Chapter Twenty-Eight: Horcruxes

Harry had been awake for almost an hour and no-one in the hospital outside of the ward knew. Healer Safiq had been incredibly particular about that. The single window that looked out onto the corridor gave no such vantage point as he and the other Healer had conjured curtains to obscure the hospital from view. Harry had also been moved the previous night so that no-one could keep tabs on where he was in case of rumours leaking out of St. Mungo's.

That left Daphne, Harry and the two healers, who were running test after test to make sure that their little trip into his mind hadn't damaged his frail grip on reality any more than a week with Voldemort would have done. It had broken her heart to hear him say she wasn't real, that he'd seen her countless times dying or grieving. She couldn't imagine watching him do that, let alone watching unable to do anything about it.

"I think that's everything," Safiq said, with a final flourish of his wand. "Now, take one of these three times a day for the next week. It tastes like dragon dung, but it should help restore the various nutrients and vitamins your body has lost and help you get some sleep too."

Harry nodded. He hadn't said a word since waking up but instead stared vacantly into space. It wasn't hard to understand why.

"When you're ready to talk, and I will need to talk to you, please let either myself or Healer Shutter know." The other healer offered a kind smile that Harry seemingly ignored or perhaps didn't even register. "We're going to keep you in for a few days, just to make sure you're alright."

Still nothing. Healer Safiq swallowed, clearly lost at sea, but Daphne had seen the look before and it filled her with dread. It was the same expression that gripped her father on his darker days. Safiq nodded to himself, seemingly trying to restore his own confidence, then he turned to Daphne, running a hand through his thick beard.

"Daphne, if I could borrow you for a moment?"

"Er," She did not want to leave Harry, not when she had come so close to losing him already, but there was a firmness in the healer's voice that made her comply. She looked at Harry again, leant forwards and kissed his cheek. Green eyes found blue and he gave her a small nod. "Sure."

Neither she nor Safiq spoke until they reached the safety of his office. It was cramped, filled with paperwork, no pictures of family and friends. Exactly what she'd expected. Ever since she had arrived at St. Mungo's, on the healer's request, he had appeared obsessed with Harry's case. People like that didn't have families, or rather not families they were close to. His chair was comfortable and reclined willingly under his weight, as though he had spent more than one night half asleep in its welcome embrace.

Daphne took the far less comfortable and more rigid space opposite him, her eyes scanning the shelves of magical healing texts and various awards. He hadn't been lying when he had said he was the best.

"What's this about?" Daphne asked, not unkindly, but not accommodating to further flourishes either. All she wanted was to be Harry's side and he was currently stopping her from doing that.

"To the point, right." Safiq sighed heavily, as though what he was about to say had been weighing on his mind for decades. "I assume you saw the same thing I did when we were inside Harry's mind?"

"The baby thing?" It had been more than a little grotesque. She had been torn between pity and revulsion at the sight of it, a cocktail of emotions that had not drained from her in the slightest. "What was that?"

"My question exactly. I have theories, of course, but that's why I want to talk to you. The Headmaster, well, he made it rather plain that whatever you and I found in there we were to keep secret. He trusts you it seems, or I do not believe he would have suggested you enter with me, but I suspect the faith he had in me was far more… circumstantial. Which means the only person I can discuss it with, at least when Harry is talking properly, is you."

He took another deep breath, tried to smile, realised it was weird and then frowned.

"I have suspected for quite a while that Harry was being controlled, but what I couldn't understand was how. That thing, whatever it was, isn't a part of him. People don't have those in their subconscious and I found some rather disturbing signs that there is something actually living off of him, or with him, it's really clear."

"So that thing lets Voldemort see into Harry's mind?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Safiq nodded. "You Know Who is accomplished, certainly, extraordinary, in fact. But human, despite what he might have us believe. That type of magic, entering Harry's mind, you can't do it without being as close as I am to you now. It would also explain why Harry's Occlumency only protected some of his mind. It creates barriers against external attacks, what we just saw was very much internal."

"Right," okay, that wasn't exactly what she had expected to digest. The pair were silent for a moment as Daphne's tired brain tried to wrap itself around the new information, adding it up and then coming to the same, depressing, answer. That thing wasn't just a thing. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Part of him, yes, I think so. I've been researching all sorts of dark magic, trying to figure out exactly what it could be and I fear I may have come up with the answer," he drew a book from one of the drawers and passed it to Daphne open at a a page entitled Horcruxes: Preventing Your Soul from Passing On. "The perks of having a pureblood family, need I tell you. Our libraries are extensive, secretive and filled with books like this."

Daphne read, frowned, read again and then, just to be sure, read one final time.

"But it says here that it gets put into an object," she said feebly. This could not be happening. It was mad, insane, ridiculous. But the cold hard logic of it all seemed insurmountable. How else could he have survived after all this time? They'd brought him back with some ritual, Harry had said, so it was dark, ancient magic and this was the darkest and most ancient of all. Since the dawn of time people had tried to live longer than they should. Trying to cheat death was nothing new, only the method.

"In normal circumstances I believe that is true," Safiq nodded. "But very little is known about how Harry survived that night. Soul splitting comes from murder, his parents dead, You Know Who gone, perhaps the freshly split bit just latched on? I don't know, but the more I think about it, the more I think what we saw was his soul. Or what's left of it."

"And Harry, well, that's why Harry saw the Department of Mysteries, why his scar hurts when Voldemort's near him." Another memory shoved its way in her mind for space. "It's probably why he can speak Parseltongue."

"And a number of other things," his tone was low, as though they were speaking about the dead. Daphne felt her jaw clench, while Safiq looked as though he wanted his chair to swallow him whole.

"So how do we get rid of it?"

"I'm not sure I can, I've never heard of this. No-one has. The good news is that I doubt You Know Who will try that again, possession is incredibly difficult under normal circumstances."

"No offence, but that's not really good news right now." She was doing her best to keep her voice level, but every word was coming out shaky and louder with each second that tore through her. "You're telling me that Harry has some kind of weird, messed up, broken bit of Voldemort inside him and you don't even know how to get rid of it. That the size of it?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. Be better. Fix him, sort this." Tears swam in her eyes. She blinked, swallowed and desperately tried to fight against her heart hammering in her chest or the tidal wave of fear threatening to cascade of her. She felt like she was swimming in a sea that had suddenly become the centre of a tsunami. "You know what it is now, do whatever it is you lot do, research, observe him, I don't care, just get that thing out of him."

"Daphne —"

"You say sorry one more time I'll jinx you!" Daphne snapped. "You woke him, fine. Great. Wonderful. Now finish the job."

She didn't wait to hear his excuse, nor let him justify himself, but flung herself from her chair and stormed from the office.

Dalir sighed as he watched her go, but he couldn't blame her. For the last week she'd been wondering whether Harry would even wake up and when he did it was with the knowledge that some insanely ancient and complicated piece of dark magic was latching onto him. There was an answer, of course there was, but it was not the one he would suggest first of even on the hundredth idea. It was a last resort, perhaps that was why Dumbledore had told him to say nothing. The thought made him feel sick. What was worse, he genuinely had no idea whether the Headmaster would one day push Harry toward that option.

He opened his desk, withdrew the various forms, and began working. He wasn't sure how long he was in there, but when he looked up at the knock at the door it was with tired eyes and even stiffer neck muscles.

"Thought you could use the company," it was an Anathema, he had given up trying to think of her as anything else. Her smile was sympathetic and her eyes deep with bags like his own no doubt were. "The Greengrass girl's gone, in case you were avoiding her."

"I wouldn't say avoiding, more like tactically not interacting with."

"And they say families are easy," Anathema smiled, settling herself down in the chair Daphne had long since abandoned. "What exactly did you tell her? I'm used to upset but that was something special."

"The truth,"

"Ah, that always goes down well."

"I don't know what I'm doing here, I should've just given this to someone else."

"No-one else would've woken him up," Anathema assured him gently. "You're doing the best with what's in front of you. That kid's breathing because of you and she'll cool down, they always do."

"Not this time," Dalir sighed, he watched as her brow furrowed, less with intrigue and more with concern. Something skipped in his chest. He coughed, looked down and crossed out the various misspellings his suddenly fresh eyes noticed. "Harry asleep?"

"Just about, I put Ernie with him. Just in case."

"Good idea."

"I have them every now and then," he let himself smile, but continued to peruse his own report. They weren't going to be happy with this. No, not one bit. What he wanted to write was something along the lines of: Harry Potter came in, we fixed him and I think I know what's wrong but it's something to do with a Dark Lord you don't even think's back. What he instead went with was the very, very bare basics and hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Here's another one," Anathema said, breaking the silence. "How about you have a break, finish your shift, come back to this tomorrow? It's," she checked her watch. "Ten, well, close enough. How about we head off?"

One word leapt out.

"We?"

"Well, I can't wait for you to ask now can I?"

"I mean, I've still got this to…" he trailed off, realisation dawning. Gaped. Fought to quickly close his mouth. Opened it again, forgot how to speak, and closed it again.

"I'll take that as a yes," Anathema smiled, "c'mon, before I change my mind."

oOo

They say knowledge is power and it is, in a way. Knowing something is all well and good, but not acting on it, sharing it at the right time — or in most cases the wrong time — made that knowledge as powerless as a paperclip. Daphne was of the school of thought that knowledge should be protected, having spent her entire life trying to hide away from the facts everyone had about her at their disposal. But there were some things even she couldn't keep to herself.

Which was why, when she returned to Grimmauld Place, instead of doing as she had been asked or told by the Headmaster through an unsuspecting healer, Daphne did not sit quietly into that good night. Instead, she rounded up her friends and the godfather who had been as restless as they had been and told them everything. The anger that had burned deep in her soul since leaving the hospital hadn't died, but rather the bright flame had turned to a simmer while the rest of her caught up with what was happening. She was no good to Harry if she flew off the handle.

"But he's okay?" Hermione asked, much more calmly than Daphne had anticipated when she finished her story.

"For the moment, but who knows what that thing will do to him."

"Exactly," Sirius agreed, bitterness soaking every syllable. "And Harry doesn't know anything?"

"Not a clue, I don't think he could even really tell what was real by the end. It was… it was horrible seeing him like that."

A vision of Harry, his eyes screwed shut and his body rocking as he tried to banish her from his own mind swam before her eyes. How she had managed to keep speaking, to not burst into tears or just gape at him she'd never know. Seeing him like that, Ron or Hermione would never understand what it was like. None of them would, she wasn't even sure she understood it herself.

"You did what you had to, you got him back, that's what counts."

"Not if we can't get that thing out of him," Daphne countered. "With it, Voldemort'll always have a way back. He'll always be able to see in Harry's head."

"Do you think he knows? V… Voldemort, I mean?" Ron asked, much paler than Daphne had ever seen him before. "Maybe he knows they've got this connection thing, but if that Safiq bloke's right he might not realise Harry's, you know."

"If he did, you'd think he'd be a lot less set on trying to off Harry every chance he gets," Sirius muttered darkly. "No, I don't think he has a clue. Dumbledore will say we shouldn't tell Harry either. Not until we know we can get it out."

"You're kidding!" Ron objected.

"It's in his head," Daphne seethed, noticing that Hermione was uncharacteristically quiet. "He has a right to know or would you fancy having some messed up part of Voldemort in your head?"

"And if Voldemort can see inside Harry's head," Hermione interjected, "then he'll know what Harry knows."

"You'll just lose him forever, and then what? He'll be on his own, he'll probably do something insanely, monmentally stupid like pick a fight with Voldemort and then what? We protected him for nothing. We should tell him, I know you're just trying to protect him Hermione, but that's just so much worse."

"Look there's no point arguing about this, not 'til we can talk to Dumbledore," that was a name Daphne did not want to hear anytime soon. The fact that the Headmaster had tried to order a healer not to tell anyone Harry's fate, even if she understood his reasons, made something twist inside her. It explained a lot, why he wouldn't teach him Occlumency or even look at Harry. He was scared of seeing Voldemort looking back at him. No, he knew. Or suspected. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"What good'll that do?" Ron objected loudly.

"More than if we don't," Sirius replied calmly. "I'm just as angry as you are, Ron, but we need to be sensible about this. Harry's counting on us."

"Harry deserves to know the truth."

"When we're sure it's just him we're talking to then we'll tell him. Until then this doesn't leave this house, if the others find out about this…" he trailed off, running a hand through his greasy hair. Neither he nor Daphne had showered in days, too sick with worry for Harry to consider being normal human beings. "Look, we've got to be smart. Dumbledore's the best shot we have, I'm not saying we trust him," he added quickly, cutting across both Ron and Daphne's prepared objections, "Merlin only knows what else he's not told us, but he's the best chance we have of getting Harry through this in one piece."

"And what about those ball things?" Ron asked, "you know, that Daph said were on the shelves. What are they?"

Sirius didn't answer immediately, instead he sunk into the chair at the head of the kitchen table and stared into his half-drunk goblet. All three students waited in silence, hoping their mute questions wouldn't go unanswered. Unspeakables, Daphne knew from experience, would sooner die than tell them anything. Countless nights she'd tried to pry information out of her uncle, but to no avail. But Sirius wasn't her uncle.

"They're prophecies. That's what he's after, a prophecy about him and Harry. That's why he needed Harry to go, only those mentioned in the prophecy can move it and seeing as Voldemort's trying to keep a low profile he can't exactly storm the Ministry, can he?"

"And what does it say?" Hermione asked eagerly, glad for something else to talk about than potentially stabbing her best friend in the back.

"No idea," Sirius shrugged, "I've never heard it, I kept asking but —"

"Let me guess, Dumbledore," Daphne said, her temper rising once again. She was sick of hearing his name now. "Why not just destroy it? Surely that's easier?"

"The Ministry didn't much like Dumbledore either. Even now I doubt they'd let him into the Department of Mysteries to go smash a prophecy they've never heard just because Voldemort wants it. No, all we can do is guard the door. That's what your father was doing, Ron. It's what Tonks, Mad-Eye, Remus and everyone else have been up to for that matter. All except me. I've been stuck here while Harry's got..."

He trailed off, but Daphne knew exactly where the sentence was going. If ever Sirius was going to feel more useless it was that moment because they all did. All of them were desperate to rid Harry of that stupid horcrux thing and all of them couldn't do anything, not even tell him, because it might not be Harry who was listening. Daphne shut her eyes, the room was suddenly starting to spin as too many thoughts crashed against each other. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Slept. Not been unconscious.

Prophecies, horcruxes, Dumbledore's secrets, there was too much milling around her. She liked order, she liked to think things through but there were too many things all jostling for space and each one seeming more important than the last.

"Dumbledore will have had a reason," Hermione said, rather feebly. "He's got his best interests —"

"He could have them up his arse for all I care," Daphne snapped.

"He cares about Harry."

"He cares about Harry," Daphne repeated, her blood boiling and her voice rising. "You didn't see him. I did. He was alone, Hermione. He was so alone. And without us, that's what he'd have been like all year. Dumbledore's pushed and pushed Harry away because he knew, he knew what Voldemort might see. If you think that's fine then tell me he did the right thing." Silence met her words. "Thought not."

She strode down the kitchen, turned on her heel, and then back again. Her anger, currently threatening to erupt like a volcano, wouldn't let her be content with just sitting and talking. The irony of this was exactly how she told Harry not to react was not lost on her, nor was she any less annoyed that she was unable to follow her own advice, but she was coming to the end of her tether with Dumbledore. Every single conversation she'd had with the Headmaster had felt like a game of chess, only she had fewer pieces, started four turns after him and somehow lost her queen.

The point was, well, the point was… She came to halt, dimly aware that Ron and Hermione were exchanging concerned glances. She neither cared nor paid them any heed.

"So we talk to him then," she let herself breathe. "All of us, Sirius is right we can't talk to Harry and Dumbledore'll have wanted to keep this quiet for some reason. So we ask him and tell him if he doesn't tell us we'll just tell Harry ourselves."

"But —"

"We don't actually have to tell him, obviously." Daphne snapped, cutting across Hermione's objection. "For once don't think like a Gryffindor. You'll live longer."

The only person smiling was Sirius, Ron had gone exceptionally quiet and Hermione looked as though she wanted to be sick. "We need to find out what's going on. For Harry's sake. After that, I still vote that we tell him, but we need to know."

And so owls were sent, messages exchanged and hushed conversations that Daphne was not privy to. She ignored them, it was times like these all she wanted to do was talk to Harry. He, at least, would understand. He always had a way of putting things into perspective. Her father, Malfoy, the ongoing feud with her mother. Everything. As she paced her small corner of the kitchen, memories flicked through her consciousness. None of them good and all of them about the Harry she'd seen sobbing before her.

Minutes, became an hour and out of the corner of her eye Daphne could see the murmured conversation that had been building since their 'discussion' had finally come to a head. Ron was deemed the unlucky one. He shuffled towards her, glanced back at Hermione who nodded, took a deep breath, and carried on.

"Daph, you alright?"

"Not really," Daphne admitted, "you?"

"About the same," Ron was after all Harry's best mate, and had been for five years. At Daphne had been able to see him. It had been a week now and all Ron, Sirius and Hermione had was her word he was alright. She wasn't quite sure what was worse. "Look, I… thanks."

Daphne blinked. She had thought this would be a bollocking, a telling off for her transgressions against Dumbledore's sacred name. "What?"

"For going in there, I mean. Helping Harry. Well, it can't have been… I mean, it wouldn't have been… what I'm trying to say is we get it. It's not easy. And most people, they mightn't have…" he sighed, his ears glowing red with embarrassment. "He thinks a lot of you and I know people don't always get it, but for what it's worth, we're glad it was you."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Whatever happens now, we're with you. We all are. It's all a bit weird this," he laughed, but there was no mirth there.

"Just a bit."

"We'll get there though, we always do."

It was at that moment that the fireplace erupted.

"I hope so," Daphne muttered quietly as the Headmaster himself appeared before them. He wore periwinkle blue robes, almost the exact same shade as his piercing eyes. The everpresent serene smile was nowhere to be seen, in fact, Daphne was almost certain that Dumbledore looked just as awful as she did. His hair was devoid of its usual sheen and his face was far thinner than she'd ever seen it before. He looked as though he hadn't eaten in days.

"Ah, you're all here, excellent." Dumbledore said, though he did not sound enthused. He looked like a child caught in a lie, his head bowed and his eyes refusing to meet Daphne's. "I trust I am not too late?"

"Not at all," Sirius said quickly, before Daphne had a chance to let her temper get the better of her. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Pumpkin juice, I think I've got some somewh —"

"No, not at all. Thank you, Sirius." Dumbledore smiled thinly, but once more the gesture did not reach his somehow faded eyes. They watched on as he drew his wand and summoned a plump armchair at the centre of the room before sitting down with a small sigh.

"I am here," Dumbledore began after a long, awkward moment, "because Harry is awake and because Miss Greengrass," he inclined his head to Daphne, who couldn't help but stiffen at the refusal to use her first name while he treated Harry with an uncomfortable amount of familiarity. "Has revealed to you what occurred inside his mind."

"Among other things," Daphne nodded, curtly.

"I feared as much," Dumbledore said quietly, regarding the collective of Sirius and Hermione on the other side of the room with a look akin to guilt. Ron shifted uneasily next to Daphne. The trouble with bravery was that fear had to come first. Couldn't have one without the other. "Might I ask what it is you believe you saw?"

"A horcrux," Sirius answered, seeing Daphne's jaw clench at the word 'believe', as though she was a dumb child dreaming up imagined demons in her boyfriend's mind. "Voldemort's soul attached itself to Harry the night he tried to kill him, that's how he can see what he's thinking and that's how he wound up in St Mungo's fighting for his life."

Dumbledore did not react, so Sirius continued. "So you knew. I never thought you'd actually… How long, Albus? How long have you let my godson wander 'round with that thing inside him?"

Whatever rage Sirius had been controlling for Daphne's sake was now spitting forth like a gigantic lance of flame from a dragon's mouth. Echoes of his fury reverberated around the kitchen, the very air seemed to bristle with charged energy. This was Sirius Black, the Sirius Black the world thought capable of mass murder and if it weren't for Harry would have committed at least one.

"I did not know," Dumbledore began quietly, "but I have had my suspicions, but my reasons for not telling Harry are not as infernal as you may think. It was a mistake, one I now realise may well be the undoing of me." He sighed, nothing but a broken old man whose life was full of regret. "I knew something was wrong when Harry brought me Tom Riddle's diary. It, like Harry, was a horcrux. It sought to use the life force of Ginny Weasley to resurrect itself, that was until Harry foiled its plan.

"I knew then what Voldemort had done, exactly how he had survived. As Harry's visions grew more detailed, I admit I grew suspicious, but it was not until this year that I realised their meaning. I wanted to tell Harry, as I have wanted to tell him of what awaits him in the Department of Mysteries, but you must understand I did not want to hurt him."

"Because that's gone so well to this point." Daphne responded darkly.

"You misunderstand me, I wanted to give him a good life. When he entered my office with that diary I should have spoken to him then, but he was too young. It is that logic which has driven me here and for that I can only apologise, both to you and Harry."

"Is that what you call leaving him with those muggles? A good life. I could've… I asked you and you said —" words were fighting over themselves to escape Sirius' contorted mouth.

"Without his aunt and uncle Lord Voldemort could have killed Harry a long time ago," Dumbledore told him, as though it was a perfectly pleasant conversation they were having in a coffee shop or the Three Broomsticks. Daphne was doing her best to keep her own anger in check, while Sirius, who had taken on the role of responsible adult while she had been unravelling, was now so apoplectic with fury that his ashen skin was almost ruby red with rushing blood.

"It is an ancient magic, stemming from the kind Lily used to protect him when she sacrificed her own life to save his. They are his blood and as such while Harry is with them no harm can befall him."

"No, none at all, except bloody Dementors. Nevermind that pig of a cousin, Harry was bullied for years. Year! They never wanted, they sure as hell never loved him. He'd be safer here, Albus!"

"And who else knows about the horcrux?" Daphne asked, taking over from Sirius who looked as though he wanted to strangle Dumbledore.

"Apart from myself, no doubt Healer Dalir and you three, only Professor Snape."

"Snape!" Sirius roared. "You trusted Snivellous with this?"

"I would trust Severus with my life," Dumbledore said calmly as behind him Sirius's glass smashed against the wall. Firewhiskey erupted, staining the ancient wallpaper for a moment before it magically vanished, leaving only the shards of glass littering the ground.

"He is my godson!" Sirius bellowed, "and you told Snivellous! You might as well have just told Voldemort himself. How could you be so —"

"Severus has saved Harry's life, Sirius. On multiple occasions, as you well know. You may not like him, but I trust him, there is more to Severus than you could know."

"I know plenty," Sirius sheathed darkly, his fists were clenched and his voice shook as he spoke. "But fine, you told Snivelly. Great. And now what? I'm guessing you had a plan to get rid of it?"

Dumbledore's head bowed.

"There is a plan, right?" asked Ron uncertainly. Once more Dumbledore said nothing.

"What exactly kills horcruxes?" Daphne asked. It was a question that everyone else in the room had already thought of but also the one she really didn't want the answer to.

"Anything that is able to destroy the magical barriers protecting its host," Dumbledore answered simply. "In the case of an object, that object is then damaged beyond repair."

"And in Harry's case?" Hermione asked.

"I do not know, but I fear the result may be the same."

"You mean kill him."

It was not a question. Realisation was dawning at varying speeds on the lot of them. Sirius, so full of anger and rage, sagged into his chair, staring blankly at Dumbledore. Hermione, so full of answers and suggestions any other day of the week, was silent. Ron was still trying to catch up, his mind seeming to refuse to accept what it had heard. And Daphne? Numbness gripped her, her thoughts were skittish, focusing on everyone else's expressions, focusing on how they were feeling, on how they were reacting because it was so much easier than tackling the wave of sheer terror that was threatening to drown her.

Not again. She couldn't deal with this again.

"There has to be something," Ron muttered.

"This is exceptionally dark, ancient and rare magic, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore confessed, his voice soft and his expression empty. "If there is a way out, no-one has yet found it."

"After everything he's been through, this is it?"

"Neither can live while the other survive," Dumbledore entoned, as though he was reciting from a play he had spent his life rehearsing. "That is what was prophesied. Neither can live. Their lives are, quite literally, entwined."

"No," Daphne heard Ron say, with far more resolution and conviction than she felt. "That could mean anything. It could just mean as long as Harry's still alive Voldemort can't win, right?"

Daphne found herself struggling to pay attention after that. Numbness gripped her. There were words. Arguments. Protestations. A great wave of words losing to themselves to the knowledge caged in certainty. No matter what they said, what they theorised or believed, there was one way out and no idea what may happen after that. Sirius kept saying once it was dead maybe Harry could come back, Hermione agreed, but Dumbledore refused to comment. They circled each other, never came to an agreement and then spoke again. Hours passed and Daphne said nothing. There was nothing to say. She had found love, finally, someone to cling onto desperately against the world that seemed to invariably be crashing down around her. They hadn't even made it to a year.

It wasn't fair. But life wasn't. Life was uncaring and indifferent, people often mistook this for cruelty, but the simple, inescapable truth was that it was so cold because it didn't care. Peaks were exquisite and lows, well, the lows were always more inescapable. She found herself wallowing in them, unable to enjoy the moment because something always came next. It was not a perspective she confessed to the others, nor was it something she liked to think about herself. But even after Dumbledore had left and Hermione promised to do all the research she could, while Ron offered to help, leaving Sirius and Daphne alone in the kitchen. It was an unhappy union.

"I wasn't here when my mother blasted me off the tree," Sirius said, abruptly. "I'd already buggered off to James', but Regulus told me. Apparently she laughed as she did it," his face contorted as he spoke about her. "The Blacks, time was that meant something. Now I'm the only one left. If she could see what happened in this house.

"I thought I'd never come back here," Sirius continued. "Thought I'd never get trapped here again. When I left I swore I wouldn't and now…" he sighed, running a hand through his lank hair before thrusting them into the pockets of his robes. "My point is, life isn't always what you want. I've spent the last few months hating this place, wishing I could fight, wishing there was something I could do to be useful. And for what? I could've been out there, could've got into a scrap with some Death Eaters and snuffed it and all the while what really matters is right here."

"I've spent months whining about all of this, when being here, still breathing and not in Azkaban is exactly where I'm supposed to be. At least here Harry's got somewhere to go, to him this is probably paradise, better than the muggles. I probably made him feel horrible, like he was abandoning me here at Hogwarts, when I was just sick of being cooped up," he sighed again. "That's the trouble with regrets, you don't know you have them 'til it's too late to do anything about them."

"You're still here, Sirius. We all are."

"And how are we meant to look him in the eye after this?"

"Because that's what we have to do," Daphne said simply, the realisation sparking a tiny light in the darkness of her mind. "Because if we don't we'll hate ourselves for the rest of our lives. When my dad died…" she paused, remembering that Sirius knew. "When my dad killed himself, I thought that was it. I cut myself off from everyone because it was easier. I didn't speak to Tori properly for almost ten years and she's my sister. I love her, I'd do anything for her, but it was easier to blame her. I mean she still had mum, I didn't. I never will again. Not really. And that's okay, that's fine.

"You know, I thought I'd do it again. Here, now. Thought I'd just hide away. I did for a bit, I guess. I was scared. I still am, I'm terrified, Sirius. I don't know what I'll do without him. But he's not gone yet, and I don't care if Dumbledore says there's nothing we can do. I'm going to go up there and I'm going to help my friends and we're going to try and work this out. And if we don't, we don't. If we fail, we fail. But I'd rather fail than not bother trying at all."

There were two types of people and she already knew which one she was. It was then she realised why she wanted to sink into her room and hide away from them all like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers. This time was different because he hadn't been there. He had always fought for her, always defended her, always been there and when the time came to it she had cracked and faded just because that was what she was used to. Harry deserved better. He wasn't dead yet, and neither was she.

"We carry on," and with that she got to her feet, strode over to Sirius and wrapped her arms around him. He remained completely still, like a statue, but she gripped on anyway. Desperate to show him that despite everything, he wasn't alone. James, Lily, his family, everyone had left him and now Harry was about to slip through his fingers. The only family he had left. "We carry on."