Posted 5/16/2014, edited 5/18/2014

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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-Seven - Under a Waning Moon

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With a shake of his head, Hagrid sent one last look after his third-years. He couldn't wait until they could finally move on to more exciting creatures. Working with Krups didn't really teach anything useful – nothing children couldn't learn elsewhere. Hippogriffs, for example, even if that had gone very wrong the last time. They had no real malice in them, weren't poisonous, but demanded respect. Respecting the magical creatures, that was a lesson the children needed right from the start, and now more than ever with people starting to think wizards were better or more worthy.

One of the Krups nudged Hagrid, bringing him out of his musings. Oh well, at least the students had had their fun. Wasn't that also a good lesson?

The Krup didn't even need to be told what to do and trotted into the kennel. "Tha's right, in yeh go," Hagrid said, counting the animals. None were missing. Good. Hagrid wouldn't have wanted to go searching for one.

After locking up the kennel, he walked into his home. He knew many looked down on it, but he liked it. Cosy, that's what it was for him. Only after he'd seen real giant had he understood why he felt that way. Maybe there was some giant in him – apart from his blood, of course – because his hut was somewhat like a cave. He had enough room to eat and sleep and do whatever he wanted to, but it never felt empty.

No wanting to waste any time, Hagrid grabbed some of his delicious rock cakes, that small, portable tea set the other professors had given him, and odds and ends for a nice lunch, and put everything in a sturdy basket. That was one of the advantages of teaching an elective – he had enough time for other things.

"Now yeh wait fer me, a'right, Fang?" he told the sleeping boar-hound before ducking out of the back door and into the Forbidden Forest, basket dangling from his left arm, umbrella in his right hand. That was another advantage of living in his hut – no one noticed his comings and goings.

Following the path through some underbrush, he had little trouble finding his way. Soon, the path became rockier and the trees more sparse as Hagrid walked on, enjoying the nice Autumn day. Somewhere in the forest, he could hear the centaurs moving, likely scaring some of the animals away or maybe preparing for the winter. Hagrid might have decided to make a detour, just to see whether he would meet one of his friends there, but knew he wouldn't have time for that. Instead, he continued on his way, humming to himself.

Maybe he could visit Aragog some time, he mused, getting a spider web out of his beard that had gotten stuck there when he had brushed past a tree. Then again, Aragog and his children were likely busy preparing for the winter. Scotland wasn't their home, and as such, the Acromantulas had created nests both above and below the ground.

Stopping only for a moment to pet a Thestral and her foal and give them some of his lunch, Hagrid found his way in no time at all.

When he reached a spot that was protected from the occasional harsh winds, he left the path and dove into the shadows of the forest. He didn't have to walk far any more, and soon enough, he stepped out into the open. The cave was in plain sight, but only few people knew just how large it was on the inside. Large enough to hide a giant, in fact.

"Grawp!" Hagrid shouted, putting the basket down. "Grawpy, I'm here!"

The giant seemed to have woken up. The ground shook slightly before Grawp stuck his head out. "Hagger?" he asked, blinking dazedly, adding, "You come?"

"I came, yeah," Hagrid replied, already gathering wood. "Did yeh sleep a'right? Nothin' botherin' yeh?"

The giant left his cave, carrying what was left of a deer. "Grawp sleep good," he announced, sitting down and watching his brother work.

"Tha's good," Hagrid told him, returning. "But remember, it's getting' cold now, so yeh better do somethin' 'bout that. I could make yeh a nice blanket. Would yeh like that? Or maybe a nice woolen vest? I could knit yeh somethin' ter keep yeh warm."

"Grawp good," the giant replied, picking at the rags he wore as clothes.

Meanwhile, Hagrid busied himself with making fire. "Jus' don' want yeh getting' sick, yeh know? So, what have yeh done lately?"

Grawp grunted, shrugging, but started talking. He'd apparently run into some centaurs; he squashed something deeper in the forest that had crunched interestingly underfoot, but had tasted disgusting; he found food. Hagrid listened, nodding, while he warmed the rock cakes by the crackling fire. When Grawp had finished his tale, Hagrid had a nice pot of tea and some lunch prepared for himself.

"Tha's nice," he said, nodding. "It was much the same with me. The kids, they grow on yeh. Such dears. There's that one, a'ways scowling, but I know her kind. See, there's often one who..."

"Friend?" Grawp spoke up suddenly, glancing to the forest.

Hagrid broke off, blinking. "I guess yeh could call 'er tha'."

"Friend Hermy?" Grawp asked, tilting his head.

Hagrid followed his brother's eyes.

They seemed to have noticed they had been spotted. Wizards and witches stepped out from the shadows, each wearing uniforms, each pointing a wand either at Hagrid or Grawp.

"You there," one of them shouted, a bald man with a considerable belly. "Step away from that giant!" His comrades tensed almost at once.

Hagrid jumped up. "Now, yeh don't understand! Jus' listen, yeah? And don' go pointin' yer wands at us!"

"Don't you threaten us!" someone shouted back, but Hagrid couldn't see who it had been.

Grawp rose as well, confusion on his face as he looked at each of the newcomers. A nervous witch to the right of the stout man blanched, whispering something.

The stout man took another step forward, raising his wand. "Kearney, Ministry of Magic! Step away from that giant! Now!"

"Hermy?" Grawp grumbled, loud enough to scare some animals in the forest – loud enough to scare some wizards as well. A reedy man, who so far had kept to the side and a few steps behind, fired a red spell that harmlessly sizzled out on Grawp's skin. But it didn't matter because even a giant with little experience with magic knew when he had been attacked.

Grawp reacted to the challenge like every giant would have done – he accepted. Roaring, banged his enormous fists on his chest. The trees rustled.

In an act of both bravery and stupidity, Hagrid jumped between wizards and giant, his arms outstretched to keep them apart.

Kearney shouted, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" but it was too late. His comrades sent a stream of spells at the already angry giant, but none of them managed to do more than cause more chaos.

With ease, Grawp pushed Hagrid aside before charging into the group of witches and wizards. They scattered, but continued raining spells on Grawp who punched and stomped around, only just missing each time.

Hagrid stormed in, grabbing witches and wizards to pull them aside, yelling, but they didn't stop and there were too many.

The ground shook as if a herd of centaurs were on the move. Yet another swing from Grawp missed; the witch it had been intended for – the one from before who had regained her colour – had thrown herself on the ground. With another terrifying roar, Grawp slammed his hand on the ground to smash her, but Kearney had acted just in time. She was pulled towards him by her robes. It wasn't enough to get her completely out of Grawp's reach, but another, grey-haired witch had caught his attention already. A blast of fire from her had singed his brows.

"Stop it!" Hagrid shouted, both at Grawp and at the witches and wizards. No one listened.

A swipe from Grawp, little more than a back-handed slap for a giant, sent the grey-haired witch flying. When she landed a good distance away, she did so with surprising grace, rolling a few feet before struggling to get back up with a few scratches and her left arm at an odd angle, but otherwise fine.

Grawp's fist came down, and had the wizard it had been intended for not jumped aside, he would have been the first casualty. Instead, he managed to get out of Grawp's reach, in part because the giant had been distracted. Whether intentionally or by sheer luck, the reedy man had managed to hit Grawp's eye with a blueish spell. Almost instantly, something sickly yellow started pouring from the eye that had started to change colour.

Grawp's swing missed the intended target, this time because Hagrid had intervened and thrown the reedy wizard aside, taking the hit instead. What would have killed any normal human merely sent Hagrid flying with maybe a few broken ribs. When he landed, he immediately jumped to his feet. Whether by luck or not, he had landed close to the fireplace and his trusted umbrella. Picking it up, he stormed back into the fray.

The reedy man had jumped behind a small wall the grey-haired witch had conjured. It wouldn't have done much good against Grawp's brute force, but the witch had followed it up by banishing a large boulder into Grawp's side. It caught his attention, and he switched targets once more, charging towards her.

Kearney swished his wand, and another wall appeared just in front of Grawp's feet. It wasn't much, but enough to trip him. With a crash, Grawp fell to the ground, sending pebbles everywhere. The grey-haired witch reacted almost at once – chains sprang up from the ground, wrapping themselves around the downed giant.

"Chains!" Kearney yelled, joining in his comrade's efforts, but most of the wizards and witches were too surprised to react.

It wasn't enough, not even with Kearney's help. Grawp broke free of the restraints, sending broken links at the witches and wizards around. With another furious roar, Grawp struggled back on his feet, ready to continue the fight while spells rained down on him from all sides.

The reedy wizard stepped into Hagrid's path, sending a curse his way that missed the face, but hit Hagrid's hair, melting it away. The sizzling sludge gave off a disgusting smell as it destroyed whatever it touched, but Hagrid was too busy to care. His back-handed slap sent the wizard flying out of the path and to the side, and as Hagrid's umbrella came down, a wall of fire erupted from it, running around and forming an almost perfect circle around a startled Grawp and stunning everyone into a silence that was broken only seconds later when the reedy man hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Just like that, the fire went out, the heat of the battle was gone, and time seemed to slow down for Hagrid.

An endless moment later, thick chains wrapped themselves around Hagrid.

"Hagger!" Grawp shouted. He stumbled towards his brother, but before he could take more than a few steps, chains bound him as well, too sturdy to be broken even by his enormous strength.

The nervous witch from before ran over to her fallen comrade, kneeling down and casting a number of spells in quick succession. Swallowing, she turned to Kearney and shook her head.

What little fight was left in Hagrid was gone as realization set in.

"Fisk," Kearney ordered, his face stony, "return to the Ministry at once and inform them of what happened. We need a full team here at once, including a healer." The nervous witch jumped up, disappearing immediately.

"Andrews, step away immediately!" the grey-haired witch shouted. One of the wizards jumped about a foot, away from Grawp who was still struggling futilely.

Kearney looked at her. "Payne, guard... Mr. Hagrid," he said with a cool look to the side.

All around, people started to get moving. Guards were assigned, the wizards and witches kept separated and from talking as much as possible, but Hagrid hardly noticed it. His eyes were locked on the man he had killed.

"Hagger," Grawp moaned, still fighting feebly against the chains, and blinking, Hagrid turned to his brother.

"Is a'right," he said miserably. "Is a'right, Grawpy."

He didn't notice the dark looks they received or the pained expression on both Kearney and Payne's faces.

Whether it had taken minutes or hours he didn't know, but his attention was diverted by new arrivals. Wizards stepped out from the forest or apparated on the small clearing. A healer took Payne aside while two wizards talked to her in low voices and listened to her answers. Others went to take the statements of those who had been present. Meanwhile, Hagrid continued a soothing stream of words to his brother.

The investigation was already in full swing, Payne sent to St. Mungo's and Kearney to the Ministry for further questioning, when another group of magicals arrived behind Hagrid, causing the most of the gathered to fall silent, looking at the new arrivals.

The Head Investigator stepped forward and out of Hagrid's sight to greet them.

"I'm surprised to see you here, seeing as this isn't really a case for your department," Hagrid heard the man murmur. "Magical Law Enforcement is already on it, Robarts sent some from his Department, and there are naturally some from Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If you want, I can have the reports sent to you, though."

"I'm here on some unfinished business," a sickeningly sweet voice simpered.


All Hallows Eve had passed with Potter understandably withdrawn. There was not a child in the world – or at least the wizarding world – who didn't know about the Potter's deaths. When she had been younger, Daphne had wondered about that. As far as she knew, apart from the Potter's who were both deceased and their son who had been too young to remember anything, the only one present had been the Dark Lord. For some reason, she couldn't imagine him talking about that night, not only because he had been thought to have died, but also because it had been a defeat of sorts. He had achieved his goal and killed the Potter's, but he had also been beaten by a toddler that could barely speak.

Who had spread the story, incidentally? Most had probably heard it from someone who had been told by someone else with the rumour itself probably originating from the Ministry or Dumbledore. Could that be? Could the myth about the Boy-Who-Lived be nothing more than an entertaining story? The tale of the parents fighting a powerful enemy only to die with their son avenging their deaths by mysterious circumstances later on did make for a fascinating and inspiring story. Children, see what can be done. Parents, good will prevail. And would it have been a lie, strictly speaking? Technically, Potter had been declared the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Boy-Who-Avenged or something similar.

Whether the story of the Boy-Who-Lived had been fabricated or not, the deaths of Potter's parents still explained his mood on All Hallows Eve. Daphne didn't think anyone deserved to be orphaned.

The next day, his mood had improved slightly. Potter and Granger had begun planning their food runs. It gave them something to occupy their time with, and the promise of food was more than enough to lift Weasley's spirits as well.

On Wednesday, Granger had dared to do the first run, disguised as a stout woman in her forties. She had stepped outside, and after about half an hour, she had returned, loaded with bags full of strange boxes containing food. Daphne had heard about some of the things the Muggleborn had brought, but was still hesitant to try anything. While Muggles were certainly inventive, it hadn't looked all that much like food should. It hadn't mattered either way, as Weasley had volunteered to gobble it up. Granger and Potter had shown proper manners and had eaten their samples slowly, but before long, there had been precious little left for Daphne to try.

Around that time, she had come to realize she had gotten used to the house somewhat. She didn't miss the sound of her dorm mates as much as she had in the beginning of the stay as Potter's guest. But her room still got to her at night, and over the course of the last week, she had been burned, gutted, drowned, fed alive to some beast, sent to the Dementors more than once, handed to the Lestranges, and shunned by her peers.

Daphne had assumed Potter would follow her and try another of those talks the moment he saw an opening. The last one hadn't been all that successful, but she had assumed his stubborn side would make him try again. Surely he longed to pry further into her business? Didn't he want to delve into the juicy, significant topics? After all, there were still loads of spots he hadn't been nosing around in. Maybe he'd come up with questions she could answer for a change without betraying others or herself by giving in.

But he hadn't initiated another doomed attempt at conversation or building a relationship. They had met a few times, yes, but he had usually just nodded and gone his way. Only once had he asked her something, and it had been a reasonable action – whether she had seen a book he had been searching for. She didn't know why she would take something lying around, but at least it was a possibility. Apart from Granger, Daphne was likely the only one who did read regularly.

So what took him so long? Was he trying to unnerve her? If she had been dealing with a Slytherin, it wouldn't have surprised her.

Another part of her, a part she refused to listen to, also knew he was at least someone to talk to – sad as it was, he might even be the only one for some time. Harassing the elf had been fun for a while and a decent stress relief, but it just wasn't the same. Daphne missed her friends and wondered how they were doing, but the elf wouldn't have the answers. Potter might. If she wanted to hear about them, talking to him would be the best way, she reasoned to herself. But then, to do so, she needed to either wait for him to come to her or approach him herself. Despite the expected reward, she liked neither option.

Once she had started thinking about all the possible harm that could befall her friends, she couldn't push the thought from her mind. She trusted Tracey, Millicent, and Pansy to look after themselves, but Daphne had to concede Potter had a point. They were stuck at school with a resentful Malfoy, and it would be difficult to predict his behaviour. Would he take his anger out on Daphne's friends? Meanwhile, she had to endure her stay in Potter's house, and the best she could say about it had to be its security. Not once in the weeks had there been a breach.

On Friday, Potter returned far too cheerful for her taste from his first food run. He had gotten new supplies somewhere he didn't specify, but as he dropped the glamour charms, he returned from the pimply redhead with an overbite to his usual appearance, albeit smiling instead of frowning like he had done the last weeks. His change right in front of her eyes – a random happen-stance since the inhabitants had been in the kitchen moments before he had come back – had drawn her attention to something she hadn't paid much mind to. He looked tired once more, and thinking about that, she remembered seeing him dozing a few times in the kitchen since her arrival. Was she not the only one with troubled nights? True, his eyes shone as he came through the door, looking as if he had done something marvellous and not just gone shopping, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was right.

"It was far too easy," he announced, dropping bags left and right. "The cashier looked oddly at me, but other than that, it went smoothly."

Granger nodded. "I know that look. We should be careful, then, and maybe not revisit stores for a while. It might make us predictable. So, who paid for today's purchases?"

Potter pulled a brown wallet from his pocket. "A Wallace Grundler. He had little over fifty Pounds on him, though."

With another nod, Granger grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote it down.

"I still say it would be a lot easier if you used magic instead of paying for it," Weasley pointed out. "One of your handy bags..."

"And get caught on surveillance camera or get seen by someone?" Granger replied. "I doubt the latter can trick technology, so any tapes would still show us using magic in Muggle Britain. It's better to return the money once we can go to Gringotts."

Weasley didn't argue any more; he had busied himself with grabbing the first box from one of the bags and had begun eating.

Daphne's preparations had slowed down over the past days. The spells worked, and most would have been happy with the progress of the last weeks, but it still wasn't enough. What good would it do to hit almost every time when the worst she could do was either too ordinary to leave her message or too weak to really do anything noteworthy? If she wanted to repay Malfoy the humiliation, she needed something up her sleeve that would show just how determined she was. What did it say about her if she only used spells any idiot could have looked up? Or, worse, actually, if he didn't really suffer any harm? It wasn't as if she dragged her feet, as if she didn't work on her skills, but she found it very hard. At home – Greengrass Manor – she might have consulted the library. Her family didn't really have a lot of advanced books on duelling, but they did have references and the occasional spell she might have found useful. At school, she might have talked with her friends or Professor Snape – at least before her marriage to Potter she might have gotten a decent answer from him – and asked about curses and hexes she could learn. She guessed Potter had some material lying around, and a family like the Blacks had a library of their own somewhere, even if Daphne hadn't found it yet. But there was the matter of trust. Potter couldn't and very likely wouldn't trust her with those books until she had proved her loyalty. In other words, she had to endure his scrutiny, his prying, likely asking questions that were best left unasked, all so she might get something in return.

After dinner on the following Monday, she threw herself on her bed in frustration. The elf had done a good job, she supposed, and Potter had shown manners, had been polite to her and content for once. But he hadn't been the problem. Whatever had happened between them, Granger kept a stream of harsh comments directed at Weasley. While normally entertaining to watch, Daphne had soon recognized it as playful banter gone out of control. She had had half a mind to throw both into a room so they could finally have the rut they seemed to be itching to have and be done with it. Watching Granger trying to provoke the redhead had easily made Daphne lose her appetite.

And all the while, Potter had seemed oblivious. Did he really not see what his friends were doing? Or rather, she thought, not doing? It had also not helped Daphne to realize the only true entertainment left to her were these idiotic fights. She had read her books numerous times already, knew some of the lines by heart simply because she had seen them so many times. At Hogwarts, some of the fun in actually owning the juicy stories she had stored in her trunk was in laughing with friends about the ridiculous scenes people imagined. The other half was, of course, immersing herself in the stories. But Daphne was stuck with what she had had in her trunk – not much. She half hoped someone would come to visit Potter again, just so some news from the wizarding world would reach the house.

She rolled onto her side and drifted off into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of walking down a barely visible path through a wood full of looming presences just out of sight, of a whispering in the trees around her. Wherever sun and moon where, their light didn't seem to reach the ground; instead, a pale light coming from nowhere cast faint shadows. And in the darkness of the under-brush, she could feel something watching her, neither beast nor man. In fact, she had the distinct impression it might not even be alive. The rustling of the leaves in the still air taunted her, hiding whatever sounds the spying thing might cause. Daphne trudged on, but with each step, her clothes seemed to become bigger. But no, she also felt lighter – she changed, not the clothes. Shrinking step by step, followed by whatever was after her, stalking and waiting for the moment to strike. She wished for her wand, but it didn't work even after she had pulled it from the robes. It didn't react to her touch; it didn't shoot sparks. It was just a lifeless piece of wood, not her companion. She dropped the useless stick, leaving her alone with the stalking presence.

She walked on. The robes slipped, far too big for Daphne as she was; they dissolved, leaving nothing behind. But at the same time, the forest parted, the trees turning into walls she recognized easily. In trance, unable to stop herself, she continued step by step, wandless and nude. With each breath, she grew a bit, regaining a body of a teenager. She could feel the stone floor under her feet, cool, but not uncomfortably so. After the noise from the forest, she welcomed the surrounding silence, even if it pressed in on her from all sides. Only the pats of Daphne's feet and her breath could be heard echoing in the mundane hallway. Through one of the windows, she could see the grounds of her family home under a waning moon.

She reached a wooden door, as unremarkable as she could imagine one. Her hand stretched out, gripped the handle – Daphne still wasn't sure what controlled her body, even as she was forced to walk into the room. The floor wasn't stone, but wood; the bed was there, her old bed – it was just like she remembered her old room to be. She could see the toy castle she had had to share with Astoria – a lesson for both, their mother had told them – and her bright-coloured drawings on the wall. Daphne half expected her younger self running into the room and laughing, and knowing her luck, the younger self would have been followed by the equally cheerful Ophelia.

Once she had stepped into the room, Daphne realized she could move freely; she was in control of her body again, and whatever force had brought her there had left.

But she wasn't alone; something was there, something in the air – an unseen presence. Daphne turned and made for the door to leave, but something grabbed her arm, pulling her back and making her stumble, only to be caught. Many hands shot out from below and around and steadied her, but the floor had changed. Daphne sank slightly into a wet, writhing mass of limbs. Sickly sweet smell pervaded the air. Daphne struggled, but couldn't free herself; she was lifted, or maybe she sank down into them – among bodies, turning, twisting, carrying her, and whenever she pushed or kicked, they easily backed away just enough to absorb the force. Caught in the sea of people, Daphne watched helplessly as the toy castle was crushed by the writhing mass of flesh that had once been the floor. The pile of bodies around Daphne swallowed her slowly; wet, sweaty, bloody people she easily recognized softly caressed her, smiling gently as they stared vacantly. A voice sounded close to Daphne's ear, familiar, whispering soothing words she refused to hear, but even her shrill scream couldn't drown it out; and then there was that flash of silver and red of reflected moonlight –

Daphne fell, hitting the floor, shaky. Somehow, she managed to stagger towards the door, not really thinking yet, stumbling until she had reached the bathroom. She sank to the ground, trying to steady her breath. Third year all over again, but no Dreamless Potion at hand. She should've known, Daphne thought dejectedly. She slowly regained her calm. She wasn't the little girl anymore, she had understood the strength in bending to the forces, to rise again and not be broken – she was healthy, she was fine.

She did rise to her feet again, far less steady than she would have liked. Once she had washed her face, already used to the rough skin around her left eye and the prominent scar on the right side of her face, she glared defiantly into the mirror. It might have looked impressive, had she not been so pale and dishevelled. The scars gave her an even more torn and battered look. But she had recovered, she told herself.

She stepped out of the bathroom, for once glad she was in the gloomy house of Potter hardly anyone lived in – no one had seen her minor shock. Even better, it seemed neither of the two on the floor had woken up or had come to investigate.

Yet she didn't return to her room in Potter's house. She felt rebellious and not the least bit tired. With both Granger and Weasley apparently sleeping soundly, she knew it was the perfect opportunity to do what she had wanted to for over a week. She sneaked over to the stairs, slipping her wand into her hand. When she placed her foot on the first step, Daphne held her breath. But nothing happened, no charms went off, nothing came crashing down, and not even the old elf came to check for any disturbance.

Smiling triumphantly, she crept up until she reached the landing of the second floor. It looked very much like she had expected with the same doors and walls she knew from her own floor. After only a short moment of hesitation, she moved, sneaking down the hallway.

"Looking for something?" a snide voice sounded close to her.

Whirling around, already a spell on her lips, Daphne found herself face to face with a painting of a sneering man.

"A bit jumpy," the painting commented. "And unless I misunderstood Dorea's grandson, you aren't allowed up here."

"Dorea's..." Daphne began, blinking dumbly. "You mean Potter?"

"Who else? So you are the one he married?" the painting asked. "You don't look all that promising. Rather plain, if I'd have to say. Alphonse's family really has fallen from grace, hasn't it?"

Daphne sent the painting a glare. "Not any of your business who I am."

"Bad-tempered too," the painting added, raising an eyebrow. "And what is with that horrible scar? Closed the Floo connection before you could give your sweetheart a good-bye kiss? Then again, that other one looks as if someone tried to cut your face off. Am I right? If so, I can understand whoever tried it to."

"You're Phineas Nigellus," Daphne realized, ignoring the taunt. "You're responsible for this whole mess I'm in."

"Now, now, young lady," Nigellus told her, shaking his head. "I can't claim all of the credit. But if you are talking about the marriage contract, then yes, I did have a hand in that matter. You still haven't replied to my statement earlier, though. I thought you weren't allowed up here."

"What? Are you going to tell on me?" she challenged.

"Of course not. While I may not like the boy, you are still his disfigured, bad-tempered Slytherin wife. Unless he asks me to, I wouldn't side with him against one of my own." He looked affronted she had even suspected something like that.

"If that's how you'll handle it, then I will have a look around," she told him, leaving. The hallway was of course deserted, but she felt slightly disappointed. She had hoped to find something out of the ordinary, something that explained why Potter hadn't wanted her to come upstairs. Instead, all she saw were empty walls and boring doors. However, one door caught her attention, as its handle gleamed golden in the dark. It had been used a lot lately, from what she could tell, unlike some of the others.

Daphne opened the door, curious as to what lay beyond. Only she didn't find danger, but a bedroom with a king-sized bed. Interestingly, this room also had decorations. Paintings adorned the walls, and unlike some of the other rooms, the furniture looked proper. Still, the room showed its age, as the wallpaper was torn and singed in places.

Only a moment later, she noticed the shifting shape on the bed, and even in the darkness, she had little trouble recognising who it was. Potter had his face pressed into the pillow, it seemed, as most of what she saw was his hair.

Daphne smiled slightly, wondering if she should disturb him or play some trick. But then, she wasn't really feeling mean-spirited, and Potter would easily deduce who it had been; interfering would only prove her venture of the night. And of what use would that be after Phineas Nigellus' painting had agreed to stay silent? She was about to leave, had in fact already closed the door halfway, when she heard Potter moan.

She froze, fearing he had noticed her, but at the same time trying not to attract his attention should he be awake. Yet he wasn't. After another moan, he jerked on the bed and rolled on his back. He was dreaming, she realized, but from his groan, it wasn't a pleasant dream.

So even Gryffindors had nightmares, Daphne thought, watching his arm twitch. She knew she should leave. It wasn't her business. If he had trouble at night, why should she get herself involved?

But she couldn't leave. Even Potter didn't deserve to have nightmares. How often had she hoped one of her dorm mates would wake her up whenever she had one? No, it had nothing to do with him, but she didn't want to turn away and let him suffer simply because she could. A small favour, nothing more, she told herself. And perhaps he'd be grateful enough to tell her something about her friends, so it wasn't a selfless action at all. Or at least not completely, Daphne reasoned.

She walked over to the bed. He looked smaller than normal, even helpless, but also odd without the glasses, which were lying on the bedside table with the wand. His arm twitched once more, and standing closer, she thought it looked familiar, but couldn't quite place it. Maybe a problematic Quidditch match? The arm movements might be attempts to catch an elusive Snitch. The tense look on his face seemed wrong, though. It looked as if he were in pain. Maybe he relived one of his previous games, Daphne thought. He had been injured in the first game of the second year. Lockhart had removed the bones of the broken arm, which had been a nice consolation prize for the Slytherins. He had fallen off his broom in his third year. It had been funny once it had been clear he hadn't died.

Before she could come to a conclusion, he jerked his head to the side once, twice, thrice, and each time, his shoulder twitched in unison. Even in the darkness, she could see he was snarling, and she could hear him growling quietly.

She decided to step in. Placing a hand on his still twitching shoulder to shake him awake, she made to call his name when she felt a sudden punch by an unseen force. Her feet left the ground, and as the bed seemed to jump away from her, she had barely enough time to notice Potter's palm pointed at her before she hit the wall forcefully enough to rattle the paintings. Blinking dazedly, Daphne slid down to the ground as her head started to throb painfully.

"Greengrass?" Potter's voice came from somewhere both to her left and right. "What are you doing here?"

She shook her head, trying to clear it. He came into view, kneeling in front of her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

What a stupid question, she realized through the pain. Her mind had restarted and she began putting together what had happened moments before.

"Only wanted to help. Why'd you blow me through the room?" she said, noticing the dull pain in her chest. "Do you always hex people who..." she accused, glaring at his hands. But they were empty. And as the pictures sorted themselves in her mind, she couldn't remember seeing one before. Her eyes jumped to the bedside table where she could see his wand lying as if nothing had happened.

She gaped at him as realization set in. He had hexed her, thrown her through the room. She had seen his outstretched hand, but no wand.

"Well?" he asked, frowning.

She didn't like how he looked for signs of injury; she still didn't like the scrutiny.

"Are you hurt?" Potter repeated. "Should I get Hermione to get a look at you?"

"You could have killed me!" she accused, her mind in chaos. He shouldn't be able to use wandless magic, yet it seemed as if he had. It made no sense, and that disturbed Daphne.

"Well, I'm sorry; you startled me!" he countered. "Why did you do that? Why did you come up here in the first place?"

"Accidental magic!" she yelled, immediately shocked by her own outburst.

He fell silent, staring at her as if frozen on the spot. There was an odd gleam in his eyes – a calculating look.

"No," she realized. It didn't seem like accidental magic, too spot-on and effective, and it also seemed to not have surprised Potter in the slightest – which meant he had somehow used wandless magic strong enough to hurl her against the wall, even though he shouldn't be able to.

"Wandless magic!" she shouted, her surprise overriding her common sense.

She knew enough about wandless magic – her father had studied it a bit. As a Potioneer, he occasionally needed ingredients, but couldn't be bothered to pull his wand to summon them. As a compromise, he had learned to do a Summoning Spell without the help of a wand, but it had taken him months of dedicated study, and he wasn't a mere schoolboy. A colleague of his had even mastered a simple animation spell to let a cauldron be stirred by magic instead of hand. But again it had taken months of dedicated training to get that particular spell down, with no guarantee of managing it beforehand.

"You nearly killed me!" she told him, unable to really glare.

"Well, I already said I'm sorry," he pointed out, watching her closely. "I didn't know it was you."

"What if it had been Granger or Weasley?" Daphne pointed out, wondering only a moment later why she had even mentioned them.

"It wouldn't have happened," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know them." But he continued watching her. Judging her, Daphne realized, she could practically feel his mind racing.

"You nearly killed me, and all you say is 'Sorry'?" she accused, now finding the anger she had been looking for.

"You seem fine, though," he said, pursing his lips. "That's good."

She collected her thoughts. "You still nearly... whom did you...? You could have... why were you...?"

He sat down in front of her. "Well, I already said you startled me, and I reacted instinctively. That should be something you're familiar with, isn't it?"

Daphne knew what he was referring to – her outburst in the dining room. Seeing her understand, he gave her a lop-sided smile that didn't quite reach his still watchful eyes.

"In... instinctively?" She blinked, half expecting to wake up. "You flung me across the room without an incantation or a wand. You flung me across the room without thinking? This is..." she hesitated, searching unsuccessfully for some comparison. "It is wandless magic, isn't it? Why can you even do it in the first place?" she asked, trying to buy herself time while a note of curiosity sneaked into her voice.

His calculating look intensified for a tense moment of silence. Then he shrugged carelessly. "Well, I stumbled upon it and found it useful to learn, so I did. It's not unheard of, it's usually only a handful of spells, often less, and it's not that different from accidental magic."

"Wandless magic is really difficult! People study it for months... years, for that handful. And you just learned it? Because you found it useful?"

This couldn't be the Harry Potter she knew, Daphne decided. She had watched him at Hogwarts long enough to know his limits. She knew he was mediocre to decent in school. Yet here he was, casually flinging magic around years, maybe even decades beyond his normal scope, which meant one of two possibilities. Either he had had vast, untapped potential just waiting to be discovered, meaning he would improve far faster than she would have thought possible in the next months and had likely already in the past, or he had held back from his first day of school to fool everyone he had come into contact with, making him as cunning as the best. So either he was ridiculously talented or crafty. Well, that, or he had been replaced with someone in disguise.

The discovery of his wandless magic made her think about her expectations for the war. Even with training from people like Alastor Moody, Potter was still only barely an adult while the Dark Lord was both incredibly powerful ridiculously talented, and equipped with decades of experience. She had previously concluded Potter would be as successful in defeating his enemies as a child flinging rocks at a castle wall.

But there had been the rumours going around about Potter being a Chosen One. Could they actually be true? Slowly, she added together what she knew or guessed about him. His reactions in Quidditch had been incredible, with next to no misses in the actual games. He was capable of remarkable dives as well, pointing to excellent body control and awareness of his surroundings. Also, while he had grown quite a bit, he had still retained the wiry body of a Seeker – a small, but fast target. If he had vastly more talent than she had previously given him credit for, his chances would again increase dramatically. Her mind went back to her escape on her wedding night and how easily he had disposed of the Death Eaters. So maybe he did stand a chance in the war, she realized with a slight shock, and hadn't been as delusional as she had thought.

Potter sighed, leaning back a bit. "Well, this is a bit of a bother, but I'm guessing you'd have learned about it sooner or later anyway. I'm going to take a leap of faith here and trust you with it." He sent her a meaningful look, almost as if to tell her that it was that easy to trust someone. Did he expect her to return the favour? That he gave her a secret of his – an important one, even – in exchange for her opening up? Then again, it was either letting her live or killing her, either letting her keep the knowledge or butchering her mind, and either letting her stay or throwing her out. So he'd chosen the former for all three choices.

But why had he decided to trust her just moments ago? The calculating look in his eyes returned, mixed with something like expectation. Come on, he seemed to think, I did it, now it's your turn. "Well, that's nice of you," she found herself say. "I won't tell. It's not as if anyone would believe me anyway," she pointed out, almost managing to block out his silent message to her. Alarmed and at the same time ashamed of herself, she couldn't quite meet his gaze. "But you owe me for nearly killing me."

"Or we could just say I've lost the favour I had earlier for bringing you here," he spoke up, and the expectation was gone from his eyes. "I saved you earlier, I endangered you just now; let's just say one act cancels out the other."

She knew she'd let that opportunity go to waste. On the other hand, there was a small smile on his face, almost as if she had given him something in return.

Reluctantly, she agreed with a small nod, but at the same time, she felt slightly better no longer owing him her life.

"You still haven't answered me, though," he pointed out. "Why are you here? And are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Daphne scoffed, ignoring the throbbing of her head and the aching bones.

"That's good to hear," he told her. "And why did you come up here? Did you need something?"

"If I answer you, will you tell me where you learned wandless magic?"

He narrowed his eyes, and she knew she shouldn't push her luck.

"I wanted to see what's so dangerous up here that I'm not allowed to come here," Daphne admitted. "It seemed like a good idea at the time to have a quick look while I had the chance. I'm guessing it's just you?"

Potter relaxed, smiling slightly. "You wanted to know where I learned about wandless magic. Well, it's simple, really. Dumbledore explained the basic principles behind it, and I worked out the rest on my own. It seemed like a good idea to learn it properly once I noticed I could do it. Some people just have an easier time with it."

"And you are the danger up here that I wasn't meant to run into?" she asked.

"Something like that. It also meant having space for myself to prepare, not to mention privacy. It's a good place for some quiet brooding without getting disturbed," he told her with an easy smile. "You knew you weren't meant to be up here, yet you tried to wake me, why?"

She noticed the past tense when referring to her coming upstairs, but chose not to comment. Was she now allowed to come up to the second floor? Or were those limitations still active? She also, somewhat belatedly, realized they had begun talking about themselves, and that technically she had offered the exchange. Yet it didn't feel quite like an interrogation this time.

"Well, I wanted to see what was up here, I already said as much. I found this room and saw you having," she hesitated, "a bad dream."

He nodded with a wry smile. "Still not an answer."

She sighed. "Well, I figured you might want to be woken from it. I didn't know you would blast me around." Averting her eyes, she stared at one of the paintings. "You didn't look too happy; I decided to help. I thought you were playing Quidditch and losing. Well, we can't have that, can we?" she joked without any real humour in her voice. A part of her was still reminiscing the scene from earlier, while another part realized she had admitted to not only wanting to help him, but also watching him for a bit.

"Quidditch, really?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Well, why not? So you've been staying up here all the time, then?" she said, glancing around more. With her mind cleared, she noticed some peculiarities, like the lack of any paintings with people in it. And one of them looked less like a painting and more like a window into a dark corridor full of odds and ends.

"You mean the second floor? Mostly, yes. It has most of what I need, most importantly, privacy. Most of the time, at least. And this house is mine anyway, so why shouldn't I have better accommodations than the common crowd?"

"Because you aren't really the type to set yourself apart from your friends," Daphne answered truthfully. "Whatever you do, you're almost never separated from your friends. There were rumours at school you even went to the loo together – as in, with Granger."

"We don't," Potter answered. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he joked, "Not regularly, at least. That was just a phase in second year."

"My turn, then," Daphne said, nodding.

"Not fair. That wasn't a real question," Potter told her, pouting. She had half a mind to give in, but decided against it.

"It's still my turn," she said. "When did Dumbledore teach you about wandless magic? That's really advanced, no matter what you might say or think."

"Actually, he didn't even teach me about it, really. We talked about magic in general, especially how it works, and happened to stumble across it. And we had that talk about a year ago. After that, it kind of happened. It sounded too good not to give it a try and dabble in it for a bit. Some people just have an easier time with it, that's all."

"You're joking," she told him. "You figured it out in a year? No, that was not a valid question."

"Of course it wasn't, it's my turn," Potter replied, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Let's see... Ah, who did your cheer for during the World Cup?"

"And you wonder why I brought up Quidditch. A distant relative of mine is Irish, so I cheered for them." Daphne shook her head, trying not to think too much about her family at the moment. "Erm, what did you dream of, incidentally? You were, well..." She stopped short of saying 'snarling'. "You were twitching in your sleep," she settled on. "I thought it reminded me of something, but I can't place it."

He narrowed his eyes once more. "Twitching?" He paused before sighing. "Oh, well, you might be thinking of the Cruciatus curse."

As he said it, she suddenly saw the connection. It was true; the twitches had resembled her own experience with the spell. And she also remembered the interview Potter had given the Quibbler in their fifth year in which he had claimed to have experienced the effects as well. It made sense, yet sadly not the fun or surprising variety, but the plain depressing, boring one that came with a note of disappointment. She didn't want to think about depressing things. Trying to divert her attention, she focused on another matter.

"So, I met your ancestor, Mr. Black, in the corridor. Is he always like that?"

"It's my turn, actually, but fine. Yes. He's condescending to a lot of people. He didn't like Sirius because he wasn't as black and cruel as he should have been. He doesn't like me much because I am not pureblooded enough. He doesn't like anyone who isn't giving their all and impress him. My turn then," Potter said. "Nothing serious, but since we talk about him right now, what do you think of him?"

She pondered his question. "Well, he isn't very pleasant, but he also doesn't need to be. And I can avoid him. He's also at least partly responsible for this mess." She gestured around herself. "Without that idiotic contract, we wouldn't be stuck in this... marriage."

"True," Potter agreed, "but he is actually not that bad once you've met the rest of the family. Isn't that sad? There were some really messed-up people around. I'm just glad we got rid of old Mrs. Black." He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Otherwise, it would have been unbearable around here. Sirius' mother," he told her. "And a nasty piece of work even in death. Her painting hung downstairs, we removed it a few weeks ago; I pointed it out already. I removed it the Muggle way. Magicals think far too much about the straight way, instead of outside the trodden paths. Sticking charm? Good idea. Next time, make it fireproof as well. Anyway, she had a tendency to insult everyone. Lupin was a filthy half-breed, the twins abominations, their family traitors… Sirius a disgrace and ungrateful spawn that consorted with criminals and broke her heart. Next to her, Phineas Nigellus is almost pleasant company."

"You said as much, yes. She sounds like a charming lady," Daphne said. "What would she have thought of me?"

"The chances are good she would have found something unflattering sooner or later," Potter grimaced, remembering the woman's bouts.

"Mr. Black called me disfigured and bad-tempered," Daphne said with a wry smile. "Asked whether someone tried to cut my face off." She indicated the scar along the side of her face.

"That does sound like him, but then, it also shows his interest. He actually looked at you, which he doesn't do with a lot of people. Still, not nice." Potter shrugged half-heartedly. "Although he does have a point."

"Yes, I'm hideous," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

"I meant the comment about the temper," he told her. "It didn't do you any favours here, and we could do without you baring your fangs."

"Fangs, Slytherins, very creative, never heard that one before. Mr. Black, then," she began, trying to make Potter forget it was his turn to ask her something. "Sirius Black, I mean. You speak as if you knew him, despite him being a wanted criminal."

Potter frowned. "And also innocently imprisoned. I met him, yes. He wasn't as mad as he could have been, but he was also not really well. Azkaban isn't good for anyone's health. Still, I liked him, for what he did, for what he tried to do, for what he was willing to do, and for what he meant to me and my family." Seeing her look, he elaborated. "My godfather and a good friend to my parents. When in school, he was friends with Lupin. After they left school, Sirius helped my parents; he joined them in the war. He stood by his best friend. When I was born, they made him my godfather. After their deaths, he would have cared for me, but unfortunately, Sirius was sent to prison for crimes he hadn't committed. Without a trial, I might add, since everyone was happy to get it done with as quickly as possible. Well, you know what happened afterwards. He escaped in the summer of '93 and wanted to protect me as well as catch Pettigrew – the real culprit. I met both of them once at the end of our third year, but Pettigrew escaped. Sirius had to go on the run again. Without evidence, he was still a wanted man."

"There was evidence, though," Daphne pointed out. "His memories would have worked, for example."

"Should have, yes. But with the Dementor's Kiss already ordered and Fudge an idiot, Sirius wouldn't have gotten the chance to tell his side. Anyway, at the end of our fifth year, Sirius left me everything he had when he died. You might have read about his death in the paper?"

"I did, yes," she admitted. She hadn't been saddened by it back then to read about the madman dying, but Potter's tale put it into a different light. And hadn't Professor Moody implied Potter had been there when Black had died? "I didn't know about what you just told me, though," she added. "So he left you everything he owned, including this house and the titles, which explains how you got involved in the contract mess."

"Yes, that is how I got involved. It has proven to be a double-edged sword, though, hasn't it?" He gave her a small smile. "So I'll just say I'm sorry you had to deal with the contract in the first place."

For a moment, both were silent while Daphne considered his words, looking for the trap she expected.

"So what now?" Daphne asked finally, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.

"Why don't we try becoming friends? Or maybe acquaintances?" Potter asked after a moment of thought. "Like it or not, you're stuck with me for a while, perhaps even for the full seven years of the contract. Do you want to spend the time glowering at me? Only communicating with pointed glares, silence or insults? We might find a way to not get on the other one's nerves. Isn't that worth a try, to get along?"

Daphne bit her lip. No, the future he had described didn't sound all that good, especially now that she knew he might just live. "We might as well give it a try – as long as it's nothing too personal," she told him. "Just small things, and if it is too personal..."

"It may be shelved?" Potter guessed. He looked at her for a moment before shrugging. "Fine. Small things then. What about food? Anything you really don't like? Just so I know what not to look for or maybe even avoid on my shopping trips?"

"Well, that's easy," she told him. "Plums. I don't like them. On the other hand, chocolate is nice. It might not count as food, though, so cheese too."

He chuckled. "Well, treacle tart is my favourite, but I'm impartial to a lot." After a moment, he added, "Well, I'm staying away from sweets for the most part, but that's... After spending almost five years with Fred and George around, any sweet is highly suspicious, and you never know whether it won't bite your finger or something."

Knowing enough about the twins, she had to agree with his statement. "What's your favourite class, then? Mine is Charms," Daphne asked. Even though house loyalty demanded that she should choose Potions, but Daphne much preferred working with a wand to handling a knife.

"Well, that would be Defence against the Dark Arts, I guess," Potter said. "Err, do you have a pet? I have an owl –"

"Everyone knows that," Daphne interrupted with a sigh. "A sister. She might count, now that I think about it – she's gotten worse over the years. She's a pest."

"Must be nice to have siblings," Potter said, smiling softly.

"It's not bad as such, but it's also not all it's made out to be," Daphne replied, with a careless shrug she didn't quite mean.

"Oh? Any story you might want to share?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not particularly," Daphne told him, keeping the pained tone out of her voice. Every story she could think of at the moment was not small.

There was an odd hesitation on Potter's part, and she guessed he weighed her words carefully. But then, he scratched his cheek, saying, "So let's see. Oh, I know. What did you want to be when you were a small child? I'm just curious. For one, I don't know what magical children dream about; for another, I just can't imagine you ever being young and childish." He grinned, but she had a feeling he wasn't completely honest.

"It still doesn't matter, but fine. As a child, I wanted to be a brilliant enchantress. Others dream about becoming Quidditch stars, sometimes simply being rich. Some think about law enforcement or doing something dangerous, like handling wild beasts. Why didn't you ask your friends about that, though? The Weasleys are magical children as well."

"Well, they are kind of a special case since they have a penchant for getting themselves into trouble and dangerous vocations. Ron's oldest brothers work for Gringotts and with dragons, respectively. And the twins... ah, they're causing much of the danger in their store in the first place, I think."

"From what I know, you saying they get themselves into trouble and danger is rich," she told him with a roll of her eyes. "Aren't you the one who can't help but walk into any fight he can? You constantly challenged Snape, even after you had to have realized you couldn't win against him."

"It's not my fault there," Potter defended himself. "He has trouble getting along with me. You were there in the first lesson; would you have known the answers?"

"I don't really remember them. But then, you still have a tendency to endanger yourself and others." When he didn't look like he wanted to argue about that, she asked, "So what did want to be as a child?"

He got a wistful look she hadn't expected. "I wanted to be the son of loving and caring parents."

Daphne blinked, not sure what to say.


From what it looked like, Potter hadn't told his friends about their meeting. She had slunk back to her room that night and had fallen into an uneasy sleep. She had dreamed about giants who looked like her parents, glaring at her for some slight she couldn't recall. There was also a strange sense of aching to those dreams, and occasionally, she had thought she had lost something important of herself, an arm once, then taste and smell, then her safety.

The next two days passed surprisingly unremarkable. She had half expected Potter to come to her and try to continue connecting with her. That thought had reminded her she had forgotten to ask about her friends. It did not improve her mood, but at least she could say she had retained some happiness. Potter had returned to looking dismayed, not really showing the vigour he had had after his excursion. She could tell something was on his mind, but didn't want to ask about it. Although the talks with him were less unpleasant than she had feared and initially thought – and were perhaps not that bad of an idea if he did survive – she still felt better not sticking her nose into what she felt wasn't her business.

Something else was different after their last talk. Daphne had begun to see something in him she hadn't before. The revelations of the night forced her to acknowledge his potential, but at the same time, she also didn't know him well enough to judge him correctly. She rather disliked not knowing what to expect and made a point to watch him now and then. Her previous impression seemed accurate to a point. At first, she had likened him to a cat. It fit surprisingly well, yes, but she also had a feeling it was not the best she could come up with. His ability to move quietly was certainly cat-like, and there were viciousness and craftiness.

Then there was his privacy. She hadn't paid that much attention previously, but it looked as if not even his friends went to see him much during the day. Did he keep them away as well? Or were they simply too busy with themselves to visit him?

Then, two days later and four after her night-time stroll through the house, they were sitting at breakfast again. Weasley had apparently slept like a log, yet was still tired for some reason. Granger on the other hand kept looking at Potter, shifting nervously in her seat. It seemed she had also picked up on his mood, for he kept staring at the plate, eating slowly, lost in thought.

"I think I should do another run later," Granger spoke up. "It might be better to do a number of small shopping trips instead of a large one. It'll draw less attention, I think."

Potter nodded absent-mindedly.

"Oh, and there is something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have time later; I hope you won't mind."

Again, he nodded, but he did look at his friend for a moment. Daphne got the impression Granger just wanted to have a quiet talk with her friend, but wasn't sure about it. Maybe she was wrong and it had something to do with the war instead.

Weasley grimaced. "You do that, then. Hey, when you go, do you think you could bring a few of those sweets you had the first time? I'm not complaining, it's just... well, you know, the food is…" He shrugged with his shoulders. "I miss school; at least there we had something to choose from."

"Honestly, school is more than a ready-made table," Granger admonished her friend. "We go there to learn, to improve ourselves – not to fatten you up."

Daphne had half a mind to agree, but kept from saying anything. It wasn't her fight, it wasn't her duty to intervene and she suspected it had more to do with finding something to argue about. Granger and Weasley continued to glare at each other, when they heard the door opening on ground floor.

"What is it now?" Weasley groaned, but Potter jumped to his feet.

"At least we don't have the harpy's screams to deal with anymore," he said, his voice sounding light-hearted, but his face was stony as he went to the stairs.

"Anyone there?" they heard someone shout overhead. Daphne didn't recognize the voice, but Weasley seemed to. He followed his friend, even leaving his breakfast behind, trailed by Granger.

Curious, Daphne joined them. In the hallway, they found a red-headed man she had met before – Weasley's older brother William.

"It's good to see you," he greeted tiredly. "I'm guessing you want to ask me something?"

"Your final word of advice from that day?" Potter spoke up. Now that she allowed herself to see it, she noticed he looked surprisingly like a leader and did sound strangely confident. It reminded her of their escape in August.

"That would be 'Don't let it go to your head, you still have a long way to go,' and I do stand by what I said. Moody sends his regards, by the way. He's pleased you seem to take your security so seriously and don't act on some hare-brained scheme. And just so you won't be angry with me, what did you tell me when we returned home the last time before you returned to school?"

"I apologized for dragging you into the mess, and that you had done a good job," Potter replied. "Good to see you, Bill. Why are you here? Not that I'm not happy, but visitors rarely bring good news."

"Unfortunately, you are right about that." Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable. As he glanced around, perhaps inspecting the hallway, perhaps simply trying to ignore Potter's eye, he saw Daphne.

"Ah, Mrs. Greengrass. I heard about you staying here, of course. How are you?"

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. "Fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"Fine as well, thank you. My wife will be delighted to hear you are well." Seeing Daphne raise an eyebrow, he added, "Well, she helped you when you arrived here. Her father is a healer, so she picked something up along the way. It also meant she isn't squeamish, which seems to be a good thing when dealing with injuries." Turning, he gestured towards the dining room. "Mind if we talked in there?" he addressed Potter again, still not looking at him.

Once they were inside – the younger Weasley had sent Daphne a glare, but had kept quiet after a quick glance from Potter – and had sat down, Mr. Weasley grimaced. "I do have bad news, unfortunately. Where to begin? Well, there's little good to say at the moment. We try to get people out of the country, but it's actually quite difficult with them breathing down our necks. Random house searches, spies all around. Interrogations with Veritaserum. We can't know whom to trust any more. Luckily, most of the work is already done or we might be in deep trouble. They got old Perkins, though, from Dad's old office."

Weasley blinked, surprised by the news. "Whatever for? He's about as harmless as they come!"

"The official story is he resisted arrest by stabbing one of the officials with a cursed dagger. That's rubbish, of course, but they still claim it happened that way, and since nobody dares argue against it, they get away with it."

"But people at the Ministry will know him," Weasley replied. "Even I know the man is no threat, and I have never worked with him."

"The unofficial story is slightly different," his brother told him. "Perkins is harmless, you say? You are right. He has worked at the Ministry for years, though. That's why he knows all the forms and papers going around. And he knows some very useful loopholes. He helped us forge a few documents for the evacuation. He also kept his ears and eyes open and passed something to Dad every once in a while. Then some Death Eater got wind of it and killed him. Spies aren't very high in their respect, unless they're their own.

"Apart from that, they have increased the pressure on us. Random house calls, for example. The Lovegoods were a bit too odd for their tastes," Mr. Weasley said, and Potter's friends gasped. Potter merely tensed like a cat ready to jump.

"Xenophilius is fine, Luna is at school," Mr. Weasley assured them. "Still, merely being odd is enough to warrant a visit nowadays. It's mainly to keep dissenters isolated; few people dare make the first step to our side if they have to fear for their safety. Few try anything any more, not when any co-conspirator might be given Veritaserum. And if one falls, others are dragged down as well."

"And no one is willing to stand up to them?" Granger asked, outraged.

"There are some. Old Ogden voiced his displeasure about the treatment of people and the actions of the Ministry. He was convicted of bribery and sent to prison, maximum sentence. Due to some freak accident – nobody is quite sure how it could have come to be, strange really – he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck."

"They killed him too?" Granger groaned.

"No, no, you clearly didn't listen. He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck, something completely different," Mr. Weasley said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"And no one is stopping them," Potter spoke up. His voice was hollow; he looked defeated.

"You seem to forget, Harry, that they run the country. The saddest part is that some people actually go along with it. I can understand fear. I worry each time one of us has to leave; I worry when we go to bed, wondering whether they will come for us. Yet some seem to have shrugged and adapted not due to pressure, but to avoid having to do something themselves. I didn't tell you, but Percy's now stuck doing grunt work under the watchful eyes of some we suspect spies for the Death Eaters. You, know, just in case Percy lets something slip. Then there are the investigations at St. Mungo's." Raising his hand to ward off questions, he added, "The Ministry wants to have the healers look into how the injuries came to be, likely to check whether someone is part of the resistance. Luckily, the management doesn't seem to go along with it, if only because it would mean too much additional work. It still means we have to be careful at St. Mungo's – all it takes to recruit an informant is a flick of the wand, after all."

Potter nodded thoughtfully. "So that's it, then? They don't even fear to act in broad daylight. They do whatever they want?"

"Day and night, yes," Mr. Weasley agreed.

"Horrible," Granger groaned, leaning into Weasley.

"Have you heard anything about Hogwarts?" Daphne asked from her seat away from the others.

Mr. Weasley twitched slightly before turning to face her. He replied, "Not really, I'm sorry. Snape tries to run it like a school and keep it in order like any headmaster should, but he's fighting a lost battle there. I heard there seems to be some resistance against the new rule – from some of Harry's friends, most likely. I haven't heard much about the Slytherins, which can be taken as either good or bad. It might mean they keep out of trouble, or it might mean they cause the trouble in the first place. Maybe they're just better at getting away with whatever they do."

Daphne sighed. She knew she shouldn't have expected anything new; her friends would keep their heads down and not draw enough attention to be of note.

"What about that Muggleborn Registration Committee?" Granger asked.

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Captured Muggleborns, ah. Well, for the most part, they're carted off. Azkaban couldn't hold all of those prisoners, apparently, so the Ministry decided to create re-education camps. Just because the blood isn't pure enough doesn't mean Muggleborns can't do work."

"People need to know about that!" Granger stormed.

"They know, Hermione. They know. The thing is, as long as your blood isn't too impure, you can rise in the ranks. Jobs previously held by Muggleborns become available, so all you have to do to work your way up from the lowest ranks is to fall in line. And any real wealth Muggleborns once owned, well, that's redistributed, so there's money to be made. People do know what is going on. Some help the new order by rounding up Muggleborns, others keep quiet out of fear. A few actually try to help. And Muggleborns know as well, but what can they do but try escaping the Muggle way? Sometimes it works, sometimes not.

"As for the camps, we raided one twelve days ago. The other two were almost immediately closed. We don't know where the inmates ended up. We think they were brought to some secret prison, but we haven't found out where it is.

"As for those who escaped, well, those aren't really any help either. Store owners, parents too frightened for the safety of their children, some of which didn't manage to escape and might have to suffer for it. Keep in mind, a child of a Muggleborn is still required to go to Hogwarts and doubles as a decent hostage."

"Maybe those Muggleborns could be trained up as an army to retake the country," Potter pointed out.

Mr. Weasley sent him a sad smile. "Moody talked to some of his contacts abroad to get some kind of support network going – you know, finding shelter and work for the refugees. I think he had originally thought about something akin to what you just said and recruit people for a proper resistance, but... Most of the capable fighters were previously working for the Ministry. After the takeover, they were the first to be rounded up. What's left abroad, well, they aren't battle-ready, and most of them will be happy they managed to get away. I heard Kingsley wanted to see what he can do, but I wouldn't hope for a miracle there."

"Bill," Potter said, his face like a mask. "Thank you for coming and telling us. Any news is welcome. Do you have anything else? They might notice your absence if you don't get moving soon."

"Actually," Mr. Weasley said, sighing, "there is something else, yes. I... I didn't want you to..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I came here, but once I saw you..." He broke off and swallowed. "Well, there was an attack, one by giants. One close to Hogwarts, in fact. The singer of the Weird Sisters died, you see? Well, the Ministry, they had to... that is, well..."

"They needed to be seen doing something," Potter spoke up. There was an odd expression on his face.

"Yes, exactly," Mr. Weasley replied with a frown. "Well, seeing as how it was close to Hogwarts and the public demanded an investigation, they did just that. Even though they didn't suspect him, they figured it couldn't hurt to have Hagrid watched closely."

Granger gasped, putting her hand to her mouth.

"They did just that," Mr. Weasley continued, "and in the end, Hagrid led them to a cave in the mountains. And there was indeed a giant."

"Grawp," Granger moaned with the oddest mixture of fondness and sadness on her face. Daphne, meanwhile, wasn't sure whether it was even a word, and Mr. Weasley stared at her.

"We've met," Potter said curtly.

Mr. Weasley blinked, but after a moment of surprise, he sighed. "So you've met. Should've known. Well, that's when the Ministry stepped in. A giant close to a giant's attack, you know? And one who reacted violently when confronted by the Ministry. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."

"But he wouldn't do something like that," Granger spoke up. "He isn't... Oh." Comprehension dawned on her, and she sniffed.

"Hagrid stepped in, tempers rose... you know – Hagrid," Mr. Weasley said, almost as if that explained everything. "Well, things got out of hand, apparently, until one of the Ministry officials died, and that... well, that did it. The giant – Grawp? – he was blamed for the original attack. A vicious being running rampant, they said, which wasn't that hard to believe with how he had reacted when the Ministry showed up, so he was executed."

Silence stretched. Daphne wasn't quite sure what to feel. She hadn't known the giant – she had little interest in getting to know one at all, actually – but even she felt it hadn't been right to kill him. She had a feeling that giant hadn't been responsible for the original attack and just blamed for it. Or perhaps it was just the knowledge of how giants were executed that made her feel uncomfortable since she thought nothing deserved that. She worried that it had been done on the school grounds. From what she guessed, the Ministry wouldn't have wanted to wait, and they did have the Black Lake at hand.

Weasley – the younger one – wrapped a comforting arm around Granger. His brother avoided everyone's eye, looking terribly uncomfortable. Potter on the other hand watched him closely as his hand came to rest on Granger's arm.

Then Mr. Weasley spoke up once more. "Well, the Ministry decided that Hagrid had been helping the giant. That his blood had come through at last, or that maybe he did have more giant's blood than wizard's. That it had been manslaughter instead of an accident. It had been Hagrid who had flung the man aside, so it had been Hagrid who killed him, you see? Only, giants don't get second chances. He..." Mr. Weasley sighed. "Harry, Hermione, Ron... I'm sorry. They had him join the giant. There was nothing to be done. When we heard, it had been too late."

Both Granger and Weasley started crying, clinging to each other from the look of it. Potter remained where he was, but tears ran down his face as he sat rigid in is seat. His eyes were on something in the distance and full of a fire Daphne hadn't expected of him – the fire of righteous fury.

This time, Daphne knew how to feel about it. She agreed with Potter's sentiment, and she couldn't lie to herself this time. She also knew just the right word to describe the ground-keeper's fate. Injustice.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Weasley repeated. "He was our friend, and I thought... Well, you shouldn't have to read it in the paper or... or have someone throw it in your face."

"He was well-liked," Potter spoke up, a slight quiver in his voice.

"That he was, yes," Mr. Weasley agreed. "People up and down the country are in uproar. But you know he wouldn't have wanted you to do anything hasty. He liked you and everyone else, he would have wanted you to stay safe. One day, those responsible for it will have to answer for their actions, but you'd do him a great disservice if you got yourself caught because of that."

"I know," Potter spat, "I... I know." With a pained expression, he added, "Thanks for telling us. Really, Bill, I... we appreciate it."

Mr. Weasley nodded. When no one spoke up, he cleared his throat. "Well, I should probably go. I don't trust my co-workers to not go to the Ministry, and they might suspect something when I'm gone for too long. But if you need anything, anything at all..." He sent them a sad smile and left after receiving nods and parting words from Potter and his friends.

Sitting off to the side in the shadows, Daphne stared at the seat Mr. Weasley had vacated. Things had gotten out of hand, he had said, and she felt it summed up the ongoing war relatively well. Things had to have gotten out of hand when a ground-keeper of a school was executed for manslaughter alongside a probably innocent giant. Things had to have gotten out of hand indeed. Even though she hadn't known him well, Daphne knew he hadn't been a killer. She also knew he had likely been made a scapegoat, just like the giant from the cave. The Ministry had to be seen doing something, Potter had called it. If that was their interpretation of justice, was it any wonder the Dark Lord had had little trouble taking over? If any dissenters were killed without even an attempt at covering it up, yet the populace made no attempt to step in, was it any wonder life continued the way it had before? Frankly, Daphne didn't know why she was even surprised. She knew enough about people to know what to expect of them.

"Well, that made the decision for me," Potter said into the silence. Granger looked at him with red eyes. "For the past weeks," he continued in a hollow voice, "I was struggling with myself. I knew what likely needs to be done, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want to, honestly. There has to be another way, I told myself. It seems like I don't have that choice anymore."

"Harry, don't do anything stupid," Granger told him, looking fearful. Daphne could understand her, the other girl would know best about her friend's tendency to take unnecessary dangers. And hadn't Mr. Weasley said something similar? Even without knowing Potter that well, she got an uneasy feeling about his words.

"Me? Doing something stupid? Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked, but even he couldn't smile about the joke. "Something needs to be done. This..." He broke off, considering his words. "No, it's not a war. No, war is not the right word for it. Something needs to be done about them. They can't be allowed to carry on like that." He sighed, both dejected and determined to go through with whatever he had in mind.

"You can't!" Granger yelled. "You are not ready yet! You said so yourself!"

"I don't plan to challenge V... the Head Hypocrite to a duel, don't worry," he told her, looking at least twice as old as he actually was. He blinked. "But enough is enough. It's his followers, both masked and unmasked. They go around, killing people without consequences. They are growing in numbers and become bolder with each passing day. They can do whatever they want because no one is keeping them in check. They're the symptom of a disease. It's... time. Time to draw a line."

His declaration was met with silence, as both of his friends gaped at him. Weasley was the first to find his voice. "You don't mean..."

"Two can play their game," Potter said, staring at the table. "Enough is enough. Enough pain and suffering for our side. I want to send his followers a message, take a few of them off the streets - permanently - and perhaps they'll think twice about what they're doing then. And if that doesn't work... At the least, it will reduce their numbers; the fewer of them around, the fewer attacks they can do in the limited time."

"You… you can't," Granger told him. "Kill them? We can't do that!"

"Hermione," he said, a sadness in his eyes that Daphne recognized, and one that kept her from fetching her trunk and storming out of the house, "I don't see any alternative. We call it a war, but it isn't. They attack and we retreat, but we don't intervene, just watch them and mourn our losses. When they do, or when we step in, what is always our reaction? Hold them at bay; capture them if possible - to hand them over to the Ministry in the past. But now?" He rose from his seat, the fury back in his eyes.

"Harry," Weasley spoke up for the first time in a while, "Hagrid wouldn't've..."

"It's not Hagrid," Potter interrupted. "It's not revenge. What about Perkins, killed because he followed his heart? What about Old Ogden? This... whatever it is, it has gotten out of hand. We're losing because they grow in strength. We're losing because..." He broke off, swallowing. "Sometimes, there's something that needs to be done. We're at war. Some things... need to be done. I think it's time we fight fire with fire."

"And let the world burn to the ground?" Granger retorted jumping to her feet as well.

"We're at war. Someone has to make sure they know the price for their actions," Potter finished, standing regally and resembling a stone statue of a warrior of the past. That too Daphne recognized – the attempt to look strong and determined. "If someone has to bleed in this war, why not them as well? Someone has to reduce their numbers, take away the beast's claws and teeth – his army."

"But why us? Why you? Why do you have to..." Granger asked with a mix of fear and accusation in her voice.

"Haven't you heard?" Potter said, chuckling hopelessly. It sent a shiver down Daphne's spine. "It is my job, isn't it? I'm the Chosen One."


More boring talk. But then, some things need to be discussed and written about. What would you do if you didn't know Daphne's favourite food? How am I supposed to off You-Know-Who without that crucial piece of information? Without any foreshadowing, how am I supposed to set the stage for the final fight? And lastly, since people were antsy about something happening, I let something happen.

.

I removed a sentence that wasn't quite necessary. "He had fallen off his broom in his third year. It had been funny once it had been clear he hadn't died." Resaonably speaking, Daphne should have picked up on the Dementor's presence, and elation after their disapperance doesn't mean she has to find Harry's fall funny.