Posted 1/28/2014, fixed typos 2/25/2014
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Nineteen - Hoping for the Best
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Thursday evening, Daphne stared at the parchment in front of her. But try as she might, she couldn't think of a useful application of the theory of Scrider and Dunne. Who honestly cared one bit about those two, really? The standard runes worked just fine, why alter them?
Daphne reread her essay once more. Something had to be done about it. She knew there had to be something she had missed. While she read, she found her mind wandering needlessly.
So Astoria had found herself a sweetheart. Well, as far as Daphne was concerned, it was for the better. If that boy kept her busy enough not to interfere with Daphne's life, why complain? But then, it also meant seeing the hell spawn's superior grin whenever they met. So Astoria had found a boy who didn't mind kissing her. Lovely mental image aside, why should Daphne care about it? She didn't. But Astoria seemed to think she had somehow outdone her sister because she had someone to snog while Daphne was stuck with Potter. It would have bothered Daphne under normal circumstances, true, but it didn't. She had to endure the engagement and subsequent marriage, but after that, she'd be free once more. Or for the first time? It didn't matter either way. Astoria believed herself to be ahead because she had a boy toy.
Potter had kept well away, Daphne thought with a smile. Well, he should, of course. They weren't friends or anything, and being seen together would have been suspicious. But then, he seemed to have told Granger about the upcoming marriage from the looks the other girl had given her somewhere between pity, sympathy, and outrage. He was of course perfectly allowed to tell anyone he wanted to, and Daphne had told her dorm mates too so she had no reason to mind it much, but it was still unnecessary. Maybe she should have made it clearer for him to not spread information around like that. Finnigan had begun smirking whenever they saw each other in class or the corridors. Jerk.
Did the teachers know? Did they talk about something like that? Professor Snape had been especially nasty to Potter over the last weeks. Then again, maybe he had refilled on spite. If he felt the need to bother a Gryffindor, Daphne didn't care all that much. Tracey and Theodore had found it hilarious, and Daphne too had to fight down a smile when the teacher had demanded that Potter cast a hitherto unknown spell non-verbally. It had been equally amusing to watch Potter duel Malfoy. It had ended with the latter sort of winning. Daphne wasn't sure whether it counted as winning if Potter had successfully held his opponent at bay for a while before being disarmed mainly because Professor Snape had spelled his shoes stuck to the ground to stop Potter from dodging at just the wrong moment.
Yes, watching her betrothed lose a duel had been fun, and, yes, she enjoyed him getting in trouble for no reason at all. However, since the end of the holidays the professor had also begun treating her worse, and that she did mind. She had definitely not deserved the reprimand for speaking out of turn. Honestly, she hadn't done anything different than before, but suddenly Professor Snape seemed to actually punish her for it. Was that how the rest of the school felt? It was strange to suddenly be on the other side of the line and actually having to watch her actions with her Head of House. But it had stopped the day before; since Potter hadn't jumped to her rescue as Professor Snape seemed to have hoped from the looks he had given the boy each time he had targeted Daphne, he had switched to indifference in his treatment of her.
"Stupid essay," she grumbled, placing the parchment down. She hadn't had any idea on how to deal with the task. Wondering if she should just call it a day and revisit the homework some other time, she looked around the room. Like usual, the people were cluttered in groups all around. Some, she assumed, were doing homework. Others were reading books or playing games. In a corner, Pansy sat, talking to Draco. Luck was on Daphne's side, it seemed. She rose from her seat and walked over to them.
"... isn't it?" he asked with a slight shrug. "But what can..." he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Daphne stepping up.
"Daphne! How nice of you to join us!" Pansy said. "We were just talking about the summer. We thought we might organize a little get-together somewhere. Holidays from the family if you know what I mean?" She tittered.
Draco smiled lightly. "You might enjoy being away from them, wouldn't you?"
Nodding, she changed the subject. "Hello, Draco. Pansy, I wanted to ask whether I could borrow your notes from Runes. I'm stuck on that essay and can't think of anything."
"Oh, yes," the other girl replied. "I can imagine. Well, I've got them here, wait a moment." She began digging through her bag.
"So, have you enjoyed your time back? I guess it must be odd to be back, but changed fundamentally," Draco asked her.
Daphne glanced at him. "I'm the same I was before the holidays. It was nice to be allowed to use spells outside of school, but other than that..."
"You know what I mean," he countered with a chuckle and a meaningful glance.
"I don't see how that would change me in any way. It's not what I would have preferred..."
"I'm honoured," Draco told her, bowing slightly.
"Don't flatter yourself. It's not what I would have preferred, but it is also not the end of the world. I'm a pureblood, Draco, just like you. I don't enjoy it, no, but I will have to make do and hope for the best. It's simple as that."
"Hope for the best..." he mused. "That is very wise, Daphne. So, what best are you hoping for, then? The best for your new family or your old?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Not that it matters any to you..."
"I'm a Black too," Draco pointed out. "I have a vested interest in the survival of that family."
Daphne rolled her eyes. Trust him to pull that card. "Your care for your mother's family is charming. To answer your question, I am hoping for the best for myself."
"Ah, good answer. I like that, yes. Working for yourself, having your own goals in mind."
"I'm a Slytherin and a pureblood, Draco, don't forget that." Daphne smirked. From the way she saw it, she had her bases covered. Anyone who talked to her would see the pureblood daughter trying to cope with the new situation and adapting. As long as she didn't slip up and Potter kept quiet, she'd be reasonably safe. "Hopefully, it will be an outcome with me ending up on top."
"Oh," Pansy said, grinning with a quick side-glance to Draco, "ending up on top, I like the sound of that!"
Daphne saw Draco's cringe out of the corner of her eye and had to keep herself from laughing. She could see how that thought would displease him –Draco liked being in control, probably something he had learned from his father.
"Yes, Pansy, I can imagine," she forced herself to say and was proud to hear she sounded calm and serious. So the two of them were getting reacquainted, it seemed. Daphne hoped it would work out. She was Pansy's friend, whatever some people thought about the other girl. If Pansy liked being with Draco, then Daphne would support her.
"Well, here they are. Runes. You might want to have a look at that book there," Pansy indicated a comment on the parchment, "it is not exactly what we are looking at right now, but it has some comparable ideas. And knowing Professor Babbling like I do, she might just bring that up later in the year."
"All right," Daphne said with a nod. "Thank you. I'll leave it on your night stand later."
"Don't worry. I have the whole weekend to finish it, so you can keep it for a while."
Daphne smiled at her friend and left them to themselves again. Settling back into her seat, she looked over the notes. Trust Pansy to find it interesting. But then, wasn't her aunt some famous enchanter? She had said something of that kind. Daphne narrowed her eyes, concentrating on her knowledge about the woman in question. She did something with runes, of that Daphne was sure. Something with enchanted objects, if her memory served her right. Then, as she looked over to her friends, she remembered. Mrs. Ambers worked at an antique's store, restoring old objects to new glory. Yes, that was it. Boring work, but highly lucrative. While Pansy didn't plan to work in her life, she did respect her aunt for her success.
As Daphne looked over to her friends, she noticed something. Pansy and Draco had glanced her way, and neither had looked too happy. Odd.
But she focused back on her work.
Sunday began clear and frosty. Being a winter child herself, Daphne didn't mind the cold all that much, although mostly because of the possibilities it presented to counter the weather. Apart from warming charms which were nice, winter also meant lounging around fireplaces. There were better uses for the time, true, but it was still rather enjoyable. And they would be even more pleasant the older she would get; once she'd have a lover, she'd cuddle in front of the fire. That would be even better in her opinion. Despite all the upsides of winter though, Daphne still preferred summer. Not only was it warmer, but it also meant swimming, holidays, lazing in the sun, and sundaes. And should need be, she could find uses for her future lover as well. As soon as she had found herself one, she added after a moment.
Her homework done for the weekend, she had slept in a bit. After a healthy breakfast, she had gone on a stroll through the castle. Even after over five years, there was still the possibility of ending up somewhere new. Daphne also loved not knowing where she might end up. Strolling randomly through the halls, she had once found herself in a very impressive drawing room with dusty drawers and moth-eaten robes. Another time, she had found a broom closet behind an artistically carved door. One time, she had stumbled upon a painting that taught her some choice swears from its inhabitant's times. Then there was Chuck, the gossiping boy in the mirror on the third floor.
Thinking about the Hogsmeade weekend after Valentine's day, she turned left at the next intersection. Her parents had told her their plan to surprise Astoria on that Saturday. Normally Daphne would have loved to play along. Seeing her parents so close to her birthday would have made the pest happy, kept her occupied and out of Daphne's way. But then, Astoria would probably visit the village with her new boyfriend. If they were still together, of course, Daphne added in her mind.
Should she tell her parents not to bother? Should she tell Astoria to keep that mole away? Really, she wondered how someone could look that much like a mole. How could Astoria find him even the least bit attractive?
But no matter. Maybe she should write her parents about Astoria's buddy. They'd want to know about it and it would give them something else to worry about than Daphne's marriage. How many times did they think she needed to be reminded to keep her head down? Yes, she knew the Dark Lord had eyes everywhere. Yes, she wouldn't put herself at risk. She wasn't a small child anymore.
She turned right, finding herself next to an ornate window of a drunken troll. Who thought to put something like that in a school? She stared at it, thinking about the artist who had made it and how they must have felt with such an accomplishment. Through the glass of one of the feet, she saw movement on the other side. Looking closer, she could easily identify the giant form of the ground-keeper Hagrid. Alongside him someone walked she had no problem identifying as well. She knew of very few people who would be with Hagrid on a weekend. Draco had told everyone who stayed long enough to listen about the idiotic half-giant and the dim-witted Gryffindors Weasley, Granger, and of course Potter. Even from the distance Daphne could recognize her betrothed.
Should she hope the half-giant would accidentally kill him? If he died, she'd be free a lot earlier than expected. But no, even she knew the ground-keeper wasn't as dangerous as Draco claimed. She had seen her house mates in her fourth year trying to come up with all the dangers he had placed them in during his classes. It said a lot if even his enemies had to get that creative. A Flobberworm bite, really? And she had also heard about the hippogriff attacking Draco. Yes, her main source of information had been her house mates, especially Draco and Pansy, both of whom had ranted about the evil creature. But Millicent had given a slightly more subdued account –one Daphne was more willing to believe. Apparently Draco had disregarded the instructions and gotten hurt for it. Daphne thought it sounded more like the boy, and his attempts to have the vicious beast killed had looked more like petty revenge.
Potter and Hagrid had reached the Forbidden Forest. From her spot, Daphne watched them linger for a moment before walking in. Well, great. Potter had to be suicidal. Stay away from the forest. The Headmaster told it every year, and apparently those who really should listen didn't. Maybe he'd walk into some beast? Possible. Yes, he was with the ground-keeper, but what good would it do? Would the half-giant really keep an eye out for Potter? Even if he wasn't that violent from what she had heard, he gave off the impression of not really thinking things through. And, given his ancestry, he might have an abnormal perception of danger. Lastly, from what Daphne had heard about the half-giant, he might go searching for dangerous beasts, so it might as well be more likely Potter would run into one.
It didn't matter. Maybe they were simply collecting wood. It didn't matter. If Potter wanted to die, who was she to stop him? It wasn't her responsibility to keep him from getting himself killed. He was... well, not exactly a grown man, but probably as close as he'd ever come. So there. Not her job to keep him safe. She turned from the window and strolled down the corridor.
Maybe she should send Great-Grandaunt Lydia a letter. Old as she was, she had moved to Spain with a gold-digger to spend her last years. But while he hoped to inherit all her wealth, it had been no secret in the family that Lydia had already spent everything. She had donated it, in fact –part of it for dubious causes, and part for St. Mungo's. They had cared for her son Abraham from the day he had been brought to them until his dying breath, mumbling about the enemies lurking in the walls.
Daphne shook her head, trying to rid herself of that reminder. She was too distantly related to him, she told herself. She was healthy. She wouldn't...
Summer. Yes, summer was fun, she thought hastily. Tanned guys, nice to look at. Water, sundaes, a cool breeze. Yes, yes.
The sound of voices pulled her from her thoughts. It sounded like they were coming from around the corner. Daphne made to turn around, but stopped when the higher of the voices sounded again.
"Well, I told her to shut it," Pansy spat. "What does she know, after all? Really, from the way the teachers are acting, you'd think they are..." She broke off in a huff.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Daphne walked closer.
"Well, you don't have to tell me," Draco said evenly. "But then, just because the current state isn't ideal doesn't mean it will stay that way. If you really want it to change..."
"I do, Draco, I do," Pansy sighed.
"Well, you might just have to do something about it, then. Change doesn't happen without someone initiating it."
"But why are the teachers so... ?"
Draco snorted. "Really, Pansy? Of course they try to help them; of course they have to be encouraged. What does she know, you ask? Nothing, and that's it. Without this special care, they wouldn't find their place in our world, and wouldn't that just be horrible?"
Pansy giggled quietly, and Daphne had to roll her eyes. She had seen her friend giggle before; she knew it looked more like she tried to sneeze onto her hand. "Oh, what a tragedy! Little lost Mudbloods."
"Muggleborns, Pansy. Muggleborns," Draco reminded her sternly.
Daphne almost tripped at hearing that. Draco Malfoy lecturing others on the politically approved terminology? What had the world come to? Maybe having his father imprisoned had removed the attitude from him? Daphne thought it might be an improvement, but she wasn't one to hope for miracles.
"No, the teachers have the right idea," he continued. "If the Muggleborns are ever meant to find their place in our society..." He left the sentence hanging, but from Pansy's renewed giggle, he had done something funny.
"Oh, Draco, you have no idea how much I missed you," she sighed. Daphne screwed up her face. She really didn't want to hear that, and made to leave the two behind.
"I was busy, I had a lot to do," Draco said. "I have responsibilities, Pansy, and I do take them seriously. This is a critical moment in my life." With happiness in his voice he continued, "I help shape a better world for wizardkind."
Daphne blinked. Where had that come from?
The following week, Daphne paid close attention to Draco.
It was strange, she mused, lying in bed on Friday, how ignorant she had been. How come she hadn't noticed it before? Maybe she hadn't wanted to see it. Or maybe it was merely too foreign a thought. Despite everything that had happened in the last years, despite her worries about Malfoy, despite her realization from last November about his development, she had refused to see it. But the talk she had overheard had put her on edge.
Initially, she had tried to push it from her mind. So Draco thought he had some kind of influence on the course of the world. It didn't matter, did it? Knowing him, he might have simply tried to impress Pansy, Daphne had reasoned. He had been bragging in the past so there wasn't really anything new about that.
But that night, she had begun worrying. Malfoy wasn't the same as he had been the previous years, was he? He had changed; she had suspected it in mid-November. Back then, it had bothered her enough to start the whole plan of marrying Potter just to escape Draco. Millicent had seen it too, back then. He had a cruel side to him now. He wasn't a boy anymore and hadn't flaunted his father's influence around anymore. Granted, Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, but Draco still didn't spout about their power anymore. Could she really trust her experience with him?
When he had been civil during the holidays and even afterwards, Daphne had believed her fears to be unfounded. She had thought she had been mistaken, had seen dangers where there were none. Maybe the stress of the night had made Draco act out, or maybe she had been simply too paranoid to understand him. Yes, she had thought she had imagined it, not that she liked the thought much. More than once, Daphne had reprimanded herself for foolishly arranging her own betrothal to Potter. What had she been thinking? Yes, she had thought Draco might hand over all the gold he could get his hands on to the Dark Lord. She had thought they were in league with each other, that Draco was working for the Dark Lord. Ridiculous, Daphne had scolded herself in the second week back at Hogwarts.
But the overheard conversation had reawakened her suspicions. She wanted to survive, and to do that she needed to know whom she could trust. And so, she had paid attention to her surroundings more carefully. That had been the start of her troubles.
Draco really did talk a lot to people. He talked to N.E.W.T.-students all the way down to third-years. He spent a lot of time tutoring people, yes, but Daphne noticed something she hadn't before –Draco kept himself to corners, away from the buzz around him. He talked to people, yes, but often where nobody could overhear him. And for some reason, he seemed to glance around occasionally, as if to make sure no one paid him any attention. And every now and then, he smirked.
Yes, Draco's smirks had become unsettling to her. In class, he worked hard, applied himself, and learned well. He seemed to be a diligent student. But after Daphne had begun keeping an eye on him, she had noticed his smirks in class. When Professor Snape had spoken about counter-spells for really nasty curses, Draco had smirked behind his hands as if the idea of protecting against dark magic amused him. And he had also smirked whenever Granger had given an answer in class.
Why would Draco find the Muggleborn witches' answers amusing? In previous years, he had scoffed at her so why the change?
The most unsettling discovery Daphne had made hadn't been about Draco though, but the people he spoke to regularly. She had never been close to most of them which was probably why she hadn't noticed in the first place. Nott hadn't been a close friend of hers, more an acquaintance so when she saw less of him, she hadn't really noticed his absence. She could live without Baker and Furlong as well. But over the course of the last week, Pansy too had seemed to have progressively less time for Daphne. She had hoped to revive their friendship, become as close as they had been in fifth year. But Pansy didn't seem to want that. Even when Draco wasn't around she had other places to be and urgent business to attend to a lot of the time.
Why would Pansy try to evade Daphne? It didn't make any sense.
Daphne hadn't paid much attention to it before but the same people also stopped talking about whatever they were discussing when she came close to them. They weren't friends by any meaning of the word, but it was still odd to see people drop their subject in her presence. So what was going on around her? She had thought about it, watched the people around her, had talked to Millicent and Tracey, but both had claimed not to know.
Twisting slightly, Daphne felt the bruise from the last Defence against the Dark Arts lesson. It had been a normal lesson for the class. Normal meant, of course, that Potter had been put on display while Theodore and Tracey had taken turns sending spells at him instead of trying to win against both of the participants in their three-way stand-off. It had ended with Professor Snape disarming Potter who was faring too well for the professor's liking. Daphne had partnered with Terry Boot and busty Susan Bones. They had worked reasonably well, each trying what they could until a slightly misaimed disarming spell from Weasley had sent Bones running after her wand. During that lull, Daphne had watched the other girl searching. Granted, she hadn't been alone, but Boot had seemed far more interested in Bones' backside. Daphne on the other hand had noticed something out of the corner of her eye.
Professor Snape had been talking to Draco. From the looks of it, he had given some pointers about one spell or the other. It happened occasionally, especially for Slytherins. Having the Head of House looking out for his students did have its advantage. At that moment, the duel with her opponents had resumed.
It hadn't been until late that evening that she had remembered it, and a theory had formed in her mind. She had taken a shower, enjoying the water more than she probably should have. But after a long day, she had felt the need to indulge herself. Washing away the dirt and worries from the day, she had hummed a tune that had sprung to her mind. Her dorm mates always said Daphne couldn't hold a tune to save her life. It was probably true, but she had never really cared about that.
Carefully rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, Daphne had turned her attention to that pesky spot on her hand. Trust Tracey to spill ink all over Daphne's homework. For some reason, the ink in question had been water-resistant –Tracey claimed it could stop blotches tea or water be spilled on her parchment, but it made little sense; letters could be spelled water-repellant, after all –leaving Daphne with the likely ruined shirt and an ink spot on her hand.
Daphne had returned to scrubbing it. No matter how small it was –most would think it to be a birthmark –it had bothered Daphne for precisely its small size. Sure, she could have spelled it away, but it would have felt like cheating to use magic for such a simple task.
It hadn't come off. It would grow out, Daphne had tried to appease herself, but it had still bothered her. Everyone would see it, see that tiny spot she hadn't been able to remove. She had thought about borrowing fingerless gloves. Pansy had a nice pair for no particular reason. That way the stupid mark would have been hidden. But no, suddenly wearing gloves would have drawn attention to it.
Just then, while she had been standing under the shower, it had clicked in her mind. Maybe it had been the thought of a mark on her skin that couldn't be removed combined with seeing Malfoy with Professor Snape hours before, but suddenly, all the pieces had fallen into place.
Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.
In trance, she had walked back to her room, put on her nightdress, and gotten into bed. It really was strange how she hadn't seen it before. His aunt and father known Death Eaters, Draco himself being discriminating in the past... yes, he certainly fit the description of the typical Death Eater. Pureblood son of supporters of the more traditional Wizarding Britain, he was the ideal follower of the Dark Lord.
He had changed, had grown up; yes, it made sense. He didn't care for the betrothal of Daphne because, simply put, it didn't matter. If Draco had really joined the Dark Lord –what a concept! –then he would probably know at least part of what was about to happen in the wider world. What did it matter to him if Potter had outsmarted him since the Dark Lord would just clean up the mess anyway? Yes, that made sense, and yet, it didn't. Draco wouldn't let someone else take his prize, would he? Would he stand aside and let the Dark Lord have his fun with Potter? Yes, he probably would. If Draco was a Death Eater, he would know about the Dark Lord's skills. What did it matter to Draco if only he could watch his rival suffer? So what if someone else enacted Draco's revenge?
To Draco, the loss of Daphne would seem insignificant. Once the Dark Lord would rule, Draco would have his choice of the women no doubt. Why bother with one that got away? And it would fit with what Daphne had seen from the boy. He had changed, he had kept away from Daphne who he had to fear might pass information to Potter. Was that the reason others kept away as well? Did they fear she might spy on them? Ridiculous, of course, they were her family and they didn't know about her connection to the Gryffindor, did they? But then, if Malfoy had told them, they might.
If Draco had taken the Mark though, it would explain what he had meant on Sunday. Help shape a better world indeed. But would he take the Mark? He was a Malfoy which was a good argument for both sides. As a Malfoy, he would feel sympathetic to the cause. But as a Malfoy, he wouldn't want others to tell him what to do.
It fit, and yet it didn't. Something was still missing. Something wasn't there.
Then there was the hint of hidden cruelty she had witnessed in mid-November. It would fit a Death Eater, yes, and more than a school child or Draco himself. But she wasn't that sure she had seen correctly. Yes, she knew what she thought she had seen. It might have been nothing more than shadows on the walls had Millicent not seen it too.
But then, everyone had been on edge in November. Daphne had had nightmares again. A lot of the younger students had been struggling as well, from what Daphne had heard. Draco could have snapped, simple as that. A temporary slip, or perhaps the stress really had caused him to crack. Yes, that sounded reasonable. Draco hadn't joined the Dark Lord, he wouldn't have become so malicious and –if Daphne was honest with herself –active. It had to have been a slip in his judgement, nothing more.
Most people would have felt reassured by that realization. Her classmate Draco Malfoy wasn't a heartless criminal, he had merely cracked for a moment. But for Daphne, after the first relief of the insight had passed, her fears resurfaced, and with it the images.
It must have been a simple slippage, nothing more, she told herself. Temporarily unbalanced, nothing more. She was safe, wasn't she? Draco hadn't acted up again, so why should he in the future?
Before she really knew what she was doing, she cast protective spells around her bed. Even if he was perfectly normal, even if every student in school was healthy, she felt horribly exposed. No, if she wanted to have a chance at a restful sleep, she needed to take some measures. Better safe than careless. She didn't need a repeat of third year with the madman Sirius Black at large in school and her troubled sleep. She needed to regain her sense of safety within her own dorm.
Finally content with her work, Daphne nodded to herself, having finished her spellwork. She pocketed her wand. The spells would keep others away, yes. And she was healthy, wasn't she, so in the end, she'd be safe in her bed for the night. She was healthy, she was fine. And it had been a while since the last of her relatives had any mental problems so maybe that was in the past. She was as sane as anyone could ever hope to be. She had never had any problems herself, had she? No, she hadn't. She was sane and only slightly paranoid.
But then, February was looming, so maybe that was why she was nervous.
With luck, she might just have a restful night. And she hadn't had any real trouble over the last few days, right? She'd done brilliantly when McLaggen had fallen. Maybe, just maybe...
She looked up and stared right at a deranged looking girl over at the door.
Daphne jumped back, hit the bed and fell onto it. She might have screamed or it might have been her imagination. Then her mind caught up, and she regained her senses. She looked over to the door, and sure enough, the deranged girl stared back at her from within the mirror, halfway hidden behind the frame, equally lying on a mirrored bed. Her toothy grin wasn't really there, the madness didn't really shine from her eyes. But Daphne had still seen it again, just like she had back in third year, back when she had faced the Boggart, and this time, the mirror hadn't been enchanted by Carrie –likely on Astoria's orders –to show such an image. It had merely been Daphne's paranoid mind playing her a trick.
She concentrated on her breathing. She was healthy. She wasn't like her family. She was sane. Great-Granduncle Gregor had simply slipped, nothing more. She was sane. Breathe in. Her grandfather had only made a mistake, nothing more. Breathe out. Breathe in. Her father's sister Phyllis had had a nightmare, or maybe she had been a sleepwalker without anyone knowing, she hadn't meant it, couldn't have meant it. Breathe out. Don't think about it. Breathe in. Ophelia hadn't been odd at times, she'd just been playing. Breathe out. Breathe in. Daphne hadn't lost her mind, she was still sane, just a bit unsettled. Breathe out. Bit by bit, she pushed everything from her mind. She really should have expected it, Daphne thought, as her hand clutched the sleeves of her shirt. She had stayed strong through the unfortunate accident from the first week, hadn't she? McLaggen had simply slipped, nothing more.
After a while, Daphne's heart settled into a more natural speed. Breath by breath, she reigned in her panic. She should get Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey, Daphne thought. But she needed to keep her head clear. She couldn't cheat. She would persevere all on her own. She was strong enough to manage on her own. Hadn't she just done that? Defeated her fears and come out alright? And anyway, it had been nothing more than a trick of the light, nothing more, she told herself.
On Tuesday afternoon, Harry stared down into the gaping maw of a Singing Amazonian Bog Daughter. The plant looked as innocent as it could be which was very, considering the deadly poisonous hairs in its mouth, and sang what it believed to be a sweet lullaby. For safety reasons, Professor Sprout had taught the plants everything but a genuine lullaby, and some of the previous N.E.W.T.-students as well as Peeves seemed to have helped her create the song for those plants. At least Harry hoped it had been other students or the notorious poltergeist who had invented the lyrics about biting places where the sun doesn't shine. Then again, even professors needed to have a bit of fun.
As he watched the hairs wave softly in the breeze, the sweet scent all around, Harry had a sudden realization. In fact, it was so sudden that he accidentally dropped the mouse he had been holding. Luckily for him but unfortunately for the rodent, it landed right where it had been meant to end up; the plant instantly caught the animal, stunned it with the poisonous hairs and closed its maw. Working rhythmically, it started its meal, buzzing very quietly.
But Harry didn't notice. He had had the revelation he had felt approach for a while. For over a week, he had been restless. Something had bothered him; something had kept him on edge. He had known something had been there, just outside of his reach. Some nights, he had dreamed about catching an elusive Snitch, but not succeeding. Of course he had known it had had nothing to do with Quidditch. His team was shaping up to be a real challenge. And it hadn't been about school either. Something else had bothered him. He had known he needed to find something that eluded him.
Watching the plant in front of him, he had understood it, or some of it at least, and it fit in a strange, troubling sort of way. It explained his wariness. Yes, it fit even if it didn't. Something was still missing but he finally had a clue just what he was dealing with.
He bent over to Ron and Hermione who were both staring in disgust at the plant they had been working on.
"Great, Harry," she told him, nose wrinkled. "We weren't meant to feed it yet, now we'll never get it to show us the dance."
"Relax, Hermione," Ron said to her, nose wrinkled. "I'm sure those plants weren't meant to dance in the first place, only to hunt. It's likely something Professor Sprout found amusing to teach them."
"Oh, really, Ron," she hissed back, "Professor Sprout does take her job seriously..."
"While I welcome the vote of confidence," the dumpy teacher yelled, "I would prefer you paying attention to your plant, Miss Granger. The same goes for you, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded dolefully with his friends. Then, once the teacher had turned away, he bent over to them again. "Malfoy's a Death Eater," he whispered.
It fit even if Harry couldn't quite put all the parts together. It explained his unease. Maybe it was simply the realization that the worst that could happen to the school would be a Death Eater Malfoy walking its halls unchecked. And if he had learned one thing about Fate, then it was that it did exactly what he really couldn't use at the moment. What he couldn't use was a Death Eater Malfoy so that had to be it. Yes, it fit even if it didn't quite.
"Wh... what?" Hermione stuttered out, desperately trying to keep her hair away from the plant's tentacles. "That's ridiculous! Harry, that's... Malfoy isn't a Death Eater! That's... not possible, simple as that."
Beside her, Ron nodded. "Yeah. I mean, he's nasty alright and stuff, but... a Death Eater? Really? Can you imagine Malfoy actually doing something awful? ... Err, worse than usual, I mean. He's a braggart, nothing more. He hides behind his daddy. Harry, Malfoy is about as far removed from personally being dangerous as one could be. Right, Hermione?"
Hermione frowned and peered at the plant in front of them. "Well, I wouldn't say it like that, Ron, he might have something to back up his words..."
"That's what I meant," Ron agreed instantly.
"But he doesn't spout his nonsense any more, Harry. Even if he has something to back them up with, he's not talking about blood purity anymore. He turned over a new leaf. He has changed."
"But... I'm sure. It fits. He's the worst that could happen to Hogwarts, Death Eater Draco, so it's bound to happen some time."
"No, Harry. I can see where you're coming from, I really do. Every year we had to face some danger. Every year you had to put your life on the line, had to discover some conspiracy or secret. But your paranoia is no evidence. Malfoy, a Death Eater... really, Harry? As sad as it is, you expect a danger to come about simply because it is routine for you. A school year without lethal danger is too foreign for you and since there isn't one this year..."
"Since I hadn't discovered it until now," Harry pointed out. "But now that I know..."
She rolled her eyes. "Since you haven't found something, you see threats everywhere. Oh, Harry, you feel the need to be in danger just to regain a sense of normalcy. Sometimes, soldiers have trouble coping with peace as well; they cannot integrate well into society. They're scared of their own shadow, and they see enemies where there are none. I might have to write home to get a book about it, but..."
"Miss Granger," Professor Sprout interrupted, "As much as I hate to do this, five points from Gryffindor. You are meant to work on the plants, not chat with your friends. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley?"
All three nodded again. Hermione and Ron focused back on their work, but Harry was thinking it over. She had a point; yes, he really needed some kind of danger to feel at ease. But that didn't mean there wasn't something going on. Yes, he was sure Malfoy was a Death Eater. It fit even if it didn't quite fit. Something was missing. He knew he had all the clues, he knew it was there. Something was missing from the picture and he would figure it out.
On Friday, Harry went to bed earlier than usual. The day had been more stressing than he would have liked and he still felt the late evening practices of the previous days. Yes, as Captain he could have cancelled them. But he needed to set an example, and cancelling practices just because he was tired wouldn't have been all that proper. Apart from that, Harry actually did like working with the team although for reasons not related to the sport. He felt stressed, torn between the numerous tasks he had. Between school, his private lessons with Dumbledore, his ongoing attempts to improve his duelling which were not coming along as well as he had hoped, Quidditch, figuring out the mystery that would be the problem this year, his suspicions of Draco, the secret deal with Greengrass which still weighed on his mind, his existence as Horcrux and the inevitable death, and the feeling of failure because he didn't help enough to stop the war, he knew he had bitten off more than he could chew. He was close to collapsing under the many loads. But Quidditch was special. It was simple; it was something he had control over. It was liberating in a way, and rewarding to see something come from it.
Lying in bed, he went over every responsibility he had. He couldn't do much about school. Maybe he could drop Herbology. It wasn't as if he would really need N.E.W.T.s, was it? But no, Hermione would become suspicious. If he wanted to protect her, wanted to keep the cruel truth from his friends and let them live their lives unburdened by the knowledge, then he had to continue his classes.
His lessons with Dumbledore were much the same. He had no choice in the matter, and they were too important to just drop.
The deal with Greengrass might have been a mistake, but he couldn't do anything about it. Well, he could let everyone in on the secret arrangement between them, but that would negate the purpose of it in the first place.
He couldn't stop his duelling training, could he? No, he would need every edge he could get if he wanted to win the war. Or rather, if he wanted to survive long enough to bring about Voldemort's end. It was linked with his feeling of failure over the still ongoing war, but until he had brought his fighting capabilities up to scratch, that too wouldn't go away. It was kind of his fault the war was still going on, no matter what others might think.
His suspicions of Draco should have been an easy case, shouldn't they? With the help of his friends, they should have been done with him already. But neither Hermione nor Ron was listening to him. In fact, it was more Hermione who refused to believe it with Ron going along with it. And a part of Harry couldn't fault her, which irked him as well. Yes, he was sure Malfoy had joined Voldemort. It made sense: The rival joining Harry's nemesis and serving as a minion of the ultimate evil would be very fitting for a story. He could see it: He would sneak up some steps after avoiding the many patrols in Voldemort's hideout when, at the top, Malfoy would walk into the path, saying something about Harry not passing. It would fit, a duel to the death on the topmost step of the stairs until Malfoy would fall, hate contorting his face.
Only the stories would likely have the blond change sides in the end. Yes, that sounded far more interesting, didn't it? To make him out as another tragic hero, stuck between his obligation to his family and his conscience. Idiots always loved their tragic heroes. Oh yes, the poor misguided Draco Malfoy, so very troubled he was, wasn't he? The perfect counterpoint to Harry himself, a fallen warrior of the Light, wealthy, loved by his family, well-connected, but led astray. The poor boy, so very unfortunate.
Harry wondered for a moment just what the stories would make Snape out to be. Probably something favourable. The kindly teacher, working tirelessly to help those he had been charged with? No, it didn't fit his actions –a courageous spy, secretly always doing what was right and so very misunderstood instead of a spy who was nasty to everyone he came into contact with. Yes, that would fit, wouldn't it? To gloss over the evil he did and explain it away as nothing more than an act?
Malfoy was the mystery of the year, of that Harry was sure. He just knew the other boy was a Death Eater. He knew Malfoy was planning something. He knew there was more to the story, but he couldn't think of what it was. Something was missing. If only he could convince Hermione and Ron!
He'd have to try once more. Yes, that made sense, didn't it? He'd have to continue on his path, stick to his beliefs, and ultimately, he'd be proven correct.
If only he knew what Malfoy was up to! But between all his other tasks, his mind was simply too jumbled to find the answer. Something was missing, he knew it, and once he had discovered that last piece of the puzzle, everything would fall into place.
Harry's thoughts turned to the biggest weight on his mind. The Horcrux had proved to be very troubling indeed. Before he had learned about it, he had thought his death would be highly likely. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort and live to tell the tale? It simply didn't sound all that probable. That had been why he had intended to prepare over the year, to increase the odds if only marginally. He wanted to live, after all. Others might desire to be heroes of their stories, but he would be content with simply surviving. But no, fate had made different plans for him. When he had learned about himself being a Horcrux, he had accepted the truth about it. To defeat Voldemort, every part of him had to be destroyed. Each Horcrux had to be dealt with, including Harry himself. He had to die, simple as that. To achieve victory, to ensure peace for a few years until the next megalomaniac would step forward, Harry had to sacrifice himself. And he had accepted it. His life had improved, yes. He had friends; he had stepped into the light, so to speak, and experienced happiness. But it was still his life, and naturally, everything good had to end or, in this case, had to be sacrificed. That was how his life worked out, wasn't it? Everything nice had to be taken from him, just to add that last bit of cruelty. If he had to die, if he had to sacrifice himself for the rest of the world, why not give him something to fight for, to sacrifice himself for? Friends, for example. Where would the entertainment be, if he didn't have people he had to give up to fulfil his purpose?
But he was okay with it, in a way. If he had to die, then he had to die. He'd see Sirius again. He'd meet his parents. That had to count for something, right? But knowing his luck, something would go wrong with it. Something would keep him from his family in the afterlife. Yes, that would be the ultimate punch line, wouldn't it? After everything he had endured, after all the struggles he had had, the hardships he had overcome, he'd be stuck behind some barrier, apart from his parents for all eternity.
But he was okay with dying. Well, not okay in the sense that he was fine with it, but he had come to terms with the harsh truth. If it had to happen, if his life was the price to be paid for the safety of the world, if there was no other way, then he would pay. He had survived the Dursleys, sacrificing himself didn't compare to that injustice. If he had to sacrifice himself so others would have a better life, what did it really matter?
Still, he wanted to survive. Yes, he was selfish. Aunt Petunia would have scolded him for his insolence of wanting something for his own. She had put up quite a fight when the school had arranged for Harry to get glasses and only given in when she had realized there had been little chance of not looking like an irresponsible guardian. That hadn't been something Petunia had been able to hide from the neighbourhood. Harry had gotten the glasses and a week in the cupboard. When he had foolishly asked for a cake for his birthday, he had spent another one in there with food he had stolen and the odd bowl of watery soup every couple dozen hours.
Harry was selfish, wanting to survive. He wanted to live, to grow up, get a job, marry... well, marry again, once the deal with Greengrass was over, and perhaps have children of his own. He longed for that little bit of peace. He wanted to invite his friends over to boring dinners, he wanted to see his friends get ahead in life, wanted to help improve life, wanted to drive Sirius' bike that was now his, spend a morning in bed or lounging in the garden. He wanted to survive, to live, but he wouldn't. The Horcrux was still there, and until something was done about that, he couldn't live. Yes, he couldn't live while Voldemort survived, and only after that dark Lord had died could Harry be free. Well, technically, he'd be dead as well, but until Voldemort had been killed, Harry was bound by his destiny.
Two pieces of souls, he thought as he snuggled into the blanket. Two pieces of souls. If only there was some other way, but no, dealing with Horcruxes meant destroying them. Deadly magic, deadly substances, deadly creatures. Great prospect. Yawning loudly, he had finally found his spot.
If only they were talking about something different. Body parts could be cut away, couldn't they? That would have been easy, just cut away Voldemort. But no, it had to be a soul fragment. Or if had been something literally stuck in Harry, something like some animal's sting or tooth. It might not have been easy to pull it out, but also not impossible. Harry had once ha a Basilisk's tooth in his arm and he had survived that. How much worse could a physical part of Voldemort be? If it had been something in his possession, Harry could have given it away. Why would he care about trinkets? What did they matter? It would have been very easy to just drop the item and be rid of Voldemort's part forever. They could have destroyed whatever it would have been without any trouble. Or if they were talking about minds! Then they could have...
Harry was suddenly wide awake, staring unblinkingly into the distance.
Keep telling yourself that, Daphne.
.
Fixed some typos and moved Uncle Gregor two generations back, meaning in the previous three generations, there had been someone in the extended family whose mental health could be called into question.
