Posted 6/25/2014

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


Chapter Forty-Three - Reality and Dreams

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"I think it's time for the next strike," Harry announced.

Hermione eyed him warily. "Are you sure? I mean, we've talked about it already. You've shown you can do it, so why would you do it again? I don't know, isn't one enough for now? Don't you... we have enough blood on our hands already? What good would it do if you were to kill another Death Eater right now? Maybe you should wait a bit and see what comes of it. Maybe they've already gotten the message."

"The first time, I showed them I can strike if I want to. Back then, I don't think they took me seriously enough; they probably thought I couldn't do it, that they'd stop me. This time, I want to show I can do it even if they try to protect the mark. It's time I deployed my second weapon, I think. We've prepared it, you and I. It's ready. We're ready."

"Speak for yourself," Hermione grumbled.

"I still haven't decided who I will be going for, though. If I could, I'd try for Pettigrew, but... I doubt I could get him. He still hides somewhere, so that'd be tricky. There's also a good chance that he's guarded. And there's also the personal vendetta against him to consider, unfortunately. If I were to kill him, the Head Hypocrite would know who's behind these deaths. Apart from the Order, us lot, and the Death Eaters, hardly anyone knows Pettigrew is still alive." Harry tapped his chin. "Maybe Malfoy Senior?"

"He's still important, Harry," Hermione spoke up, "if you go after him, they won't stop until they've caught you, if only because you went after a pureblood. He's still got a decent publicity. They'll hunt you down with everything they have. They'll put everyone they have on the case trying to figure it out. Do you really want to have the first two spots on You-Know-Who's list all for yourself?"

"True," Harry agreed with a sigh. "Might've saved us some headache later on, but fine. So someone from the lower to middle range, yet still decently protected. Someone foolish enough to not ramp up security or I won't be able to slip through their wards so easily. Hm. Well, I'd love to get the Carrows, but they are at school most of the time, and I need to make a decisive strike as far away from our friends as possible or they'd be suspected of assisting. That's pretty much the last thing we want or need."

"I'm not comfortable with it," she admitted, looking over her shoulder nervously. "I know I said I'd help you, I stand by that, but you're planning murder, Harry, not a shopping trip to Diagon Alley."

He rubbed his eyes. "Neither do I like it, but I can't wait for them to lull people into a false sense of security. I've shown I can do it when they don't take me for full, now I need to show just what I can do. I have to prove I'm not merely lucky, or that they made a mistake during their investigations; I really am that good at what I'm doing that they cannot catch me. I can't wait until they've returned to the way things were before.

"Now, as for the mark. Nott might work, now that I think about it, but I'd prefer to keep him in the back of my head; he might make for a good back-up in the future and is more of a politician – slow to act. The problem is, I can't think of anyone who might be a better choice – important enough to be recognized, yet not that high in their ranks."

Hermione leaned back in her seat. "Well, maybe it's a sign. If you can't think of a decent victim, maybe you aren't meant to go through with it yet?"

"Nonsense. I have the tools at hand, especially if you help me. I know how and when to strike; I know exactly how make the wards believe I'm the Head Hypocrite so I can waltz into their houses. I have what I need to prove the threat they are faced with. I only need a mark, and I need it soon or they will forget what is going on around them. I need to remind them there is a challenger ready to face them."

Ron walked into the room. "Found you two. Listen, I've been thinking; since you two do all the food runs, maybe I could help you with that. It'd make your days easier if I shared the burden. I'm not that helpless around Muggles, you know? I know my way around them, and I think I got that money as well. I can do it, I think. It'd leave you more time for other things."

"That's nice of you to offer," Hermione replied, smiling. It was obvious she wasn't convinced by the reasoning, mainly Ron's skill when dealing with Muggles. "But something else is more important right now. Harry wants to do another strike, this time showing he really can do whatever he wants without the Death Eaters stopping him; I've been arguing against it. He doesn't even know whom to target."

"I want to save some of them for later," he corrected. "And I can easily adjust any plans I make. It's not personal, after all."

"Does it matter?" she shot back. He knew she mainly tried not to think about her part in it or the consequences of their actions. She was his accomplice and weapon's supplier; it had been her who had prepared the needles for MacNair. "You don't have much of a plan, Harry. What will you do?"

"Well, that's easy. I know what to do, another midnight visit to an old friend. Worked with MacNair, didn't it? The first time, they didn't know the cause of death. This time, I'll forego subtlety. I'll have them wondering how I pulled it off.

"I've sent them a message to get their attention – Goyle – and showed them I could kill without being caught – MacNair. I think the Head Hypocrite's wondering about it lately, especially how it was done. He knows how to murder someone, of course, but to do so without leaving any evidence? Or more importantly, evidence he can figure out. For all they hopefully know, MacNair just suddenly died. True, Muggleborns might figure it out, but they don't have many of those. He might have had some searches done in the last days, but there shouldn't have been anything leading back to us. So something happened that he can't explain, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he'll be wondering just how it's possible. But unless I'll continue, he'll just think it was luck on my part – that they missed some clues or forgot to check everyone. That I somehow slipped through their net. So I have to show I can repeat it and can kill someone who is watched. Only this time, they'll have no problem finding the cause of death."

"You're speaking in riddles," Ron told him, but Hermione forewent the comment and just frowned. Then again, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"The pouches," she concluded with a frown. "So only the victim left to choose, then." She didn't like it, he could see it, but she still mulled it over. "Well, if you want to send another message and show what you can do, shouldn't you pick someone with connections to both Ministry and Death Eaters? It might tell them neither are safe."

"True, but there aren't that many left of those. Well, Malfoy, but he's too important to kill right now. Rockwood might work, though. I'd keep him for later, if you don't mind. He might be useful for a grand finale, but it's mostly that he was big in the Ministry. Ever since he was revealed as a spy and imprisoned, he lost quite a bit of clout within the Ministry. Yeah, he'll be working there once more, but other than that..."

"Little left, are there?" quipped Ron.

Harry considered it. "Well, if I guess I could go after Szarka. A henchman if I ever saw one. I don't know what he's doing right now, but back then, he was just a small trader. He smuggled, see? Easy money for him, and he disliked the Ministry's guidelines, so he was willing to sell himself to the Death Eaters. He'd be a decent mark – someone who took advantage of the misery of others. Then there is Umbridge of course, but she's rather high in the Ministry. Might look bad, you know? And that's assuming I can figure out how she's protecting herself. She'd be good for something else, though, and hardly anyone would miss her. Yeah, I think she's safe for now." He clapped his hands. "All right, so here's the plan. I'll investigate him, try to find out what Szarka is up to now. Whether it'll be him or not, I have something for you to do, Hermione, which is why I came to you in the first place."

She looked about as uneasy as he had expected. He smiled sadly at her.

"I could try it myself if it bothers you that much, but we need to make sure it works, and for that, we need a few more test runs. So while I'll investigate, could you prepare somewhere around another dozen pouches? And if you have the time, maybe you could test them as well. It needs to work perfectly if we don't want to leave any evidence."


It was nothing unusual, she told herself, preparing for the task at hand. It was just a visit for a pleasant chat. At half past two in the morning. He wouldn't draw the wrong conclusions, would he? No, he wouldn't. And she wasn't dropping in for any chat, was she? No, she had an important question she needed answered, and therefore, she also had a purpose. So everything would be fine.

Daphne knocked, waiting for the invitation. None came. After what seemed like an eternity, she knocked once more, louder this time. Again, nothing happened.

"You know, some people like to sleep at night," a snide voice said behind her – she barely kept herself from jumping in fright.

"I'm aware," she growled, not wanting to deal with the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.

"Yet you still seek entry into my descendant's bedroom. A late night visit? But you are far too modestly dressed for that," Nigellus told her with a smirk. "Ah, I remember being young as well. Back then, we knew modesty, far better than you could imagine. But that is in the past now, I guess. Well, I won't stop you from visiting my heir."

Daphne kept her back to him and knocked a third time. No reply.

"He's difficult to rouse," Nigellus told her.

She shook her head. What did the painting know? But she needed her reply, and soon, for she didn't want to wait until it fit Potter. No, it wasn't about him, but her, wasn't it? And she wanted to force the talk to be on her terms rather than his. She didn't want to ask for an answer, she wanted to demand it. So she entered and found the room empty.

"He's not here," she said, sending the painting an accusatory glance.

"I know," Nigellus replied. "I never said he was, I merely commented on his personality, mainly about the difficulty of rousing him from his sleep, didn't I? I never said he was in the room, or that he was sleeping. Any conclusions you might have drawn from my statements are not my fault. I would have expected a Slytherin like you to realize that; it seems the standards of my house have fallen, both at school and here as well."

"So where is he?" Daphne tried.

"He went to the bathroom earlier," the painting told her.

"Thank you," she said with a small nod.

"But he isn't there anymore," Nigellus added with a sigh.

"Why tell me, then?"

"Why should I not tell you? You might glean something from it – for example, since he went to the bathroom earlier, he might not need to visit it now." The painting shrugged.

"And where is he now?" Daphne asked, tapping her foot impatiently. She really didn't have the patience to deal with the painting right now.

"He went down the stairs. I don't know any more. Maybe he went to visit you?" The slyness of the old man was hard to deny.

"Then we'd have run into each other on the way," Daphne pointed out.

"He might have slipped into your room while you weren't looking. Or perhaps he went to the library?"

"The kitchen," a new voice announced. "Anything important Nigellus, or are you just bothering us for fun?"

"I'll have you know we paintings can't enjoy our stay, nor can we regret. We don't feel; all we do is mimicking the personality of the one depicted."

"You don't enjoy it, you merely act like it," Daphne said, adding his comment up.

"Yes," Nigellus replied, sneering. "I would expect any dim-witted first-year to understand that after my explanation."

"So you're not a jerk, you just act like one because you were in life," she pointed out. "And you can't be useful; you are just a puppet of the magic of the painting. Good to know."

"If all you want to do is insult me, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. I cannot be annoyed, just act like it." Yet he did look annoyed.

"Well, suit yourself," Potter said, shrugging. "Daphne?" He nodded towards his room.

"Ah, yes, I'm coming," she told him.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with him," Potter laughed, stepping into his room.

Daphne followed him, ignoring the undignified expression of outrage on Nigellus' face. "So, you decided to go for a late-night meal?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"Something like that. Now then, what brings you here?" He deliberately stood close to the wall, watching her intently.

"Ah, I read the chapters about identifying the mind. They're all right and all, but I was wondering whether it's normal to have problems finding the specific traits. The book doesn't give any evidence against it, but I often run into barriers. I'm struggling to identify just what kind of mind I have; the findings aren't clear, so to speak, and without that, well, from what I understood, there's a risk of picking an unsuitable approach. Since I have no expert on the subject around, I thought I might ask you about it."

"I'm no expert, true," Potter acknowledged, "so I might have misunderstood, but as far as I know, humans aren't as clear-cut as the book claims. You could try reading up on the proposed approaches to actually learning the art behind it; perhaps you find something that you like. Or perhaps you really aren't one or the other and something in between. I'm guessing some people might be suited for more than one method; the book might show them the best approach, but not necessarily the only one."

"So your results were unambiguous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She had a hard time believing that, especially based on her perception of his conflicted personality. "You got a clear result?"

"Well," he snorted, "when I read the book, yes, my results were quite straight-forward. Then again, I've heard people say I'm a simple person, so there might be something to it."

She nodded slowly, considering his thoughts. "So, different topic, how long did it take you to learn it?"

"Well, I'm an idiot," Potter said with a chuckle. "And I don't really learn that well from books. I began in August and had it done around February. I was busy during that time, though, or otherwise, I might have been done sooner."

"Still a lot of time," she told him, frowning.

"True. I never said it was easy. Or did I? I don't think so, at least. Yes, it takes quite a bit of time, but think about how long we have to work on..." He cast his eyes around, obviously trying to come up with some equally as difficult. "I've got nothing," he admitted finally.

"Wandless magic?" Daphne offered, quirking an eyebrow.

Potter chuckled. "Ah, no. That's something else all right. But what I said about Occlumency is still the truth – it takes a while to learn, and I never claimed otherwise."

She looked at him. She was losing topics too fast, but couldn't come up with anything decent on the spot. "Five months, give or take, then. That's quite some time. And our negotiations fell right into that as well. I'm guessing you meant that as being busy?"

"Yeah, but they didn't cause me much trouble. I wasn't certain what I wanted to do about the contract, but once you proposed your plan to solve the issue, I pretty much agreed to it on the same day, remember?"

She nodded. He had taken very little time to think about it, yes. "Did you ever regret it? I'm just wondering; did you ever think, 'Well, that was a mistake, what have I been thinking'?"

"I did," he admitted, smiling slightly. "During the wedding night's attack. Without the marriage, it wouldn't have happened, and it brought home just what kind of risk I put us in."

"Only then?" she wondered.

"There might have been other times, but that was really the only time I said, 'Well, crap, you shouldn't have done that.' Well, the wedding itself might count, in a way. I was standing there, pretty exposed, waiting for you to show up. And I didn't particularly care for the ceremony itself. Celebrating with friends and family is fine and all, but why? We hardly liked each other back then, so it was all just for show. Keeping that in mind, we set aside a whole day going through the motions, playing roles, in a way, yet we both knew it was all a big lie. Everyone in attendance knew it was all a lie as well, even if they thought it was a different one."

She couldn't argue with that. Her topic choices were running awfully thin, but she didn't want to leave yet, not when he was so willing to talk. "But you still did it, even if you thought it was nonsensical. You still agreed to that act, and you still dressed up for the wedding, and you still respected the pureblood traditions, even those we hadn't brought up before."

"Well, sure, I gave my word I'd marry you, even if it was just so Malfoy couldn't sink his claws – teeth – into you and whatever wealth your family has to offer. And I signed the contract with your folks; not to mention, I had intentionally gotten myself involved, so yes, I had to marry you. Backing out? Not really my style. Respecting the traditions just fit in well; it was meant to be the following of a tradition, after all."

Daphne pursed her lips, but kept quiet.

"Was there anything else on your mind?" he continued when she didn't speak. "My... our wedding and marriage isn't really all that important, is it? Strange as that sounds, it's of little consequence right now, or for our lives in the long run. So, any other question you came across?"

Daphne swallowed the lump in her throat. "I read up on that offshoot you mentioned, the one to control dreams and the like," she told him, trying to broach a new topic, and one that had bothered her, and one she really wanted to talk about. "It sounds ridiculously complicated."

"I know," he replied. "It might work in theory, but it's not for everyone. I don't have the mind for that, I think, but there is a chance you can do it."

"How did you deal with your nightmares?" she asked, consciously keeping from fidgeting. "It might be the house, but... so how did you deal with it? While they were still there, I mean. You mentioned they went away, but that was afterwards, not during those weeks they were still... I mean, how did you...?" she grasped the air helplessly. "How did you deal with them?" she said, giving up the attempt to find better words.

He took a deep breath and walked away from the wall, pacing. With a quick wave, he gestured towards the bed. Daphne sat down on the edge of it, watching him.

"I didn't, to be honest," he told her. "I was isolated from everyone I cared about. I woke up during the night and had trouble sleeping at all. I was cranky, tired, and stressed. That doesn't help you any, though, and it doesn't answer your question, does it?"

"Not really," she replied, waiting for him to continue.

"Most of the time, I soldiered on. I focused on something else, I distracted myself from whatever was on my mind. That worked somewhat, as I had something else to think about. When Sirius died, I had a bad night or two, but after talking about it, they were gone as well after speaking to Luna. That only worked, though, because I tackled the root of the problem. It had been his death I had been struggling with and my part in it to some degree, not the nightmares itself. Coming to terms with that, the dreams went away. Looking back, I think it might have helped a lot with the nightmares I had had before."

"Yet you still have nightmares," she pointed out. "I know you do, so they aren't completely gone."

"About the war, yes," he told her, slightly careful. She knew she was edging towards his secrets. "I dream about the war."

"And what do you do about those dreams? You said you'd get better once the war is done, but that'll be a while still. Do you expect me to believe you will just sit around doing nothing about it until then?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "There is little I can do, frankly. Those are a direct result of my part in the war. I could try to extract myself from it and let someone else shoulder the burden. It won't really work, though. My enemies wouldn't let me leave, and neither, I'm assuming, would the rest of the wizarding world. I could try speaking about it with someone and unload the bad images on someone else, but..."

"You don't do it," she finished for him. "Because you don't want to burden anyone, and I'm graciously ignoring the hypocrisy of asking me to open up to others when you don't do it."

"Yes, and thank you," he replied. Daphne felt he was keeping something hidden about his answer. There was more to it than that, more than Potter not wanting to burden someone. "Yes, and I need to... keep those matters secret, which is why I can't talk to just anyone about my dreams. I cannot risk revealing something I saw; it might be relevant later on."

"What, are you talking about prophetic dreams?" Daphne wondered. "Didn't you take Divination at Hogwarts?"

He paused for a second, too short for lying, but too long for the truth. "It was meant to be an easy class. Prophetic dreams? Yes, something like that, and yet, not at all. It's the way my mind works sometimes – by figuring out some hidden truth or strategy in my sleep. Imagine being stuck in a maze during the day. No matter where you look, you're surrounded by hedges. But at night, I can be like a bird – flying high above the ground, I can see the maze below. I can see the dead ends, and I can see the paths. I can figure out where to go." He sighed, struggling with himself, but in the end just shook his head. "So, did you come here to talk about my dreams and nightmares?"

"I... yes. No," Daphne told him, unsure how to phrase her intentions. She closed her eyes, imagining a different setting. She wasn't sitting on an old bed in the room of her husband whom she hardly knew; she imagined sitting in her garden. "I had hoped I'd learn something from how you dealt with them." Her eyes opened slowly and found him staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"So you have trouble sleeping," he stated unnecessarily. "Dreams keep you awake. You already admitted as much earlier, of course." She didn't argue, and he narrowed his eyes. "It's something you'd rather keep to yourself, I know that now, and I think I know why. Perhaps it's something you picked up at Hogwarts, but you don't want to seem weak."

"Slytherins do have a reputation to defend," Daphne pointed out.

"That they do," he replied with a chuckle. "Although it'd be nice if there'd be less hostility between... well, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Why waste strength fighting each other when there are teachers to bother?

"Back to topic. My experiences with bad dreams won't help you much, I fear. They were mostly about death and destruction. I might be wrong, but you've been sleeping badly for weeks already, unless I'm mistaken. That's an awfully long spell of nightmares, and it will have worn you out. A weakened mind is even easier prey for nightmares, and a weakened mind will probably have trouble learning Occlumency."

He stood still for a moment, thinking about something as he stared off into the distance. Then he shook himself awake. Pointing to the spot at her side, asking for permission, he found his silent request answered by her lackadaisical nod. Why fight him over small matters, she decided. If he wanted to sit next to her on the bed – his bed, technically – why should she deny it to him?

Sitting down slightly over an arm-length away, Potter hummed to himself. "Well, the way I see it, I got rid of them by finding something else to occupy myself with or coming to terms with the underlying problem. I already said as much. While at it, I more or less kept busy so my mind wouldn't linger on the bad. Perhaps that could work, since you are unwilling to talk about your private affairs."

Daphne thought about it. Well, she had no intention of sitting out the spell of nightmares if she didn't have to. She needed it dealt with if she wanted to get anything done. And she was reluctant to explain her fears and worries to Potter; he had gotten that right, thankfully, but his explanation had given her an idea.

"Perhaps I could try to focus on something else. Something completely different and pleasant to replace the negative air around here? When I was younger," she said, deciding to give something in return for his advice, "I tried imagining walking on a sandy beach somewhere south. The sun burning down, waves crashing and seagulls screaming."

He nodded, smiling slightly. "That does sound good."

"And lots of naked men lying around," she added with certainty. He screwed up his face in displeasure, and she had to keep herself from giggling. "Bronze skin, muscled, dazzling smiles..." True, those hadn't been part of her childish imagination, but she had grown up since then, hadn't she? So why not include something she found enjoyable as an adult?

He pursed his lips. "Well, you could try that. I think I know what you mean; you're talking about establishing positive dreams, something to balance out the negative."

"Something like that. It didn't work that well back then, but maybe I just didn't have the right motivation. Or imagination."

"Yeah, dreams can be strange sometimes," Potter conceded. "It might work. Granted, I don't think they follow any real logic anyway, so why not imagine something like that?" He chuckled. "I dreamed about flying motorcycles once when I was younger," he said, smiling fondly for some reason. After a moment, he added, "Muggle transportation and normally not able to fly – unless, of course, someone enchanted it to."

"So you worked your knowledge of magic into your dreams?" she asked, curious.

"Not really. Well, yes and no, I should probably say. Something from my early days must have stayed with me, but I don't know how. Sirius, he had one. I know I was taken on a ride on it once at least when I had been brought to my relatives house. But I had been fifteen months then, not an age from which I'd have clear memories. It probably was more along the lines of me hearing the motorcycle as a baby, and when I saw or heard another one the day before, it brought the fragment out. I don't know how a human's mind is supposed to work like that, so you'll have to forgive me for not having a decent answer. It had been a good dream, though, so I'm not complaining."

"Were you normally?" she teased, but her face fell when he didn't join in.

"I didn't complain, no." There was a strange sadness in his eyes, and his phrasing made her think there was something else to his answer. She added that bit of insight to the rest and felt herself coming closer to understanding Potter.

"I dreamed of cake once," she told him, although she didn't know why she did it, "a whole world of it and in all the favours you can imagine. Cake houses, cake clouds, cake people and animals..."

"Sounds tasty," Potter laughed. "Cake people, now that's something fun."

"Depends. In that dream, I overdid it. I ate too much of the hedges, and when I woke up, I didn't want any cake for days. My mother was worried about me - a child not wanting cake was too strange for her." Daphne snorted, remembering Astoria's expression at the thought of not wanting cake. "After a few days, I got over it. Childish appetite, you know?"

Potter sighed. "I also dreamed once of going into a store. A bakery, if I remember it correctly. Well, I needed to use the loo..."

"No need to go into detail," she smiled, pursing her lips.

"Ah, but the important part is, when I entered it, there was another door leading off to an enormous storage full of boxes and the like. But every time I tried to show the store owner, the door was gone without a trace, only to reappear once I came back without anyone."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, thinking about the possible explanations. "The toilet could be seen as something private, the door being some secret, and the store owner the general population. So whenever you tried to tell someone about something private, no one believed you? That's deep."

He frowned. "Never saw it like that, but I guess you are right. Huh. You're pretty good at this."

"Just a lucky guess," Daphne replied. "I once dreamed about a castle, and I don't mean something happening at a castle, but the building itself, as in seeing every pillar, door and window, the paintings on the walls, the carpets on the floor, the light shimmering here or there on the stone walls. A whole castle without anyone in sight, only the smells and sounds pervading the air."

"Well, that's... Let's see. A lot of space? And an attention to detail? Err, castle, castle. A wish for grandeur?" he tapped his chin before shrugging. "I got nothing."

"Don't think about it. But do you have any idea how long I worried about it? I couldn't see where I got that from, and worst of all, there was also that feeling of... something going on behind those doors, I know it, but I couldn't see or hear it; I was just aware of it and it was really infuriating. And the emptiness of the place was really creeping me out, especially since I knew something was going on just outside of my view; that combined with the empty halls added up to an intimidating presence around me."

Potter kept from commenting, which she was grateful for. Instead, he gazed off into the distance, lost in thought. "The mind is a curious thing," he mused out loud.

Daphne tilted her head in question. "What do you mean?"

He woke from his pondering. "Oh, it nothing important, I just thought, well, I dreamed about magic in a way without knowing how or why, and perhaps it was because my mind was trying to remember something from the past or perhaps coming up with an explanation for the strange occurrences. Maybe it was trying to tell me something and preparing me for my return to the wizarding world."

"Well, you already knew about magic, so it would have made its way into your dreams as well," Daphne reasoned, missing his eyes narrowing.

"So you dreamed of magic as well?" he asked her.

"Every child does, I think. We are surrounded by it, after all, and if it impressed us during the day, it will show up during the night as well. I heard once dreams are the reflection of whatever we faced during the day." She paused before waving dismissively, "Well, that, or they are prophetic. It happens sometimes, I guess."

"Who told you that?" Potter asked, glancing at her.

Well, she should have known better than to mention it, Daphne thought, but it didn't cause any lasting harm. "Madam Pomfrey in third year."

He frowned, his eyes taking her in. She didn't like being looked at too closely, but kept quiet and still. "Third year? You mean when the Dementors were stationed at school?"

She shrugged, rolling her eyes. "Obviously. I didn't like it much, but then, few did. I heard Malfoy nearly wet himself the first time he met them. He claims differently, of course, but it might be true."

"Wonder what he'd see," Potter said. "With how he was likely treated by his parents, I doubt he will have lots of bad memories."

Daphne bit her lip, thinking about it herself. "Well, it's an interesting question, really. If someone doesn't have any bad memories, will he or she be without any memory in their presence? They'd be empty inside, in a way."

"I'd quip it wouldn't be that much of a difference in Malfoy's case as he's usually empty-headed, but..."

"To answer your question," Daphne spoke with a smile, "I'm not sure. If I had to guess, I'd say a visit to Azkaban might have done that. I know Pansy's like that. Sometime before our first year, he visited his aunt in prison. If he knew by then about his father's beliefs, he might have been shocked at the treatment the prisoners received, and it might be an unpleasant memory to think about the desolate atmosphere in that prison."

Potter nodded slowly. "Possible, yes. Although it'd be highly unfair to have him struggle with something so minor. Others have seen loved ones die, have been in despair or life-threatening danger, and he is frightened by a prison visit?"

"That's cold, Mr. Potter," she told him, crossing her arms.

"Well, I can live with being cold, to be honest. Let's take Luna, for example. She'd have bad memories by that time; I know she had some. And she was a second-year at the time, even less prepared for the horrors regularly waiting at school. Huh, that does sound odd, now that I think about it. Anyway, others probably had it worse."

"You fell out of your seat, yes; Malfoy mentioned it."

"That too, but I wasn't speaking of myself alone." He shook his head. "Students had seen the death of loved ones, or remembered horrible suffering or petrifying fear whenever they came near Dementors. There's pain and loss, death and loneliness, cruelty and just plain bad luck. I don't think the treatment of prisoners in Azkaban is on the same scale, really. So Parkinson relives a visit to Azkaban? Huh, I didn't expect that."

"She doesn't nowadays," Daphne disagreed. "I'm not sure what it is today. Maybe the day she learned the Inquisitorial Squad had been disbanded? She took it pretty hard; she liked the power she had, especially since people finally saw her as a force all on her own instead of a hanger-on of others. Or maybe when she learned Malfoy might end up marrying me? Well, back in third year, her visit to her uncle was the worst, yes."

"Her uncle was in Azkaban?" Potter asked, raising his eyebrow. "He wasn't a Death Eater."

"How do you know that?" she asked, only receiving a shrug. "No, he wasn't," she agreed. "He's a small-time crook and tried to scam people out of their money. It was all fine for a while – whenever he got caught, he bribed the Ministry officials and got off. One day, he cheated Fudge's sister out of a lot of money or something like that. Well, that was too much, and he was sent to Azkaban for his crimes. He's out again, but Pansy still visited him once. To be fair, Paris Parkinson might not be very courageous or strong, but is very charming when he needs to be – he's a swindler, after all, and he does have a fair hand with the ladies, I heard."

"Paris?"

"After the mythological character, yes. Although why anyone would name their child after him, I won't understand, prince or no prince."

They fell silent, sitting side by side.

"So you went to Madam Pomfrey in third year. I guess she had more than a few coming to her for that, what with the Dementors getting to people," Potter spoke softly.

"She had, from what I heard," Daphne agreed. "Many students struggled with the Dementors' influence. Did you go as well? Since you fainted, from what Malfoy yelled for everyone to hear..."

"No, I didn't. When I arrived at school, she checked me over and had half a mind to keep me in the Hospital wing for the night, though, and called me 'delicate' for, yes, fainting."

"Ouch," Daphne laughed. "That's not something a boy wants to hear." Seeing his look, she pointed out, "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't understand what goes through your heads. I do listen to people talk, you know? Or, if I wanted to, I could just imagine a girl's thought, add the male stubbornness, and remove much of the common sense."

"Fine. No, I didn't like hearing that, and it made me less inclined to go to her for help."

"Only boys would never ask for help if they could avoid it," Daphne added, nudging him with a smile.

He rose an eyebrow, silently pointing out how much that statement also applied to her, but continued his tale anyway. "Lupin's care during the train ride saved me from that visit the first night," he spoke, fighting a small smile. "He gave me chocolate, so by the time I was at Hogwarts, I was already doing quite well."

"That was unfair, by the way. With him being a personal friend of your parents, you got preferential treatment, or so Malfoy claimed afterwards."

"I doubt I got preferential treatment. Lupin was relatively fair, from what I could tell and willing to help everyone, but leaving that aside, Malfoy can't complain, really, not with Snape turning a blind eye to his actions in class or at school.

"No, I didn't go to Madam Pomfrey. She means well, of course, but she tends to come of as emasculating. Just because someone had a run-in with something dangerous doesn't mean they can't deal with it."

"Just because they fell off a broom doesn't mean they aren't strong enough to stand on their own feet?" Daphne asked.

He cleared his throat. "Well, Lupin helped me deal with the Dementors. He taught me the Patronus Charm to ward them off. It worked, if I may say so."

"That's what you shot at Malfoy and his lot during the Ravenclaw game, wasn't it? Impressive spellwork, from the looks of it."

"Thanks, but it's not meant to be impressive, only to work in driving them off. But yes, that's what I used. Hmm, maybe that might be a good comparison for the complexity of Occlumency?"

"I don't know the spell, though," she pointed out. "And learning a complicated spell is probably the stupidest method to deal with a problem."

"You think so?" Potter laughed.

"Well, no, not really, but it's definitely Gryffindorish. Instead of going to the school nurse and have it sorted out, you choose the hard way. Instead of letting the responsible adults deal with it, you choose to do it yourself."

"And I managed it," he pointed out. "That has to count for something, right? Also, I asked for help; you were wrong before."

"Only in the long run, though. In the short run, you were helpless against the Dementors' influence."

"Well," Potter said with a shrug, "I was stuck at school anyway; I didn't have to past them on my way to Hogsmeade, so it didn't really matter."

"Wait, why were you stuck?" Daphne asked, frowning. "Third year is a Hogsmeade year, and I can't remember hearing about you getting so many detentions that year. That would have been something Malfoy would never have stopped talking about."

"True, it is a Hogsmeade year, and I didn't get that many detentions, no, but if every adult wants to protect you against the escaped prisoner who's supposed to be after you, and if you don't have a signed permission form, then you are stuck and not allowed to go." The note of bitterness was evident.

"That last one is not a reason," she pointed out. "That form takes, what, five seconds? It's no problem for a parent – or guardian – to sign that."

"That is true, yes," Potter agreed. "Too much work for my relatives, though, it seems."

"Now you're pulling my leg. They didn't sign your form? What, did they hate you or something?"

"Well, yes," Potter told her blinking in surprise. "Didn't you know that already? Didn't you read that between the lines when they died and I didn't mourn them?"

"I just thought, well... that you didn't want to appear weak or something. Or that you weren't sure what to feel about that. They hated you? Really?"

"Well, Muggles, you see? To them, I was the bothersome ward who did all those freakish things. And don't forget, in their eyes, magic was about as far removed from proper behaviour as anything. They were also not really given a choice in the matter; I was dropped on their doorstep to be taken care of by them without any chance for them to refuse. Yes, they hated me with a passion and went out of their way to show just what they thought of me."

"Still, you were family," Daphne argued.

"And you love yours?" he asked curiously.

"I do, in fact," she stated. "Even though Astoria is a constant thorn in my side, she is my sister."

Potter watched her for a moment, but then he dropped the subject. "So that's where you heard about dreams and positive imagining? Madam Pomfrey?"

She could see where he was going with it. "Yes. She likes you, doesn't she? You are with her so often, from what I know, she might as well see you as her nephew or something."

"She's all right, but her fussing does not really help much. Especially as a growing boy, I didn't like her babying me; you got that right. Or maybe she had a soft spot for the orphaned boy who constantly got in trouble one way or another. Yes, I was in the Hospital wing a lot, so she might feel some connection or something, but it doesn't matter. She is tasked with caring for the students, so I'm guessing she'd feel the same for a lot of people." He paused, scratching his head. "You know, for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had a bad third year. It's partly my fault the Dementors were stationed at school – to guard it against Sirius, even if it hadn't worked and he slipped in and out whenever he liked. But no matter. Since he can't, I also want to apologize on my godfather's behalf."

"What was he like? You know, I'm just curious; he's also responsible I'm here right now, by making you his heir, but I don't really know that much about him. Or rather, I heard about him in third year, but they made him out to be some kind of madman, out to butcher us if he ever found us. After he died, there were some kinder words about him, but the return of the Dark Lord overshadowed it. And you seem to have liked him, despite only knowing him for a short time, I'm guessing."

Potter looked at her. "The years in prison left their mark on him. He was never the same again, but from what I know, he loved my family and his friends. He was a prankster in his youth, rebelling against his family and opposing stoutly the pureblood agenda. He left this house after his sixth year, ran away to escape the expectations placed upon him as the eldest son – they wanted him to support the pureblood cause and become the bigot his parents wanted him to be. He was best man for my father, and I'm not sure whether he was ever happier in his life. Then, by betrayal from another friend, Pettigrew, he lost his chosen family – my parents. I do know he was rash, but maybe he was just too stressed to think about what he did; he chased after Pettigrew who blew up the street and let Sirius take the fall. And Azkaban..." A dark look passed his face. "Azkaban," he settled on as if it explained everything. It did. Chuckling unconvincingly, he added, "You don't like Nigellus outside, so Sirius might have liked you. Then again, you get along with Kreacher, and Sirius hated him with a passion."

Daphne sighed. "Well, I'm sorry for your loss, P... Harry." She leaned back, supporting herself with her hands. She couldn't imagine the wild man she had seen in the newspaper as pleasant, but figured years of Azkaban had changed him. She'd felt the influence of the Dementors and didn't want to imagine years of being close to them.

"May I ask you to clear something up for me?" he asked, watching her cautiously.

"You can try, but I might not answer," she replied.

"Well, I was just wondering," P... Harry, she reminded herself, began, "during the wedding, most of the presents were pretty self-explanatory. Some were actually kind of sweet and thoughtful. But there was one I didn't get. I put it down to traditions I hadn't read about or something like that, but..." He ran a hand through his hair. "The dagger from your sister. What was that about?"

She twitched slightly, but kept herself from groaning. He just had to ask that. Why couldn't he have inquired about something else? Why not ask about the peculiarities of being a girl? Why not ask about her favourite holiday or fondest memory? Why not, for the sake of it, ask to hold her hand or something equally daring and ridiculous? But no, he had to ask about the dagger.

"Don't think about that," she told him. "Astoria, she... she likes her little laughs and jokes and pranks," Daphne said, forcing a careless attitude into her voice.

"And she thought a dagger might be a good prank? I'm missing something there."

"Yes, you are, but it's... difficult to explain. Just know it's her kind of humour." Daphne smiled at him, hoping it would look pleasant enough and he would drop the topic. "What does it matter, though? It was over three months ago. Why ask now?"

"Well, we were apart for some of that time, so I couldn't ask. At the wedding, I didn't think it was the right time or place. Now though, we are sitting here, talking, and have talked about our wedding, even bringing your sister up, so why not?"

"Be that as it may, it's of little consequence to you, is it?"

"Well, I do want to get to know you, Daphne," he said, shrugging. "I hope you'll survive the war; I plan to do so. We'll be stuck with each other for a few years, then, so I'd like to know who I'm dealing with."

"Yes, so we won't look like fools, you already said that," she told him with a roll of her eyes.

After a moment, he shrugged. "Well, yes. I will likely be in the spotlight, and by extension, you will be as well. That's certainly one reason. But then, even apart from that, I think it'd be nice to get to know each other, at least so we could be friends. Or do you want whatever time we'll spend around each other wasted on sniping or awkward silences?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "We're mighty friendly already, aren't we?"

He chuckled. "Some of the time, yes. So let's say I might want to learn from you. Despite being the heir to the Ancient and most Noble House of Black, I don't really know all that much about wizarding customs. For example, it might be tradition for siblings to present a keepsake or heirloom."

"Well, it's not a tradition, no. Gifting something precious, whether due to emotional attachment or material worth, is a good idea. Astoria just chose a dagger instead of, say, a brooch or an ornamental plate. She also finds them more interesting. I surprised she didn't keep that one."

"That one?" Harry asked, sounding disbelieving. "You mean she keeps daggers? She collects them?"

"She likes the craftsmanship," Daphne replied. "We're talking about ornate ceremonial daggers, not your average kitchen knife. Daggers like that, they usually have a history, and they still have some uses - to open a letter, for example. Your friends, the Weasley twins gave you that book, didn't they, although it doesn't have any material value?" she pointed out.

He blinked, blushing profusely. To his credit, he didn't look away, but then, maybe he was too surprised to find her knowing about the book. Unfortunately, her diversion failed; she too felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she remembered the pictures in it.

"Ah, that. Well, they probably thought..." he stuttered, "Not that I implicated... I mean, they do like their bit of teasing and fun... The good kind, I mean! Err, I mean... err..."

"Let's just... not talk about it, all right? Forget I mentioned it." Why did it have to be so hard to not turn away? She knew she couldn't let him win that round and needed to keep looking at him, yet she also wanted to scold herself for even bringing it up. She obviously wasn't supposed to know about it, and thinking about it, the book had probably been a private gift among friends.

"A... agreed." He swallowed whatever he had wanted to add and fell silent.

"Look, I think it's getting late," she pointed out. "Maybe I should just... leave. We both need sleep, don't we?" She rose, not wanting to give him time to argue.

"Do you think you'll be fine?" H... Potter, she reminded herself, asked.

"I'm a big girl," she said, smiling. Whether she was or not, she had little interest in staying any longer.

"Well, if you have trouble..." he began, sounding unsure of how to end the sentence.

"What, come back here? And then what, you'll sing me to sleep?" she laughed.

He scratched his chin. "Better not, Hermione says I can't carry a tune to save my life." He chuckled, but only a moment later, stopped and frowned, mumbling something about similarities she didn't quite catch.

Daphne left, ignoring the obnoxious painting of Phineas Nigellus.

That night, she got her wish and dreamed of a beach littered with naked men. The sand, drenched in blood stuck to her feet as a sickly green sky stretched overhead. And she did hear cries, even if they weren't from birds; but she forced herself to block out the words, knowing quite well she didn't want to hear them. For a time after that, she sank into a dreamless sleep. Sometime during the early morning, dream and reality blended together, and she found herself lying in bed, but her own, in her old room back in her family's home. It was just as she remembered it, from the curtains over by the window and the toy castle in the corner to the smell in the air and even the bed next to hers, bathed in the light of a waning moon, and yet something was off. Harry was there, although he shouldn't be; he was bent over her to tuck her back in, caressing her cheek, whispering to her sweetly and promising her a song; and he moved to kiss her temple, smiling enigmatically. Daphne woke up with a start.


And Harry continues making progress. Getting closer to Daphne, getting closer to the next assassination.