Posted 3/23/2014
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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 Twenty-Eight - The First Fight
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It wasn't so much the general concept of what went on between couples that bothered her. She had learned about quills and inkwells years ago; both Tracey as well as Pansy had had the incredible kindness of retelling their adventures with probably just a bit of embellishment. No, she was familiar with the concept. She was quite happy with her fantasies and daydreams featuring roguishly handsome men.
But Potter wasn't one. In fact, she had initially felt better about her plan specifically because he wasn't one. Saviour of the wizarding world or not, he was still hardly hero material; far too short and insecure, he was actually just a survivor with uncanny luck. In fact, the closer she looked at him the more she was convinced he had survived the encounters with the Dark Lord simply because he was such a small target. If she wanted to, she could probably just push him over.
Thinking about it, she doubted he would even dare try something. She could say a lot about him based on his behaviour in the past hours. He had kept a decent distance, hadn't touched her more than had to have been expected without being obvious about it. During their dances, his hands hadn't strayed, another observation about him pointing towards shyness. And she had to admit the kiss could have been a lot more unpleasant. In fact, holding her hand had been a nice, thoughtful touch.
But it didn't really matter. It wasn't so much the actual concept of a wedding night or the related expectations usually associated with it, but the mere fact. It wouldn't be a night just like any other, with or without the deal with her husband.
She had a husband! That would take some time getting used to.
Just like it hadn't been a normal day, she was sure it also wouldn't be a normal night. She felt certain that this first night Potter would likely notice anything out of the ordinary. She wouldn't be able to simply retreat somewhere private indefinitely, she would have to sit it out. Of course, at school she slept in the same room with others, yes. But those were her friends and girls she had first met as equally frightened children stuck in a foreign environment. They had grown up together, grown into school life from little girls to young women. Or in Millicent's case, from a big girl, but it didn't matter.
A wedding night usually meant staying in the same room as her husband, and if she had grown to know him well, Daphne might have been alright with it. If she were to love him, she might have even looked forward to it. But she hadn't, and she didn't. Just how would the night go? And for that matter, why was he so quiet? Didn't he have anything to say to her? Thinking back, he hadn't even commented on her dress, and while she had also failed to compliment him on his robes, she felt it an indispensable part of a wedding to compliment the bride on her dress. Didn't that prove her fears of a night full of painful silence and awkward talks?
Their carriage rattled over the street, and just as she was about to speak up and start the first of many doomed attempts at conversation, it swerved and drove up a path Daphne knew led to the house, their new vacation home. And Potter still glanced out of the window. In fact, if his eyes had not been open she would have believed he had fallen asleep. Part of her wondered whether she would have preferred it as a sleeping companion meant less expectation to start or maintain a conversation. Also, if Potter had fallen asleep on the ride already, she would have had a perfect explanation and likely story for when her friends would ask her.
She cast her eye around looking for something worthwhile to talk about that sounded relaxed yet invited to more than an automatic reply. She could talk about his robes, she figured. They were really nice, especially for someone like him. And he had gone to the trouble of adding the crest, so that had to count for something.
Her eyes fell on the button, and she remembered her earlier curiosity about it. Deciding upon it as a decent enough opener, she made to speak up when the carriage stopped abruptly. Her mouth snapped shut, and she glanced out of the window. The small house stood close by. Someone had been thoughtful enough to make light. It looked inviting, she supposed, but in her case, it also made her reluctant. Logically speaking, she knew she had nothing to fear there. It was just a house. But she also knew it would be where she would have to endure the following night of Potter's company despite not knowing anything about him. What if he snored? Or what if he didn't, but slept like a log? What if she couldn't get any sleep?
The driver opened the door. Potter jumped out and once the driver had cleared his throat held out a hand for her. It made her smile slightly. He had most likely been absent-minded, but she preferred to think he had intentionally blundered – the joke of an anxious boy. As she took the offered hand, she sent him a thankful, but only partly sincere smile. Potter thanked the driver with a handshake and most likely a tip, but Daphne chose to look at her – their, she reminded herself – new house. By her standards it was small, a cottage in the countryside with two stories not too far from her parents' home.
"Everything is set," Potter told her bringing her out of her reverie. He too looked at the house, but his face was unreadable. Hadn't Draco often told everyone who had stood still long enough just how easy it was to read Potter?
Together they walked to the front door. Potter had gotten the key from someone. Perhaps her parents had given it to the newly-weds in a package? She didn't care at the moment. She just wanted to get out of the dress and hopefully have a restful night.
The door swung open, revealing a cosy living room. In the back she could see a small kitchen and wondered just who her family had expected to use it. In hindsight, they really should have given her a house-elf.
She was in the house before he had any chance to stop her.
"That wasn't really how it's supposed to be," he told her, frowning.
"Does it really matter? The wedding is done, no one is around and if someone asks, you are free to tell them how you carried me over the threshold. Not that anyone would believe you." She looked around. "It is nice, though. I hadn't expected such a gift, even if I had heard about it beforehand. They really did a lot of work around here."
The heavy curtains looked faintly familiar. Perhaps she had seen them in her family's home once. It would have been fitting to make them part of the gift to remind Daphne just who she still was. Or perhaps she had seen them in her grandparents' house? But it didn't matter. It was a nice vacation home as well as hers - mostly, at least, as she had no intention to let Potter or his heirs get their hands on it, whoever they were.
Behind her, he closed the door, making her look at him over her shoulder.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, pointing towards the kitchen. But she waved off.
"I just want to get out of these shoes, really. And maybe sit down for a while." Her eyes drifted towards the stairs. "And maybe have a look at the rest of the house."
He nodded, and together they ascended the staircase. They found themselves on a small landing with three doors going off, two of them to the right. Behind one was what Daphne assumed was meant as a room for children or guests. The door next to it was slightly ajar. They could make out a washing basin inside. Daphne pushed the last door open and found herself in a comfortable room with wooden drawers and a four-poster bed not unlike the one's at Hogwarts, but thankfully wider. In a corner stood a table with an armchair and a small sofa next to it. Another door led off to what she thought might be a dressing room or maybe a closet.
And she also didn't fail to notice the nightclothes laid out for them. If marrying meant getting something like that, she felt very tempted to repeat it as soon as possible. Granted, after the day she would have slept in anything, but the softly shimmering satin nightgown looked very lovely indeed, even if it appeared rather more revealing than she was used to.
But she didn't move to touch it. Yes, she just knew it would feel divine, but at the same time she was well aware of it probably looking decidedly more sinful on her than lying out on the bed, and knowing herself, she would have wanted to try in on. So instead she opted to sit on the bed. It was very hard to not simply sink back and fall asleep, for the bed too was marvellous and actually just what she longed for. But she couldn't, not yet, perhaps not for the rest of the night.
Potter had sat down in the armchair.
"What a day," he said gazing into the distance. "Not something I'd like to repeat anytime soon. Or anytime, full stop. The next time I'm marrying, all we do is burn some straw or something, sing a song and go our way. Well, I didn't mean 'we' as in..."
"I know what you meant. Sounds great, don't mind me stealing your idea," Daphne laughed weakly, pulling her shoes off. "No hours of preparation, no presents for couples that'll end up in some corner to be forgotten about..."
It was his turn to laugh. "No seating arrangement. Did you see your... what was it? Aunt? The tall one with the hat? And the whiskers?"
"Aunt Juliana, yes," Daphne confirmed. "Had them for a while now. She looked as if she wanted to incinerate one of the twins the whole time."
"Yeah, only they switched repeatedly without her noticing."
"They did? Well, I should have known. And did you see Lucilla and Gregorij flee whenever Lupin approached?"
"Sadly, yes." He leaned back and sighed. "At least the Malfoys left early."
"They were your guests," she reminded him.
"They had to be invited. That doesn't mean I wanted them there, least of all Draco."
She smiled at him, quirking an eyebrow playfully. "Jealous?"
"No, I just... I didn't want him there. I didn't want to see him."
"What is it with you two anyway?" she asked curiously. Draco had always complained about the preferential treatment Potter received, but she was still interested in hearing the flip-side of the rivalry.
Potter ran a hand through his hair. "You're the one to talk; all this was meant to get you away from him. But fine. Well, in the past, he was a nuisance. He stood for everything I opposed, more or less, blood purity being one of the issues we don't see eye to eye. He joined the Inquisitorial Squad and enjoyed abusing that power, power his father likely bribed to have created in the first place. He was a nuisance most of the time, and I might have tolerated him like that at the wedding even if I might not have liked it. But..." He broke off and shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"Oh, you can't leave me hanging like that," Daphne told him sternly.
He looked at her. For a long moment both were silent before he spoke again, this time sounding hesitant. "You thought he was a Death Eater, remember?" Upon seeing her nod, he continued. "Well, I agree, no matter what others might think. I think he had a task at school, had been ordered to do something to prove his worth and earn his Mark. I'm sure of it. He didn't have one after the Christmas holidays, but that doesn't have to mean anything. If he did have a job at school, he might have had to earn the honour first. And," he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think he cleaned up after himself. Silenced witnesses. Took care of those who knew too much. Brooks, McLaggen. Maybe even you."
She stared at him. Then she laughed. "Draco? Are you sure? Well, he's changed, yes, but silencing the witnesses? He had nothing against Brooks. I heard she drowned, both literally and figuratively. And McLaggen? He..." she swallowed, pushing the images out of her mind. "He fell. But wasn't he tall and strong? And a year older? Draco couldn't have pushed him. I'm not saying Draco couldn't be... you know, after Brooks died, I heard him talking about her. He seemed to enjoy the thought of cruelty, yes, but he was also very stressed around that time. And there's no way I'd have learned anything interesting about Draco. I like to keep out of trouble and other people's business, you know?"
"You suspected him behind the attack on you, though," Potter reminded her. "You didn't want to marry him."
"True, because he seemed like the obvious suspect. Most people don't have mortal enemies, so they'll have to settle on people with a grudge. Draco might've had one. He might've wanted to get back at me for the whole contract business. He might've been sore about losing out on whatever he might've expected from it. Notice a pattern there? Professor Snape investigated and found no proof. I could have misread the situation. Draco showed no sign of hostility towards me as far as I can tell. Perhaps he just dropped the pretence once the contract was out of the way and he knew he would never have to marry me. That wouldn't have been strange, but something I could have read as resentment on his part instead of a completely natural development. And as for not wanting to marry him, yes, because I suspected he would have used the contract to his advantage. He might not have put up that much of a fight if Death Eaters had shown up to clear his path to the Greengrass wealth, no matter how little there actually is. Don't get me wrong, he has changed, yes, I think so too. Perhaps he has the personality to become a killer a dozen years down the line – after taking a few hits, perhaps – and I'm quite happy not being tied to and staying away from him. But both McLaggen and Brooks were suicides, otherwise the Aurors would have kept looking into it. They didn't. They must have found nothing to convince them to suspect foul play. Death Eater? Yes, that I can believe. Killer? No."
Potter looked at her with narrowed eyes, but didn't comment. "Well," he said, "Narcissa will have found a surprise waiting for her when she returned. I stopped at Gringotts on my way, you know? Disinherited her and her lot. Nasty piece of work to get it done properly, I can tell you that."
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Her lot?"
"Narcissa, Draco. Cut the ties to Lucius, of course. Bellatrix as well," Potter replied with a smile. "I don't want them around or have any claim. I would have loved to bring Andromeda back into the family, but didn't want to put her in any danger."
"So now you're the only Black left? So what will happen once you die?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he changed the subject. "Today wasn't all bad, though." He sent her a smile. "We looked very fetching."
She fought down the smile and instead settled for an eye-roll. He looked too smug for his own good. Yet she couldn't help but return the smile. "We did, didn't we?"
He glanced to the side for a moment. Then he fixed his eyes on her. "You looked..." he hesitated, before continuing his smile gone, "tired though."
Daphne had to keep herself from throwing her shoe. She knew he had wanted to say something else. He knew it as well. Why hadn't he simply said it? Why hadn't he simply given the compliment he had had on his mind? Had he thought she would have gotten angry? Did he want things to become awkward?
"I was. I still am. It was a busy day." She glanced around the room. The sun had set, and the only light source hung from the ceiling. She still found the room cosy, a nice little lover's nest, but slightly too old-fashioned for a bedroom. For her bedroom, she remembered, and it in turn reminded her of something.
"Potter, you..."
He chuckled. "Potter? Really? I mean, honestly?"
She pursed her lips. "During the negotiations, you said the Black family could offer the traditional house, but you never mentioned anything about it. We let it slide because it really doesn't matter these days and we were well-aware it's all just for show, but you still never elaborated."
"The house? Well, the Blacks do have the resources to pretty much buy any house they want, I guess. And I do own one, even if I don't live there. Once the war is done, I might renovate it, though. It is a Black property, after all. Been a while since anyone took proper care of it." He chuckled, lost in his thoughts. "I mentioned that during the negotiations, yes. I had forgotten about it."
"I'd just wondered about it," she replied, not pointing out the logical conclusion to the war being Potter dead and unable to do much about the house anyway. In any case, she had found something else to talk about and wasn't willing to get to bed so soon after their arrival. "So you don't live there, fine, but where do you live, then? You've seen my family's home today so I'm curious."
He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Right now, I'd say Hogwarts is my home. Has been since first year, really, despite all the trouble I've had there. You could say I've moved out of my previous place during the summer. With all that has been going on, I've been visiting friends lately."
"You're not very open about it," Daphne noticed. "But fine." She cast her eyes around, looking for another topic, but he beat her to it.
"Well, I guess we should get ready. It has been a long day." He stood up, walked over to one of the dressers and put some of his possessions on it.
Daphne sighed, but didn't say anything. If he wanted to prepare for sleep, then she wouldn't fight him. Just as she was about to voice her consent, Potter turned and came over to the bed. He too looked at the nightwear set out for them.
"All right, I'll just grab my stuff and make myself at home downstairs or in the other room. You can stay here. That might be..."
"Stupid," she finished. "I don't bite, and neither, I'm assuming, do you." Daphne was happy she sounded more confident than she felt.
Potter looked as if he wanted to argue, but finally shrugged. "Well, fine. How about a compromise? You keep the bed and I'll..."
"Take the sofa?" she interrupted, nodding towards the small two-seater. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I was about to say 'the floor', actually. I've slept on worse than that."
Rolling her eyes, Daphne took a deep breath, hating herself for what she was about to do. But she needed to be an average, reasonable young woman, even if that meant sharing a bed she had no more claim to than he. "Or we could simply both use the bed. It is big enough for two. Big enough for six, actually. You'll have one side and I the other and no one has to sleep on the floor. Honestly, are you afraid I'll ravage you in your sleep? Shouldn't that be my concern?" She tried a smile and hoped it looked less forced than she imagined.
Potter frowned, but stayed silent. His eyes roved over the bed, and Daphne could imagine him splitting the available space. Finally, he nodded shortly. "All right. We'll share then." He grabbed his pyjamas – a surprisingly small, grey two-piece – and left for the bathroom.
Once she heard the water running, Daphne shook her head in frustration. Why did he have to make it so complicated? What was his problem with sleeping in the same bed, albeit on different sides? And more importantly, why had she opened her mouth? Why insist on sharing the bed in the first place? If he wanted to sleep on the floor who was she to tell him otherwise? Why not let him leave the room completely? Then she would have had her peace and quiet. True, it might have drawn attention to her, but she would have been safe in the bed, with no trouble coming from him.
She jumped to her feet and started pacing. Perhaps if she told him she had changed her mind she could still have the bed or room all for herself? But no, that would just seem even more suspicious, wouldn't it? And she really didn't want him anywhere close to her business. No, she would just wait the night out. Or perhaps it wouldn't be so bad?
Her eyes moved around the room while she was thinking and came to rest upon a nondescript book she hadn't noticed before. It lay on the dresser where Potter had placed whatever he had with him. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she walked over to it. Potter had put some strange odds and ends there, she realized. There was a container of some strange substance she wasn't sure she wanted to know about, a Muggle notebook and two of these pencils she had seen Tracey use, one short and of some painted wood, the other unremarkable apart from a small dent in the middle.
The book Potter had put down however looked out of place with its leathery cover. Then again, she knew she had seen it before. The Weasley twins had given it to their friend a few hours earlier. So Potter had kept it on himself? Her curiosity mounting, she picked it up and opened it on a random page. A second later, she realized just what she was seeing in the colourful illustration and flung the book away from her.
How could anyone...? No normal witch or wizard could bend like that, of that Daphne was quite sure. Why had the twins even given Potter that book? Ah, who was she trying to fool? Of course they would have found it funny to no end. Had Potter as well?
The water stopped, and Daphne quickly walked back to the bed to get her own nightclothes. As she grabbed it, she regretted not having gone before Potter. The fabric really did feel wonderful, perhaps softer than anything she had touched before. The closest comparison she could think of was water, but then, water was liquid and not a dress.
"I'm done," Potter announced, walking into the room. She looked over to him. His pyjamas were a surprisingly good fit. Without robes like they wore around school, she got the first clear look at him and had to admit to herself that she had mistakenly thought him to be skinny. Judging by the pyjamas, he was actually more stringy; thin, but with the secret strength of a wild beast. Again her comparison to a cat came to her mind, and she had to agree with her previous statement –he seemed cat-like, in a sense. Well, he was a Gryffindor - a lion.
Daphne gave him a small nod and left to get ready herself. The bathroom was surprisingly modern and bright. But then, she reasoned as she stripped out of the wedding dress and showered quickly, she had grown accustomed to Hogwarts with its old and gloomy bathrooms as well as her family's home. Maybe she should have convinced her parents to rework their house, she mused. Surrounded by grey and drab colours, their mind might have suffered before their time.
Drying off, she looked in the mirror. It was nice to see her face staring back at her once again. She had agreed to the tight bun which had failed her in the worst possible moment, but only for the wedding. And she hadn't really thought all that make-up necessary for herself.
She brushed her hair and teeth, idly wondering about the selective adoption of Muggle inventions. They used a train to go to school, they had toothbrushes even though they also had spells and potions to regenerate the teeth; they used newspapers and photos, but refused many other Muggle ideas. Tracey had pointed it out in the dorm once much to Pansy's dismay.
The nightdress really was very nice, and she found her previous comparison with water reasonable – both flowed around her body closely. Whoever had organised it had done a brilliant job, and Daphne couldn't help smiling slightly. If it weren't so sinful, she might have considered wearing it often. It felt great around her, like a tender hug, somewhat similar to a second skin in some places and wide enough in others to inspire the fantasies of boys. Deciding that even if it was considerably more daring than she would have normally worn, it would still be alright for one night of sleep and maybe net her a good story about sleeping an arm-length away from a boy in scandalous clothing – definitely something she could embellish slightly.
Walking back into the bedroom, she found Potter sitting at the table, the notebook in front of him. He looked up when he heard her. The moment he saw her, his eyebrows shot up, and he stared while his mouth slowly opened.
"You approve?" she asked him with a smile and remembered to keep it for her next husband. If it worked with Potter, then surely others would like it as well.
He caught himself. Blushing, he averted his eyes much to Daphne's amusement. When he spoke, his voice was slightly higher than she was used to.
"It's nice," he admitted. Then, he shook himself and pointed towards the notebook. "I'll just have to write something down, and then I'm done."
"Well, that's fine. I'll just pick the better side." She pulled off the cover of one side, incidentally the one where her nightdress had been laid out for her before, and shook it out. Something fell from the folds to the floor. Daphne blinked, surprised by it, and threw the bedspread back on the bed.
As she picked up what had fallen, Daphne noticed that it was a card much like one would send with flowers. Lazily she flipped it open, expecting some teasing words from whoever had prepared the bedroom. She did find a message, but not one she had expected.
Death Eater attack, ten o'clock.
Daphne blinked, unwilling to understand the meaning. At first, she thought it was some practical joke. Surely that had to be it, right? Someone had played a prank? But no, an attack wasn't something to joke about. Perhaps it had been forgotten by the previous owner? But again, no, that made no sense. With each passing second, the truth sank in more until finally she shook her head in disbelief.
"A problem?" Potter asked from his place at the table.
She looked to him. Flipping the card to show him the written side, she heard herself say, "Death Eater attack, ten o'clock." Did she normally sound so strange? She knew it had been her voice, but somehow, it had sounded odd to her.
Potter was on his feet and at her side before she could come to a decision. He grabbed the note and looked it over. It gave Daphne time to watch him. For some reason, her mind was peculiarly calm, but then, it was probably the surreal nature of the situation. Potter's expression shifted as she looked on. At first, he seemed surprised and doubtful, which she could relate to. But then he frowned and glanced towards the window. The muscles in his jaw twitched.
And then he jumped into action. He turned on the spot. Nothing happened, and he glared at the wall. He walked over to the dresser and grabbed his few belongings.
"They've raised anti-Apparition wards. Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow. "Grab your wand."
Daphne stared back unthinkingly. "You think... you mean..."
"Well, I can't think why someone else would stop us from leaving by Apparition. Your wand, Daphne."
He was already at the door when she forced herself to move. It was like she had stumbled into someone else's life. One moment she was preparing for a night in the bed of her vacation home with her husband of seven hours, the next she was flung into danger? It had to be some joke, perhaps something the Weasley twins had thought up.
"The... the twins, the Weasleys might have..."
"If they are behind this, they'll have something coming for them. But we have to investigate it, at least. Daphne, your wand!"
Finally, she staggered to the wedding dress she had put upon a hanger by the door and pulled her wand from a fold. Then she followed him towards the stairs. Her mind had begun catching up with the situation. True, she still thought it had to be a joke, but at the same time, she also felt fear bubbling up in her. Potter was a prime target. One day, the Death Eaters had to catch up with him. Why should that day not have come already? Experimentally, she tried to apparate as well, but found herself unable to. Potter had been correct, someone had created an anti-Apparition ward, and the only reason she could think of was to keep them from escaping. To keep herself from panicking, she watched Potter.
He indeed moved like a cat. Even seeing him walk she couldn't hear him, and he constantly turned this way and that, checking the other doors on the landing. With a sudden jolt, she realized just whom she had married. Even though he was more than half a year younger than her, Potter was already familiar with threats upon his life. He had fought for it multiple times already; he had survived, not by pure luck as she had previously thought, but also in part due to his skills.
They had reached the stairs. He gestured something, and it took a moment until she understood his lowering left hand, followed by the two fingers to the left. She crouched down as he did and turned to her left as he faced right. Then they moved downstairs. Daphne's eyes scanned the dim room in front of her. Potter had assigned her the smaller part of the living room, the corner towards the back windows. Did he fear an attack from within the house?
Then he stopped abruptly, and she bumped into him. Potter stiffened. "Who found you... no, who brought you to the hospital wing?"
About to ask him whether he had lost his mind, Daphne heard someone growl behind her. "You're smarter than you look," the voice said, and she whirled around. In their living room stood Professor Moody just like she remembered him. "Though that doesn't really say much. Not bad, but still far too widely known, lad." The old Auror shook his head. "And you, Greengrass," he told her with a slightly mocking tone, "don't you have something to keep an eye on?"
"If it's so widely known," Potter countered, "then you won't have any trouble answering."
"Filius – Professor Flitwick to you – and before you ask, Dumbledore had sent for him since he wasn't there originally. Your turn. What did I want to show you two years ago? You know what I mean. If you are who you're claiming to be, that is."
"A photo from the original Order," Harry answered immediately, and rose from his crouching position. "Good to have you here. You're the security detail, I'm guessing?"
"Aye," Professor Moody replied, "but not so fast there. I'm almost convinced you are who you are claiming to be and I'm reasonably sure I'm me, but the Missy there I'm not so sure about. Think you could help me there, Potter?"
Daphne blinked. Surely the old professor didn't think she was someone in disguise? But Potter turned towards her, wand pointing directly at her. "Sorry, but he does have a point." He frowned, and Daphne could just imagine him searching for something no one else would know. Finally, he nodded. "What offer of yours got my attention in the end?"
She gaped at him. Did he honestly fling that secret out there carelessly like that? But out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Professor Moody targeting her. "Fine. To get back at Malfoy, that's what you mean, right?" She crossed her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow. "That's when you started to listen."
"It's her alright," Potter told the Auror with a nod.
"You agreed to a plan of hers, eh? Well, twice the reason not to trust her."
"You already trust no one and nothing," Potter pointed out.
"With good reason," Professor Moody growled. "Death Eaters are surrounding us. They've put up anti-Apparition wards and are waiting, likely for the signal. From what I can tell, there are about fifteen."
"I should feel honoured. Fifteen people, just for me. How nice of him to consider my feelings," Potter replied. "So they're trying to keep me from leaving, fine." For a moment, Daphne thought he looked like he wanted to simply walk out the front door.
"Aye. So here's the plan," Professor Moody began. "You got your wrapper with you?"
"Didn't fit under the robes and Mrs. Weasley didn't allow enchanting them," Potter replied. Daphne just looked on, not understanding what they were talking about.
"Just our luck," the old Auror growled. "Constant vigilance! Well, I have mine. You'll take it, it should be big enough for the two of you. I'll try to draw their fire and you'll slip past them. Do not turn back, do not try to help me, do not..." Professor Moody's eye swerved towards the door. "Well, that's bad." He looked towards Potter who narrowed his eyes before nodding in understanding.
"Well, not necessarily so," Potter replied with a hint of a smile of his face. "At least now we know who will lead the raid, even if it's no surprise. I'd even go so far as to say it'll give us an edge - know your enemy and all that. We'll just have to adjust your plan a bit, that's all."
"Oh?" Professor Moody said. "Let's hear it, then."
"I'd say they'll come with maybe six or seven, though I'm leaning towards the latter; enough to control both floors, yet not the full force. Also, magical number and all that, he's big on stuff like that - remember the Ministry? We'll just have to split them up, let's say, lure three or four upstairs and the rest guard down here. We can do that, can't we? Then we'd only have to slow them down once they try to come after us. I'll keep my head down and we'll all slip past whatever will be left outside. Should work, I think."
Professor Moody narrowed his eye. "Still not easy, but doable. If you can get them upstairs, that is."
"Hmm. Just give me a minute," Potter replied with a strange glint in his eyes. "I think I have just the idea."
"Hurry up then, I doubt they'll wait for us to get ready," the Auror told him.
Potter turned on the spot and ran back into the bedroom. Daphne followed him. It was strange, but she still preferred his company over that of the grizzled Auror. Additionally, if they were really attacked, she wished to stay as far away from it as she could manage. And she also had a question for Potter.
"You knew about him being here?" she accused.
Potter shrugged. "Not really. I'm just used to people watching over or following me. I guessed someone would be assigned as a guard for me. For us, I mean – help me, the table and the chair, on the bed with them." With a swish of his wand, the light went out. Instead and just a second later, a lamp in the corner lit, bathing the room in warm, but sparse light.
"All right," Potter said, and with a few points he drew the curtain at the foot of the bed closed and cast some spell on them. "The table, Daphne," he reminded her. Somewhat belatedly, she reacted and let the table fly on the bed, followed shortly by the armchair.
"Silence them, will you?" He told her, erecting a shield on one side of the bed. She blinked, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he waved his wand, and in front of her eyes, both pieces of furniture transformed. Only after the first squealed did she hastily do as he had told her.
"They're looking fine, right?" Potter asked her. "I mean, McGonagall could have done a better job, I think, but they are still..."
"Pigs, Potter?" she interrupted him.
He narrowed his eyes. Then, with a wave of his wand, lipstick appeared on one of the two pigs walking on the bed. With a flick, a smudge resembling a lightning bolt appeared on the other.
"Yeah, pigs. Similar weight compared to humans, and I know the spell. Should get the Death Eaters up here. They'll hate it," Potter told her with a grim smile. With a quick jab he transfigured the pillows into bread.
"The curtains, Daphne," he instructed indicating with his hand along the bed that was till open and unprotected, and she just did it. Meanwhile, he waved his wand and the curtains of the bed were drawn closed. With something of a lazy swish, he cast some spell on the curtains.
"That should keep them on there," he explained. "Let's go." Before she could ask him about it, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room. Behind her she could hear the pigs moving on the bed, but no sound from the animals itself, silenced as they were.
Potter pulled the door closed and grinned at her. "That ought to do it." Then he walked to the stairs.
She had to admit it was a good plan in theory. Once she ignored the knowledge that instead of two humans rolling around on the bed there were two literal pigs, it did sound like they were still in the bedroom... and active. She chose not to imagine Potter and herself causing the noise and instead followed him downstairs. Professor Moody stood in the centre of the room.
"Took your time, lad." He shook his head. "Let's hope your plan works, Potter, because they are gathering. They'll be here within two minutes, so here's the plan. I'll cast Disillusionment Charms on all of us - wrappers slip, charms don't. I'll know where you'll be," the retired Auror told them. "You take those on the left side while I'll deal with those on the right."
"So four down here, if I'm right. Two for each of us," Potter repeated, smiling.
"Aye, and that should be possible with the surprise on our side. If there's more, Missy will take the ones closest to the door and you those to the stairs. Should they do something clever and use magic to find us, we'll have to fight our way out of here, but I doubt it. Not without being ordered to, at least. Once the path is clear, we leave as fast as we can. Stun them, lad. No time for silly pranks. I've been busy myself and can't have them tip their friends off too early." Professor Moody smiled crookedly. "No pigs, but it will still slow them down the Muggle way. Once we're outside, head for the trees. Every once in a while, try to apparate. You two stick together, you hear me? Potter, you keep your head down and her out of trouble. I'm counting on you. If they notice something's off, I'll draw their fire, you leave. You hear me, lad? Leave, not wait around; don't try to help me. Getting you out of here is the only objective. And if you manage it, warn the others. I have a bad feeling about this."
Narrowing his eyes, Potter nodded.
"Got there as well, Potter?" Professor Moody asked, smiling. His eye whirled around towards the door. "They're coming."
He stumped over, and with a quick rap on the head, Daphne felt the spell take effect. As if someone had poured some thick substance over her head, it ran down her body. She watched as her hands became invisible, and suddenly, she found herself standing in a seemingly empty room. Yet she suddenly felt someone grab her shoulder and lead her to a support beam about halfway through the small room.
"Stay quiet," Potter's voice whispered somewhere to her right. "No matter what happens, not a sound."
She was about to scoff, but thought better of it. So Potter and Professor Moody wanted to do the dirty work? She didn't mind. If they managed their escape, then Daphne would be rescued. If they botched their attempt, then at least Daphne wouldn't be accomplice to their plan. As a pureblood, she would be reasonably safe, wouldn't she?
Yet she gripped her wand tighter. She had never been in a fight. She had never really opposed anyone, had kept her head down. It didn't really matter to her whether the Death Eaters won or lost. She had no business in this war. But despite all that, she suddenly found herself standing in her own house awaiting the Death Eaters attack. And why? Just because she had stupidly thought she could take advantage of the situation, could use Potter to get away from Malfoy and wait for the supposed Chosen One to die to free her up once more.
She snorted, and immediately felt a spell hit her from the right.
Potter. She opened her mouth and yelled at him, but no sound came. A silencing charm then. A smart choice, all things considered. She guessed Potter had used it on himself as well as she couldn't hear anything from him, not even the rustle of his clothes or breathing. Daphne thought about removing the spell on herself just to make a point, but before she could, the door opened and her heart stopped.
The Dark Lord walked in.
For the first time in her life, Daphne saw him with her own eyes. Bald, pale and thin, he was a dreadful sight with his missing nose. His face was still human-like to some extent, but the red, slitted eyes of which she had read and heard reflected none of the human mind that still inhabited the body. His skeletal hand shone in the dim room.
Every fibre of her being screamed for her to run away, to abandon her hiding place. Rarely did her fears take a form to flee from, and she wouldn't waste such a chance when they did. She wanted to leave; she wanted to escape, save herself; she was no hero and she was not suicidal, so she had no reason to stay. Another part of her demanded that she had to fling herself at the Dark Lord's feet and beg for mercy. She had heard he could be merciful to those who came to him. And really, she didn't want to fight him, she had no business in this war. He had nothing against her, did he?
More figures appeared. One by one they spread out in the room, until the Dark Lord was flanked by three of his followers on each side.
Seven, just like Potter had predicted.
And again she felt the impulse to flee. Would it work? They had nothing against her, she was a pureblood, and one who hadn't done anything to hinder them. Yet here she stood in her own house, with Potter and Professor Moody invisible somewhere and waiting for their opportunity and the Dark Lord and six of his followers opposing them. If a fight broke out, would she survive it? When curses were flying, would she be hit? Wouldn't it be better to surrender right from the start? This wasn't her fight, her war.
The sounds from upstairs echoed through the house.
Then the Dark Lord spoke, and another shudder ran through Daphne. No, he wouldn't be merciful, she decided.
"I will go to the boy." His cold, high voice was barely more than a whisper, but Daphne almost jumped back in fright. The Dark Lord turned slightly to one of his followers, a short, plumb one. "You shall witness it yourself, your work finally done after so many years. You will join me. You too," he told another. "I know how you feel about the boy. The rest of you will stay here and make sure we are not interrupted."
One of those to join him chuckled darkly, the sound faintly familiar to Daphne, but she couldn't place it. Her eyes were fixed upon the Dark Lord. She wanted look away, feared he might notice her otherwise, but she couldn't. She continued to stare at the Dark Lord, watching him as he sent his followers a cold smile that sent a shiver down her back.
"Let us congratulate the... happy couple," he hissed. One of the followers spat.
"Disgusting half-blood bastard, spawn of filth, dares to defile noble, pure blood."
The Dark Lord smiled coldly. "All the better, I say. The great Harry Potter, the Chosen One, slain stripped of all dignity. A just punishment for his arrogance, for trying to be something he is not." And he ascended the stairs, striding up as if it were his house. Daphne felt the warmth on her right side she hadn't noticed before leave as well. Potter had begun his move.
One of the Death Eaters left downstairs with them grunted to his comrades, and they split up.
The door upstairs was opened, and Daphne could imagine the three intruders approaching the bed. The game was almost done, she knew it, but what was Potter waiting for? She readied herself, wand pointed at one of the Death Eaters close to the door.
And then the Dark Lord spoke once more, his voice echoing through the house, drowning out the sounds from the bed.
"So we meet again, Harry Potter," he said, and just as he spoke, it happened.
Two bursts of red jumped through the downstairs room, not even five feet it looked like, and before Daphne's eyes had adjusted to the sudden flashes another two came, hitting the remaining Death Eaters. The targets had no time to react and crumbled to the ground. But they didn't fall and instead sank down slowly, held up by magic and men, Daphne guessed. They made no sound.
The Dark Lord spoke again.
"You have been very successful in escaping me in the past, slippery as I would have never expected a Gryffindor to be. Thrice you faced me like a man, and each time, luck was on your side. Others died in your place, but not today."
The pigs seemed to have noticed the presence in the room and had begun moving more, from the sound of it. So far, Potter's deception was working better than it should.
Daphne heard something swishing through the air, and a moment later, two of the armchairs in the corner moved slightly. "Let's get out of here," the gruff voice of Professor Moody came from somewhere close by.
As if awoken from a trance, she stumbled forward. Yet she wasn't quite sure whether she had really awoken or had not fallen asleep in fact. How else could this insanity be explained? Here she was, invisible, escaping her own house with Harry Potter – her husband – and Professor Moody, stepping over four downed Death Eaters while the Dark Lord gave a monologue to two pigs on a bed.
"What did you do, Moody?" Potter's voice said close to the door.
"Disillusioned tripping wire," came the reply, and Daphne hastened to join them. She didn't want to be anywhere near the house once the ruse would be uncovered.
And again the Dark Lord spoke. "Let it be known that Lord Voldemort is generous even to his enemies. I allowed you your last adventure. I am willing to let her go unharmed. Fear not, girl, for the Dark Lord will free you from this disgrace. Come forth and be a woman of honour once more."
Daphne almost stumbled as she imagined the Dark Lord talking upstairs. How long until he would lose his patience and just open the curtains? It was luck that the Dark Lord had apparently chosen to speak to Potter first, otherwise they would have never had the time to down the guards and leave.
Or had he known? Had he known the Dark Lord was coming? Daphne suddenly remembered Potter's and Professor Moody's fast planning earlier. The old Auror had said something about problems, and then Potter had offered a change of plans. Had he understood then that the Dark Lord had appeared? Professor Moody's eye could see through the walls, he could have seen the Death Eaters and their master preparing. But Potter had to have guessed it. He had foreseen the arrival of his arch-enemy, had he also foreseen the Dark Lord's actions? And he hadn't even thought that long about it. He had planned, had prepared the bedroom – where had Potter learned how to transfigure furniture into pigs anyway? – had downed two fully educated enemies. No matter what Draco said, there was more to Potter's accomplishments than mere luck, to do what she had seen only moments ago required true skill - not enough to stand a chance, though, she reasoned. No one stood a chance against the Dark Lord.
They stepped outside and Daphne made to run towards the trees.
"Slow down, Greengrass, or they'll see your distortion in the air," Moody's voice sounded from somewhere left, but nearby. "Potter, more left, try to grab her hand so you don't lose each other." She felt him grab her wrist.
"Is he still...?" Potter began, and the grizzled Auror replied, "He stopped monologuing just now, not long until they'll be on to us."
Daphne bit her lip. Of course the escape would fall apart on the last steps.
"There are Death Eaters ahead," Moody whispered.
"We'll confund them, send them to the left," Potter answered without any doubt in his voice.
Daphne strained her eyes. And then the forms of two men, broad and tall appeared out of the night, staring warily towards the house. They had to have seen the flashes of spellfire, Daphne realized, and were waiting for whatever would come.
Something rustled on both of her sides. Potter and Professor Moody had done the spells.
Without slowing down Potter continued, and Daphne thought she saw the shimmer of her former Professor to her left. But true to the plan, the Death Eaters looked at each other.
"Trick of light, I suppose," one of them croaked.
"We're too far right, I think," the other one replied. Both stumbled left, leaving an opening in the circle.
Behind them, a shrill cry rose. The Dark Lord had finally noticed the deception. Almost immediately, the two Death Eaters stopped in their tracks. As if in reply, the shimmering form to the left sped up. The form became clearer, the disillusionment incapable of complete concealment at that speed. Potter hastened his steps as well. They were leaving; they were escaping the Dark Lord.
"They're escaping!" his voice rang through the darkness. Daphne's blood ran cold. She had just made an enemy. She stumbled in shock, her legs giving way. Potter's grip grew painful. She yelled soundlessly, but felt herself pulled to her feet.
"Find them! Find Potter!" the Dark Lord yelled. All around, Death Eaters were scrambling, trying to find the elusive targets.
Then another voice joined the din. Potter's. Magically magnified, it came from everywhere.
"Too slow!"Potter cackled. All around, the Death Eaters froze in their movement, too shocked to continue.
"Find them!"
"Too slow!" Potter repeated, louder than before. She would have guessed he had been a good way to their left. "Way ahead of you!"
"He's over there!" the Dark Lord shouted. "Travers, get him!"
Spells flew. Something sickly yellow hit a tree that burst into flames. And in the light, Potter's shimmering form was visible. He pulled Daphne along as she stumbled after him.
A rough hand gripped Daphne's arm forcefully. She yelled in shock and pain, still silenced. Spells flew their direction –red, yellow, purple –but with a sudden jerk, she felt her feet leave the ground and herself pressed through a tight tube. Only moments later, she stumbled forward. The hand let go and she fell to the hard ground.
"Are you out of your mind?" Moody yelled. "Have you lost that tiny bit of common sense?"
"He wants to kill me anyway," the boy replied, bent over at Daphne's side from the sound of it. "And with him yelling at his followers, they missed, didn't they?"
"We were almost out of there. Never do that again, do you understand me? Have you not learned from Black's mistake? This is deadly business; this is war, not a game."
Potter straightened up. "I know, I..."
"Then learn from it! For a moment, for a small moment I thought you had potential. And I don't mean those spells or want to know where you learned them. Your plan, I mean; you, I mean. Potential, yes! But you botched it at the end. You botched it because you are too much like them, too bold to care for your safety."
Daphne sat back on her heels. They had landed on some road in the forest. She saw neither of the other two as the disillusionment once more concealed them. The grizzled Auror sighed from somewhere close.
"Lad, this is not my war. I can't do all the thinking around here. Albus told me you had brains. He smiled at me when I told him I'd be there, like he thought I'd waste my time." He stopped. "I'm fearing he was right, that I am wasting my time with you. You botched it because you are too much like Black – too confident, too cheeky, too entertained by the thrill. You were there, haven't you learned anything at all from it? But you don't listen, you don't think, just like Black, like your father."
"Don't insult my father," Potter's voice spoke. He sounded eerily calm.
Professor Moody growled. "Not my fault if you can't accept the truth. He was just like Black. No, he was worse, actually, trick spells and no discipline. Black was an idiot, but he knew his stuff and didn't shy away from the harmful spells if necessary. He knew cruelty well enough, and even if he didn't use them, Black also knew about the Dark Arts. Your father was a risk for any mission, childishly endangering everyone around him."
"Shut up," Potter hissed. This time, he didn't sound so calm.
"All that potential, both of them, if only they had kept their heads! If only they had stopped their madness!" Professor Moody stopped once more. "You liked them, huh?" His voice cracked. "Like them all you want, but choose what to learn from them. James was willing to sacrifice everything for those he loved. But he wasted his immense talent because he hid from the painful reality of war in his little world, because he didn't take this seriously and treated it like a game. Black? If only he had kept his head! Learn from it! Don't play with your enemy! Haven't you seen what may happen if you do? Haven't you used that same fact against your enemy mere minutes ago? I thought you were smart, had potential."
"I get it," Potter spat.
Silence settled as both invisible men stared in each other's direction. Daphne had listened intently, had picked up something. James had been Potter's father, obviously. And Black had to be Sirius Black who had died over a year ago on Ministry premises. She hadn't known Potter had seen it happen. Sitting on her heels, she felt the stinging on her knees and hands where she had hit the ground and had scraped her skin.
"I hope so," Professor Moody said. "Now let's continue what we have started. I'll go ahead and inform anyone I can find. Keep your head down. Whatever you hear – or see – don't show your face. Don't rush into action. Don't repeat the mistakes of the past."
"I get it," Potter growled.
"Lie low until this is sorted out," the old Auror said. Then he disappeared with a quiet Pop!, leaving behind two still invisible young adults.
Daphne struggled to her feet, staring into the night. Naturally, she didn't see anything. With a wave of her wand, she quickly cancelled the silencing spell, ready to agree with Professor Moody and add her more cunning view on the matter. But the words changed somewhere on the way to her mouth.
"I want to go home before my family hears about it," she spoke, surprising herself with the slight scratch in her tone. "I will go home to my family. I should be reasonably safe there as long as I don't do anything stupid," she announced. "And you will lie low."
He sighed. "They'll be delighted to have you back, I'm sure."
She noticed the sadness in his voice. Professor Moody's words must have had a greater impact on him than she had guessed. In the back of her mind, she wondered about that. Did it have the result because of what had been said? Potter clearly didn't like hearing someone criticize his father and... Black, whatever he had been to Potter. But on the other hand, she had also noticed just how familiar Potter seemed to be with Professor Moody. Perhaps it had stung more to get a dressing down from him?
She was brought out of her reverie when she felt something warm step closer. "Daphne?"
"Yes?" she replied, ignoring his use of her first name.
Something poked her hand. She grabbed it, feeling a wooden surface of a long and thin object. He let go, having handed it over.
"Take it with you. Just a precaution. It's a beacon. Break it and I'll know that you're in trouble."
"I can take care of myself, you know? Unless I'm dragged around on some hare-brained escape plan, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. And were you not told just moments ago to keep your head down and out of trouble?"
"Who do you think I'll send for you when that beacon is activated?" Potter asked, a smile in his voice. "Just do me the favour, alright? These people aren't joking around."
"Unlike you?" she replied, regretting her words immediately.
"Yes, unlike me." His reply had a bitter tone to it. "Believe it or not, but I don't like people getting into trouble because of me, and that includes you from now on."
Rolling her invisible eyes, she nodded. A moment later, she said, "Fine. I'll do you the favour. But don't think I won't come collecting sooner or later." Daphne hesitated, before she continued, "I'd better go now. You'll see; I'll be fine the next time we'll meet." Then, after another moment, she added as an afterthought, "Good luck." Spinning on the spot before he could reply, she apparated away.
She stumbled slightly upon arrival. Still invisible, she made her way over to the mansion. Her eyes wandered over the building, locked on the dark windows. Then she glanced over in the direction of her vacation home. Clear in the night the red of a fire shone over the treetops. She should have known they wouldn't let it untouched, and it didn't matter all that much. Yet she still felt a slight sting, felt the loss of her first, own home.
Once she had reached the door, she knocked and waited for someone to open her, wondering just how she should explain the events of the night and vowing to never mention Potter's ridiculous plan and taunts to the Dark Lord.
Took him long enough to show his face. As if it hadn't been obvious, I shifted the attack from Bill and Fleur's wedding to Harry's and altered it slightly. I considered it more appropriate. Voldemort is big on symbolism, after all. Anyone wondering just how advanced Harry is right now, it's six months of integrating about three years of Riddle's memories with a few additional tidbits right at the time of the merge, so it equals a Riddle in the mid-twenties. Daphne is seventeen and eight months, and Harry is seventeen and two weeks, give or take.
