Posted 6/15/2014, edited 6/23/2014

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Forty-Two - Night at Grimmauld Place

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Cold rain doused the city, the Muggles in their strange carriages chasing this way and that. The winter holidays were drawing nearer. How the times had changed over the last years.

Two years ago, her world had been fine. She had known she would be matched to Malfoy, yet she had also been sure they would not be wed, she had been sure he would have bought out of the contract before his birthday. Her family had been gathered that holiday; they had eaten the traditional dinner, had listened to the stories and had been a family.

A year ago, everything had been different. The contract had been heavy on her parents' minds, much to her sister's dismay. Daphne had been preoccupied as well, but for other reasons. She had known the contract would be taken care of and had lied to her parents about it or at least withheld information from them, and she had waited for the letter to arrive. The dinner had been cut short due to Potter's little gift and the subsequent visit of the Malfoys. In the days after that, little festive spirit had come to them. No, negotiating the terms hadn't been her idea of cheerful family entertainment, but she had been willing to sacrifice one holiday in exchange for her freedom.

And this year, her family would mourn the loss of their daughter, lost somewhere in the world without a trace and rumoured to be dead. Would they celebrate nonetheless? Perhaps they would abandon the tradition completely for her sake. But they needed to think of Astoria as well. As much as she was a pest to Daphne and a terror, she was still her sister and their daughter. Surely they wouldn't give up the holiday dinner? Surely they had planned something?

Meanwhile, Daphne would be stuck with Potter and his friends. The thought both saddened and angered her. She didn't know them well and didn't really want to, yet she would be with them for the one time of the year she associated with family. And while they would do whatever Muggles and blood traitors were doing during the holidays, she would be alone once more, isolated and apart from everyone around her. She wished her friends were there for her, or even just one of them, just to have someone to share her misery. But they were safe at school, she knew it. They were reasonably safe and she would have felt awful if she had forced one of them to join her just so she wouldn't be lonely. She had caused it, and since it was in part her fault and mostly Potter's, she couldn't burden her guiltless friends.

Being with Potter and his friends also made her angry, however, and mostly at herself. Why had she decided to approach him last year? That had been one of the worst ideas she had ever had. For one, it had caused her a lot of problems she could have done well without. Had she really thought she could escape that easily? That things would run smoothly just because she had made a plan? That she could avoid the bad heading her way. And she was also saddled with a boy she didn't understand.

At first, he had been merely the fabled Boy-Who-Lived, a tall name, but little power to it. That had been her reason to approach him – she had expected he would fail soon enough and free her from the contract. Shortly before the summer though, he had changed somewhat. He had been tired and distracted, but from what she had heard, he had been improving in class during those last weeks. At her wedding, he had alternated between uncomfortable and sociable – a decent groom for a reluctant bride, all things considered. On the wedding night, he had executed their escape from their house and his enemies without trouble thanks to unexpected skill, and it had made her wonder briefly just how good he really was when he didn't hold back. In the days after she had been brought into the house of the Blacks, she had thought he had lost himself in his delusions of grandeur only to find he was perfectly capable of thinking straight, aware of his responsibility and willing to shoulder them. And she had found out he had skills and talents he really shouldn't have. Just when she had thought she could overlook his rash tendencies, he had declared his intention to ride into war, figuratively speaking, and take the Death Eaters on. But instead of a thirst for revenge out of grief for Hogwarts' game-keeper, he had seemed dejected, but convinced of the necessity of murder. Daphne couldn't understand that notion. Just when she had considered accepting his presence in the house and his warmongering as a necessary downside to her stay in their hiding place, he had shown worrying mood swings between happy and sad while scheming with Granger. And yet, she had thought she had seen something in him, something she could relate to. Over the last few days, that feeling of familiarity had grown. Instead of his normal weirdness, he had retreated once more from about everyone in the house.

She knew why, of course. Granger had been the same, because they had gone through with their plan to kill someone. From what Daphne had overheard, she guessed it had worked, but Daphne hadn't thought much about it. Not her business, she had repeatedly told herself. Don't think about it.

But even if his dealings weren't her business, she had her own, and she wasn't progressing as well as she would have liked. She needed to ask him, Daphne decided. She needed to feel as if she were doing something during her stay to move forward instead of lingering, wanting to do something without accomplishing anything. She needed to feel connected to the world, and to break out of her isolation, she needed to connect and contact. If she wanted to know what was going on in the wizarding world, she needed to talk to Potter.

She still hated it. Years of trying to be independent made her wary of relying on someone, especially since she still didn't really know him. But no matter, she knew what needed to be done, and she knew she needed to do it without Weasley or Granger noticing. She had a feeling Potter might understand.

Shaking her head, she ascended the stairs. She had to have lost her mind, figuratively speaking, she told herself, yet she didn't turn around. She didn't look at the painting of Phineas Nigellus Black. Whether he was there or not didn't matter to her. She hadn't come to exchange pleasantries with him, had she?

The door was closed. Last time, she had walked in, not caring to knock. The visit before that, she had walked in curious as to what lay beyond. This time, she opted for courtesy. After knocking once, she waited. Before she could lose her head and leave as her instincts told her to, she heard his invitation from the other side. She walked in.

He sat on a wooden chair, obviously conjured from the simple design that didn't quite fit the room as a whole, a piece of parchment on the table in front of him.

"Greengrass. Should I be surprised?" he told her, tilting his head slightly.

"Probably not," Daphne agreed. "Then again, we do have some business to attend to every now and then." She paused, readying herself for the next step. "I wanted to... ask about something that has been... bothering me."

As if in reply, he flicked his wand. A second chair appeared, a more elaborate one than his. Daphne smiled at him, but started pacing instead. She didn't want to be stationary; walking made her feel as if she were doing something. It also had the advantage of denying him to set the terms of the talk, of indicating only a short talk, and of not settling in for one in the first place.

"When will this end? When will I get my chance and revenge?" she asked, the words bubbling from her. "When can I leave this... house?" She had to keep herself from calling it a prison, but also thought she didn't need to. He would understand without her voicing it as well. "It's as if nothing changes around here, and there is no saying when I'll get what I want. Day in, day out, I'm waiting for some sign to tell me things are in motion, that something is happening and progress is made, that some day soon I can walk out of the front door and never look back."

Potter leaned back, watching her. "I cannot say. I don't know, to be honest. You could give getting your revenge a try anytime you want, I guess, but are you ready for Malfoy? That's a question you have to answer. We could try getting you into Hogwarts, of course, but that would be a huge risk. Are you ready for Malfoy? I'm not sure. I don't think so, to be honest, not yet, but I am willing to give you the benefit of doubt. Do you have what it takes to attack him? Can you curse him rotten or would you hesitate? I'm sorry, it's just..."

"It's all right," she told him, forcing herself to smile. "I figured as much. And I agree, but what about that other issue?"

"As for leaving this house," he said, hesitating, "well, it's a bit complicated, to be honest. Not right now in any case. Where would you want to go, for one? I think they might be looking for you – if so, you'd be recognized soon and caught. Yes, the story is that you died, but that doesn't stop them from keeping an eye out for you. They haven't found your body, and they know better than to assume someone dead just because they haven't seen him or her in a while."

Daphne sighed. "I know that. It's your war I was drawn into. It's you who knows how it's going, when and where something is happening and what you're doing to bring it to an end. And it's me you're not telling anything. You said you wanted to send a warning to my friends, for example. How is that going?"

"I'm working on that," he said with a heavy sigh. "It's not like we can send a letter to them or anything, the post is searched. Having someone hand it over outs people at risk of getting caught. And ignoring that for now, how do I prove it? Bulstrode might perhaps accept my word, but what about Davis? Or your sister?"

"Don't bother with her," Daphne advised. "I know her, she wouldn't keep quiet. You can't have her informed."

"Ah, see? Now that's something I have to know, and it's not making the job any easier. As for the war, I'd like to end it soon, make no mistake, but... it would be a terrible risk right now. It might be better to wait until I am truly ready to..." he broke off, shaking his head dejectedly. "Anyway, it would be a risk for you to leave now."

Daphne bit her lip. "Well, that was all I wanted to ask, really. And I guess you're right about that, Tracey might not believe your word alone." She made to leave, but he called after her.

"What's with the rush?"

She blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you want to face him right now? You came here to ask about a time estimate, so I think it is something that has been on your mind, but it's not the first time you came to me for that reason. The last time, you offered to have your revenge as part of my counter-attack. I refused because I felt it wouldn't have suited the interests of either of us. Today, you came to ask when you'll get to leave – when the war would be over. It seems to me as if you are in a hurry or something."

She pursed her lips. Should she tell him? He might understand. "It's nothing for you to worry about, I was merely curious," she settled on. "And unlike you, I don't receive information from anywhere. I don't get to hear from the outside world any more than what you tell me, which, by the way, is precious few."

"We don't really hear all that much, either," he defended half-heartedly. "So that's what it's about. Well, we haven't heard anything useful in a while. Nigellus came in earlier. Apparently, the High and Mighty Head Hypocrite is angry. Someone dared to go against him and one of his followers, but there's little progress with the investigation."

"That someone doesn't happen to be you, does it?" Daphne asked.

He shrugged non-committally, but for a moment, he looked tired and far older than before. "It might have repercussions sometime. But on the upside, he is also cautious now. He can't figure out how it was done, and anything he doesn't know gives him something to obsess about, which means his attention is diverted."

"Well, that's what you wanted, right? To slow them down enough to buy yourself time? A full success for you then."

Potter nodded slowly. "That had been the general idea, yes. That it's something that needs to be done for..." He broke off, before settling on, "that it needs to be done. Unfortunately, I can't stop now or he'll think I'm scared of him."

"Which you aren't," Daphne added. "That might clue him in – only you would dare go against him."

Potter chuckled. "True. I already have a plan that would work, but unfortunately, I need to find a good mark, and that's the tricky part. Anyway, the Ministry is in uproar right now. Very troubling, they say, from what I heard. They don't know how it's possible, and all of their clues lead to nothing in the end."

"Whom did you go after?" Daphne asked hesitatingly, wondering why the Ministry would care so much. Just what had Potter done?

"Well, I announced that I would kill Walden MacNair at a specific time. I left the actual announcement to Goyle Senior. I dropped him off in Diagon Alley with a Howler so that many people would hear the warning. It was mostly to show that I'm serious about this. I also took the time to make sure Goyle won't be of much use for the time being. Once the war is over, I'll restore him to proper health, and then he may be tried for his actions."

Daphne blinked. The way he talked about Mr. Goyle frightened her, as it showed he had little reservations about toying with someone's life. There was also something deeply disconcerting about the implication. What had Potter done to Mr. Goyle to make him useless for the time being?

"Now, Walden MacNair, he has been the go-to guy for his master whenever he needed diplomatic skill with nonhumans. Talk to the giants? He was your man. Want the trolls out of the way? MacNair dealt with them. He also worked for the Ministry, killing dangerous beasts – whenever he wasn't after Muggleborns for his master, that is."

"You killed a Ministry official?" she gasped, pushing Mr. Goyle's fate out of her mind.

"A rabid dog, from what I know. It sends a message to both of his masters, I hope – Death Eaters aren't safe; the Ministry can't protect you. It has the added bonus of taking the go-to-guy I mentioned out of the equation. If the giants grow restless, the Death Eaters will have to pay closer attention to them and less time hunting Muggleborns. The more time they have to spend quelling unrest within their ranks, the less time they have to actually do anything. But now I will have to drive the point home. They need to know I can do what I want without them stopping me. Once is a curiosity, twice is odd, thrice is a pattern. I have to make sure they know I'm after them, and that something has changed in Wizarding Britain. I need them to know they aren't as safe as they want to be."

"It needs to be done?" Daphne guessed his next words.

He chuckled dejectedly. "Right. I did mention that before, didn't I?"

"And what is happening elsewhere? Something at school, perhaps?" she prompted.

He pursed his lips. "I haven't heard much about your friends, sorry. I really wish I could just send them a letter or something, but communication channels are watched day and night. All I did manage was get a very general message along the lines of 'Watch Malfoy, Evil' through, but that was already a pain to get done, and I don't want to risk sending longer messages that way – I don't know who else is listening. The fires are watched, and I'd have to get your friends to a fireplace first. I do have one or two channels available, but they aren't reliable. Handing a message over on a Hogsmeade weekend and risk getting seen? Better not, especially since I'd need to convince someone to do it for someone they barely know. Other channels might be watched since we don't know for sure who is listening. Sure, we could send a coded message, but... Well, it'd require a code in the first place, so unless you've established a code with your friends in the past that ideally only you know, it wouldn't do us much good.

"My friends are in constant trouble, of course. Malfoy has begun moving against everyone who gives him lip or so much as looks at him in a wrong way. He hands out harsh punishments, and only his... your house has anything to show for it. Small wonder if points are deducted for imagined slights. I know Neville lost twenty points for yelling in class. Can you imagine him yelling in class? And keep in mind, he doesn't even take Arithmancy, the class where he supposedly yelled. With most of the teachers being fair... oh, that reminds me, Professor Babbling was replaced. She was sent to Azkaban."

"They arrested a teacher? What for?" Daphne asked, blinking in surprise.

"From what I heard, she was trying to undo the damage from the History lessons. Officially, she was caught accepting bribes to help students pass their tests."

"Ridiculous!" Daphne scoffed. "Why would she even do that? It just doesn't make any sense. The only exams that matter are the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. She has no influence on either."

"Of course it's ridiculous, but it allowed them to get rid of her. Keep in mind; she didn't have a fair trial. No, they wanted her out of the way; they got her out of the way. Her successor is a sympathizer, so that's another subject under their control, making it five with Care of Magical Creatures having been taken over by another one after... after the position had opened up. Luckily, they put a bumbling buffoon there who has no backbone to stand up for what is right instead of a Death Eater. That idiot will change sides as soon as it's safe."

"You do know a lot about what is going on at school," she observed.

"Not as much as I want to," he replied. "And mostly through talks with Nigellus. He's not the most reliable of sources, and he certainly isn't good company, but he does hear some things."

"And History is continuing the way it did when I left, I take it?" Daphne asked.

"The same direction, but now the groundwork is done, the lesson is driven home. Stories about brutal Muggleborns killing the poor and defenceless, and naturally, the Goblins always willing to help in those murders. We both know who's behind it. Muggle Studies are along the same line, from what I know."

"And Defence is cursing those who cannot defend themselves, I guess?"

"Something like that, yes." He looked at her. "Did that help any?"

"Not really, no," she admitted.

"Sorry, I should have thought about keeping you informed as well," Potter told her. "There's just so much to take care of, and the jobs are piling up, I... I didn't think of it, to be honest. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Daphne said, waving him off.

"So that was why you were so... willing to come here and ask?" he spoke, obviously changing his sentence midway.

"Yes, I..." she began, then, hesitating, amended, "Partly. I'm here, stuck with... well, with you lot – no offence, for once..."

"It's all right."

"So I'm here, and beyond these walls, the world is turning without me knowing anything. I'm not used to being in the dark about what is going on. I may not take part in many of the things going on, but I do like to know about them."

"Ah, that I can understand very well," he chuckled, a reminiscing look on his face.

She watched him for a moment, unsure of whether he was telling the truth or just giving the usual platitudes. He seemed to have noticed her doubt and smiled at her. "The summer before our fifth year, I was stuck as well without any real information. Nothing in the Daily Prophet, no news in the Muggleborn papers, on TV or radio. Worse, my own friends only sent me these idiotic letters, letting me know they were doing something, but apologizing for not explaining just what it was. I was cut off from anything and only learned about the opinion the Ministry had been spreading about me after months of no communication. That was no fun, especially since I knew something had to have happened out there with Riddle back again. So yes, I can understand that feeling of isolation."

He had said it with a sad smile, looking at her, and she found herself believing his words. "Well, that can't have been fun. Yes, that's really getting on my nerves, the feeling of being stuck and kept in the dark." She straightened herself, preparing for something she knew she wanted to say. "And the holidays are approaching," she stated, sighing. She had said it. She had confided in him, even if it was just some small detail. "With my birthday also being very close to them, it was always something of a milestone. Each year, I could look back and see what had happened. Only this year..."

"Oh, come on, you can't complain about this year, can you?" he interrupted. "You married, you faced your first attack from Death Eaters, ran away from school, found a nemesis... the year has been anything but boring, right?"

"It's not about that," she said, rolling her eyes. "Two years ago, my world was fine. Yes, the contract was looming, but I didn't fear it. Malfoy would opt to dissolve it, end of story; I was sure it would happen that way. Last year, I was forced to take action. Hence our marriage. It hadn't been the best of years, but it had been one in which I took charge of my life. This year? A marriage between a reluctant bride and groom, an attack I barely escaped, an attempt on my life, and finally imprisonment in this house with you rebels. One blow after the other, and all I could do was endure them." She waved her hands helplessly. "If I could get Malfoy and finish that business, I'd feel considerably better. It'd be a step forward instead of sideways or even backwards."

"It really wasn't your year, was it?" he asked, shaking his head. "Well, the next will likely be better. I hope the war will end then, which means you'll get your chance for revenge. Is that challenging fate, I wonder?"

Daphne sent him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. Secretly, she doubted fate needed to be challenged for bad things to happen; they were simply part of life. Instead, she addressed something he had said earlier. "So while the wizarding world was talking about your claims and the Ministry had your name dragged through the mud after the Tournament debacle, you just sat around?"

"More or less, yes. The first half of those holidays, I sat around, did some work here and there around the house and listened to the Muggle news. I thought he'd make a move, you know? And that it would end up on Muggle news. Some things are hard to cover up. I was foolishly thinking he'd go into the open. Should have known better, right?"

"I guess so," She admitted, not really seeing how he should have known differently. Yes, it made sense to keep hidden and build up an army first, but Potter had only been a child. How should he have understood strategies back then? Instead of pointing it out, she focused on something else. "Why Muggle news, though? That doesn't really make sense."

"It does," Potter told her. "My... relatives didn't like magic that much. As a consequence, visitors from the wizarding world who could've brought news weren't welcome. My friends' letters weren't that helpful either and more tantalizing with what they didn't say. The Daily Prophet doesn't really count as an independent news outlet, not with people like Skeeter writing for it. After fourth year, I... well, I wasn't really fond of the Prophet. And I expected Riddle to make a move, something big with a lot of deaths that would have landed in the Muggle news as well. At least I didn't have to keep Hedwig locked up that summer."

She frowned. She hadn't known about that, had she? Malfoy always claimed Potter had everything a child could wish for and was really an entitled brat. Well, she could see the latter wasn't true, so why should the former? And it might explain what she had noticed and thought about him.

"The books told a vastly different life," she told him, tilting her head. "You know, that book series about you? Harry Potter and the Web of the Widow, Harry Potter and the Doom of Darkstone, Harry Potter and the Witch of Winter, Harry Potter and the Tower of Despair – those books."

"I heard about them," he said, frowning. "Of course they tell a vastly different story. They're children's books from people wanting to cash in on my fame for easily fooled little devils too young to recognize idealized fantasies."

"Almost every child had them, you know?" she replied, smiling. "I bet your friends as well. Little Ginny Weasley probably fell asleep dreaming of you. Oh, the daring Harry Potter, coming to her rescue! Carrying her from danger in his strong arms!" She snorted at his face. "And her brother's probably the same. He's living the dream, you know?"

"What, he dreamed I'd save him? Carry him my arms? Have you seen him? There's no way I could so much as lift him," Potter told her, shaking his head.

"That doesn't stop the dreams, you know? It must have been quite a shock when he first met you. Scrawny, pale-faced, messy, and mediocre instead of tall, handsome, and charming."

He narrowed his eyes. "My birthday isn't really a secret, so he'd have known I would have been eleven just like him. How can an eleven-year-old be tall? Or handsome, now that I think about it?"

"I didn't say it made any sense, but according to the books, you were off, training in a temporal bubble outside of our reality for a while, so you'd have been closer to fifteen. People can be handsome at fifteen. You weren't, that's for sure, but..."

"So you remember how I looked at eleven?" he asked her, stopping her short. "And fifteen as well?"

"Well, you are Harry Potter," she pointed out. "Of course I watched to see just what to expect of you. And when you were fifteen, everyone either thought you were crazy, pretended to to fit in or knew to keep quiet, having learned the truth about the Dark Lord's return. Of course I kept an eye on your just in case you snapped. And of course you were also a decent source for gossip, which is a form of currency that can open many doors."

"And you thought me, what was it?"

"Scrawny, pale-faced, messy, and mediocre," she supplied without hesitation.

"Yes, and not tall, handsome, and charming." He peered at her. "I'm not charming?"

"According to what I heard at school – no. Chang ran off – thanks, by the way, that was good gossip – and Patil was cross with you because you didn't pay her enough attention at the Yule Ball. What made you think to go with her I won't know, but if you wanted to fall for a pretty face, then that was your mistake to make."

"Some recent episodes aside, I've been reasonably nice to you," he told her, raising a challenging eyebrow. "You married me."

"Honestly? I did that to get away from Malfoy, not because of how you acted towards me; we both know that. I'd go so far as to say I did it despite the way you acted towards me. I had hoped you'd have the good sense and courtesy to get yourself killed soon enough, but no, you have to stick around and make my life more complicated." Rolling her eyes dramatically, she caught sight of his smile.

"Lovely. You do seem to have spent quite a lot of attention to me, though. You could have just kept your distance, but no, you also watched me as if to analyse me. Should I be worried about that?"

"Well, I repeat, you are Harry Potter. You make for excellent gossip; everyone was watching you, waiting for the next inevitable misstep, and you sure did not disappoint on that front."

He watched her for a moment. "I guess I can understand that. You are probably right, most children grew up with stories about me. Did they do me justice, I wonder? The stories? Were any of them even close to the truth at some point?"

"Not really," she teased. "He's better looking, more charming as well as intelligent, has refined style and quite a few brilliant quips. Girls lapped that up, and I'm sure the little Weasley was no exception."

"You think Ginny was crushing on that mythical hero from the books?"

"Oh, without a doubt; and she wasn't the only one, I'm sure. For most, you put a stop to that adoration and the unbelievable expectations simply by being yourself. Now that's an accomplishment, crushing the dreams of hundreds of little girls just like that. The week before we went to school, you were featured in every major news outlet with a full recounting of your life. Wasn't that considerate to remind everyone of you so they'd keep an eye out for you?"

He chuckled, tilting his head. "That's not saying much with there being only the Wireless, the Daily Prophet and tabloids around as news outlets. So I crushed little girls' dreams, huh? You think so? Well, I didn't get any award for that, at least, but I guess it explains Lockhart. He'd have seen me as competition for the hearts of those adoring fans." Nodding thoughtfully, he added, "Is that why you are so cold to me? Did I crush your dreams as well?"

Daphne felt a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "No," she forced herself to say calmly, trying to steer away from the topic, "no, you didn't 'crush my dreams'. Heroes are boring, you know? Always doing what is right because it's right, not because they can profit from it. Harry Potter wasn't my type." She shrugged carelessly. It wasn't a lie if she had lost interest before seeing the real Potter, was it?

"Now I'm crushed," he told her, pouting. It looked cute, but she turned away from him.

"So now that we have talked about your famed adventures as told by the books," she began, looking around the room, from paintings and the oddly dark mirror to the tattered and singed wallpaper. "I am curious as to what you came up with as a child. Just for reference."

His face fell and he closed off. "I was helpful. I didn't go out of my way to cause trouble." She could tell there was something more to be said about his childhood – something he didn't want to share. Apparently, he was aware as well, for he added, "I accidentally freed a snake at the zoo once. I do wonder what happened to her afterwards, she was nice."

"She was nice?" Daphne echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, of course. She was bred in the zoo, for one. And contrary to what some might believe snakes are usually decent. They might get hungry, yes, and eat, but why should they be nasty to humans? Especially since humans do occasionally feed them. Even the..." he broke off, blushing slightly.

"Yeah?" she prompted.

He scratched his cheek. "I shouldn't have said anything," he muttered. A moment later, he added, "And now I'm turning into Hagrid." There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he thought about the game-keeper.

"You'd have to grow a lot for that," she pointed out and tried to distract him by asking, "So what were you about to say? 'Even the... '? Even the what?"

He looked at her, wondering about his reply, she guessed. "Even the Basilisk in second year." He shrugged and continued, "It was a Basilisk, its gaze killing if seen directly and petrifying if seen in a reflection. It was only really hungry, not necessarily evil. And it had been ordered to attack, but leaving that aside, I can understand it. I mean, look at the situation from the snake's perspective, and humans are little more than food. No ill will, just natural instinct."

"I don't really want to consider eating humans as a natural instinct, but no matter. You had already mentioned the Basilisk, but you hadn't said much. So you talked to it?"

"Not really talked. I heard it, naturally. Parselmouth, remember? All year, I heard it moving through the walls, but didn't know what it was. When I finally met it, I had to kill it, unfortunately."

"Killing a Basilisk. Unfortunate. Yeah, sure. Whatever you say."

"Well," he began with a shrug, "I probably shouldn't blame it for what it was. So the Basilisk was a living being that just happened to be stuck in Hogwarts and wouldn't have minded snacking on a few students. The former wasn't its choice, the latter was just part of its nature. It's the choices that define us."

"You know what? Doesn't matter. It's a good story, could have come from the books." She looked at him. "So you freed a snake from its cage at the zoo?"

"Well, it was an accident, but yes. My cousin claimed the snake wanted to eat him. It'd have been very difficult, even for a boa." Daphne raised her eyebrow, and he explained, "My cousin is... was very fat. His clothes from when he was five or something like that fit me when I was nine, that's the difference in size we're talking about."

She nodded. "That is big, yes. Or maybe you were just really small?"

"Both, I guess," Potter chuckled. "So what about you? Any misdeeds in your past?"

She swallowed. "Well, I was a good girl. Apart from exploding a bottle and igniting a piece of parchment, I was unassuming." She knew it wasn't the complete truth, but it was close enough. Potter had asked about misdeeds, not accidents. "Well, I did read a few of the books about you, but I did root for the enemies in general. They were more fun. There was this half-stork villain – some spell gone wrong, don't ask – who had taken to stalking Harry for three books."

"Sounds brilliant, don't let the twins hear you mention that."

"I don't intend to, nor do I need to. They'll know the stories as well. So let's see... What about you then? What did you do to entertain yourself? What do Muggles do? You lived as one, didn't you? It sounded like it."

Potter gave a weak shrug. "Well, Muggles read, they meet friends, hear radio or watch TV. You know, err..."

"I heard about those," Daphne said to him. And she had, even if she didn't understand them entirely. "So that's what you did? Watch those moving pictures and read and things like that?"

"I went to school, too. Muggleborn children are sent there to learn how to read and write, how to calculate, draw, about history and politics."

"Ah," Daphne spoke up, "I heard something about that as well, yes. With how many Muggles there are, that seems like a smart idea to teach them at the same time."

"I was quite busy with the homework as well."

"That's boring," she told him.

"I was, I guess." He sighed, lost in his thoughts for a moment. "Where do wizarding children learn all that, incidentally?"

"Tutors. Otherwise, parents try to teach those things. I don't know if you've noticed, but wizarding children aren't really all that great at penmanship."

"I didn't notice, no."

"Well, they aren't. Parents make sure their children can write and read, but the time Muggleborn children need to get accustomed to feather and inkwell, the wizarding children take to improve their writing. It works out, usually."

"It makes sense." He peered at her, likely wondering whether he should ask her. "And what else did you learn as a child? Apart from writing and reading, I mean? I know magic's out, but..."

"That depends, actually," she said. "Some families teach their children small things that don't need spellcasting. Potions and Herbology are popular, for example. Some also choose Runes and Arithmancy if the child has talent for it. I didn't have to endure either. My father was busy with work – and not really safe or interesting to be around, now that I think about it – and my mother had to work her connections many times when I was young. Say what you will, but sitting around for hours watching people gossip is not fun for a small child. All in all, it's mostly showing the basics of our world. I guess the same is true for Muggle society?"

Potter pursed his lips, whether in thought or displeasure, she couldn't make out. "Yes," he told her, "it is. Well, obviously it's not the exact same, but similar. We are talking about a whole different set of rules and laws."

"Naturally," Daphne said. "Oh, and of course I met friends. Well, more like acquaintances. And with the contract looming above our heads, the Malfoys came over once in a while, so I knew Draco before our first year."

"That must have been fun," Potter laughed.

"Depends. The older he got, the worse his attitude became. At five, he was relatively decent and," she hesitated, searching for the best word, "untainted by his parents' opinion."

"So he was different back then. Huh. I'm wondering, though – was there ever a time when you thought, 'Well, he could be the one?'" Potter asked her.

She thought about it. Had there been a moment like that? "That depends. Did I ever love him? No. But then, as a small girl, being promised to a wealthy boy of good stock – fated to marry him, if want to read it like that – did have a certain ring to it because of the idea behind it; rich boy promised to be your husband. Astoria envied me for it when we were younger. But then, those were childish ideas, the same that had others thinking they could become famous. I'm sure you had stupid dreams as well."

He nodded slowly, but didn't elaborate.

"So you understand what I am talking about. I had childish dreams about fated romance, and you thought you'd... ?" she prompted, wanting something in return for her answers.

He laughed, but it lacked in humour. "I wanted to be in South America, and Asia as well," he said.

"That's oddly specific," Daphne pointed out.

"Well, we heard about it in class, especially how far away it was, and wild. I think the teacher didn't know all that much about it."

"Anything else?"

"Meeting my family, I guess," he admitted. "Sorry, it's not really all that fun, but... orphaned as I was, knowing where I came from would have meant a lot to me."

She decided to change the topic. "You really know how to kill the mood," she told him with a shake of her head. "But it doesn't matter, does it? I should head out; I don't want to keep you from... whatever you were doing."

"Planning for my next strike," he informed her. "To make sure they get the message."

"Well, have fun with that, then," Daphne replied, eyeing the parchment on the table speculatively. "Good night."

As she was about to leave, he called after her, "I hope you'll relax again once we make progress."

She stopped, staring at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he elaborated, "you came here to talk to me about the schedule and getting a rough estimate when you could leave. You admitted to feeling isolated – or stuck with my lot, as you called it. I think they are contributing to your stress or bothering you, but somehow I doubt they are the only reasons for your troubles. I think there's something else that's bothering you, and since you don't talk about it with anyone, it might not go away so soon."

"And I already called you a hypocrite for giving me that advice," she told him.

"I do talk with my friends," he gave back. "They know where my problems come from. I do as well. And I can live with being a hypocrite." He gave her a pointed look, as if to say that he could live with being a hypocrite and wondering whether she could as well.

"Do you still have your nightmares?" she asked, trying a different approach.

"I do, yes. I tried some counter-measures, but they didn't work that well." He sighed. "It happens. Once the war is finished, it will get better for me. Or if not, then I can find someone who can help."

"So you still have them, despite talking with your friends. If so, it doesn't seem to matter whether you talk with someone or not." She was rather proud of herself. Didn't he see the error in his reasoning?

"It was your advice to me as much as it was mine to you. And it does help. Hermione and Ron are aware of it. They keep an eye out for me, and should it become too bad, they can step in. Knowing that, I do sleep slightly better, I think. Suffering in isolation does not necessarily heal the wounds."

"Yet you keep to yourself almost as much as I do." Lately more than before, she added in her mind, but she didn't voice it. Guilt could do that occasionally. "Have you told Weasley about your plans? I don't think so. And I doubt you really confide in Granger as much as you claim."

"There is a big difference between protecting others from suffering and refusing to accept help, though."

"So you are playing the hero?"

"That's my role in this world, isn't it?" he replied with a shrug. "Someone has to."

"You're not doing a good job, though. You're planning another murder right now."

"I'm not the hero they wish for, but the one this world deserves?" He offered. "But more to the point, I don't usually tell my friends the details, no. I hope to see them make it out of this war as mentally unscarred as possible. I'm guessing you don't want to burden your friends with the life you are forced to live right now; I don't want mine to share my load with me."

"You should trust them, though. They only look out for you and want to help you," Daphne said, sending him a pointed look of her own.

"Now who is a hypocrite?" he laughed.

"It's different," she claimed, waving her hand dismissively, but she did feel the blush rise to her cheeks. "They're your best friends. You aren't mine. And how am I supposed to trust you, anyway?"

"I repeat, now who is a hypocrite?" He shrugged before she could reply. "But suit yourself."

"You make it sound so easy," she scoffed. "Talk to you and they will go away? Do you really think that?"

"No, but it might help you knowing someone understands you. It might help you sort through it. Who knows, perhaps a different perspective might reveal a solution you hadn't thought of? It was talking to Hermione that gave me another idea for another possible strike."

"Well, what do you know, huh?" Daphne huffed.

"When Cedric died," he told her, his voice taking on a softer tone, "I had nightmares for weeks."

"You said that already," she reminded him.

"They only really stopped when more pressing concerns arose. When Sirius died, I was crushed. I had lost the man who deserved far better and who could have given me so much support in life. By mere chance, I ran into Luna days later. We talked – about mortality. She had her own views, but it did help me. I came to terms with it. I saw I wasn't the only one who knew loss, and I wasn't alone in it. Loneliness can eat at you and darken your outlook on life."

Daphne stared at him. "I wouldn't call taking advice from Lovegood a good idea," she forced herself to say. But she wasn't finished, it seemed, as she heard herself asking, "Did you have nightmares about your godfather as well?"

"I dreamed of him. I don't think I'd call them nightmares. They bring a certain sadness and a sense of loss with them, but not fright."

She watched him for a moment, weighing her options. She believed him, she really did, but something still kept her back. They weren't friends, for one, she told herself. It was true, but at the same time also a lie. While she wouldn't want to say it out loud, she didn't mind him that much lost of the time. In fact, they were actually somewhat friendly. Of course, that still didn't make them friends as such. But on the other hand, his comment about loneliness had hit a nerve. Having one of her friends with her would have given her the support she needed, she knew. He had his friends for that.

"I don't trust people easily," she told him, settling on a compromise.

"Something we have in common, I think," Potter replied, but waited for her to continue.

"There was something you said earlier," she began. "You mentioned you had taken steps to counteract your... nightmares." She had done it, another step towards him.

"Nightmares, yes," he spoke, tracing the fingertips of his right hand with his other index finger. "I did, but they don't work that well for me. I just don't have the mind for that." He chuckled sadly, thinking about something she didn't know.

"I've had a few bad nights myself," she admitted. It was not a lie, but also not the whole truth. A good compromise, she thought. "It might be the house; if so, you would be indirectly responsible for them." He didn't laugh, but neither did she. "Perhaps you could tell me about those counter-measures? You know, so you'd give me something to trust you more, similar to how you wanted to get me to talk." Again, she was happy with her solution. She didn't promise anything, but asked for something instead.

He sighed, frowning. "That might prove slightly tricky, and no, I'm not trying to get out of your offered deal." He scratched his cheek. "All right. I'll tell you about it, but don't hope for too much." He started stalking the room himself.

Daphne didn't want to conjure another chair or sit in Potter's – either one – so she sat down on the bed, keeping the boy in view.

"There are certain branches of magic," he began, weighing his words carefully, "that deal with the mind. Obliviations, for one, but also memory alterations. And there is a branch that is focused on entering someone's mind, either to search for something – information, say – or to fix harm that has been done. That branch called Legilimency is not commonly known, and for a reason. The Ministry forbade learning and teaching it, albeit not the use."

"So you'd want to enter my mind? No chance," she told him, making to rise.

"I don't, actually. There is another branch of the mind arts – equally forbidden to learn and teach in Britain – that I know called Occlumency, which deals with protecting the mind from attacks from outside. An offshoot of that deals with controlling one's own mind to such degree that it protects you in your sleep as well. It can dampen the horrors inside the head and dreams, perhaps even block them."

"And you learned that?" she asked, cottoning on. Why hadn't anyone told her that before?

"I tried to; unfortunately, I really don't have the mind for it. This discipline works best for organized minds, those that can rationalize their own feelings and thoughts. I'm not like that, and my mind is too reliant on feelings and chaos to work that well with that specific art." Potter looked at her. "And it is an offshoot of Occlumency, meaning without knowledge of that, there's very little chance of learning what you seek."

Daphne frowned. "So if Occlumency is forbidden, how do you know it?"

"Forbidden to teach and learn in Britain. There are two loopholes in there. Knowing the mind arts is not forbidden, just passing the knowledge on is. And doing so in a country that allows it, Lichtenstein for example, will not lead to problems."

"Fine. So you learned it?" Daphne amended.

"It just so happens that I did. Occlumency at least, Legilimency is more Hermione's forte."

"Which is how she would have been able to look for exactly those memories you would have wanted to take from me. Nice to know just how little respect you were paying me."

"To be fair, you met other Legilimens in your life. Dumbledore was one, not surprisingly, but so is Snape. And depending on who you are, they did tend to look into your mind from time to time, I think. Back to topic, it might be possible to learn it for you, and maybe even control your dreams, but doing so is more difficult, and managing to do so rarer than mere Occlumency. Also, the skill does take some work to learn – ignoring for a moment the illegality of it in this country – and carries risks as well. Dabbling with the mind might cause harm, even lead to fractured minds with parts of the user trapped within their heads. Very difficult to fix, I should add."

"Forget it," Daphne told him. "I'll find some other way."

"It's not so bad, I just thought I should mention it. I learned it fine, and I'm hardly bright. Hermione had little problems with it and was done in the matter of little over three weeks."

"It not that I fear it," she lied easily. "I'm not... patient enough. Not to mention, I refuse to be taught by Granger, and I doubt you could teach me decently."

"Well, I can't force you." He shrugged his shoulders. "And it didn't work for me so depending on your capabilities, it might also not work for you."

Daphne nodded slowly, focusing on something else he had said. "So there is a spell to enter someone's head?"

"There is," Potter confirmed with a wry smile, "and you may guess thrice just who happens to be an expert in its use."

She chuckled humourlessly. "So he can enter someone's head and get the secrets from there?"

"Or see what spell the opponent wants to use, yes."

"No wonder hardly anyone can stand up to him," she realized.

"It's not that bad, actually. If he wants to know something and looks for it, people will notice something is wrong. If he tries to be sly and keep hidden, he'll have trouble really seeing much. But yes, it does give him an edge. Small wonder I learned to block my mind, right?"

"I guess so," She admitted. "I don't envy you; with everything he can use against you, there aren't really that many tricks to surprise him, are there?"

"Did you ever envy me?" he smiled softly.

"Should I prepare myself for that as well?" she wondered. "Is it something Malfoy might learn?"

Potter pursed his lips. "It's something his aunt has learned, of that I'm sure. He might try to learn it, I guess. It's not as if they'd worry about things like laws."

Daphne felt like hitting her head. "Just great. When will I get my first lesson?"

Potter stared at her. "You want me to teach you?"

"Well, I'll have to try my luck with it, won't I? And better you than Granger, if only slightly."

"You really can't stand her," he wondered.

"I trust her even less than you," Daphne corrected with a snort.

"Don't worry," he said after a moment of silence. "Your first lesson is reading. Protecting the mind begins with classifying the mind. Once you know how your own mind works, you can use the path that suits you. And if you don't want to, you should be able to learn it from the book."

"Reading doesn't sound so bad," she conceded.

"I do have to ask you to be very careful with it, though. The book was a present to me, and it's also a means to learn Occlumency and therefore forbidden to possess."

"Breaking a law, are we?" she teased.

"Always. Then again, that law was mostly written to stop people from keeping secrets from a Ministry of Magic that has an obsession about poking into people's business, so you can guess my opinion of it, and yes, I know I'm a hypocrite for saying that." He chuckled, opening his closet. "Especially since quite a lot of Ministry officials can do it as well, to protect its secrets, I don't see that much of a problem with knowing it myself." He began digging through his clothes, head between some robes. "And that's ignoring that I'm currently part of a resistance against the Ministry, so possessing that book is the least of my problems."

"Those risks you mentioned..."

"Don't overdo it, follow the steps, and you'll be fine," he assured her, appearing from the folds with a book. So he had some hiding place in there? Not the best place, she thought, but knowing him like she did, she wouldn't have been surprised if there were some protections in place.

Having it handed to her, Daphne looked it over. It had once belonged to a Black. He was borrowing her a book from the private library of the family? "Thank you... Harry," she said with a smile.


A talk at night between Harry and Daphne. Hah, bet you didn't see that coming! As for the fictional book series, I imagine that Harry as a teen-aged James Bond-esque wizard. Jumping from the back of a dragon in mid-flight, he impaled the undying guards to the Tower of Despair to storm into the unknown danger, something like that.

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Fixed an issue about Harry not getting mail. In fifth year, he could, he just didn't bother with the Daily Prophet. And naturally, he could let Hedwig fly as well.

Edited Harry's explanation about the offshoot of Occlumency to better distinguish it from Occlumency by stressing the point that it can protect the mind even in your sleep, something simple Occlumency might fail with.