Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hollow at Hogwarts

Despite being awake, Harry did not return to Hogwarts before the end of the year. He was the lucky one. Not only did Hogwarts simply feel wrong without him there, but Slytherin Common Room was nothing short of vile. They loathed Harry at the best of times, but after the entire school had either seen or heard tell of him fainting in his exam Daphne was forced to endless questions, snipes and jibes.

Weirdly the only place she was safe in the Common Room was her own dormitory. Since Pansy was no longer hanging on Draco's every word, she was also refusing to make Daphne's life a living hell to simply spite him. How long it would last, Daphne wasn't sure, but she was glad she at least had a small piece of respite.

Despite it only being a few days, Daphne couldn't wait to leave. She was so fed up with Malfoy for pretending to faint or loudly ask for odds on how long Harry would survive whenever Daphne was around that what little remained of her patience was at breaking point. When she wasn't trying to avoid the Malfoy heir, she was trying not to feel guilty for leaving Astoria. They met in the Room of Requirement as planned but their conversations were stilted, forced and tinged with the knowledge that things would not be as they were. They were no longer, as far as the world was concerned, family - and Astoria hated it.

Only Tracey seemed cheerful and even that was forced for Daphne's benefit.

"I think he'll snuff it before term starts again," Malfoy was saying loudly to Crabbe and Goyle for what felt like the fifteenth million time since Daphne had returned to the castle a few days earlier. Despite the chatter of the Great Hall, his voice still managed to find its way to Daphne thanks to the fact he had shoved a gaggle of third-year girls from their seats only a few places down.

"I'm going to jinx him," Daphne ground out as she stabbed her defenceless omelette.

"That's what he wants."

Tracey's hushed voice almost being drowned out by the loud cry of, "I heard they asked those muggles to come and say their goodbyes but they didn't want to see him."

"If it was Ron you'd tell me to be patient and get my own back on my terms."

Daphne glowered at her friend, but she knew she was right. There was no point. It would just be what he wanted. Get her expelled, sent home early, to whatever plan Voldemort had planned for her. After all, wasn't that the only reason he wasn't cursing her in her own Common Room? She 'had what was coming to her'. Yay for me, Daphne thought glumly.

"Fine, but if you get the chance do me a favour and knock him off his broom at practice."

"If they even have me back next year," Tracey bemoaned, "Montague's leaving, remember? Snape'll probably give the captaincy to Malfoy."

Daphne hummed. She wanted to care, wanted to support Tracey, but couldn't bring herself to manage to worry about Quidditch. Not when everything else was going on. Malfoy wasn't far from the truth. Harry might be awake, might be getting better, but Daphne hadn't managed to get more than a few words out of him since he'd woken up. He just stared, unforced and uncaring. And the worst part was, she couldn't blame him.

They continued eating in stony silence and, just as Daphne didn't think her day could get much worse, Professor Snape made sure that it did.

"Miss Greengrass," he intoned stiffly just as Daphne was getting ready to leave the Slytherin table.

"Professor."

"You are required in the Headmaster's office," he continued, his sallow features contorted with contempt. Either because he hated her or because Dumbledore was using him as an owl, Daphne couldn't be sure. Knowing her luck it'd be both. That was how things seemed to be going these days.

"Now?" Daphne protested, half-heartedly. After the last time she'd seen Dumbledore, she didn't like the idea of seeing the headmaster. Every time she felt her gaze drawn to the high table, she couldn't help but remember what he'd said about Harry. She wasn't going to give up on him, just because Dumbledore had. There was a way out of this. There had to be. She wasn't going to accept that they had to… No. There was a way out.

"Now," Snape confirmed. "You are not required, Miss Davis."

"Guess I'll see you later then," Tracey said when Snape retreated towards the dungeons, glowering at a small gaggle of Gryffindors who tried to get through the huge doors at the same time. "Wonder what Dumbledore wants? Reckon Harry's getting better?"

"Let's hope so, I'll erm…" The words escaped her. Her life felt as though she was stood atop a gobstone hurtling towards destruction and she had no way of stopping it. She hadn't been sleeping, and as Tracey kept reminding her she wasn't eating enough.

"Yeah, Daph, no worries. Take your time."

"Thanks Trace."

Eyes watched her out of the Great Hall. Whispers accompanied her up the moving staircases. Points and unabashed musings were her background. "That blonde girl," "What the Slytherin, she's dating Potter?" "Wouldn't fancy being her." And so on. It would've upset her if it wasn't so pathetic. As it was, she regarded her onlookers with disgust. Whenever she walked by members of the DA, she was greeted with looks of support, small nods and motions of solidarity. She preferred the mutterings.

Dumbledore was waiting for her, those piercing blue eyes regarding her over his half-moon spectacles. His office, as she was growing to be all too familiar, was its usual resplendent self. Little machines whizzed, occasional clouds of smoke appearing, while Fawkes the phoenix trilled merrily from his perch. Previous headmasters and headmistresses regarded her with curiosity, some fetching glasses to get a better look at her. That's all she was now. An animal in a zoo to be gawked at. Remarkable but unimportant.

The headmaster himself was not smiling, nor was he angry. His features were marshalled to be impassive, quite unlike the last time they had met. Then she had seen grief, sorrow and self-hatred. An old man fully aware of his failings, the past finally caught up to him. This Dumbledore was much more like the man on his chocolate frog card.

"Ah, Miss Greengrass," he said in that irritatingly passive voice. "Please, take a seat."

She remained standing, it was the principle of the thing more than anything. Behind Dumbledore a portrait of the man Daphne recognised as Phineas Nigellus, Hogwarts' least popular headmaster, smirked.

"Very well," Dumbledore continued, entirely unperturbed. "I have asked you here because I wish to talk."

"I didn't think it was for a duelling match, Professor."

"Quite. I wish to discuss your family, whom I believe are in need of protection. As are you. The world is changing and I fear that Lord Voldemort will not rest much longer. He did not believe Harry capable of rejecting his attack and, if I am not mistaken, he will be aware of just who helped Harry to break from his hold."

"Voldemort had plans for me before," he didn't so much as blink. So he knew that too, of course he did.

"I have been informed of your mother's plight, just as I know of your plan to spend the summer with Miss Davis. Quite ingenious, but I am afraid stricter measures will need to be taken. As a result, I have approached your mother and, as of this morning, she has been moved to a safe location."

"And she agreed to that?" That really wasn't the Melissa Greengrass Daphne had grown to loathe over the years. Muggle-hating and biogated. Sure. Proud and arrogant. Easily. Despite her efforts to warn Daphne of the Death Eaters intentions, she had never, ever, expected her to leave Greengrass Manor.

"After some discussion, yes," Dumbledore smiled thinly, "she is a strong-willed woman, but I believe we came to an accord. She asked for you and your sister to accompany her naturally, you will, of course, be able to visit Grimmauld Place. Sirius has grown quite fond of you."

"Okay," was all Daphne could say as she tried to process what he was saying. She would be with Astoria, but then she would also be trapped with her mother - who had said that she would never ever take Dumbledore's side, so that was a turn up for the books - and it was all because of Dumbledore. Again. Did he want her to thank him? Did he think this would repair any of the damage he had done? Was it guilt? Or was he strategically trying to get her back on his side, ahead of the damned war they were all waiting to happen? Or was it all of that rolled into one?

And why had Melissa Greengrass agreed? That bothered her more than anything. Her mother was many things, but sentimental was not one of them. She'd trade Daphne for a pumpkin pasty if it meant the safety of their family, so why was she throwing her lot in with Dumbledore when everything was so uncertain? If anything, the Order were the more likely to lose. Voldemort had been steadily amassing an army and all that stood in his way was a bunch of rejects, an old man and a few teenagers that had been swept up in the crossfire.

"I have arranged for a cottage on the coast," Dumbledore went on, "nothing like what you have grown used to, of course, but it is safe."

"And I suppose this is the part where you want me to say thank you?"

"No, I am simply doing what I can."

"Why start now?" She knew she was looking for a fight, but she didn't care. She was sick of bowing down to Dumbledore just because people thought he knew what he was doing. He'd abandoned Harry, right when he needed him and for what? Whatever excuse he gave to himself ro Harry wasn't good enough. Harry had been lost, had been tortured - for want of a better word - and had been dragged through hell and all because Dumbledore was too scared to see Voldemort looking out through his eyes.

"I regret what I have done -"

"That doesn't make it okay. You can regret all you want, but not telling Harry is unforgivable." Days of being the subject of whispers, of worrying herself sick about Harry, of questioning everything she believed and trying to cling onto some stupid fantasy that they could get out of this poured out of her. "You can think feeling bad makes it okay all you like, but it doesn't. Neither does a stupid haven where you think me and my family can go and play at being happy away from all of this. We can't. None of us can. This is real, it's about time you stopped playing and actually did something that mattered."

"Might I remind you," Dumbledore said quietly, with more steel than Daphne had ever heard in his voice, "that I am your headmaster."

"And you deserve my respect? I hate to tell you, you've not had it for a while," Daphne bit back, before adding with as much sarcasm as she could, "sir."

The portraits were gaping at her, some of them yelling things like "absolutely outrageous!" and "are you going to stand for this, Dumbledore?" Only Phineas Nigellus looked at her with any kind of understanding, although it was much more calculating. The same cold gaze her mother often fixed her with, the same one she had used when she first met Tracey. He was playing out the conversation in his head and wondering just what her angle was. Well, here it was.

"You say that you care about Harry, that he matters to you?" Dumbledore nodded, the stoic figure he had been when she had entered the room had crumbled. The frail old man once again sat before her, his shoulder slumped and his twinkling eyes empty with nothing but grief. "I am going to give you one chance to make this right, Professor. One chance to prove it. You tell him what you told us, you tell him that that thing is living inside him and what could happen; or I will."

She didn't want to, all for selfish reasons and she wasn't proud of any of them. She didn't want to see his face, to watch his heart break and to try and explain it all to him. She didn't want that burden. Just watching him in that hellscape had been hard enough. Every single fibre of her wanted to just lie, to give him the life he deserved, even if it was a lie. But if she did that, if she uttered that shred of false hope - even for a second - then she'd be as bad as the headmaster she so despised.

Daphne considered him as he sat there. No words, no clever way out, just silence. The consequences of his actions laid bare before him by a sixteen-year-old who was too tired and too angry to bow to his 'reputation'.

"You know, for a second, when we found out, I thought we shouldn't tell him. I thought he deserved to carry on having a life, at least until we had a cure or a way out of it." Her voice was shaking, the treachery of her own instincts making her anger boil over. "But I was wrong. Just like you. But you weren't trying to protect Harry. Not totally. You were thinking about him. You want to keep it a secret, at least while he's listening. Because maybe he might not know, maybe we can use that to our advantage."

Daphne leant forwards, her knuckles pressed hard against the desk, so her face was level with Dumbledore's. "But Harry's more than just some weapon to be used and tossed aside. He's better than you or me or anyone else in this stupid castle. So tell him. He deserves that much."

"You are right to be angry," Dumbledore said, "just as you are right to hate me. Harry is important and not just because of what he is, but who he is. You are also right that I have been hiding his behind his best interests, but do not mistake my inadequacies for hatred. I did what I did to protect Harry."

"All you've done is push him away. He needed you and you couldn't even look at him. You didn't protect him, Professor, you failed him."

And without another word, Daphne turned and left the office, not looking back - not because she couldn't bear to look at Dumbledore, but because she didn't want him to see the tears sliding down her face.

Harry was going to know what he was. One way or another. She only hoped that she'd done the right thing. He needed to know, didn't he?

End of Part One