"Yes," said Harry confidently, stepping forward. Daphne noted that Harry's usual confidence worked well, almost cruelly so, with the beautiful features of the girl he wore. "Emergency, good fella, we need to get to Diagon Alley at once."
"Choo students?"
"What? Oh! Yes. Yes we are. Emergency. Need to go. Now." Harry rolled his eyes, dismissing this creature that stood before her – err – him. Daphne wondered if he looked haughty on purpose or if it was merely an illusion granted by the skin that contained him. "Well, come on, boy! Here we go!"
"Now, see here. If choo–"
"At once he said," said Ron.
"He – what?"
"Are you deaf and stupid or something?" said Harry quickly, not even deigning to look at the boy. "Or do you find something wrong with my looks?"
"You looks? No, but she–"
Daphne sighed, smiling a little as Ron and Harry all but forced their way on board, capitalizing on the conductor's nervousness and pushing him back onto the bus. Daphne followed, paid the boy, unrest starting to settle in the edge of her weary awareness. It was coming now, any moment – the thing she'd dreaded most about this whole plan.
And she had to do this twice in one day!
She found a bed beside Harry, behind Ron, and waited in tense silence. Harry sat beside him, tight-coiled, quaking with excitement. Ron had explained him the means with which the Knight Bus travelled, and he couldn't wait to try it.
And then there was a loud, resounding BANG, not unlike the one when it arrived, and they lurched and jumped across the world in a blinding flash of light. Daphne, though she knew it was coming, was shoved back with force and tumbled over in her bed. And when she found her bearings again, she beheld a street she didn't recognize fly by in a swirl of colour and light and booming noise.
Swallowing thickly, trying not to throw up, she turned to Harry, only to find him gone. Wide-eyed, she cast her glance around for him frantically. And at last she found him. Looking back, towards the end of the bus, a figure was, face first and long as she (he) was, sprawled out on the back window, pushed onto it by the momentum of the vehicle.
And Daphne could hear him squeal with unbridled joy, laughing madly. Rolling her eyes, not daring to say a thing, she looked on ahead again, waiting for it all to be over, willing for it to find an end soon.
She caught Ron's eyes, who had seen Harry, too, and shared a moment of exasperation with him.
"He's bloody mental," said Ron quietly.
To that, Daphne could only nod slowly.
After three stops it was their turn – finally, she thought – and Daphne exited the Bus with the caution of an old man.
"Excellent. Fantastic!" Harry came bouncing after them, after having disentangled himself from the window, a bundle of joy and a spring to his step. "Onwards and upwards, say I – through here."
Harry led them into the Leaky Cauldron, the gateway from Muggle London and into the Wizarding world – into Diagon Alley and all that it held. A stooping figure, toothless and wizened, greeted them behind the bar upon entrance, and Daphne knew it was the landlord Tom.
"Morning, sir," greeted Daphne cheerfully, before hurriedly pushing the two boys onwards. Soon they found themselves in front of a brick wall, almost squeezed inside a small courtyard, and Daphne tapped the correct stones in the right sequence, knowing it by heart.
Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest, as though it tried to escape its confines.
And then the wall moved.
It started small, as the best of things often do. The last brick she had touched wriggled as though shy, quivering beneath the tip of her wand. A small hole appeared, followed a second later by the removal of another wriggling, giggling, squirming brick, widening the hole in the wall. Seconds later, before their eyes, the wall had wound out like a maw of a giant beast, revealing beneath an iron-wrought archway the first place of wizard origin that Harry had ever seen.
Shops of all variety, selling all the wonders of the world and more, girdled the street in twin-rivers as far as Daphne could see. More than a few jumped out to her eyes, and she mapped out in her head which ones to visit.
"The first Frontier…" mumbled Harry to himself, but Daphne heard him and smiled.
"I can't believe we made it here," said Ron, and he let out a sigh of relief, as though he had been holding his breath for hours.
Maybe he had.
"I know – it's…" She blinked. What was it, really? Stupid? Incredible? Stupid, yeah. Definitely. She had been here more times than she could count. To Harry, maybe even to Ron, this was an adventure, but was it really that to her?
She glanced furtively at Harry's gobsmacked, loving expression, knowing that she could never be able to replicate such fondness – not even fake it.
So why was she here?
Because things, exciting things, happened around these two, a small voice said in her head. And she wanted, maybe even needed, some of that for herself.
Right?
This is Diagon Alley, Daphne scoffed. The most exciting thing that could happen is we get caught and get expelled.
She had an impulse, which she fought with all her might, to turn and go back, hail the Bus and get back to Hogwarts. She could be back in her dormitory, in her bed, no one the wiser, within the hour.
Daphne opened her mouth. "Look–"
"Where to, then, Harry?" asked Ron.
"Gringotts for me. I'll need your help there, Daphne, remember?" He glanced at her, and she caught his eye, nodding tightly. "From there I only really have one thing planned…"
"Quidditch," muttered Daphne with a practiced roll of her eyes.
Harry smiled, and Daphne thought it was a touch mysterious. "Maybe."
"Gringotts it is then." Ron pushed past Daphne and started down the street. Harry followed quickly, and so did Daphne, though it was a tad more obligatory than she'd liked.
Gringotts soon wound up high before them in all its snowy-white splendour, towering over all the little shops. They ascended the steps and entered through the silver doors with the engraved warning of the Goblins.
Once inside, and holding the curious stares of the bustling Goblins at work by the tellers and counters, Harry pulled Daphne and Ron aside, rounding a corner and going up the stairs, moving about quickly, until they found themselves a secluded spot.
"Quickly now," urged Harry lowly, as Daphne pulled out her bag and started fishing after another vial.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on," whispered Harry, looking around. "Ron, don't just stand there – stand guard by the corner."
"On it."
"Got it!" Daphne cried, somewhat out of breath, holding up yet another vial with a couple of hair strands, along with a cup of the Polyjuice Potion. She, flicker-quick, took one hair and dropped it into the potion, turning it a deep golden colour.
"Oh, that's a pretty colour," whispered Daphne, staring excitedly.
Harry drank it without hesitation. Before her eyes, all at once, stood Harry Potter with robes so big they pooled around his feet. He blinked with narrowed eyes, and Daphne handed him his glasses.
"Harry Potter…" she whispered with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Yeah." He laughed. "Fancy that. Hand me my clothes – oh, thank you. Turn around." In the middle of a corridor Harry started to change clothes, and Daphne quickly averted her eyes, blushing slightly.
"What do you think people would say if they saw you standing here half-naked?" Daphne giggled. "Front page material right there."
"Rather that than seeing me in a bra," said Harry, pulling off said bra. "Ron's right – you're trying to traumatize us."
Daphne giggled. "To think my two brave boys would be done in by a pair of bras like that."
"Your boys?"
"Yeah." She nodded seriously. "Didn't you know that?"
Harry laughed. "We're not your boys, Daphne."
"Yes, you are."
Harry pause, and Daphne could hear him pull on his own robes.
"Maybe," he said at last, walking past her and putting everything back in her bag. "Have the things ready for when I get back, would you? You and Ron stay here while I collect our money."
She nodded. "Sure thing."
Half an hour later, standing at the threshold of the bank again with pockets full of gold, Harry – wearing the skin of the girl once more – led Ron and Daphne back out onto the street of Diagon Alley beneath the face of a burning sun.
The street was alive with people. Shop windows gleamed with enticing, mad products of every variety. And the longer the day wore on, the longer Daphne got used to being out and about, the more it allowed the hope of not getting caught to take hold. Maybe they could blend in, maybe they wouldn't get caught, after all.
And that was the trouble, ultimately, with hope and adventure, wasn't it?
It was so very hard to resist.
"Where to now?" she asked.
Harry smiled, looking at her, looking as though he had seen right through her moment of doubt. "Wherever… you want."
"Ron needs new robes," said Daphne.
"I have robes, though," he replied, frowning, giving a little gesture at his form. "See?"
"I said new ones."
"I…" Daphne saw his ears turn slightly pink. "I – we – I can't afford – why do I need new ones, anyway? Eh? What's wrong with these?"
"The look a decade old."
"They probably are and so what?"
"They belonged to your brother, yeah?" said Harry.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," replied Daphne softly.
"I know! I'm not ashamed!"
"Lending money, I mean."
"We're not here so Harry can buy me presents!" Ron turned his furious, borrowed eyes onto Harry. "Are we, Harry? Didn't we come here for a broom?"
Harry, Daphne noted, winced slightly. "Well, yeah, I did. But you could do–"
"Not you, too!" Ron interrupted loudly. Daphne felt the stares of the bustling crowds around her settle on them slowly and surely. "Why does it matter what I wear, anyway?"
"It matters," said Daphne, carrying the sort of tone that bore no patience for argument. She'd practiced that voice; she was good with it, familiar with it. "Why does it matter lending a little bit to get something that actually fit you?"
"Because this is mine!"
"But it isn't, though, is it? It's your brother's. You just said so."
"I don't care, Daphne. I'm not letting Harry buy me clothes."
Harry looked ever so slightly put-off, Ron – like a cornered animal – looked incensed, red-hot with prideful defiance, and Daphne just felt all sorts of confused. Ron was poor; it wasn't a secret. So what did it matter that his friends bought him stuff?
But – for reasons unbeknownst to Daphne – it mattered a lot to him, and she felt forced to let it go, standing in the middle of a crowded street as they were.
"Let's split up, then," said Harry quickly, grinning all of a sudden. It made Daphne slightly disgruntled to see him switch so quickly. "Ron and I'll go have a look at the Quidditch shop. Where're you going, Daphne?"
Daphne raised a single eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not allowed to go to the Quidditch shop with you, am I? Is it because I'm a girl?"
Harry rolled with his eyes. "Yes, it's because you're girl. Everybody knows that girls aren't allowed in at the Quidditch shops."
Daphne laughed. "Oh. Never heard that before."
"Do you want to come with us?"
Daphne shook her head. "I need a new cauldron – the old one's full of mud now. And there's a new issue of Potions In The Makings out today that I'd like to purchase." She paused and considered her earlier plans. "And there's that new Potion Mousse I'd like–"
"I don't understand why you like Potions that much," said Ron, giving her a look of equal parts respect and disgust. "You're like a girl version of Snape."
"Ew! That's disgusting, Ron!"
"I know!"
"You buffoon." She wrinkled her nose, and then she turned down the street. "When and where will we meet up?"
"An hour?" offered Harry. "In front of Ollivander's shop, eh?"
They nodded and split. Daphne watched for a moment as the boys headed deeper into the alley, talking and laughing in a manner that wasn't exactly… feminine, before she set off back towards the entrance, where there was a cauldron shop waiting just for her.
Her smile slid off her face gradually as her mind fell upon the subject of potions. Usually, or so she was told, being good at something brought a sense of accomplishment or happiness about, but not so with her.
Not so with potions.
It was an art form; really, Snape had gotten it right that first day, hadn't he? It could do so much… yet it hadn't been enough, had it?
Never enough.
She shook her head and stepped inside. It wasn't her first trip there, and the shop owner knew her well – thankfully she wore a different face – and she knew the place by heart. She'd dragged her father down here often enough during her mother's sickness.
And after her mother's passing, too.
Along with a new pewter cauldron, she bought one made of pure gold and one of gleaming silver. Gold and silver, powerful properties, weren't substances that mixed particularly well with the kind of potions on the curriculum in Hogwarts, but what she intended, what she had sought for the better part of the last three years, lay far beyond Hogwarts – far beyond anything known, really.
She sighed, and closed her eyes as her thoughts fell upon her mother… fell upon herself… her sister.
Her sister…
The day her mother died had been bad. Daphne could still feel the hot tracks of her tears cutting down her cheeks like rivers. They'd be there for all eternity and back. Unseen and unfound but there just the same. That had been a very bad day – but it had been nothing compared to all the days, days made of worry and uncertainty and longing, that came after.
The days, most of them, that came after were hell on Earth. The days where there were nothing to be done about it, where everything had been said and done and it wasn't enough.
Never enough.
Thanking the old, stooped wizard behind the counter, trying to conceal the old sense of familiarity, she went out onto the street and headed for Flourish and Blotts. Her eyes were downcast and thoughts ran adrift in swift, cruel remembrance; she couldn't stop them then, and she couldn't stop them now. The thoughts. Noises in her head. Like drums. Once she let them in there was no stopping the noise.
And really, what would she be without?
Happier? Sadder still?
Or just empty?
She picked out the new issue of Potions In The Making and browsed down the line of books in the potions section, finding nothing new or worth of note.
Biting her lip and checking her watch – fifteen minutes left before she was supposed to meet up with Harry and Ron – she picked her way towards the section with curses.
Blood Curses, to be precise.
Letting her fingers glide over the back of the books in reach, she ran her eyes over the tittles. Stacks upon stacks, reaching from floor to ceiling, so many books she could spend decades of her life here without really making a dent. There were so many curses in this world, she thought. So many…
Ten fruitless minutes later she exited the shop, cursing herself for forgetting the mousse, and headed for Ollivander's to meet up with the boys.
Ron and Harry, cradling a broom between them like it was a small child, waited for her. They stood close together and seemed to be speaking in hushed voices, their eyes flickering back behind them at a small crowd that seemed to have gathered around them.
"I'm talking to you, you greedy scum!"
Daphne jumped, startled, and glanced around Harry and Ron, beholding a middle-aged, portly wizard, who wore dark-blue robes and bore a cane in his right hand.
"What's going on?" whispered Daphne, as she came to stand besides Harry.
"He's gone raving mad, that's what's going on," whispered Ron impressively, staring with wide-eyed wonder. "Look at him go!"
The man in question had just hammered his cane with a resounding noise against Ollivander's windows.
"Did you read the papers this morning? DID YOU?" the stranger screamed, his voice breaking at the end. "YOU BROUGHT THIS ON US! YOU DID! YOU DID! I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE GALLEONS! THAT'S ALL THAT EVER MATTERED TO YOU, EH?"
Daphne noted, with a healthy amount of trepidation, that the crowd around them seemed to grow with every screamed word. A rush of fierce energy, like a tidal wave, rippled through them at the man's every word. They seemed to share this enraged man's sentiment – with something that bordered on glee.
"That's enough, Fawley."
Daphne, along with everyone else, turned to the voice of the newcomer. It was a tall, black wizard, who Daphne knew to be a Pureblood – she had seen him before – but his name escaped her.
His presence alone seemed to disburse the crowd almost at once. Daphne noticed the raving man, who cast a last vehement look at Ollivander's shop, scuttle away quickly in the crowd.
"Not much fight in him, is there?" asked Ron, with a raised eyebrow.
"There never is with those types," said the tall man, who must have been an Auror, glancing at the three of them. "And what was your part in all this, then?"
"Oh, nothing, sir," said Harry quickly, wearing an easy, charming smile. "We're here to buy a wand. My friend here – well, she's quite clumsy and she accidently broke her old one, see?"
The Auror laughed heartily. "Sounds like one of the new recruits we've got at the academy. Well, go on, then. Don't let me hold you up."
"Thank you," said Harry, and ushered both Ron and Daphne inside Ollivander's shop quickly. "Have a good day, sir."
"You too."
A bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the shop when they entered and closed the door behind them. The room was narrow and vacant, save for a single chair that stood on spindle legs. The air was heavy and felt old, dusty and weary. Daphne saw Harry scratch the back of his neck, a small smile, a fond smile, edged onto his lips. She got the sense, as she often would, that he once more saw and felt and knew of a world beyond that which she and Ron and ordinary people could know and see and feel.
"What is it, Harry?" whispered she, accepting his new broom without a word and stuffing it in her bag, as well.
"Can't you feel it?" replied Harry, gazing wide-eyed around. "The magic. The silence. The secrets – oh, the secrets… This is the start of all things. The key. The gateway. All there ever was – and ever can be. All right here. Can't you feel it?"
Ron shook his head. "Good to know a new face haven't knitted your brain back together. Why're we here?"
Harry frowned at him. "To get a wand, of course."
"You already have two, mate."
"Not for me."
"Then–"
"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander," said Harry, smiling at the vacant depths of the shop. "We're here to buy a wand, and I promise we won't shout at you."
And as though by some secret magic, an old man stood before them, his eyes, wide and pale, shone like twin moons upon his gnawed, weary face.
"Mr, Potter," he breathed, and Daphne found his gaze utmost peculiar. He seemed to be looking at Harry with hunger, curious, curious hunger. "I must say this is quite the surprise."
"How do you know it's Harry?" asked Ron quickly.
Mr Ollivander, with measured, careful steps, moved around the counter of his shop and stepped closer to Harry.
"Ah, there're signs, miss. Signs an old man like me notices. Am I right in assuming that none of you are wearing your own faces today?"
Harry nodded. "It's not strictly speaking… with permission we're here."
"Harry…" muttered Daphne, elbowing him.
"I gathered as much. And you've come all this way, by means entirely illicit, I imagine, to purchase a wand. Please, don't tell me you've broken the wand I gave you last summer, Mr Potter?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I'm here to buy a wand for my friend – a wand of his own."
"Harry…" said Ron with narrowed eyes, elbowing him, too.
"Would you two stop that!"
"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but no wand will be sold today. Maybe not for a while."
"Why not?" said Daphne, frowning.
"You heard the crowd outside, I imagine."
"Yeah." Daphne nodded. "And read the papers, but…" She paused, deliberated upon her next words carefully. "That's not your fault, though, is it?"
"It's not," said Harry with far more conviction.
Ollivander nodded and turned his eyes to Daphne. "Calamities often need a villain for us to make sense of the injustices of the world, my dear. Someone for us to lay blame upon… to make everything bearable." Ollivander sighed, brushing past Harry to rest against his counter. "Often men find them in the eye of the storm with little part in the misfortune… often with little if any share of the blame. Often quite by ill-timed happenstance. But this – this day – this is not one of them. I am to blame. I sold that man – that vile, vile creature – the Illusionist – his wand. I've, by the wands I've sold, done worse things than you will ever be able to imagine – and when I close my eyes…" He fell silent and contemplated the surface of the counter, which had been polished to a mirror sheen, with tired, broken eyes. "I hear the screams, Mr Potter, of every person that ever had the misfortune of wandering through my shop. And I remember all of them. Every single one. Your parents. They are dead and gone because of a wand I sold. Your families have all suffered my wrath, too. For generations past…" Breathing heavily, Ollivander ran a shaky hand over his wrinkled face. "I'm sorry… there will be no wand sold today. No more… no more… for a long while…"
And with that, back stooped and demeanour quite defeated, he trudged back about his counter and seemed to seek the hidden depths of the shop, intending upon disappearing into the dark.
"Funny – this wand seems to have developed a fault."
Ollivander stopped in his tracks, frowning at Harry, who had spoken. "My wands do not develop… faults." He blinked at Harry, beholding him with nothing short of disbelief. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"
Harry shrugged, waving the wand he'd just snagged from one of the boxes around quite like a madman. "Seems faulty to me – look! Nothing's happening. Useless little thing, eh? Here, Ron. You give it a go."
Harry, carelessly and without a medium of respect, threw the wand at Ron, who caught it on reflex alone, blinking and stunned by the look of him.
But then Daphne saw Ron's eyes widening, staring like he'd never before seen a wand as a surge of wind blew about his hair. Swishing it, as though it had commanded it of him, he conjured a sparkle of red and golden lights that shimmered like a wave before his face.
"Wow…" mumbled Ron. "What…"
"Ha! Who the man?" cried Harry, throwing his hands up, then blinked and looked himself up and down. "Well – you know what I mean…"
"Fourteen inches, made of willow and containing the hair of a unicorn – the last wand of that core I have left." He turned his eyes on Harry. They were narrowed and focused in a way Daphne hadn't seen before on the old man. "How… did you do that?"
Harry shrugged, smiling a little. "I know Ron, and I know magic…"
"That's not how you… Nevermind…" Ollivander shook his head, then sighed. "I suppose… one last wand wouldn't hurt anyone – and it is a unicorn core – those never turned out… cruel…"
"How much for the wand?" whispered Ron. His eyes hadn't left the wand in his hand.
"Seven Galleons."
Ron nodded, smiling bitterly. It made him appear far older than he was. "I can't afford that…"
But Harry had already handed over the coins to Ollivander, who accepted it with a slight nod and a tight, tired smile, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was doing.
"Harry…" began Ron.
"It's as much for me as for you, Ron," said Harry, smiling broadly. "Remember, this way you're free again. Free of Snape's curse."
"Oh, that's right!"
Daphne laughed. "That was the plan all along, wasn't it, Harry? To get a wand for Ron – it was never about a stupid broom, was it?"
Harry smiled. "Couldn't it be both?"
"Thank you," said Ollivander. He held Harry's eyes for a moment, an long, soundless moment, a moment that stretched into something meaningful, something Daphne could only guess at. "And now you can leave."
He turned his back to them with one final, sad smile, turned his back and made for the darkness in his shop.
"Mr Ollivander," said Harry quickly, pressing onwards with whatever that was going through his mind. Always onwards. "You said you had run out of unicorn hairs, that it?"
Ollivander paused and glanced at Harry over his shoulder, a hand steadying him on one of the aisles. "That's correct."
"Why is that?" Harry gestured about the shop. "You don't seem to be running out of anything else."
"Ever since… the rise and fall of the Dark Lord… unicorns have been hard to come by, harder still to catch. They are… mythical creatures – even in our world. As such… unicorns were always mistrustful – they have to be – but ever since that – that darkness rose and fell upon our world… they have remained largely unseen."
Harry nodded as though it was the answer he had expected. "What if I told you we could get you more unicorn hairs than you'd ever need?"
Ron stirred uncomfortably besides Daphne, and she gazed at him curiously, feeling as though there was something she was missing.
"Harry," he said lowly, an edge in his voice, "don't…"
"Ah, don't worry, Ron – I'm sure they wouldn't mind. Not if they're with us." He turned back to Ollivander, a winning smile splashed over his borrowed face. "What do you say, Mr Ollivander? Room for one more adventure in those old bones, eh?"
Ollivander blinked. Looking between the three of them, something ancient and forever, something Daphne couldn't place, shone in his pale, timeless eyes.
"Old bones…" he muttered with disdain, and turned about on the spot, falling away in the darkness of the room, away from their eyes. "Close the door on your way out, if you'd be so kind."
And then they were alone in the resounding silence.
"Well," Harry said after a moment, a confused frown marring his face. "That didn't go as planned, did it?"
Daphne sighed, feeling a thousand questions mounting in her head that she swallowed at the edge of her lips. "Let's go, Harry – what in Merlin's name is that?"
Harry, grinning, had drawn forth a polished, pointy hat out of his robes – a wizard's hat – and placed it atop his head with great care. "A wizard's hat. Ha! Look how cool it is!"
Daphne just blinked and stared with wide eyes. There had to be something wrong in the head with that boy.
"I tried to tell him no one wears that stuff anymore," said Ron quickly, as though excusing himself from his friend's behaviour, when Daphne searched his face for an answer. "He was very… persistent."
"Get rid of that, Harry Potter," said Daphne quietly. "Right now. Wizard's hat – get rid!"
It was fresh of the shelf, that much was clear, but it looked old and worn by time, the auburn colour slight faded, like it had sat in the shop for a lifetime, gathering dust and age without the touch or slightest interest of wizardkind.
Until Harry Potter had come along.
Harry frowned, drawing the hat further down his head in a clear act of defiance. "No – wizard's hats are cool. It was the only one left, too."
"After he bought the broom, he insisted that we go find him one," said Ron, smiling thinly. "To be fair, if anybody could make them cool again, it would be Harry Potter."
"No one can make them cool," said Daphne, wringing her nose in disgust. "No one wears them anymore – for good reason."
"I do!" said Harry happily.
"You've only just bought it!"
"Dumbledore does, too."
"Dumbledore is…"
"Barmy?" supplied Ron.
"Yes. Barmy."
"But also awesome."
"Not helping, Ron," muttered Daphne through gritted teeth.
"Well, let's not get bogged down with who wears what," said Harry, admiring his reflection in the shop's window. "Rather, let's focus on the fact that I can totally pull it off."
"You're a girl, mate," said Ron, laughing.
Harry nodded as if that settled the matter. "Which only makes it that much more impressive."
Daphne drew in a slow, suffering breath. "You're completely impossible, you know that?"
"Of course, Daphne – everyone knows that."
Daphne blinked, and wondered for a long, glorious moment whether she could get away with hexing him. She had been working on the Tickling Charm for a while now, and found that Harry could definitely use some cursing at the moment.
"What now?" said Ron, gesturing for the door, sobering quickly in the silence. "Back to Hogwarts?"
Daphne paled a tad at the mention of the school, remembering the Knight Bus trip. She was not looking forward to a repeat performance.
"You go on ahead," said Harry, and his goofy, happy-go-lucky attitude was completely erased, replaced by a serious countenance as he beheld the darkness in which Ollivander had disappeared. "I'm staying here for now."
Daphne frowned and shared a look with Ron, who looked just as confused.
"Err – why?"
"I don't know," said Harry, and he actually looked just as confused as them. "Just… something doesn't feel right, you know?"
"Ollivander?" asked Daphne.
Harry nodded. "Ollivander…"
"What's with him?" asked Ron, a frown creasing his brow as he looked between Harry and Daphne.
"He's sad, and it's sad, but what can we do about it?" asked Daphne, her eyes locked on Harry, trying to ignore the stupid hat. "We can't – not everything can be helped, Harry. Especially not by us."
"Everyone gets lost, you know…" mumbled Harry, voice whisper-thin, staring at the floor in thought. Daphne almost didn't hear him.
"I'm… not sure what you mean."
He looked up, more convinced. "Everyone gets lost sometimes."
"Yeah? Well, you've lost me now, mate," replied Ron, cringing his eyes in confusion, maybe even irritation.
"Have you ever been lost and confused, Daphne?" asked Harry, staring at her with fierce green eyes. Burning eyes, almost. "Have you ever been so sad it confused you?"
Wait, his eyes were green?
She looked again – no, they weren't… What? What did he say? Daphne gulped. How did he do that? How did he see right through a person, through her, like that?
"Yes…" she muttered, and looked away from his twinkling, scorching eyes. She couldn't bear the weight of them.
"Wouldn't it be great if someone had come and shown you a way forward, then?"
"You – how…" She shook her head. Damn Harry. "It would've been the greatest." She smiled at the floor, willing the tears behind her eyes away, willing the forever-tears that always resided just behind the eyes away. "But, Harry… not everything can be helped…"
"Maybe…" He drew out his wand, and Daphne noted it wasn't the one he'd suddenly gained over the Christmas Holidays, but his own, the one he'd received in this shop. It glowed as it came into view, singing in the palm of his hand. "But should that stop you from trying?"
"Harry – what can we do?" said Daphne softly. "We're just kids. We have to be back at Hogwarts soon, before the Hogsmeade trip ends… What can we do?"
But Harry didn't seem to be listening to her, staring at his wand that he cradled between his fingers lovingly. Daphne couldn't place the look, the open expression, upon his face. It could have been wonder, reverence, love…
Gratitude?
She didn't know.
"I was wrong," said Harry softly, a shit-eating grin slowly splitting his face. "It isn't this place… It's him!" He placed his wand back in his robes and drew out his other wand. And for a moment, just a moment, as Daphne beheld him closely, wearing the auburn wizard's hat and the long, immaculate – but entirely unremarkable-looking – wand, he looked like a wizard of some long-lost myth, one of those old dusty warlocks that worked at the Ministry.
"OLLIVANDER! COME BACK OR I'LL START BREAKING STUFF!"
His yell echoed across the darkness of the shop, seemed to hover upon the dusty air, and cling onto the heart of the pregnant silence that followed in the wake of his words. Daphne, trying to squirm in on herself, willing her form out of existence through sheer embarrassment, noticed that some shoppers had stopped outside and gazed upon them through the window.
"Mr Potter," said the wizened man with clear exasperation, his voice coming from somewhere Daphne couldn't place. She saw Harry stare at a very specific spot, and followed his gaze. "You take, unfortunately, more after your father than simply your looks."
And then there he was again. Right where Harry had been looking.
"I'm sorry, Mr Ollivander," said Harry, and it sounded sincere, "but I have something to show you. Something you must see – for all our sakes."
"Wha–"
"You're wrong, see," said Harry, interrupting him. "The paper is. Everybody is. And I can show you, will show you – must show you."
"What in Merlin's name are you on about?" He peered curiously at Harry. Like he couldn't fathom the boy, hidden in the body of an older girl, could possibly be speaking to him in such a manner. "I've heard of some of your exploits – oh yes, news travel fast – especially concerning the Boy-Who-Lived – but I had no idea you were this… conceited."
"That's not it at all, sir," said Harry. "If you close your shop, if you stop… I fear everything might just… grow cold and lonely and end."
Ollivander scoffed and laughed. "You're eleven! What could you possibly know of such things?"
"More than you can imagine," muttered Harry. "Please, Mr Ollivander, it won't take but a few hours. You'll be back before you know it…"
Ollivander stared for a long moment, his pale eyes hard and searching. "What could you possibly hope to accomplish with this lunacy?"
"I want you to see you… as I see you. I want you to understand just what you are."
"What I am? What am I to you?"
Harry shook his head. "I can't tell you – it wouldn't mean enough. I can only show you."
Ollivander sighed deeply. Exhaled. Looked around his shop as though searching for something to make sense of this mad little boy that refused to leave his shop, refused to leave him alone, and refused – forever – to give in.
Never give in.
"What madness is this?" muttered Ollivander finally, but Daphne knew it was more to himself, as though he was trying, with his last vestiges of will, to convince himself not to listen.
"Look, even if I can't convince you," said Harry hurriedly, "you'll at least get some unicorn hairs for your shop. I can promise you that much. Maybe you won't need them, but you'll have them if you ever do."
Ollivander laughed, not happily, not sadly, just laughed – with the air of a man who had no idea what was going on around him, but had finally decided just to go with it – for the hell of it, perchance?
Daphne felt just as lost and confused. Harry had made it sound like unicorns, creatures that no one really saw anymore apparently, would be the easy part of it all. Just what the hell was going on?
"Okay – what is it you want me to see?" said Ollivander.
Harry nodded, smiling warmly. "Well, firstly," he began, glancing at Daphne, "do you know how to Apparate?"
It wasn't the first time Daphne had tried Apparition, and it wouldn't be the last one, but by Merlin was Mr Ollivander out of practice with it. Maybe it had had something to do with dragging along three passengers, but she felt sure, at a point, that she was going to suffocate during the short trip that lasted for no more than a heartbeat between one second and the next.
But they made it without splinching, and wasn't that the main thing?
As Harry had requested, they found themselves at the edge of Hogsmeade, at the boarder of the Forbidden Forest, and Daphne had a sneaking suspicion, looking upon Ron's weary eyes, that they'd be journeying through it in a moment.
Well, she wanted a Potter and Weasley adventure, didn't she? Looked like she was going to get her money's worth.
"Tell me… why am I doing this again?" asked Ollivander, staring into the Forest, drawing the same conclusions as her.
"Don't worry, sir," said Harry winningly, "it's not as dangerous as it's made out to be."
Ollivander frowned. "I should be very curious how a First Year would know that, but that's not my concern. I've been in this Forest more than most, searching for supplies to my shop – with the permission of the Headmaster, of course. I'm not worried. No, I'm wondering why I'm doing it with a couple of children, who's barely had a year's worth of education."
"Ah. Ha." Harry laughed, scratching his chin. "Well, yeah – that's kinda irresponsible of you, when you put it like that. What were you thinking?"
Ollivander stared, unimpressed. "You trying to be funny?"
Harry paused. "…Yes?"
Ollivander just stared.
"No?"
The old man sighed, and Daphne was sure she saw a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.
"The Forrest, I take it?"
Harry nodded, then turned to Ron, who had been silent for a long while. "I think we need to go to the clearing first, remember it? From there I should be able to recreate our steps."
Ron nodded. "Makes sense. How're we getting to the clearing?"
"Follow the rim of the Forrest around, until we get to Hagrid hut. From there it should be easy enough to fine."
"Agreed – it's going to take a while that way, though."
Harry sighed. "I know. But I can't find the way from this side of the Forrest."
"The other way, it is," said Ron, nodding determinedly. "The long way around…"
Harry nodded and took the first steps into the canopy of the Forrest, fading away in the shadows of a forest that was slowly blossoming anew in the embrace of spring. The sun had just gone over the highest point of its daily trek across the sky, but Daphne knew there were still a decent amount of hours with sunlight left to discover that which they were searching for.
Of course, she had no idea what or where it was.
Just along for the ride.
Ollivander, smiling, followed Harry into the Forbidden Forest, as did Ron – and Daphne braced herself and followed them, as well, plunging into a place filled with dark creatures and all sorts of…
What was even in the Forbidden Forest?
"What lives here, anyway?" She was trying to sound nonchalant about it, as she fell into steps besides Harry.
"A little bit of everything, my dear," said Ollivander, smiling down at her. Did he suddenly grow taller?
And then Daphne stumbled on the hem of her robes and almost fell over, catching onto Harry's shoulder, who seemed to be slightly out of place in his robes all of a sudden. And she noticed he had his green eyes again – the ones she thought she saw burning in the face of the girl back in Ollivander's shop.
"Ah, Miss Greengrass, I should have known. You've changed back!" said Ollivander, looking at the three of them. "All of you – rather good timing, that."
Daphne nodded and blushed slightly. Quickly, she picked out their clothes from her bag and handed it to the boys – before excusing herself for some privacy behind one of the larger trees.
"Merlin's bloody cunt, I'm glad to be a boy again," said Ron, smacking Harry on the back, when they picked up where they left off. "How girls live with those things I'll never understand."
Ollivander frowned at Ron's choice of words, but said nothing.
"What things?" asked Daphne.
"Err, you know what I mean." Ron blinked, looked around, his brow furrowing.
"Did you always want to be a Wandmaker, Mr Ollivander?" asked Harry, adjusting his stupid hat. It seemed to fit his own head just as well as it had fit his borrowed one. Probably some charm or something at play there.
Ron had stopped, though, all at once, his eyes flickering about. "Can you hear that?" His gaze around the forest seemed to find something and settle on it, a smile slowly grazing his lips. Daphne had never seen such a smile on his face before, and it almost made her smile, too. "Harry – can you hear it?"
Harry had stopped, too, and beheld Ron with open interest. "No, what is it? Oh…" Wide-eyed, Daphne saw a matching grin stretch across Harry's face. "Ha. HA! You can hear them, can't you?"
Ron nodded. "The song – the same song. Just more of them."
"What song?" asked Daphne.
"It's them, Daphne," said Harry. "Singing their song."
"No…" whispered Ollivander, grabbing Ron by the shoulders. "It can't be… Is it?"
"Yes," said Ron, even as Harry replied, "It must be."
"What song?" repeated Daphne, feeling left out of the loop.
"Are you sure?"
"Mr Ollivander, it's the same song as last time we saw them," said Ron, grinning as the old man, laughing freely, jerked him by the shoulders in excitement. "Exactly the same – it's them."
"Who?" said Daphne, snarling now.
"The song! The Song, my dear! The song of the unicorn!" Ollivander let go of Ron, almost danced round Harry, and came face-to-face with her, staring at her as though hungry, as though he'd suddenly come alive. "There's a myth, you see. Sometimes, if you're very lucky – for reasons we don't yet know – the unicorn will sing to you, and the song will own the wind… Sometimes, they'll call you to them."
Daphne frowned, took a step back from the old man and glanced at Ron. "I've – I've never heard of – unicorns singing. And you can hear them? Only you?"
Yeah, Daphne wasn't buying it.
"Well, most haven't," said Ollivander, letting her go with his eyes and finding Ron again. "It's not something that's very common. In fact, I've never heard of it actually happening. You're not teasing an old man with obscure legends, are you, boy?"
"No." Ron shook his head. "I didn't even – how do you know of it?"
"Wand-lore – one of its legends." Ollivander took out his own wand. It was a beautiful craft, adorned with intricate markings of some sorts and an actual brown leather grip that seemed fashioned after his palm. "It's said that the first wand ever produced by wizards were created in the hidden highlands of Pandora. Hidden inside a box, where the hair of a single unicorn was placed, a wizard was guided to its treasures by the song of a unicorn – and this wizard was the first wizard to fashion and wield a wand as we do today. I quite like that story. Oh! And one of my great, great, great ancestors claimed that, during a particular ardours journey, he got lost and was helplessly trapped in the forests of Albania – only to be saved… the unicorns sang him to his safety…"
"Sounds like a bunch of fairy tales, doesn't it?" said Daphne, still sceptical.
Harry smiled. "Isn't every fairy tale just a day we forgot was real? Our world certainly seems prove of that."
Ollivander laughed. "Oh, that would be great, wouldn't it? I wouldn't mind getting a look at the Elder Wand."
"The Elder Wand?"
"It's children's story, Harry," said Ron, rolling his eyes.
"Oh. Well, let's follow your overly conspicuous ears, mate. Towards the fairy tale!"
They left behind the rim of the forest, and the thick beams of sunlight that shone through the tattered canopy of the forest roof, and journeyed inwards on the road of Ron's inner world. Quickly, Daphne felt a sort of weird darkness encroach upon her senses – almost as though it was alive. It seemed to shimmer and dance about them, and the trees grew thick and dark, like they were cursed long ago.
"So, Mr Ollivander," said Harry after a long silence. "Did you always want to be a Wandmaker?"
"Ah, that was the question – I'd quite forgotten in all the excitement…" He seemed to be giving it a fair amount of thought, frowning, and Daphne wondered if perhaps he had never even considered it before. "Well – I really don't know. There never was much of a choice for me. My shop has been in my family for generations – and will be so… generations hence."
"Are you forced to do it?" asked Ron, glancing at the old man from the corner of his eye.
Every now and then, they would happen upon a clearing with light that waffled through the crowns of the tree in thick columns. Daphne looked upon every shaft of light with gratitude, as the forest, she knew, would have been very dark indeed without them.
"Perhaps not forced, but certainly compelled," said Ollivander.
"What's the difference?" asked Harry, frowning with somewhat clear disbelief.
"There's all the world of a difference." The Wandmaker sighed. "It was different back then, anyhow. Wand-lore – wand creation – it's… the closest thing to art, I've found magic capable of. People understood that… once… when I first took over my father's shop. There's not the same appreciation for it. Now, when people come for a wand, they bear the same kind of expression as when they go to buy robes at Madam Malkin. Just part of the experience."
"People forgot?"
Ollivander seemed to shrug. "Maybe. Or maybe I was just younger then – more blind…"
Harry held Ollivander's eyes. "Well, I think people still remember. Deep down."
Onwards they wandered, deeper still into the Forbidden Forest, into the darkness – darkness that grew and darkness that bred. Daphne kept expecting, tense as she was, to happen upon some creatures of dark intentions, of hidden nature, and of vile origin.
She kept close to Harry, who seemed perfectly at ease walking just behind Ron, who was leading them along through the thick forest. They hadn't, not once, walked upon any known path, not on any sort of gravely, half-made trail. Ron led them, by a sound she couldn't hear – and wasn't that a surreal thought in itself – through the winding corridors of trees and bushes and plants of all variety.
And then there was a sound she could hear, and dread ran like a lance, a mounting tendril like lightning, along her spine – werewolf! It had to be.
"What was that?" whispered Ron, his voice breaking shrilly. "Oh, no – that sounded like–"
"Don't worry," said Ollivander, looking ahead. "It's not what you think it is."
"Innit?" mumbled Harry, and Daphne hated that he almost sounded disappointed.
"No, it's… just wolves." He smiled, and seemed to wait for something. "Very special wolves. Almost human wolves…"
Within the clearing in front of them, there indeed dwelled a pack of wolves. And they were no ordinary wolves. Daphne could tell that immediately – even in this blackness, even in a world devoid of light… she'd be able to tell. And they came forth at that moment, stepping into a shaft of light of the sun that broke through a tattered part of the canopy above.
Stepped forth and became revealed onto the eyes of the little band of adventures.
"Oh…" whispered Daphne, finding awe even in her fear. They were…
Beautiful.
Just that… impossibly so.
Snowy-white, unblemished, not unlike Harry's owl she'd seen and gushed about on a few occasions, they seemed to shine like the moon, when they walked through the beam of sunlight, glittering, shimmering, ablaze… almost like a different world. And they stepped forth, all six of them, and Daphne knew they meant no harm. It was in their eyes, their clear as day, almost impossibly sharp, human-like eyes.
"They were born between two werewolves long ago," said Ollivander, waving at them. One of them, the nearest, sat on its haunches and waved its paw back at them, like a greeting. "One of two packs known in the entire world. Hunted by many for their rare fur… Dumbledore allows them to live here in peace, away from the poachers and their likes who'd seek to do them harm."
"Born between two werewolves?" said Harry, frowning. "How does that work with the whole nine month pregnancy thing?"
"As far as we can tell, the pregnancy locked her in her state until she gave birth."
"She was a werewolf for nine months straight?" asked Daphne, aghast.
"Maybe. We're don't know how long a werewolf pregnancy last."
One of the wolves came forward and sat before her, then, looking at her with what could be mistaken for open curiosity. "They look really… perceptive, don't they?" asked Daphne.
"Yes – and they don't like to be petted," said Ollivander.
"Why?"
"Well, do you like being petted like an animal?" He smiled at the six wolves that sat down around them and bathed in the light, or that was what it seemed like to Daphne. "They have a near-human intellect – capable of deductions far beyond the capabilities of most animals. They've proven to have a great understanding of love, loyalty – even an uncommon grasp of time."
They stood there for a little while and admired the creatures, aware that they had some ways to go, with time dwindling, yet too caught up in the sudden beauty that stood as a stark contrast to the bleakness, the blackness, that festered and persisted and ruled these parts of the Forbidden Forest.
Yet it wasn't long before Ron urged them onwards, apparently still aware of a tune none other could discern upon the wind.
With a muttered offer of farewell, they followed Ron around them and through the clearing the wolves had resided in. It was completely open above, and they could see the sky was still blue – and yet it was going towards the end with a calm certainty. Like a whispered promise, maybe even like a threat.
Time in the light was running short.
The sun was setting on them, drawing closer to the horizon and the end of its daily trek. Daphne held no desire for being out here, in the Forest, when the day grew dark, and the stars would shine, and the world would fall cold.
Quickly, then, they left behind the open, light-filled clearing and went in search through the murky darkness, following the string of sound that only one of them could hear.
Harry, Daphne noticed, seemed to trust Ron and his hearing implicitly, but she was growing nervous – a silent horror mounting in the back of her mind. Like a curse. A curse of the mind.
Or a Blood Curse.
She shuddered, breathed a sigh of fear and dread and longing for it all to be over. This – the fierce rush of mangled emotions that lanced through her – she had not expected to be wrought so completely by, when she'd set out this morning. At home, in her bed, thinking about what Ron and Harry had been up to ever since they arrived at Hogwarts, this had always seemed almost fanciful – easy.
And wasn't everything just that… in the enclosed space of our imagination?
It was anything but, she'd come to realize with abject clarity. She was tired, oh so very tired, emotionally and physically, her legs heavy and her feet throbbing. Blisters burned beneath the sole of her feet, or at least she thought it was blisters – she had never had them before, had she?
Multiple times she thought about asking for a break, to turn around, to end the journey and get back to the safety of the castle.
Ron and Harry looked perfectly at ease. Even Ollivander, the wizened old man, had a spring to his step that belied his age. How could she ask them to turn around, when she was the one who had all but forced herself upon them like she had?
So she walked on, limped on, faltering at times but never falling behind, never asking for help or sympathy. There came a point, after crossing an unseen stream quite accidently in the dark – stumbling across it and wetting the hem of the robes and her feet – where she just accepted her circumstances and trounced onwards.
This was the first and last time, though. She vowed that silently now. The first and last time she went with them on these little escapades. No matter what they might find in the end, however awe-inspiring it was, it wasn't worth the journey to it.
"Ron – stop."
Ron halted as though Harry had spelled him so with magic. Harry conjured twin spheres of bright, white lights on the tip of his wand, almost blinding Daphne, and threw them into the air with a careless swirl.
"What is it, Mr Potter?" said Ollivander, looking at Harry curiously.
Harry remained silent, gazing around, as though he hadn't heard the man. Daphne noticed he was holding onto his wand tightly and slightly aloft, at the ready.
With a slight sense of embarrassment, she drew her own from her robes and held it readily, too; unsure what to do with it, if anything came at them from the dark.
"Harry – what is it?"
"The Barely There…" whispered Harry, and Daphne could just about make out his eyes in the twinkling light he had created. He kept looking out of the corner of his eyes, turning about the place. "I thought I saw something move in the corner of my eye. But it's not there now."
Ron frowned. "The barely there?"
"Yeah." Harry nodded, and gone was the smile, the humour, and the kindness. He looked at the verge of horror, and Daphne thought she could feel him burn – something that rent the air, laid claim to the darkness and swallowed the light. Like a pulse, a rush of energy, as though everything he was couldn't be contained within his small frame.
Daphne had never felt awe such as this – or mounting horror. It gnawed and clawed and sawed through her like a ripple in the water. Like a fire so hot it could burn upon water.
"Have you ever had the sense that someone – something – was watching you from the shadows?" whispered Harry, turning, turning, looking through the corners of his eyes. "Ever thought you saw something in a shadow, in the corner of your eye – only to turn and find nothing there? Or heard a voice, a sound, that seemed to have no origin. Looked at yourself in the mirror and just as you turn you thought you might have seen a silhouette move about at the edges of the mirror. I have, and I wonder about these things…"
"About what?" breathed Ron, as pale as Daphne had ever seen him. "What is there to wonder about?"
"If there really is something. Living, existing… at the edge of everything… Think about it, Ron!" Harry, tight-coiled and ready for anything, it seemed, looked positively excited by the train of thought he was tracing in his head. "You see it in the corner of your eyes, at the edge of a mirror, and hear it as though it comes from something below the deepest pit in the ocean. It's there, but not really – not completely. You'll always think it's a trick of the light, a breath on the wind… never realizing–"
"That you just might be in the greatest danger of your life." Ollivander had drawn his own wand, glimpsing around at the edges of his eyes just as madly. "I know what they are!"
Daphne felt a gush of air, like a breath, on the back of her neck. She shivered, felt something encroach upon her, and yelped – what the fuck was that! – and skirted around Harry and Ron to get away.
"Something licked me!" she shrieked, trembling fiercely, her wand held aloft on the spot she'd just stood.
There was something amongst them.
Something that rustled the leaves, walked across the ground with heavy steps… something that gushed a great wind, coalesced out of nothing, and a sound, oh a terrible sound, whirring, stirring, whistling – heard in the hollow of your bones rather than your ears – breathed into Daphne's ears, all of it at once, happening as though a thousand shadows suddenly came alive around them.
"Look after it in the corner of your eyes!" yelled Harry. "Corner of your eyes! If you see it, share!"
"If you see it, keep looking at it!" screamed Ollivander as the wind picked up round them. Darkness grew and danced and shadows – shadows that weren't there a moment ago – came alive and danced with bones of olden victims, slain long ago, eaten in the dark. "Keep looking at them! You'll want to look away – it'll command you and you won't even realize it! Don't let it! Keep looking at it!"
"Why?" yelled Harry, crouched against the wind that had become a mighty bellow, the tip of his wand alight with cursed fire – ready to attack.
"Because it'll lock it in existence!"
"What?" screamed Daphne, thinking she must have misheard.
"It'll lock them to existence, girl! They'll be real, then! Part of our world!"
"I don't understand!"
"Just do it! And don't curse them, Potter! You can't!"
"Like hell I can't!"
"No!" Ollivander rounded on Harry, and Daphne had never seen worry quite alike what she saw in those pale, ancient eyes in that moment. "I mean it's not possible, boy! Trust me!"
"What do we do, then?" snarled Ron fiercely, standing straight and grim against the mounding wind. "If we can't curse it, what then?"
"We can look at it!"
"WHAT?" shrieked Daphne, against the howling bellow, against the crescendo of darkness never-ending, and against the echoic creatures that resided aside existence and creation and magic.
"WE CAN LOOK AT IT! FREEZE IT INTO – AHHH!"
The wizened Wandmaker was thrown off his feet, punched aside by nothing, and landed in a groaning, moaning, gurgling heap at Harry's feet.
"FUCK!" shrieked Ron, and Daphne would quite like to share his sentiment, but her voice betrayed her in that moment, for–
The wind had stopped…
The darkness had stilled…
Suddenly, as though Harry had performed some miracle of magic, everything had gone horribly quiet. But Daphne, and only Daphne, knew that Harry hadn't done anything.
Only Daphne knew… for she was staring the creature straight in the eyes. She had locked it into being… frozen it in an instant of time, this instant.
And it was the eyes of it – shit! – that were the only thing about it that even resembled something living, something of the world as she knew it.
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Daphne cursed, willing herself to keep looking, even as every fibre of her being, every instinct born in her through the generations of her blood, of her families past, screamed at her to look away, to close her eyes.
To blink.
Just blink. She could do that, couldn't she? Just… one moment. Barely a tenth of a second. Just blink.
"Keep looking," whispered Ollivander with a groan from somewhere to her side. "Don't blink – whatever you do, don't blink. Mr Weasley, you've got it, too, haven't you?"
"Yeah." Daphne felt Ron beside her, holding the creature like her with his gaze. She clamoured for his hand and found it – it was sweaty and clammy and just about the most wonderful hand she'd ever held.
"What does it look like?" asked Harry.
"I – can't you see it?" asked Ollivander curiously.
"We take turns closing our eyes, okay?" said Ron.
"No," answered Harry, and Daphne could hear his confusion, maybe even his disappointment. "Why is that?"
"Okay." Nodded Daphne. "I go first."
"Count to ten, open them again?"
"Yeah."
"Okay – go!"
Daphne closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head, listening to the conversation that flowed around her.
"That doesn't matter," said Ollivander.
"You look worried, though. Should I be worried?"
"That thing is called a Ore Umbra. And it will kill us and eat us all if we don't get a move on – so yes! I think you should be worried!"
"But why can't I see it?"
"Miss Greengrass, Mr Weasley, Mr Potter and I will pull you backwards now out of the shadows, okay? Trust us and keep looking at it. Oh, and it's part of our world right now, you don't have to look at it from the corner of your eyes. You ready?"
Daphne nodded, looked at it directly, and thought Ron must have nodded, too, because she felt Harry's small hands on her upper arm, slowly pulling her backwards.
"What does it look like?" repeated Harry, his breath hot on her neck.
"They can't describe it," said Ollivander for them. "No one can. The eyes are almost normal, but the rest of it is so… alien… so foreign to our understanding of the world that it defies explanation. The moment they let it go with their eyes is the moment they forget it, because then it doesn't really exist. The best way to understand them is if you think of them as a living, killing shadow."
"But how can it do that?"
"It's not an ability to be envied, Mr Potter. It's a half-life, not really dead, not really alive… not really anything. They exist at the edge of everything, which is why you can only see them out of the corner of your eyes. They live in spaces with great condensation of magic and darkness, because from there they can almost breach through completely on their own, affecting our world, peeking in on us in envy and lust for our lives… You can only pity them and their fate."
"How do you fight them, then?" asked Daphne, and closed her eyes at Ron's signal.
"Fight them?" Ollivander laughed hollowly. "Most people don't even believe they exist. And should someone happen upon a shadow that moved, and from that moment on never be seen again… well, that's just the sort of thing that happens, right? In a place like the Forbidden Forest? Nobody would ask twice. Even wizards find ways to excuse our inexplicable fear of the unknown, of the dark… There's no way to fight them, my dear. No curse. No jinx. No sort of protection or charm can hold away the dark… If you see one of them, if the shadow moves on its own and the Ore Umbra is close, run. Just run! With eyes wide open, staring through the edges, unblinking!"
Behind them, not far now, Daphne could sense light. Could feel it burn with reverence upon her shoulder. And just as they stepped into the clearing, born again in the light, the monster – that impossible thing – stepped aside and slipped away from existence.
"It's… gone," whispered Ron beside her, and then he promptly collapsed to the ground, save in the light of the sun.
Daphne collapsed beside him, back to back, with laughter that boomed and raved like mad at the edges of her lips. And as the laughter slowly ebbed away in the light of the setting sun, it gave way to the laboured breathing of a girl, who had just bore witness to a nightmare transformed into reality.
"And every space with darkness and magic has a creature like that?" breathed Daphne at last, when she felt everything, every swirl of emotion, was under control within.
"No. Not every place. But any place. Potentially."
"Okay. I'm never going back to our Common Room," said Ron with little show of emotion, overwrought apparently with everything.
"It's not likely they'd be in a place like Hogwarts," reassured Ollivander.
"Not likely, but possible," said Harry.
"We are not – going looking for one, mate."
"Trust me, I wasn't about to suggest it." Harry frowned and turned to Ollivander. "Why couldn't I see it, though? I was looking right at where Ron and Daphne were looking. It wasn't there."
Ollivander shrugged and gained his feet with weary care and great pain. "Some people just can't see them for whatever reason. Some cannot even see their shadows as they move."
"But why?"
Ollivander hesitated. He seemed to spend a long moment gazing at Harry's famous scar. "That scar, Mr Potter, was made with terrible magic, of the cruellest intent a human being is capable of. Maybe… maybe some of the magic, like a residue, still lingers. Wizards touched by dark magic have a hard time discerning the shadows of an Ore Umbra from a normal one. Dark wizards especially."
Daphne thought she saw a glimmer of fright pass over Harry's face at the mention of his scar, but it was gone so fast, like breath on a mirror, that she must have imagined it.
"Let's get a move on," said Harry, looking at Ron. "I think I recognize this part of the forest. Still hear them?"
"Yup," replied Ron, and he gained his feet easily, like the weariness and sense of defeat had never been. It had seemed so clear to Daphne a moment ago, as she beheld his eyes. But now – he only smiled the same easy smile as he took the lead of the group and moved them onwards. She sighed, feeling stooped, but followed without complaint.
The forest was thicker now, if that was possible, the path ahead obscured, and light seemed to be held at bay, coming through the canopy in thin beams of dust-filled rays. Ollivander had slowed considerable since their encounter with the Ore Umbra, and he held onto his side every once in a while with a whimper. And yet he, too, never complained, and maybe he could sense that the end was near.
At times Daphne felt sure she heard him mutter underneath his breath, cursing, and somehow, for reasons unknown, his pain seemed to lift Daphne's spirits. At least someone else was hurting more, more tired, more stooped down and worn out, than her.
It was a horrible feeling, she supposed, but it gave her strength.
Harry came up beside her and Ron, giving her a tight smile, before turning to Ron.
"We haven't got long."
"I dunno – don't recognize any of it," said Ron, looking around.
"You sure we're in the right place, then?" asked Daphne worriedly, biting her bottom lip.
"Yeah." Harry nodded, smiling. "We're close. Ron was knocked out during this part last time around."
"Oh yeah, that's right. By those spiders." Daphne saw Ron shudder fiercely, and then he glanced around almost curiously. "Wonder where they're at? And the centaurs, too. Not really a trip in the Forbidden Forest without those guys, is it?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, seems like we keep running into something new, doesn't it?"
"What spiders?" said Daphne, then blinked. "You saw centaurs last time? Oh, what I wouldn't have given to have seen them instead."
Harry shrugged. "They weren't that great, really. Strange creatures with stranger words."
"Better than the Ore Umbra!"
Harry frowned. "It was Christmas and it was snowing."
"Heating Charms will take care of that, though."
"Ron almost got his leg bidden off."
"But he's still got both, right?" Daphne smiled winningly. "See? Not as bad as the Ore Umbra, is it?"
"He was unconscious and I had to carry him, while fighting off thirty more spiders the sizes of a tree trunk!"
Daphne just stared at him, decidedly unimpressed.
Harry arched one eyebrow. "He died at the end of the night."
"But he woke up again, didn't he?" She smirked. "You can't die and wake up again, can you?"
"Of course you can!"
"Guys," said Ron, glancing between them and gesturing ahead. "It's coming from up this way – the noise in my head."
Daphne followed his gesture and found a great, swirling ravine in front of them. Steep scales of bedrock, ragged and uneven, enclosed around a narrow river of the purest water Daphne had ever laid eyes on. It shone and sparkled beneath the face of the sun, and small, arching rainbows flowed above and about its surface in small intertwining coils.
"Oh, it's beautiful," breathed Daphne.
They trod along the river, and Harry pointed out for her the fact that the stream of the river ran up the mounting hill that the river ran across. And when she stooped down and touched it with her fingers, she found it impossibly warm and pleasant, as though the cold winter they had just left behind hadn't touched upon it at all.
"Is it the same noise as last?" asked Harry. "The song?"
"Yeah, exactly the same," said Ron, nodding happily.
"Weird I can't hear it this time."
"How long is it?" asked Daphne, trying – and failing – to keep the exasperation and sheer tiredness out of her voice. "And we have to get all the way back, too."
"Yeah." Harry nodded and offered a slightly worried frown. "It'll probably be dark, when we get back."
"If we run into anymore of those things–"
"It's rare for a wizard to happen upon an Ore Umbra even once. Twice in the same day is almost an impossibility."
Harry grinned. "What about surviving it twice in one day? How impossible is that?"
"You – are – not – funny – Potter," muttered Daphne.
They stopped by a cave, a maw in the bedrock, like a black hole, and it seemed nothing could be gleamed therein save an impenetrable darkness.
Wait…
That wasn't true.
She squinted against the darkness, and her eyes found… something – like a dot. A small mark at the end of the cave, held in the dark in such a way that it only accentuated its brightness.
"Ah, end of the road," whispered Harry so lowly only Daphne heard him. "Long trip, eh? Now for the final stage…"
She didn't ask, too tired and grim to care, and only followed Ron dully, like it was a solemn duty, when he entered the blackness without hesitation. After her came Ollivander and at the rear, keeping guard, no doubt, walked Harry with his wand alight.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Ollivander, his voice echoing around them. "I've never heard of caves like this in the Forbidden Forest. Never seen them. And I've scoured this place more than any other."
"I don't imagine you'd ever happen upon this on your own," replied Harry, and Daphne could hear the grin in his voice. "I don't think it can be found – not unless it wants to."
"What… kind of magic is that?"
Harry laughed. "The best kind – you'll see. Or possibly… who knows, I might just be full of it. Who knows, eh?"
Daphne found to her astonishment that the light grew, not just wider and brighter, but grew to something that almost seemed alive. Dancing and winking, it filled the cave as they trod towards it, banishing whatever lay behind, whatever lay beyond, and soon she found herself standing at the gate of a whole other world.
She heard Ollivander's breath catch behind her, and only then remembered to breathe herself.
"Wha…"
A swirling new world unfolded in front of her, and Daphne was rooted, with what could only be magic, to the spot, gazing wide-eyed with amazed wonder.
The sun – a queer, out of this world kind of sun – stood behind a mountain, peeked above its top like a whimsical, curious thing of extraordinary beauty. And the mountains – oh the mountains would shine beneath the beams of sunlight, like a bellow of light, twinkling and glittering as though they were made out of uncut diamonds.
The trees, as though made out of the rays of the sun, were golden and frothy, alive in the breath of the air. The leaves seemed to be made of actual gold!
Gold leaves!
Behind another mountain, twinkling in the light of the sun, the moon hung, impossibly big – quite like the sun, in fact – and half-hidden behind the peaks of the mountain.
And directly in front of Daphne, beyond the mounting, winding, tumbling valley they now stood in, the mountains would meet in a v-shape, as though cut out to make room for the rest of the world, and within – in betwixt the sun and the moon – a multi-coloured flourish of light glinted and burned – a light of which Daphne had never seen, of which no equal could ever be found anywhere else. Of that was she was sure.
Hills rolled and crested along the valley. Lakes gleamed and rivers sang, trickling along to a song – a song that Daphne at last, too, could discern upon the air – as though finally she, too, had been invited.
Found worthy, perhaps?
It was the sound of the unicorns – and they were everywhere, grazing upon the winding open spaces that broke out for miles, stretching almost forever all round and about them. She looked behind her, then, round the maw of the cave, and noted that it seemed to coalesce out of nothing. Just a black hole that stood in the middle of an open field.
"My…" whispered Ollivander, and Daphne thought she saw his eyes gleam beneath the face of the sun. "Wha – how?"
"Isn't this world… beautiful?" asked Harry, smiling fondly, coming to stand abreast the two of them.
"Impossible. That's what it is." Ollivander laughed, and his voice seemed to almost break. "This is… I'm at a loss for words…"
Daphne noticed that Ron had stepped forth, smiling just as fondly as his friend, and was now being greeted by one of the unicorns. It bumped its head softly into Ron's chest, and keened in what could only be considered as a show of fondness and recognition.
"We've come for some of your hair – you don't mind, do you?" asked Ron softly, petting along its muzzle and obviously mindful of its horn.
Harry stepped forward, coming to stand besides Ron and the unicorn, petting it, too. And slowly more approached them, engulfing the two boys like they were old friends being greeted.
Hell, for all Daphne knew they might have been.
For a long moment, Harry and Ron laughing, Daphne stood and gazed with Ollivander, still trying to come to terms with the world they found themselves in. Still rooted in the same spot in disbelief.
"The sun is in the wrong place, you know," muttered Ollivander.
"Who cares? Have you seen how big it is? Have a little perspective," said Daphne loudly, frowning and smiling all at once. Then she laughed. "What – where are we?"
Ollivander laughed, too, and gazed once more at Harry. "I don't – it's an impossible thing… like those two – I'd never thought I'd see…"
Moments passed and silence ruled, and Daphne felt a thought she'd almost forgotten tether at the edge of her mind. If she could only see it whole and complete…
Harry disentangled himself from the embrace of the unicorns then and came back to them. He wore an expression, heavy yet muted, that Daphne couldn't quite translate.
"You're wrong, you know," he said, smiling sadly, looking at Ollivander. He turned his eyes on her, and she felt caught beneath the weight of it. "Everyone was wrong – at breakfast."
"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Ollivander, voice whisper-thin, open and impossibly young. Daphne thought he might not even have noticed his use of Harry's first name. "Tell me… please…"
"It's not your fault," said Harry. "Maybe that's just the way things are. It's hard to see goodness in yourself, when everybody says you're to blame, isn't it?"
"How can you possibly – have any chance of understanding something like that? You're not even done with your first year in school? How could you–"
"Why does everybody keep saying that? I don't know, okay? But I do. I do understand." Harry nodded and cast a glance back out over the lakes and the hills and everything – at anything. And if Ollivander suddenly seemed young, Harry became just the opposite. Ancient. Ancient and forever. Daphne couldn't look away, wouldn't, shouldn't. Never. "It feels like I've always understood. As long as I can remember. But there's something you don't understand – or maybe you just forgot. Perhaps you're lost. People do get lost, you know? Or perhaps you're just like another old man I know, who held his own counsel alone for too long and was led astray… but I don't think so. All you ever wanted, all you ever were, Ollivander, was this: the man who wanted to create his art – and let that art bring joy to every child, who came into your shop with a dream so bright it almost burst through their chest. Right? Every time… you were always this… Because it was never obligated of you, was it? To take over your father's shop – you're just too ashamed now to admit that it was all you ever wanted. To make children smile…"
Ollivander blinked and his pale eyes glistened with regret. "My dream… has slaughtered hundreds…"
"No. Never." Harry shook his head. "Never that. It's not true."
"How can you say that? How can you! Say that. You were made an orphan by the wand I sold!"
Harry smiled tightly. "And condemned me to a loveless decade… trapped beneath the stairs… hidden away like an afterthought…" Harry breathed deeply and sighed, shook his head, and reached for a more open smile. He didn't quite manage to find it. "But that was Voldemort – and only Voldemort. You see, getting a wand, it's like… like a promise you make – and he's the one that broke the promise. The Illusionist… whatever… They… are the ones that broke the promise."
"What promise?"
"Magic is a privilege – dangerous and more wondrous than anything. Not a right. Never a right."
"Yes, it is," said Daphne softly, almost by instinct. "It's our right. Birthright."
"I know – I don't mean it like that." Harry hummed a lost tone in the wind, and allowed a moment of silence to settle, thinking to himself apparently. Then he looked up, eye-to-eye with Ollivander, and all at once allowed a smile to flourish, and this time he succeeded in finding it. "I said that your shop were the gateway to everything, when we arrived. I was wrong. You, Mr Ollivander – the Wandmaker – is the gateway to everything that ever happened – and ever will – and ever could… Without you this world here would never exist, would never be seen, never be experienced. It would only be held inside the figment of a lonely boy's crazy imagination. Without you I would still be stuck in that cupboard, alone and miserable. Without you there would be no magic, no Hogwarts… nothing – there would be nothing. So thank you, Mr Ollivander – thank you! You saved me, saved everyone like me, and will save everyone like me." Harry laughed, eyes lost and young again, almost all at once he seemed like a boy once more. "I'll always be grateful… for the world you welcomed me into with a wand… So thank you… to the man who makes children smile and dreams come true…"
Daphne didn't see Ollivander move, such was his haste, but suddenly she found Harry engulfed in a trembling embrace by the old wizard.
"Thank you! Thank you, you wonderful, wonderful boy – thank you!" he cried out, almost silently, and seemed to tremble. Daphne could see the wet track of his tears cut silently down his gnawed cheek, and then her gaze wavered and she realized her eyes, too, had gone slightly watery.
She smiled through the tears and looked away. Looked out over this impossible world her wonderful, stupid boys had shown her and found that, of course, it had all been worth it. As Harry Potter had known it would be. This – the world in front of her – would be worth anything. Any pain.
"Thank you, Harry Potter – thank you!"
Yeah, she thought, laughing with the tracks of her tears. Thank you, Harry Potter.
"Here," said Ron, coming to Ollivander with his hand outstretched, filled with snow-white hairs of the unicorns. They seemed almost an afterthought now. "Should be enough for a few wands, eh?"
"Ron, you think you can convince a couple of them to give us a ride home?" asked Harry. "I don't fancy walking all the way back again."
Ron shrugged and turned. "I'll give it a shot."
And as Ron returned to bargain with the creatures of the valley, Daphne remembered at last her thought with clarity, the thought she had held unfinished in her mind that morning in the Great Hall. Harry had suffered, had been lonely – so very alone…
And it had only made him this.
For Daphne knew that life was unfair and cruel, that darkness loomed on every corner, and everybody suffered. Everybody knew that. But not always. Not every day. Not today. Not here. Sometimes, on days like this, Daphne now understood, there would be someone, someone so special, there to save you, to help you, to lent a helping hand out of the kindness of their heart… Some days, when a boy took pity upon a miserable old man, when the sun rose in the East and the West and twinkled and wept gold upon the trees… everybody were just… alive… alive and kind.
Just that. Just… kind.
End of chapter.
Author's note: Yeah, so that's that. Getting close to 200 followers on this bad boy and a 100 reviews aren't too far away, either. I know now that it's not exactly a lot, but I'm grateful for it. And if you made it this far, I'm grateful for that, too.
This was exhaustive and complicated to write – more so than I'd expected, really. But that's what 19.000 words will do to you, I guess. I threw away about 6000 words in the end, as they didn't really add anything of worth. So throw in a review to make my day, tear into it, ladies and gents. What did you like, what didn't you like. I want to know, want to learn.
Thank you.
Have a good day.
