Posted 4/16/2014

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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 Thirty-Two - The Unexpected Visit

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After Daphne's declaration, she spent the rest of the day getting her new room in shape and relaxing. While it didn't sound all that complicated, Daphne still found herself struggling with the room, unsure what to make of the derelict appearance. It had been Granger who had led her to it as if it were her house. It wasn't, yet she still seemed to be responsible for these little matters neither boy could be bothered with.

"It's just better this way," Granger had said with a sigh when Daphne had pointed it out.

She was probably right about that, Daphne mused, as she shifted the chair to the corner. The room wasn't bad in and of itself. It was about the same size as Granger's, and Daphne was more than happy not to have to share with the Muggleborn witch, but she also noticed the same drab colour on the walls, the mouldy smell, and the missing pictures and decorations all around. It was not a bad room for that reason even though Daphne had rarely been in worse or gloomier places. It was the emptiness that troubled her. At Greengrass Manor, she had had a room for herself, true, but it had been light, with windows overlooking the garden and open spaces to unfold in. Yet her current room was not only devoid of decoration, but also of care, in a way. It was obvious the house hadn't been properly cared for in a while. The old house-elf from the kitchen would have been responsible for the place, but he seemed to have neglected his duties somewhat. As a result, Daphne would have to renovate the room, trying to make it more welcoming.

It wasn't just the room that had been neglected, though. The house itself had spots where someone had tried to do something. Weasley had mentioned cleaning a room in the house, but he hadn't explained further. Potter had talked briefly about doing something with the hallways. Some places looked as if someone had worked on them a while ago, but whoever it had been –Potter and his friends, probably, since it was his house –had not finished it. What was left was a house showing the failed attempt at care and cleaning. It wasn't yet a ruin, but it also lacked proper attention. What had that elf done? Carrie had managed just fine, and the properties were comparable.

Somewhere in the house, someone moved about. Daphne guessed it might be Granger restoring her room to whatever it had been before being turned into an infirmary. For a moment Daphne wondered where Granger had slept during the last days, but put it out of her mind. It was of no consequence. Instead, pushing the table aside with a flick of her wand, she thought about her options for the future. It had been the truth when she had said Malfoy had made the decision for her. She wouldn't join his side willingly and would try to oppose him. That naturally meant that she also opposed the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord for the time being. How could it have come to this? Less than a week ago, she hadn't cared for the war. Now she was an unwilling participant of it. Now she had allied herself with a side instead of staying out of the trouble, and it wasn't really the winning side. All her work, all her planning and the care had been for naught. If she had known where it would lead beforehand, she never would have suggested the absurd marriage plan. Marrying Potter had seemed like a smart idea to get away from Malfoy, and it had worked, but distancing herself from Malfoy had also meant raising the boy's suspicion, apparently; that had put her in the danger she had tried to avoid in the first place. At least she hadn't outright joined Potter's rebels.

What should she do? Daphne wasn't sure. She was stuck, hidden with the resistance in a house that at least seemed safe. But at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder how long she would have until the final confrontation. And then? She could throw her wand away, surrender to the Dark Lord. She hadn't done anything to offend him. But then, she would also be caught with the Dark Lord's worst enemy and couldn't hope for mercy. She couldn't hope for the Dark Lord's understanding, could she? No, she needed to put her hope in the resistance, specifically, their ability to survive long enough. In Potter, in Granger, in Weasley – whatever he did – and their comrades.

And herself. Malfoy had made her part of the resistance as well, yet she didn't feel any stupider or more reckless than before. For some reason she had imagined the resistance to be made up of daredevils, of foolish, misled simpletons. Yet she wasn't, and surely some of the others weren't either. So how would she have to proceed from now on? In the past, she had tried to keep herself out of trouble and away from either side. But with her now believed to be on a side – if only temporarily – things might have to change. She had kept away from Potter since the winter break, and no one in their right mind would have assumed them to be anything more than tied to each other by bad luck. As far as everyone knew, she didn't care for Potter, his friends, his side, his motives, his goals or his life.

That thought stopped her in her tracks, yet she couldn't deny it. She wanted her revenge. She wanted to survive the insanity of war. Anything else was of little importance to her. Perhaps he would survive somehow, and then she'd have to deal with him, but for the moment, her revenge came first.


Daphne spent the next day mostly recovering from her injuries. The scars on her body were no longer troubling her apart from the occasional tingle of the still slightly sensitive skin, but she could live with that. However, the eye was still regenerating. A quick peek when she had been to the bathroom had shown her a new sight, and one she still didn't want to force on anyone. The proto-eye, as she had begun to call it, had grown to almost the right size, but it seemed even worse. The flesh in the eye-socket looked festering, or maybe she imagined it with the putrid smell and sickly slime coming from it. Some spots looked close enough to human to make her wonder just how close it would resemble a real eye in the end, but at the same time, she thought she could see something twisting and turning inside like writhing worms. The strange veins around the socket had become more pronounced.

The healing seemed to have taken more out of Daphne than she had initially thought, or maybe it was a step in the creation of her new eye, but despite herself and for some reason, she had slept more than twelve hours in the strange, empty room that was to be hers once she would be finished with fixing it up.

The meals had been a quiet affair. Potter and Granger had made awkward attempts at conversation, but Weasley had sent Daphne distrustful glances without really talking much. Daphne for her part had participated as little as possible and mostly given evasive answers. After a while, they had given up. Potter had begun looking off into the distance every once in a while. Weasley and Granger had exchanged meaningful glances, but kept silent as well. And even though they had somehow ended up on the same side for the time being, Daphne had had no interest in starting any conversation of her own. They had their worries; she had hers.

The next morning began in a similar manner. Granger had come into Daphne's room to check on the injuries. Mostly healed, Daphne didn't mind the other girl's presence much. Granger was not a certified healer and her inquisitive stares unnerved Daphne, but the visit had been short with Granger leaving in better mood and Daphne getting properly dressed for the day in an old robe Granger had found somewhere. It too, like most of the house, had been smelling slightly mouldy – or maybe Daphne just thought it had – but at least it fit decently.

The breakfast was even quieter than the day before. Weasley sat in a corner watching the elf warily. Granger on the other hand had brought a book with her and read. Potter wasn't there, but neither of the other two teens made any attempt to find him.

Shortly after half past nine, something moved upstairs in the house. Daphne wouldn't have paid any attention to it, but Weasley and Granger jumped to their feet as if stung, probably associating something of importance with the sound. Both had their wands out and advanced towards the stairs with Weasley leading and Granger using him as a living shield. So it hadn't been Potter, Daphne thought, following as well out of curiosity. The way Weasley and Granger moved reminded Daphne a bit of Potter during their escape on their wedding night. But then, his friends had probably received the same training, so it wasn't that unusual to find them moving like him. It still raised the question why anyone would spend time on three teens.

Daphne lagged a bit behind, her own wand hidden in her sleeve. She wasn't expecting a fight, but if Weasley and Granger were wary, she didn't want to stay put in a room like the kitchen with no other exit. Should a fight break out with whoever had made the noise, she stood a better chance of escaping if she wasn't stuck in a dead-end. Should a fight break out, Weasley and Granger fighting would hopefully grant a better chance to slip past.

Weasley lead them further up the steps, and from what Daphne could tell, he did a decent job. At least he was big enough to provide cover for Granger. Finally reaching the ground floor, they slipped further down the hallway and towards a lonely figure standing close to the stairs.

"You can't sneak up on me, Hermione, Ron," a man said, and Daphne recognized the voice, even though he sounded tired. She relaxed slightly, yet Granger and Weasley didn't.

"That's no proof of your identity," Granger gave back, moving to stand next to Weasley. "Even if Polyjuice Potion is out of the question, it could still be a spell."

"That would be a lot of work to trick all of your senses. Or I think it would be, at least. Fine, question me, then," Mr. Lupin said.

"What did you tell me when you wanted to talk to me in third year?" Weasley asked.

"Not bad, Ron, even though it is a bit general," Mr. Lupin replied. " Someone could have overheard said talk. Or I could have talked to someone about it, for example your parents. I talked with you about your Boggart. It reminded me of a creature you shouldn't be familiar with. You assured me it had been a coincidence. You lied, not knowing I would see right through it. But like I said, a bit general."

"How about this?" Granger said. "When we ran into each other on the 16th of August, we had a talk, you and me, before everything. What was it about?"

"Better, but still not perfect. It will do, though," the werewolf answered. "You asked me why the transformation of my friends had worked, and whether it would have protected them, had something gone wrong. I replied that no case of both happening had been known; every werewolf trying to learn it after the fact had failed and no Animagus was ever bitten as far as I know. My turn, just to be on the safe side. What did I say to you, Hermione, on that day about Harry's parents?"

The girl relaxed. "And that's supposed to be any better? Anyway, you said his mother would have loved to have been there, after giving both him and his idiot father a serious dressing down for not paying attention when he signed that donation. You also said just how happy you were Sirius wasn't around or the whole wedding would have been a disaster. Also, that Harry had been a lot calmer before the wedding than either of his parents – Sirius had been busy keeping Mr. Potter company. Mrs. Potter – then Miss Evans, of course – had called you the night before, alternating between calling it off and not wanting to wait."

"Indeed. I'm assuming Harry is upstairs somewhere?" The werewolf glanced towards the stairs.

Weasley shrugged. "Likely, yeah. Haven't seen him in the last two hours or so. Why did you come? Something the matter?"

Mr. Lupin sighed. "How about we find Harry? And somewhere a little more... comfortable than the hallway, if you don't mind." He pointed towards the empty spot on the wall. "I must say, Harry has already done the world a huge favour there. I doubt anyone would mind her being gone."

"Kreacher does," Weasley replied. "But then, who cares about that nasty piece of..."

"Ron!" Granger interrupted him.

"Let's find Harry, all right? Ah, Miss... I mean, Mrs. Greengrass," Mr. Lupin said, nodding towards her. "I'm glad to see you alive and well. How are you doing?"

She forced herself to smile. "Fine, thank you. And how are you?"

He replied with an equally strained smile, "Also fine, thanks." He glanced to Granger who nodded almost imperceptibly. That seemed to have given him the answer he had been searching for. He turned and led them up the stairs, and he too acted as if it were his house.

Daphne followed, unsure what else to do, but curious about the visit. Slowly, a picture began to form in her mind as she thought about what she had heard. So Mr. Lupin had been friends with both Mr. Potter and the late Sirius Black – she had known about the former friendship, but the latter was surprising – and his friends had undergone the Animagus transformation that had Granger thinking about the consequences of getting bitten by a werewolf. The reasonable assumption was that Potter and Black had, for whatever reason, been close to Lupin during a full moon.

Daphne had to agree with Granger – it did sound like an interesting question. Did the Animagus transformation somehow influence the werewolf curse? Daphne doubted it, but then, she was also no expert on the matter.

They reached the first landing, and Mr. Lupin entered the drawing room. Daphne hadn't been in there yet; Granger had only pointed it out when she had led the new arrival to the bedroom. Walking in, she found Weasley going over to a chair by the window. Even from the door Potter's hair could be seen sticking up behind the back. Granger and Lupin meanwhile stood around watching the redhead approach his friend.

Weasley bent low, whispering something to the other boy, and Potter rose from the seat. Turning around, he rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Sorry, I was just taking a nap. Lupin?" he addressed the werewolf. "What brings you here?"

"Well, I had to come, I had to see you. The others said you were doing all right, but I... Sorry that I didn't come earlier, but..."

"It's fine," Potter waved off, stepping to Granger's side. Weasley stood behind her, towering over her.

"Yes, of course. I came here as fast as I could, I thought... well, yes. You have caused a bit of a stir, Mrs. Greengrass," he said towards Daphne, causing her to raise an eyebrow. "Yes, you have. I'm not sure what will happen, but..." He sighed. "Time will tell, I guess. Greyback let slip something happened at school, but he didn't tell the full story. He seemed to think it was funny, though, which is never a good sign."

"Greyback?" Granger asked, blinking. "You're still doing that?"

"Naturally, Hermione. Even with Dumbledore dead and the problems we are facing, we still have to do what we can to stop the Death Eaters' advances. I can't abandon my post just like that. Not that I'd have anywhere to go, but you get the meaning. I have to do what I can to stop the madness. I need to keep an eye on him and maybe talk some sense into the others. Frankly, this is no longer about us or them, this is something that needs to be done." He ran a hand through his hair. "Greyback is looking to rile the werewolves. I think he is growing anxious just sitting around. He doesn't have the get-go, but... I think he might start something soon. He's growing restless, wants to fight, and a restless werewolf... I have to try to talk as many of my brethren out of it, and some of them or more level-headed than people give them credit for, but there are rumours that the Ministry is preparing something. Maybe they'll write some new law to go against werewolves – if so, then our enemies are playing one side against the other, trying to cause further anger among the werewolves. Meanwhile, Greyback claims they're planning something for Muggleborns soon, and he wants in. Maybe he just wants to increase our numbers, but it doesn't matter that much. He thinks the Ministry is up to something; I fear he is right. One way or another, the werewolves are being recruited." He shook his head dejectedly.

"But enough about me. How have you been keeping up? Molly will surely question me without end, should I run into her. She'd have come, but they are being watched constantly – we all are, of course. Are you eating well?"

"It could be better," Granger replied. "But I guess we are both getting by and better at improvising. Also, Kreacher can go out and fetch what we need. Don't worry about us, we are tough. We know how to survive, and we are safe here."

The werewolf nodded. "That's good to hear. Well, I guess I should get to the point of my visit. It might be nice to see you all, but... I didn't come here for that alone. I felt... May we could have a private word, Hermione?"

Before they could move, she grabbed both Potter and Weasley's wrist. Daphne decided to duck out of the room. A private word with the Muggleborn meant for her to leave. It didn't affect her, whatever it was, and the farther she stayed away from that talk, the less likely she would get involved. Just as she closed the door behind her, she caught the eye of Mr. Lupin and hastened to get away from the drawing room.

Late in the afternoon, Daphne left her room again. She had taken a nap, or had tried to at least, since she had felt tired and had wanted to get away from the constant prickling in her eye. But no sleep had come to her. Instead, she had rolled around on the bed, trying to block out any sound she might hear. But around five, her hunger won out and she went to find something to eat. She might have tried calling the cranky house-elf – she was his mistress, after all – but figured a venture out into the house wouldn't be a bad idea.

As she approached the kitchen door, she heard voices coming from the room and slowed down.

"Look, Harry, I'm not saying I don't understand, but..."

"Yes, I get it," Potter replied, sounding odd to Daphne's ears. "I understand her just fine. There is nothing we can do, though. We're stuck here, and even if we weren't, what could we do? I understand her just fine, but..." He sighed. "There is nothing to be done about that. Leaving now, with all of this trouble going on... I don't know, it's... not wise. There's little she can do, is there?"

Daphne could imagine him shrugging helplessly. But she disagreed with Potter. She couldn't see the problem with it. From the moment she had left the drawing room, she had known something had to have happened with Granger's family. It made sense, even though Daphne couldn't understand where their old Defence professor came into the picture. Daphne understood Granger's worries and anguish; she knew it from experience. But then, maybe that was what Potter had meant? Daphne knew loss, so maybe she could understand it for that reason? With that experience, it might be easier to understand Granger's situation.

It didn't matter to her, Daphne decided. She sped up her steps and purposefully walked into the kitchen. Both boys fell silent at once and watched her.

"Mr. Lupin is gone?" she asked them.

"Had to leave, yes," Potter replied. Daphne noticed his wrinkled clothes.

"So he's part of your little group of rebels?" She didn't look at them. Instead, she grabbed a bowl from a cupboard and took some of the stew she found made on the stove.

"We are not rebels," Potter said, carefully weighing his words. "And he's not part of my group; he's a friend of ours. He was friends with my parents and Sirius – Black, that is – so he feels connected to and responsible for me and in extension my friends as well. That's why he felt the need to come in person and not let others be the bearer of bad news. Also, better to hear the truth from him than some exaggeration from others. He hopes you will get well soon, by the way; he told me that."

"Does he?" she asked with a shrug. "I think he looked worse than I did, but it's the thought that counts, I guess. So he's with his kind, then?"

"No, he isn't with wizards," Weasley spat defiantly. "And what he does or where he is doesn't concern you, Greengrass." He grumbled something, but Daphne only caught something about thrown. She knew what he meant, though.

"Don't trust me, do you?" she countered. "Well, and here people always say you're stupid. It's not my fault Mr. Lupin decided to speak about his job in my presence. But it doesn't matter to me whether you trust me or not. I already told you – all three of you – that I did not choose to be here. If it were my choice, I would stay as far away from you as I could. That includes you as well, Potter. Unfortunately, I don't have that choice. I'm stuck here just like you. I have people after me, so no matter how confrontational you are, I won't simply walk out of here.

"But it's obvious where Mr. Lupin is even without being told – with his kind, the werewolves. And I have to give it to him; I wouldn't have thought him to be so gutsy. If I can figure it out, then so will the others. If he tries to talk them out of bloodshed, it will be his that will be the first to be spilled. Werewolves aren't known for their brilliant mind, are they? If Greyback gets them on his side, then the words of one won't really matter all that much. And Greyback does promise them what they wish for, doesn't he?" She grabbed a spoon.

"They're Voldemort's words and empty promises," Potter pointed out. Daphne kept from twitching.

"Does it matter?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "From what I've read, as long they they are promised prey, werewolves likely won't mind either way."

And she left them to think about her words. But just as she was about to reach her room, Granger stumbled out of the bathroom. Their eyes met as both were frozen to the spot, unsure what to do.

"Lupin left," Granger said, breaking the awkward silence. "He hopes you'll get better soon."

"Potter said so, yes," Daphne replied. "I ran into him in the kitchen. Someone made stew."

It was stupid, really, but Daphne was torn between fleeing into her room and walking over to the other girl. Two minds were battling within her; on one side, her kindness struggled to get her to do what would be right, and on the other, her years of life experience told her to keep away. Slytherins didn't share feelings, not with strangers. And strangers they were, Granger and her. What did they know about each other? Very little apart from the obvious and whatever they had picked up at school. But more than simple attitude from her House at school, Daphne also didn't like the idea of getting close to the other girl. Her dorm mates were one thing, they spent years together; they shared their secrets because they had to in order to survive their time so close to each other. But Granger and she didn't need to. Worse, Granger might see it as an invitation to poke around in Daphne's life.

And yet, something in Daphne reminded her Granger would probably be one of the few girls she would meet in the next weeks or even months, and vice versa – the only halfway intelligent person. Had the Muggleborn really stayed weeks already with only Potter and Weasley as company? Daphne felt herself pitying Granger, unsure who would have been worse had she been in that position. Part of her yelled 'Weasley', knowing him to be more boorish, but her personal feelings tended towards Potter. If she had been stuck with both of the boys for weeks, she would have found Potter more annoying. Maybe Daphne should... but no. No, she had to keep her head down, had to keep away from them. Not her problem, Daphne told herself.

"Stew sounds nice," Granger said with a shrug. "I'm not really hungry, though."

"Well, I doubt Weasley will eat it all. There was quite a bit left," Daphne replied, leaning slightly to the side. The bowl was starting to get too hot to hold for long.

"He won't," Granger agreed. Then, as if waking from a dream, she blinked. "I didn't thank you," she spoke, but there was an odd tone in her voice. "I didn't thank you for giving us our privacy. I don't think it was strictly necessary, but thank you nevertheless, Greengrass."

Daphne didn't particularly like Granger, yet she hated the dejected voice the girl had spoken with. She seemed weak, vulnerable, and neither was appropriate to show to the world. Pushing the image of an empty, gloomy hall out of her mind – an easy image to conjure in the equally depressing hallway – Daphne forced herself to reply.

"Don't think about it. You took care of me. Not intruding into your business is the least I could do to repay you," she explained. "And thank you for healing me in the first place."

"It was nothing. It's what everyone would have done, it's what my..." she stopped, blinking. Then, a moment later, she spoke again. "Six years I have been Harry's friend. Each time we talked about it, he gave me that look. I guess I finally understand him a bit better." She paused. A single, humourless laugh escaped her. "Heh. So that's what it feels like."

Daphne shifted on her feet. "I'm sorry for your loss." And she meant it. But she stopped herself from offering her help. It wasn't her business.

"Oh, you must have misunderstood," Granger said. "They survived, they weren't there, but... I can't help thinking about what could have happened. I hadn't expected them to become targets. Ron did, though. Ron! Well, it's more that I hadn't wanted to acknowledge the truth – that they'd be targets. But I guess he was right; my existence puts them in danger. They're dentists, you see? They're healers for teeth, nothing more, so it has to be because of me. And my parents... I guess we were lucky, but... I didn't expect they'd..." She shrugged once more, seemingly careless, but Daphne could see through the act. "Or that I'd learn about it like that. Why didn't they tell me? We've seen each other during the holidays. No, I had to learn about it as an afterthought to bad news."

"Well," Daphne declared, "bad things happen sometimes," she added, remembering the same words being spoken to her years ago. "It has nothing to do with you, though."

Granger laughed and fixed Daphne with a look that sent shivers down her back. "Nothing to do with... that's a good one. Nothing to do with..." A muscle in her jaw jumped. "Death Eaters, looking for me. They came after my parents. It's only luck they weren't at home, but..." Her tone got steely. "I'm stuck here with Ron and Harry while my mother is... somewhere. I don't even know where she went, and I can't search for her. And all I know is that my father is not with her anymore – 'On vacation,' Lupin called it. What happened? I don't know. I can't ask them. If things had gone just a bit differently, I could be an orphan now. If they hadn't..." She broke off, blinking. "They could have died if things had gone just a little bit different. It was luck that saved them, nothing more; they survived because they weren't there, they weren't there because they... Even so, they are my parents, they should have told me. There had to be some kind of... hint, I guess, something telling them something was amiss, that it didn't... work out any more?

"And now it has saved their lives, so shouldn't I be happy? And yet... They could have died, all because of me. Instead, Roberts – looking after the house, you know, good neighbour that he is..." She shook her head, collecting her thoughts. "So never tell me, Greengrass, that this has nothing to do with me because I know I'm the reason it happened in the first place."

Daphne was once more torn between multitudes of impulses. Part of her – a shamefully large part – wanted to flee, but others told her to get help or comfort the other girl, eat the stew, watch on impassively, agree with the Muggleborn, laugh, pity, scoff, explain, console, slap or lead the other girl away. Was it Granger's fault her parents had split? Daphne doubted it, but she could see the story unfold in front of her eyes – a failed attack on the Grangers, but they hadn't been home. 'Instead, Roberts...' Granger had said. So instead of her parents dying, it had been a neighbour who had paid the price for Granger's existence. Guilt – ah, that was tricky to live with.

Daphne didn't answer though, as behind her, Potter appeared on the stairs. "I thought I heard raised voices," he spoke up, the lie coming easily from his lips. With how loud Granger had shouted, he had to have heard more than raised voices, but Daphne was very willing to let it slide.

It wasn't her business, she told herself, walking into her room as behind her, Potter talked quietly to his friend. Feeling no longer hungry, she put the stew on the table for later. It wasn't her business, Daphne told herself. She wasn't friends with them; she didn't care for either of them. It didn't affect her, did it? And even if it was sad, it was neither her fault nor her responsibility to think about it. It had little to no meaning for her, Daphne decided, putting the bowl on the table and throwing herself on her bed, frustrated with the situation and Granger and herself.

Again and again Granger's words echoed in her mind – guilt, Daphne knew – but as the evening drew on and the darkness pressed in on Daphne, the words were accompanied by flashes, memories of loss and feelings of betrayal that became clearer and clearer. Tears threatened to spill from the right eye while the rancid smell filled the air.

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Daphne rose from the bed. Ignoring the long since cold stew and the voice in the back of her head urging her to reconsider, she stepped into the dark and silent hallway. With quick steps she reached the other girl's door and knocked.

No reply came.

Daphne knocked again, louder this time.

No reply came.

Resisting both the urge to give the door a fierce kick or simply storm in, Daphne turned on her heel and returned to her room, reprimanding herself under her breath. Not her business, she reminded herself.


The next morning was by far the most subdued. When Daphne arrived in the kitchen, she found it empty for the first time since her arrival. In fact, not even any signs of used cutlery could be seen. It was almost as if she had entered a completely deserted house, or maybe a world without anyone except for her. Even the house-elf wasn't around. She had half a mind to call him to see what would happen and have another face around, but she stopped herself.

She made herself a small breakfast, or as good of one as she had learned as a child. Thinking about the dependence upon house-elves and their ever-present help, she finished rather quickly and left for her room. Having eaten and with the sun filtering into the room instead of shadows and fears haunting her like they had done during the night, she finally drifted off into a restless sleep. She spent a few hours somewhere between waking and slumber before decorating the room some more.

Luckily, the growing eye seemed to have calmed down to little more than a prickle which Daphne could ignore if she chose to. With her healing mostly finished, she began feeling restless and thought about the necessary steps and the future again. Where would she go, what would she do? She had been forced into a new situation, forced into the resistance movement and knew what she wanted to do –confront Malfoy, make him pay, make him recognize her as more than a means to send a message. But not only did she not have an idea of how she could accomplish that feat –how was she meant to get to Malfoy in the first place? Or how was she to escape afterwards? –but she would also have to think about how she could secure herself a position in the resistance. She needed them, she concluded; she needed their help, if only to get to Malfoy, but they didn't need her specifically, did they? No, they didn't. If she had no value for them, what could they gain from her? Why should they help her?

Around four in the afternoon, Daphne went to the kitchen once more to get some food for herself. The nap had saved a lot of energy, but she still needed to eat occasionally. As she entered, she found Potter sitting in the corner, looking at a spot on the wall. He noticed her and sent her a tight smile.

"Slept well?" he asked.

"I did sleep well, thank you for asking," Daphne lied. "Although this house could really use a bit more care if you ask me. I've been busy making the room I'm staying in somewhat comfortable."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Kreacher was doing decently when we arrived here, at least until we redecorated a bit. He didn't like that."

"You did?" Daphne forced herself to sound interested. "I can't say I have seen a lot of redecorating around here."

"We cleaned up some of the trash as well as the rooms. We got rid of that blasted painting in the hallway. Had to burn it off the wall – Kreacher really didn't like that." Potter chuckled, shaking his head. "He was the only one. It was so rewarding, you have no idea how much we enjoyed it. He might resent us for it, though, which might explain why he isn't doing that much. And every time we tried to do more than strictly necessary, he started to get worse, so we decided to give him some time to come to his senses. Well, that's what Hermione..." He stopped.

Daphne bit her lip. "How is she doing?"

"Better. Ron's with her; they are talking, I think. Or maybe she's teaching him some spell; that keeps her busy and distracted. She'll survive, she's tough."

"Guilt, I know." Daphne said, taking some leftover bread.

"She'll work it out. She'll get over it," Potter spoke, almost as if he wanted to convince himself.

"Well, it's good to hear she's improving, in any case." Daphne looked over to Potter. "So you got rid of a painting and the house-elf refuses to do his work? They're not meant to get attached to anything their masters own, it's a sign they're not proper."

"Something like that, yes. It was the painting of the late Mrs. Black, though. Kreacher was the only one who liked her, everyone else... She was getting on everyone's nerves with her constant, high-pitched screaming. We had a curtain in front of her, but the slightest noise would wake her up. And she was a really charming lady, always knowing just what to say."

"She hung in the hallway?" Daphne asked, remembering the spot the werewolf had pointed out the day before.

"Yeah. 'Filthy half-breed', 'sin of my flesh', 'disgusting half-bloods', 'traitors' –she insulted everyone, especially Muggleborns and Sirius. I just had to destroy that thing; I couldn't have it around to bother us so much. But that's why Kreacher isn't really doing the work properly – he's grieving for his old mistress. That painting had been giving Kreacher orders for years, you see, and had been poisoning his mind? He will come around, I think, but he resents me right now. I took his Mistress from him. I might have laughed while I burned it off the wall. A bit too gleefully, perhaps."

"So you ended up with a desolate house and a bitter elf. Lovely." Daphne finished preparing her food. It wasn't anything great, but would have to suffice for the time being. She was already at the stairs when she glanced behind her. Potter had shifted and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

She left, shaking her head. If that was the leader of this resistance, then she really shouldn't put her faith in them.

When evening came, she grabbed the empty plate and went to fetch a decent dinner. All her thinking had led to the same basic problem – what should she do to get to Malfoy? Her best chance of coming face to face would be to surrender, and Potter and his friends had apparently forgotten her oath no longer held her in place. She could leave and try her luck. Maybe if she visited one of her old friends, she could convince them to arrange a meeting or a formal duel or something. But then, Malfoy hadn't shown restraint or form during their last confrontation. He didn't see it as a conflict with her, so how could she convince him to face her on equal ground? Surely he wouldn't play fair, and to be honest, she wasn't sure she would either.

She was already halfway to the ground floor when she heard voices close by. Curiosity getting the better of her, she stopped and listened. They were muted, but she could recognize Granger speaking in the drawing room.

"... not good. Why not advance your other..."

"No," Potter interrupted. "No, relying on party tricks and... I have thought about it, I really have. I don't see any alternative. We need... well, something if we..."

"No, Harry, no. Don't give me that! Don't... I... there have to be other ways to..." She broke off, but instead, Weasley spoke up, and he didn't sound remotely happy.

"See what you have done? We said no, you promised us you wouldn't; you promised us, don't you remember? And now you want to break your promise? Just like that? Change of heart?" A pause, then he continued, "We are all worried, we are, but... you promised, and you agreed. It's not necessary."

"But it is, Ron. It is. The last weeks, I... I did what you asked me to. I kept my promise. I held back and focused on other matters. I advanced my other studies. I kept myself distracted, I didn't put all my energy into it. But... It's not as if I want to, please understand. Ron, Hermione, please, I'd rather not, but..." A sigh. "I... we won't win unless..."

"You don't know that!" Weasley stormed. "You don't know that. We aren't bad, we don't need..."

"We do, Ron, we do," Potter said with something like sadness in his voice. Or was he tired? "Right now, we don't really stand much of a chance. We need every advantage we can get, and as soon as possible. This is not the time to wait. There won't be a miracle to tip the scales. It's not about making it out alive, either. The longer I wait, the longer I don't act and continue wasting my time..."

Granger groaned. "Please, Harry, please, don't. I... I don't want to..." she mumbled something Daphne couldn't make out, before continuing in a stronger voice, "It's no good, Harry, please, please don't. It's not worth it. We'll find other ways."

"Yeah," Weasley agreed, his voice muffled by something Daphne couldn't place. "We've got time, we can..."

"Time?" Potter chuckled grimly. "No, time is the one thing we don't have. What do you want me to do? Sit on my hands? Get up each day, go through it and not..." he stopped, and Daphne imagined him sorting his thoughts. It took surprisingly long, but finally, he continued. "We don't have time, Ron. I wish we had, I wish it wasn't necessary, I wish I had never thought about it, never suggested it, but..."

"Don't, Harry," Weasley said. If Daphne hadn't heard it, she wouldn't have believed it, but the redhead sounded seething with repressed anger. "Never say that again, Harry, you hear me? It was brilliant, and you know it."

"It might be the one thing to tip the scales in our favour," Granger added, "even if we don't like what it led to. We're not arguing against what you did, but against what you have in mind." Silence reigned, before Granger spoke up once more. "Harry, we're worried, don't you see? We are worried, we have seen what you... please, don't do it. Take your time. Don't rush it. We will find another way."

"When, Hermione? No one hates it more than I do – not you, and not you, Ron. But you know me. Do you honestly think I would simply stand by and... and not do whatever I can? Dumbledore knew it. He knew me, he knew I wouldn't. That's why we are here, isn't it? I wish there was another way, a clean way. I wish I could hope for some miracle to help us out. But the world isn't built on wishful thinking, and our best bet it to do all we can to make a difference ourselves. And I can't allow myself to make Dumbledore's mistakes. I cannot stay in the dark about those matters, and I cannot allow myself to waste an advantage like that. I cannot waste time like that. It cost me in the past, Hermione. It cost me more than just that once."

"You don't have to, Harry," she pleaded.

"And how do you plan to do this, then?" Weasley threw in.

"Ron!" Granger groaned.

"I don't like it, I really don't," he defended himself.

"Someone has to pay the price," Potter said, "Hermione, one way or the other, someone has to pay. I can't continue the way from before. It's far too slow. I have to catch up. I need to do something or we might sit here for years. And before you argue against it, we need them; in the end, we will need them. We're so hopelessly outclassed right now we cannot ignore the opportunities given to us. Right now, I don't have the time to approach them carefully. You heard Lupin."

They were silent for a moment before Weasley cleared his throat. "Err, Harry, I've been thinking and, well, what about, you know... Greengrass? And all this rot about allies? I mean..."

"I've decided," Potter interrupted. "We'll see what happens. Right now... Well, we'll see."

Granger spoke up. "Harry, I trust you, don't get me wrong, but... shouldn't we," she hesitated before settling on, "do something? We all agree there's..."

"If you trust me, then there's nothing more to be said," Potter said. "I've made up my mind about that issue. We'll see what happens, and we'll deal with it if necessary."

Chairs shifted in the room, and Daphne hastened to move away.

When the others entered the kitchen a while later, she did her best not to let them notice she had overheard them. Instead, she leafed through the book she had found lying in the room.

"You know, Granger, this is probably one of the most boring texts I have read in a while." She held it up, showing them the cover reading Advanced Arithmancy in Theory and Practice. "Most of it we have heard about last year already, and in fewer words with more attention to the finer points. This is like purple prose for professors or something. Do you honestly enjoy this?"

"It has its upsides," the Muggleborn replied with pursed lips.

"To each their own, I guess," Daphne said, putting the book down. "But another question: How long do I have to wear that stupid eye patch? Was there anything in the book about that?"

"There was," Potter told her, and she looked at him, slightly surprised he knew the answer. "It should normally be done by now, but your case was a bit outside of the normal application. The damage had been a bit more advanced than strictly covered by this method, and the curse had slightly more time to cause harm. It might take a bit longer. Hermione?"

"I... yes, I think so too." She paused, scratching her cheek. "Did you really remember that? I mean, I'm happy you did, but..."

"You know me," he said with a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Fighting dark arts? This is right up my alley, isn't it?"

Granger nodded slowly, but turned to Daphne. "A day or two should do it, I think. Any other problems? Any complications?"

"Not that I know of, no," Daphne replied, shaking her head.

Dinner was a quiet affair for Daphne, but the others talked among themselves for a while, trying to appear as if they hadn't talked behind her back. Their longest discussion was held in low voices, but from what Daphne could tell, it was about Weasley trying to convince the others to let him send a message to his family about something. Unless Potters rebels used some advanced code, they refrained from conspiring against her any more.

She tried to block their talk out for more than one reason. She didn't need or want to hear about Weasley's family. What did she care about them? They might be in danger, yes, and might want to hear about their son's continued safety, but ultimately, sending them a message would put them in even more danger. The second, more important reason for Daphne to try not to hear it was more personal. She hadn't sent her own family a message. For all they knew, she was dead, lying in some ditch. Did they worry about her? Very likely. But how would she send them anything? And she did agree with Potter's insistence to his friend that sending a message would be unwise and potentially dangerous for the family. What if the message was intercepted, found or overheard?

Another uneventful day passed. Daphne wasted her time reading a book Granger had leant her about ancient runes in Mesopotamia. It was perhaps the revenge for the comment from the previous day, but it kept her busy and in her room. Furthermore, it allowed Daphne to avoid the other inhabitants for most of the day, not to mention, grant her access to a new and intriguingly boring topic. How could the authors have made the development of one of the most influential origins of modern runic theory sound so utterly dull? Granted it did take some time until the kinks had been eliminated, but exactly that process would have been very interesting. The development of the new system could point the younger generations towards their own mistakes in adapting the traditional practices to their own liking. It was also of importance how the rise of runes coincided with the creation of innovative magical foci that would ultimately lead to the invention of wands in the traditional sense.

Around four in the afternoon, she couldn't take it anymore and set the book aside. Unsure of what to do with herself, she left her room and, following a sudden notion, strolled to the bathroom.

Just like the rest of the house, it looked its age. But then, unlike the rest of the house, someone – most likely Granger – had put some effort into restoring it. The tiles had been cleaned and even if they didn't sparkle, they were far from dull like the small plates next to the few pictures in the house. Granger had said someone had taken the other decorations but had refused to elaborate. Perhaps Potter had thrown them out. Judging from the house, they had probably been dreadful to begin with, and with the depressing state the building was in, removing influences that worsened the impression and mood might just be smart.

Thinking about it like that, Granger was the more likely candidate for the removal of the majority of the paintings in the hallway.

Daphne glanced at herself in the mirror. She missed the dorms in school. She missed the few necessities she had had to leave behind. Whether because they couldn't restock, hadn't been prepared for it in the first place –which was the most likely explanation – or felt no need for it, neither of the inhabitants in the house had put any decent shampoo in the bathroom. Didn't Granger ever want to smell nice or put a little effort into it or just enjoy the shower? Apparently not. Maybe it was childish of Daphne to think of something so irrelevant in the bigger picture to be a major downside to the new situation. They weren't staying in a luxurious hotel; they weren't on vacation or out to enjoy themselves. But the lack of this small comfort just made her feel more isolated from normalcy. While her friends were still at school, perhaps enjoying their time and had access to these little things, she was stuck alone in a house with people she didn't feel connected to. And she really did miss scented shampoo, one of the upsides being a woman had held for her.

Her mirror self looked back, silently agreeing with her. And there it was, lurking out from under the eye patch. Why hadn't Daphne noticed the small veins stretching out the last time she had looked in the mirror? She didn't know, but they were there, and they made her curious. She took the patch off and looked back in the mirror.

The veins had grown more pronounced since the last time she had seen them and stretched over to her ear and nose as well as up to her eyebrow. It wasn't a pretty sight, but she could live with it. The eye itself had indeed grown, and it looked almost normal again. She had eyelashes and it had a decent shape again, maybe even exactly mirroring her other eye. However, the pigmentation was off. Her right eye was still blue as it had been in the past. There was no reason for it to change. But the newly grown eye replacement not only had specks of brown, but also a sickly yellow. That would take some getting used to, she thought.

Experimentally, she closed her right eye. The world didn't go dark. She could still see herself staring back from within the mirror. Whatever the look of it, the replacement worked. She had regained her complete sight again.

After washing her hands, she put the eye patch in her room, glad to be rid of it, and went to find Granger. She would hopefully be able to tell whether the eye was all right. Walking past the painting of a sneering, ugly butcher who fingered his cleaver which was lodged in a human head on the table, Daphne knocked on Granger's door. No reply came, but Daphne hadn't expected one. She continued on her way to the next possible place for the Muggleborn, the drawing room.

Nobody was there. In fact, the room looked just as it had the last time Daphne had been there days before. Light filtered in through the windows and bathed an armchair close to them in light. Dust danced in the air.

She stepped into the room, curious and happy for the opportunity to have a quick look. The shelves were empty for the most part, only a few, worthless items rested there. This place had been cleaned as well. No pictures on the walls had remained, and the only thing left was a giant tapestry. Daphne walked over to it. A family tree was depicted on it – the Black's tree. Some names had been scorched off. Out of curiosity, Daphne searched for some names. She found the Malfoys with little trouble. All of them were still depicted as alive, from what she could tell. If the tapestry had that kind of power, it was indeed a remarkable piece of work. She also found the late Head of House Sirius Black, his death little more than sixteen months ago. He had died young, she realized, but not as young as his brother. The family really didn't have much luck, she noticed. A long life didn't seem to be the sign of a Black. Looking around, she found Dorea Potter as well. Born a Black, she had had one child, a son named James –what else? –who in turn had married the Muggleborn Lily Evans. And there was Harry Potter. He really was on the tapestry, and next to it was her name. So it did add new people on its own? An impressive bit of magic. Perhaps that was why it hadn't been removed?

"She is nosing around," a voice behind her said, and Daphne jumped. Turning, she found the old elf behind her and an impulse to strangle him for scaring her rose in her.

"I'm not nosing around," she replied, trying to sound haughty. "This is mine now, elf. There I am," she pointed in the general direction, "right next to your current master."

"My master?" the elf asked. "Kreacher's master? The filthy half-blood who befouls the house and dishonours the family? The twitchy half-blood who brought scum here?"

"Does he know you talk like that about him?" Daphne wondered. If Potter did, then she wasn't surprised the elf acted out. Without discipline, how were these creatures meant to stay in line?

"Does he know? Kreacher thinks so, yes."

"Well, I forbid you to talk like that. He is your master; don't you have any respect for him?" Daphne didn't know why she even bothered. Perhaps she merely wanted to have someone to boss around. Stuck in the house, she felt rather useless and without power to call her own. She missed her old life.

"Kreacher does," the elf answered, looking at her in wonderment. "He did what Kreacher couldn't, yes, but he also did what he shouldn't. He made mistress go away, and how is Kreacher meant to live without his Mistress? How is Kreacher meant to live with the half-blood who isn't a proper Black?"

"Well, there aren't that many of those left, are there?" Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There is Miss Cissy, Kreacher knows. And Miss Bella," the elf replied, standing up straighter. "They are proper Blacks; my Mistress would have liked them, Mistress would have wanted Kreacher serving Miss Cissy and Miss Bella – only Master forbade Kreacher from visiting them. He shouldn't have done that, not to keep Kreacher from the family, but he did."

"Miss Cissy and Miss Bella," Daphne said, glancing to the tapestry. Narcissa Malfoy. Bellatrix Lestrange. "Well, I can understand the order you were given." She looked around the room. "Make yourself useful, elf, and clean this room." She didn't wait for him to bow and left on her search for Granger. She could have asked the elf, of course, but Daphne wasn't sure whether she wanted to. She didn't like him much, and didn't want to feel as if he had done her a favour. Instead, she cast Homenum Revelio and found all three she was looking for. Two were on the same floor. Weasley's room, she concluded, the only one she hadn't searched. So Potter and Weasley were up to something. The last was downstairs, and from the distance and direction, she guessed the kitchen. Daphne descended the stairs. Above her, she heard movement, either the elf busying himself or the boys doing something. It didn't matter either way.

However, entering the kitchen, she was surprised. It wasn't Granger she found, but Potter. And he wasn't reading a book – not that she had seen him do so or thought he read regularly – but taking a nap. Curled up in a corner, he seemed almost dead. Dozing as he was, he looked almost adorable. Again the image of a cat came to Daphne's mind, this time one lazing around. Even the wildest of cats –lions or tigers for example –still looked nowhere near as dangerous when sleeping. Of course, she preferred sleeping lions both as cats and humans.

Potter shifted in his sleep. His face lost the relaxed expression it had had before. Instead, he wrinkled his nose slightly. An unpleasant dream, then. That she could relate to. The house had probably gotten to him over the weeks. Despite only staying for a few days, Daphne occasionally felt the gloom pressing in on her. Why the Gryffindors hadn't done something about it yet, she didn't know. All it would take was a few hours and it would look considerably better and welcoming.

He shivered slightly in his sleep and curled in on himself more than before. It didn't suit him, Daphne decided with a frown. He looked smaller than he really was, far too much like a child, maybe a third-year or fourth-year. He seemed to try to block out the world, not something that she wanted to see in a leader. Even if he wasn't her leader, he was still an important figure in the resistance for reasons Daphne couldn't quite understand. What did people see in him? Putting aside his surprising survival talent, watching him she had little doubt she could kill him if she wanted to. All she would have to do was catch him unaware. So why had the Dark Lord found it so difficult again?

She made to walk over to him to wake him, but someone placed a hand on her shoulder. For the second time within an hour, she jumped. Whirling around, she found Granger behind her.

"No need to be jumpy," the Muggleborn said. "So it was you who cast the spell? Figures. Well, Ron is just cleaning up a bit and he will be down as well." She looked at Daphne. "You removed the eye patch?"

"Yes. I had searched for you to ask you what you think about it since you seem to be the resident healer of sorts."

"I love them, Ron and Harry, I really do," Granger chuckled. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "But I wouldn't trust them with something like that. Healing spells need more than just magic, did you know that? It's not just intent, it's also precise knowledge of the human body. So yes, in a way and out of necessity, I am the healer around here. Does it work? Any pain, anything out of the ordinary?"

"It works, yes; no pain, no," Daphne replied.

Granger pursed her lips for a moment. "Well, I don't see any problem with it. If it causes you trouble, you can always return to wearing the eye patch. Though I must say, I had hoped the pigmentation would be closer to the original."

"I can live with that," Daphne said with a dismissive wave. She was tempted to ask the Muggleborn the question she felt obligated to given recent events, but before she could, Granger noticed Potter.

"Great," she mumbled. "Do me a favour and get the plates out, will you? Might as well begin with the dinner preparations. Where is Kreacher anyway? I would have thought he'd be bustling around in here."

"Upstairs," Daphne replied. "I told him to clean the drawing room."

"You... told him?" Granger asked with a raised eyebrow. "You mean you ordered him to do that. Why would you do that?" There was a slight accusatory note in her voice, but Daphne chose to ignore it.

"Well, it needs to be cleaned, I think, and he was there, so I told him to do it."

"What were you doing there in the first place? There isn't anything of interest there as far as I know," Granger asked. The tone had changed to curiosity, and Daphne thought the truth would suit her better than a lie that would ultimately just validate their suspicions.

"I was looking for you. You weren't there, of course, but I saw that tapestry."

"The Black family tree, yes. We still haven't found a way to get rid of it."

"Why would you do that?" Daphne wondered, watching Granger approach Potter carefully. "It seems to be a decent bit of magic, why would you want to get rid of something like that?"

"Well, the Blacks on there aren't really what we, that is, Harry likes to think about. Every decent Black – decent from Harry's point of view – has been removed from it."

"The burned spots?" Daphne guessed.

"Yes. Some, like Sirius, because they really were decent –or as decent as you could call him –but others for stupid reasons." Granger leaned close to Potter's ear and whispered something Daphne couldn't hear. Potter's eyes fluttered open and he sat up as if he had been awake the whole time. Granger continued where she had left off. "There was an uncle of Sirius who got removed for leaving the... well the black sheep, Sirius, but I guess that doesn't really fit, does it? He left Sirius some money, Harry said. That was it, right?"

"Yeah. Uncle Alphard, or so Sirius said anyway. But I guess he was decent in his own right."

Daphne nodded thoughtfully. She wondered about the informal address for Sirius Black. Just how close had he been to Potter and Granger? But she chose not to ask and instead said, "Yet you are still on there, and so is your father."

Potter frowned. "Well, that is true. That doesn't really make much sense. Maybe she didn't know about us? The Tapestry doesn't show blood purity, I think, so maybe that's it. Or she was already too old to do it."

"I am also there," Daphne said with a crooked smile.

"You are?" Granger asked, surprised. "With the plot between you two, I would've thought you wouldn't be. So what will happen once the contract has run its course and you two split, then?"

Daphne groaned. She should have known Potter wouldn't keep his big mouth. So he had really told his friends.

"She figured it out herself," he told Daphne at once. "Not that it really matters all that much as it is a done deal and won't place you in any more danger than you are in already."

"Even if that were true – and I'm not sure it is," Daphne pointed out, "it places others in danger as well, Potter. Those who know the truth? Or don't you think of them?"

"I do," Potter said seriously, but at the same time, Granger snorted.

"Sorry, it's just... Potter? You call him Potter?"

Daphne simply turned her back on them. It was no problem either as Weasley stumbled into the room. "All done upstairs. Harry, there is something we wanted to bring up. Hermione and I thought we should..." he stopped, and Daphne could imagine him noticing her. Granger continued almost seamlessly, but with a hint of worry in her voice, "Yes, we should do something about the... meal plan, if you want to call it that. It's rather bland right now. Could you have Kreacher buy some more fruits?"

"Err, sure, I guess?" Potter replied.

Daphne was happy she had her back turned to them. She rolled her eyes. Did they honestly think she hadn't noticed something was afoot behind her? So they had secrets from her. Their choice, even it didn't endear them to her. If they didn't trust her – and she conveniently ignored their mistrust wasn't entirely unjustified – why should she trust them?

Dinner was more lively than before, but a quick affair for the most part. Weasley and Potter excused themselves quite early – Daphne assumed to do some boy's stuff – leaving Granger and Daphne in the kitchen. Whether it had been a ploy to get the two girls to befriend one another Daphne didn't know or care. She finished as well and excused herself, claiming tiredness.

The next day, Daphne woke with a sudden jolt, unsure of what had happened. She didn't feel any different, no one had entered the room and she couldn't hear any noise, yet she knew she had been woken up by something.

She quickly dressed for the day in an old robe. Perhaps she could get the elf to buy her some simple robes? It should be possible, and she didn't need anything expensive or special, she reasoned, just something to wear of her own. Or were those robes her own? She assumed they were, seeing as how they were likely of House Black. So maybe she should ask for new robes instead. That might work.

Stepping out of her room, she descended the stairs to find someone she hadn't expected staring up at her.


And so Voldemort returns to the story, dropping in for a nice chat among enemies.