Posted 7/25/2014

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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-Six - Christmas at Grimmauld Place

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On the twenty-first, the Sunday before the winter holidays, Daphne had retreated into the training room of the house. Focusing on her intent, Daphne jabbed her wand. Almost instantly, a boar appeared, conjured in the middle of the room. Another quick spell later, the animal was frozen in place, giving Daphne time to inspect her work. It wasn't bad, but she supposed she could do better. She vanished the animal. Dropping into something of a battle stance, she tried a flock of birds. It worked somewhat – the birds appeared and circled around, but they were hardly as effective as a living shield as she had hoped. She vanished them as well, and was about to conjure a pair of dogs – two additional targets for an enemy to worry about in a fight – when she heard voices in the hallway.

"... wise," Granger said. "We don't know what..."

Daphne couldn't make out the rest, but Harry replied something about a decision. Daphne didn't have to wait long for them. The door opened and Granger walked in with a frown, followed by her two friends. They were carrying a mirror between them, and after a moment, Daphne recognized it as the one from Harry's room. It looked odd, no longer showing a deserted corridor and instead simply a reflection.

Weasley sent Daphne a look that spoke of his distrust. Granger schooled her features. Harry sent Daphne a lopsided smile she found herself returning.

"I thought we'd best put it over there," he told his friends, jerking his head to a far-away wall. "We could add a wall to have the mirror protected against stray spells."

Weasley grumbled something, too low for Daphne to hear, but she knew what he had said, and not just because Harry replied, "I invited her to use it." Chuckling, he added, "Better than her trashing her room."

Weasley continued to frown, but kept quiet. Granger hadn't averted her eyes from Daphne, a calculating look on her face.

"Do you need help?" Daphne offered. Weasley glared in response, but Granger merely waved her off with a smile.

"We're fine, thank you." To Harry, she added, "Fine, let's put it there for now and I'll try to come up with a spell to conjure a wall that can resist continued spellfire. Or maybe it'd be easier to charm the mirror resistant to magic?"

Daphne watched them walk over and hang the mirror. While they busied themselves, Harry and his friends continued a hushed conversation Daphne had a distinct feeling had little to do with interior design. Seemingly happy with their work in the end, Harry turned to face Daphne. She had a feeling it had more to do with them having finished whatever they had felt necessary to talk to in Daphne's presence without wanting her to know about it. Why not stay in one of the rooms to talk? She knew they knew privacy spells. She knew there were enough rooms in the house they could have retreated to. Was it Harry's awkward attempt to show her he didn't want to keep her out of the loop forever? Was it an attempt to show his friends he trusted her enough to not keep her out of the loop? Was it an attempt to include her in their circle?

She felt conflicted about the last one. Her birthday two days before had been awkward enough. After Harry had given Daphne a brief hug in the kitchen – shocking both of his friends to Daphne's amusement – Granger had congratulated awkwardly. Weasley had spent the rest of the day glaring at some spot over Daphne's shoulder. Kreacher, the house elf, had been the oddest, in fact, and had seemed on the verge of telling her something. Did house-elves congratulate their masters and mistresses? Carrie did, granted, but she had also been ordered to in an attempt to teach Astoria and Daphne about how to treat the lesser beings and servants.

The dinner that evening had been slightly more extravagant than normal, and Daphne hadn't missed that they had a selection of cheese and fruits as dessert, which she found a nice change from sweets. Granted, Weasley had stuffed his face with most of it – to keep himself from talking and spoiling the evening, perhaps? – but Daphne had gotten a bit of everything as well.

"Well," Harry spoke up, drawing her attention, "how are you doing?"

Granger tensed slightly. Weasley stared at the door, probably wishing to be anywhere else.

"I'm making progress," Daphne replied. "It's mostly coming up with uses of what you told me. It feels like I have to reinvent my whole duelling style, but it should work out eventually."

"That's good to hear," he spoke up in a measured tone, glancing around the room and stalling for time. "You know Christmas is soon." Daphne kept from rolling her eyes. It seemed to have shown on her face because Weasley's glare intensified. Harry merely chuckled. "Right. Well, we thought we could ask you whether you have anything you want to do in particular. I've spent a number of Christmases at Hogwarts, and although I doubt we can do anything close to it, we thought we might..." He blinked and broke off at the same time as Granger and Weasley tensed.

"I don't particularly care about that," Daphne told them, but Harry sent her smile.

"Right. Doesn't matter much, I guess," he said.

Another voice spoke up, but it wasn't Granger or Weasley or the elf Kreacher. "What doesn't matter, Harry?" a dreamy voice asked.

Daphne blinked. The mirror no longer showed a reflection of the training room, but it also didn't show an empty corridor either. Instead, Lovegood stared owlishly out of the frame.

"The Christmas preparations on our end," Harry replied, turning to his friend in the mirror. "We'll come up with something soon enough, not that it'll be anything special. Certainly not as magical as a Hogwarts Christmas. Glad you could make it."

Lovegood sent him a smile, but instead of an answer, she turned to the other occupants in the room. "Hermione, I'm sorry I won't be able to give you my present. Ron, Ginny seems to miss you. Professor McGonagall as well, I guess. She's rather sad lately. Then again, she has lost a lot of old friends this year." Turning to Daphne who was stunned speechless, Lovegood said, "Mrs. Greengrass, it's nice to see you in good health." Blinking, she added, "Did you know your left eye has changed colour?"

Daphne swallowed the lump in her throat. "I... I've noticed, yes."

Lovegood tilted her head. "Maybe you could paint a black patch around the other one to distract onlookers. Also, you'd look like a panda. Everyone loves pandas. Or maybe you could..." Whatever she had been about to say Daphne didn't learn; Lovegood broke off, looking to the side with a smile.

Harry grabbed his friends by their wrists and pulled them over to the door with a short nod to Daphne. Blinking, she whirled around to see them leave the room and her alone with the mirror and Lovegood on the other side. Closing the door, Harry smiled, waving his wand in a pattern Daphne didn't recognize. The light around the room dimmed, casting it in darkness with only Daphne in a spot of light. Only a moment later, the sound from the corridor beyond the door was muted with a sudden snap. Silencing spells, Daphne guessed, but before she could think more about it or begin to think about why someone would silence the room, and if so, whether the spell worked both ways, Lovegood spoke once more.

"That's my cue. Congratulations, and a belated Happy Birthday. I'll leave you then," the Ravenclaw said, a smile in her voice.

"Err, Lovegood, that's still a few weeks away," Tracey's voice drifted out from the mirror. Daphne whirled around, too shocked to understand for a moment. But it didn't seem to be an illusion. Instead of Lovegood, she saw Tracey and Millicent walking into view, talking confusedly to Lovegood out of the frame. Something seemed to have clued them in about what was happening, though, as both turned to face Daphne. Their mouths fell open.

Daphne's mind began to catch up, and she was torn between running from the room or towards the mirror. The pieces fell into place; Harry keeping a mirror in his room that hadn't shown a reflection, him bringing it to her, the protests of his friends, Harry stalling for time, casting privacy spells on the room... But all of that didn't matter for the moment, and she couldn't move. She just stared, not daring to look away for fear her friends would somehow vanish the moment she turned away or finding herself caught in a particularly cruel dream.

Yet her friend didn't vanish. Millicent, for the moment not quite as collected and calm. Tracey, without her laugh, but instead tired and her face marred with grief and slow realization. They were both there, and they were Harry's present for her.

The spell was broken soon. Millicent whispered disbelievingly. Tracey gasped, yelling and gesturing wildly towards the mirror, "What have you done?"

Smiling, Daphne said, "It's..." But she couldn't continue – tearing up, she swallowed a large lump in her throat, her worries falling away as she saw her friends alive and well again. "I'll live," she settled on in the end. "I'm..." she stopped, blinking once. "I'm safe," she said.

"We thought you were dead!" Tracey shouted.

"I'm not," Daphne replied, chuckling. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you sooner or sent a message, but..." She broke off. But what? But she couldn't have risked it? That had been one of Harry's concerns, so why had he arranged a chat with her friends now?

"What happened?" Millicent spoke up. "Two months since we last saw you, and with how you looked..."

"I know," Daphne interrupted. "Potter found me in time. Long story short, I survived with some scars. Turns out I have more strength in me than I thought."

"... Damn," Tracey said, blinking rapidly, "does he have a sixth sense or something? What do you mean he found you? How did he do that?"

Smiling, Daphne replied, "He gave me a beacon to use in times of need. Say what you will, but he does care about the people around him."

For a moment, they stayed silent before Tracey spoke up again. "So, where are you now? I can't make out much on your end. You said you were safe?"

"I am safe, yes," Daphne confirmed. So that was why Potter had cast most of the room in darkness – to keep Millicent and Tracey from recognizing more than necessary.

"Safe with Potter?" Millicent interrupted. There was an odd note to her voice, somewhere between disbelief and suspicion.

"Yes to both, although there need not be a connection between the two," Daphne settled on.

"Listen," Tracey sighed, "I know this isn't the right time and all, but there's something we need to tell you, and if I don't do it now, I might never. See, after you left, well, we packed your trunk. It was taken from us, but your family didn't get it. I'm sorry, but..."

"Don't worry, it wasn't," Daphne began, stopping suddenly as realization hit her. She couldn't tell them she had her trunk, not without revealing that someone smuggled it out, risking Professor Snape's exposure. It would have been a poor way to repay his kindness to blow his cover. It would be a poor way to repay Harry's gift and his many small acts to accommodate her to endanger his allies and friends. She needed to keep it secret from her friends for the sake of Harry's resistance.

Suddenly becoming aware that both of her friends had stopped in their apologies and were watching her carefully, she woke from her spell. "Well, it wasn't your fault, really, was it? You couldn't have known, and I don't blame you anyway. And it's not as if I had anything really irreplaceable with me at school. As long as you're well..."

"We're fine," Millicent confirmed. "Tracey and I, we joined up with Potter's rebels here at school."

"To get revenge for you," Tracey added. "I guess that's no longer necessary, huh? Repaying the debt for saving you works for me, though. Too late to stop now anyway." After a moment of silence, she added, "We miss you. We all do."

Daphne could only nod.


She found him easily enough. He was standing in his room, sorting through some notes, from the looks of it, but he seemed to have kept an eye on the door as well – the moment she stepped in, he turned to face her.

Daphne stopped a few feet from him. "I'm done," she told him. "Millicent and Tracey asked me to thank you on their behalf, but I think they'll do it in person as well once they get the chance. They were very..." She hesitated, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"I can imagine," Harry said. "I've heard a bit about what they did at school, and it's obvious they were very worried about you."

"I know it must have taken a lot of convincing to get Granger and Weasley to go along with it. I... I appreciate it." Blinking, she snorted. "I mean... well, I know it took some work, especially to set it up as a surprise without nosy me finding out, but you still did it, which is... great," she finished lamely. Why was it so hard to say what she wanted to? She'd talked about more difficult matters, hadn't she?

"You're welcome," he replied, chuckling. It made things even harder for her to see him dismiss it so easily.

"I... Thank you, Harry," Daphne said, sniffing slightly. "You've taken a lot of weight from my shoulder, and you've done me a huge favour, perhaps one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me, and all of that despite how I acted to you, and..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry advised her. "It was the right thing to do."

"No," Daphne spoke up, gaining strength from the fact that she could safely disagree. "No, no it wasn't, and I know it. Your friends, they don't trust me, and they have no reason to, and that mirror, it's a big secret you just flung into my way, seemingly without a care. Not even the first one. No, it wasn't the right thing to do, Potter..." Blinking, she corrected, "Harry, you shouldn't have. You should've kept it for yourself, you should've... Don't trust people with it, P... Harry, don't... No, the right thing would've been to keep it for yourself, to use it, but never tell. What if I had let slip that Professor Snape's on your side? What if... what if I hadn't kept that secret?"

"Well," Harry told her, shrugging, "I decided to trust you."

She knew she wanted to say something, but she was too shocked. His words felt like a slap. They stung, and they brought tears to her eyes. While before she had occasionally seen what they had in common, all she could see at the moment was what set them apart. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing all of her shortcomings, all she hadn't become and all she wasn't. She didn't know when or why she had started sobbing, but Harry easily produced a handkerchief and led her to sit down on a chair.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking uncomfortable, but still kneeling down in front of her, "I didn't..."

"No!" she interrupted him. "Don't." Having him apologize would have made it only worse, she felt. Having him understand and be nice about it would have made him even more likeable and gut-wrenchingly good. Shaking her head, she added, "Why? Why'd you...?"

He glanced to the side for a moment. "I trusted you. It's the heart, the true self that matters." He leaned forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. She wouldn't have been surprised if his touch had burned her through the robes. "And I don't think you're a bad person," he told her, smiling slightly.

Maybe he had pulled her, maybe not, but either way, she leaned forward as well and fell on him, her arms wrapping themselves around him as she blubbered inelegantly into his robes. Months of stress crashing down on her, she didn't know what she was saying most of the time, but it didn't matter. No longer isolated from her friends, no longer worried about not hearing from them, seeing them happy once again and letting them see her in turn... the dam broken, she couldn't stop the tears as they washed out the pain and gloom.

After a while, she calmed down enough to notice Harry awkwardly patting her back. The lessons from her mother came back to her – a proper girl always minded her manners, a proper girl knew what didn't count as appropriate behaviour. Daphne moved back, turning away slightly to regain her composure and discreetly wipe the remaining tears away with her sleeve – something proper girls didn't do, but preferred to looking even more like a mess than she probably did anyway. Then again, proper girls also knew not to cry while in company so as to not inconvenience others, so Daphne had already broken some rules. When she turned back around, Harry had sat up as well, snapping at his already dry robes. With a last snap, his robes straightened out, making them look almost freshly laundered and pressed.

"Sorry," she mumbled, feeling somewhat spent and strangely empty, "I... sorry."

"It's fine," he replied, waving her off.

"No, it's not," she argued, absentmindedly sorting out her own clothes. "It wasn't proper. I shouldn't have... Well, a lot of things, I guess. It was just... seeing Millicent and Tracey again, and about as well as they could be..."

"I know the feeling," Harry told her. There was a shimmer in his eyes, and Daphne realized he truly did understand; he'd been in a similar situation once. Shrugging, Harry added, "I was about the same when I saw my friends again." He sent her smile. "Happy birthday, Daphne."

Fighting down another sob, she managed a wobbly smile of her own. "Thanks. Thank you, Harry."

"Though I guess I owed your friends something as well," he mused. "Hadn't expected them to join the fight, but all for the better, I guess. They seem like a good lot, with the heart in the right place." After a moment, he chuckled. "Well, I guess you already knew that; they're your friends, after all."

"They are, yes," she agreed, unable to contain the rush of giddy happiness that made her want to jump about the room like a five-year-old. Instead, she released a shaky breath. "They are... and they're not the only one." She glanced over to Harry with yet another smile. When he returned it with a lop-sided, mischievous one, she leaned over to him for a hug.

"Thank you," she said, head still resting on his shoulder. Once they broke apart, she stood up, watching him follow suit. It looked odd with him, too fluid for a human and more like some cat slinking around a corner or maybe water flowing upwards.

"You know," she told him, "I told you about those books about you, didn't I? And what a great guy that Harry is?"

"You did, yeah," he agreed. "Tall, handsome, and charming – that's what you called him. And that you were no fan of his because you found heroes boring, always doing what was right."

"Well, that too, yes," she admitted, only now noticing the list didn't include kind-hearted. But she pushed the thought aside. "Too perfect to be real, that Harry is. But you know, I much prefer the real Harry."

"Because I'm not perfect?" he asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Something like that," she teased with a slight smile, but she knew it was something else. He felt more real to her, not just because he was in the same room, but also because he had become part of her world. Through the similarities, through his many attempts to help her, he had earned himself a place. What did she care about looks or a charming personality, ignoring for a moment that both were the invention of an author at least twice Harry's age? No, the real Harry, he was something else, and she knew it.

"Something like that," she repeated. With a meaningful glance, she added, "You answer."

Her statement seemed to have surprised him more than she had expected – blinking, he glanced towards her. "Well, yes, of course I do. That's what people do, isn't it?"

You breathe the same air, you react, you care, Daphne wanted to say, but instead, she just smiled, nodding. Steeling her resolve for the next part of the conversation, she grew nervous.

"Harry, I..." she began, hesitating. "I know you've... No." She shook her head. "No. I know I should... I mean, what with everything... and me being here and all..." There was a glimmer in his eyes as he watched her flounder around; she didn't feel like returning the small smile that grew on his face. She held up her hand to stall for time to sort out her thoughts. How could she describe it properly? How could she explain her choice?

"Right. I'm your... We are allies," she tried. "And you've done... No," she broke off, barely stopping herself from stomping her foot in annoyance. No, it wasn't repayment for Harry's kindness, not primarily so. "I meant, well, we are allies, aren't we?"

He nodded, schooling his features to fight down the smile.

"Right," she agreed, "but what I mean is... I... Err..." Struggling with the right phrasing, she wished for some kind of guideline to help her. The thought gave her an idea, though. "So we say, don't we? But there's not much behind it, is there? And I'm kind of... kind of there, but nothing more, am I? And while I'm here, my friends outdid me and... No," she huffed, exasperated. It wasn't a race either, and she wasn't forced to match her friends' dedication to Harry's resistance. It wasn't an obligation that kept pushing her. "I chose to be your ally, is what I'm trying to say. An alliance between us - a shaky one. I chose it because it was right – because I had no part in... because it felt right at the time," she settled on, watching him nod.

"You made a choice to not get caught up in my resistance," he summarized.

"Right, because I'm not part of it," Daphne agreed. "Only, aren't I? I mean, I did get caught up in your mess, didn't I? So it's not like you and your friends are here," she gestured to her right, "and I'm over there any more, am I?" she asked with a lazy wave to her left.

He pursed his lips. "You do know the resistance isn't exactly an army, do you? There's no oath keeping us in place. It's mostly a bunch of people doing what they think and feel is right. They choose how much they want to contribute day by day, and they don't usually have to justify themselves if they don't want to. If they feel they should help out, they're free to do so. They're not obligated to, and there's some grey area."

She released a breath she didn't know she had held. So he had understood what she had been trying to say and work towards and had offered her a way out. She knew she should be happy about it. She didn't have to declare herself; she didn't have to make promises or oaths. She didn't have to give up her freedom of choice or commit herself to Harry's mission.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Step by step, choice by choice," she said, managing something like a smile she didn't feel like.

"Exactly," he replied, shrugging.

In the silence that followed, Daphne felt the weight of the moment pressing in on her. For a brief moment, she expected Harry to extend a hand for a ceremonial handshake. And yet, despite implicitly declaring herself to Harry, despite making a potentially devastating choice, Daphne still felt slightly better and less troubled. For the first time in a while, she felt good about herself.

Feeling Harry watching her still, she sighed, staring towards the door. "Well, now comes the hard part," she told him. He snorted, fighting down a laugh, and Daphne couldn't help but smile a little.

After a last moment of strengthening her resolve, she marched out of the room and down the stairs. She quickly ducked into the bathroom on the first floor, only to find a woman looking back at her from within the mirror she hadn't seen before. The scars were still there, and the replacement eye was still off, but her reflected self looked far better than she had in months. There was a certain defiance in her stance and a hidden strength emanating from her.

Daphne freshened up a bit until she was satisfied that not even attentive Granger would notice anything being off. She wasn't really surprised to find Harry waiting for her at the stairs, sending her an enigmatic smile.

Together, they descended. The entrance hall was empty as always except for the dead snake still somehow glinting at everyone and the complete corridor from its place high above the ground. A shrewd feeling told Daphne it was no coincidence; after spending months with him, she could see Harry coming up with strange security measures. If he used paintings as lookouts, why not a strategically placed snake? Although it did raise the question as to how he would ask a dead snake about what it had seen.

Far too soon for her liking they reached the door to the kitchen. Muted voices behind told her Granger and Weasley were discussing something, but Daphne couldn't make out whether it was good or bad for her.

Harry seemed to have picked up on her mood. Leaning over, he whispered jokingly, "Wanna hold my hand?"

Stifling a very improper snort, Daphne shook her head. "Better not. Weasley'd..." Blinking, she bit her lip.

Next to her, Harry grinned, nodding his head to egg her on.

"Some other time," she told him with a smile of her own.

"Hmm," he mused, "you're right, maybe not. It'd be too soon without a little build-up to raise his suspicions. He might not buy it now. Damn, growing up with Fred and George'll have made him cautious."

"You know," Daphne pointed out, "you're surprisingly mean when you want to be."

"It's all for his own good," Harry replied, shrugging. "If he gets to trusting, he'll be far too easy of a target once the twins run into him again. They've already had months to come up with something. Also, you can't tell me you don't want to see how long it'll be until he cracks. Don't think I haven't noticed you playing along the last few days."

When she didn't deny it, he nodded, almost as if they had agreed on a battle plan. Still she took one deep breath and opened the door, consciously keeping her hands as far away as she could from Harry's to avoid any mishaps.

Granger and Weasley were indeed talking, their heads stuck together over some pieces of parchment.

"Well, no, Ron, no," Granger told him with a shake of her head. "When you mix those two..."

"Oh yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, I remember that." He rubbed his eyebrows.

"Well, see that you do beforehand," Granger said. "Apart from that, I do think it could work, yes, but..."

"But it's not urgent, yeah," Weasley sighed. "Anyway, I had another idea. See, Fred and George, they..." He broke off, noticing their newcomers. After a stare towards Daphne, he glanced over her shoulder to what she supposed was Harry for further instructions.

Granger straightened up, shuffling the pieces of parchment into a neat stack. She seemed wary, but Daphne couldn't fault her. Both Weasley and Granger had to have realized something had changed since morning.

Daphne swallowed the lump in her throat, nervously searching for the right words. Somehow, she felt she should give a speech about what had happened, but knew the last one hadn't worked so well. The silence continued, and Daphne still hadn't found the right words. Weasley had begun to glare once more, Granger pursing her lips in what might have been disappointment. Harry had kept quiet, only shifting slightly behind Daphne if the sound of rustling clothes was any indication.

Then his hand touched her on her shoulder blade, likely unseen by his friends, but it still meant a lot to Daphne. She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I caused you trouble," she said. Unsure of what to say next, she hesitated.

"The mirror," she heard Harry's voice to her right, but she seemed to have been the only one to notice it.

"And... and thank you for, you know, arranging that I could talk to my friends," Daphne added. She stepped forward, and Harry's hand was gone. Still, she had an idea what she could bring herself to say to Granger and Weasley. "It really did mean a lot to me, and it meant a lot to them as well." Seeing Granger relax slightly, another thought popped into Daphne's head. "And I know it's been long overdue, but... err... Thank you, Granger, for patching me back up and... trying to help me settle in."

Once more, everyone was silent. Granger nodded curtly, but kept a neutral expression. Weasley glowered a bit before he scoffed.

"That's it?" he growled. "She's sorry for all the crap she's done, and just like that we're supposed to be friends? What now, wanna hold hands?"

Daphne barely managed to turn her laugh into a cough that might pass a sign of genuine shock, secretly vowing that now she really would have little choice but to play along with Harry in winding Weasley up after the redhead had practically asked for it. Granger raised an eyebrow, sending Weasley a warning look.

"You're not," Harry spoke up, stepping to Daphne's side. "The former, I mean; you're not supposed to be friends just like that. You're free to hold hands as much as you like if that's what you want." He paused. "I can't expect you to be friends. I don't even expect you to be friendly towards each other. I'd settle for civil, but even that might take some getting used to. But as far as I'm concerned, we're not enemies here. Do we want to waste energy on squabbling?"

Granger frowned. "Well, I don't disagree with you on principle. We have enough on our plates as it is. But I'm not feeling that well being ordered to put aside the past without good reason. If we knew a bit more about her," she turned to Daphne, "about you, it might be easier to accept."

"Yeah," Weasley spoke up. "All those weeks, nothing from you, and now this? The mirror, and now you telling us to leave her be? What's gotten into you, Harry?" He narrowed his eyes. "It's those talks, isn't it? Well, if we knew what you talked about with her..."

"No," Harry interrupted calmly. Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne saw Granger torn between agreeing with Weasley or Harry – torn between her wishes and keeping her word.

"No," Harry repeated. "If she wants to talk to you, she is free to do so. Whatever I talked to her about is between her and me until we decide otherwise."

It shouldn't have, but it did shock Daphne slightly to see him willing to keep his word to her. On the one hand, she had come to learn he did understand privacy, and a lot of what they had talked about was indeed private business; on the other, he was still closer to Weasley and Granger and likely more inclined to give their wishes priority.

"That's very noble of you, Harry," Granger started, "but there has to be something you can tell us without breaking your promise. Something so we could... well, could understand where you're coming from, I guess is the right phrase. Something substantial to put our minds at ease, perhaps?"

He nodded slowly, contemplating her words. "You want to hear something from me to put your mind at ease." He glanced towards Daphne.

"Yes," Granger told him, "that's all I'm asking for right now. If we're meant to accept her walking around the house unchecked and unbothered, possibly stumbling over something she shouldn't have seen, then I think we deserve something to give us that sense of safety."

Harry straightened up, glancing one more time to Daphne before facing his friends. "I trust her." It didn't feel like a slap this time and more like getting doused with cold water.

Weasley stared back at Harry, dumb-founded. Granger on the other hand blinked once before nodding.

"All right," the Muggleborn said with another nod. "Then there's nothing more to be said."


The mood was decidedly grim as everyone sat around the dinner table. Christmas had come, but instead of cheery children or happy holidays, they were stuck in a gloomy house in a shabby neighbourhood with a house elf smiling toothily at them. Granger picked dispassionately at her food. Not that Daphne could fault her for once. She would have liked to spend the holiday with her family as well, and she longed to see Millicent and Tracey again. Their last talk had been far too short for her liking. True, she had grown to accept the grumpy elf Kreacher with his faults, and her life had improved vastly over the past week, but it just wasn't the same without the traditions she had grown accustomed to. Only once during school had she chosen to stay at Hogwarts instead of going back, and while it had been a very entertaining evening, the one evening of the year spent with festive spirits in the company of her family was much preferred.

Weasley was still distrustful of her – not that she could find any fault with that. She didn't like him; he didn't like her. They had found common ground as far as their relationship was concerned. Why change if it worked? Just because they were both friends with Harry didn't mean they had to get along.

Granger had been civil, if little more. It was obvious she hadn't forgotten or forgiven Daphne's behaviour, but was willing to put it aside for the time being.

Harry cast a nervous look around every now and then. It was equally understandable. He was their leader, sort of. Granger and Weasley followed him. He cared a lot about the people around him – which apparently now included Daphne as well – and was talented as far as duelling was concerned. They had fought a few times, and he had always beaten her soundly. In fact, she felt as if he had had a progressively easier time doing so. Had he been holding back in the beginning? She didn't want to think so and preferred to believe their shared training had sharpened his skills as well, but her instincts told her he was leagues ahead of her.

Daphne looked at her hand, thinking about their match two days ago. It had been an accident, yes, but it could have cost her a few fingers at least. Only by pure luck had he known the counter for the curse he had sent at her. Apologizing profusely, he had healed the damage as well as he could. All that was left was a small scar, faintly red against her pale skin, and even that would fade, he had assured her.

She found herself wondering about that spell. It had been surprisingly dark, if the remaining damage was anything to go by. It didn't fit his image, but it did fit the person she had gotten to know. Harry Potter was supposed to be a hero of the light, fighting against the evils of the world, yet the young man sitting with her at the table was far more pragmatic and crafty than she had expected him to be even half a year ago. A noble warrior of the light didn't assassinate his enemies, after all, yet Harry did because he thought it necessary. If she didn't know any better, she would have suspected some hidden agenda on his part for their marriage. But the boy she had approached back then had been so completely different that he was either a remarkable actor – possible, now that she thought about it; his Occlumency would have given her a definite edge in that respect – or really had been as accepting of the plan and straightforward as he had seemed. Then again, he had told her about his reasons – or rather, the lack of good ones – and she believed him. It explained a lot about him, and it did fit his personality. He did care about the people around him, which meant he tried to help whenever he could.

She was no fool, Daphne added after a moment of consideration, returning to her previous train of thought; Harry was already planning something else, another assassination, most likely, she just knew it. Or at least she thought he did, as she still found it difficult to get a good reading of him. He vanished for hours, and she guessed he was hiding in the library from his friends and her. Granger seemed to think so as well, but as far as Daphne knew, she hadn't asked him about it. With how reluctant she had been to help Harry with his assassinations –as far as Daphne could see, at least –she probably didn't want to encourage him anymore.

Perhaps he was planning a direct confrontation, she mused, taking another bite of the dinner. She knew he had killed already, she knew it. Macnair and Szarka were dead, after all. She could see it and felt it when she looked at Harry or listened to the talks around the house. But she couldn't figure out how he had done it since neither of the people in the house was forthcoming about that. Something funny was going on there, she just knew it, and she was secretly feeling a grudging respect, both about his supposedly impossible murders and his secrecy surrounding his modus operandi; but he couldn't hide forever behind whatever trickery he had been using, and she guessed he would go for a duel sometime in the near future. So maybe he was researching vicious spells on his own?

Weasley sighed, glaring half-heartedly at the food. "I miss Hogwarts. It's like school here, reading and learning and doing nothing else, yet without the fun part. At school, we had our friends, and we could, I don't know, go outside or something. I'd love to get out of the house for once." He stabbed the so-called meat on his fork. "And I miss the food. The feasts there? Always nice."

"So you often stayed at school during the holidays?" Daphne asked. Weasley sent her a glare, but she turned to Harry instead, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention. "What about you, hm? Or did you go visit some friends instead?" She tilted her head slightly and sent him a smile.

"Err, no, Daphne," he replied, swallowing and blushing slightly with a cough, "I stayed at school quite often. Well, fifth and sixth year I didn't, so it's two-thirds of the years that I stayed."

"True," Weasley nodded. "But last year would have been the best under normal circumstances. If you hadn't messed it up." He pointed at Daphne with his fork. "Yeah, you I mean, Greengrass, you and that contract of yours. I mean, think about it, Harry," he added, turning to his friend once more, "Christmas at Hogwarts is good, certainly better than the rest of the time there. The food was excellent, I'll give you that – I could do with something of that right now – and it was awesome having the tower all for us, but that's all it was. Fifth year wasn't really all that cheerful, what with all of that business we had and then running into Neville." Daphne raised an eyebrow, wondering what the redhead meant. Weren't they friends? Weasley continued, though. "But last year, if it had not been for that mess with the contract, it'd have been brilliant. Good food, presents, and the whole family, and no war."

Granger froze for a moment, paling slightly.

Daphne sent Weasley a glare to shut him up. Harry did as well, but Weasley didn't seem to notice. He stared off into the distance, lost in his single thought of the day. "Except Percy, but who cares about that git, right? Well, Christmas and the family, I know, but... he's an idiot, isn't he? Well, other than Greengrass ruining our time..."

"Ron," Harry interrupted, the warning all but tangible. Daphne wasn't sure whether it was about the insult directed at her or the probable comment coming up. Either way, Weasley was lost in his thoughts for the moment and didn't seem to have noticed.

"... last year was great. It had been too long since we were all together, and who knows..." He broke off, realizing his mistake, but it was too late.

Granger jumped to her feet and left hurriedly. Harry did as well, but Weasley just blushed brilliantly, staring at his plate, at the prepared food and everywhere except Daphne.

"Good job there, Weasley," Daphne told him, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Hopefully he'd get it.

"Well, yeah, well," he stuttered, grasping for a decent reply. "What's it to you, huh? Can't see you helping any."

"I'm not your nanny," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "She's your close friend, not mine. It's your mess, not mine."

"Yeah, well, it's none of your business either, then," Weasley growled – actually growled! She blinked in surprise – and continued, "It's not like you care about Hermione."

"I'm not an arse," Daphne replied evenly, dabbing her mouth delicately. "Even I know gushing on about how great the holiday dinner with the family last year had been might not be the best of ideas with an orphan at the table who never met his parents, much less Granger with her separation from her parents who might be in grave danger and, from what I heard, are no longer a couple. Reminding your friends of what they lost? In the case of Granger, lost over the last year?"

With a last glare, Weasley rose to his feet and left as well. Daphne rolled her eyes. Did he think she was bothered by his glare? She knew what he thought about her. She glanced at her plate, but found she had lost her appetite and instead felt the longing of talking to her family who still didn't know what had happened to her. Where they sitting around the table, thinking about her?

The elf Kreacher still hung around in the corner, but kept quiet, instead watching her intently.

"Anything you have to say?" she asked him, trying to fill the silence.

"Mistress Greengrass is mysterious," he said wringing his hands, torn between two conflicting emotions, from the look of it. "Why is Mistress defending the other girl, Kreacher wonders. Why is Mistress berating the boy, Kreacher wonders. He wonders, but doesn't ask. He wonders, but doesn't say it."

"How long has your line served this family, the Blacks?" Daphne asked.

"For many years, Kreacher is told. Mistress never said. House-elves aren't meant to be noticed, she said, and house-elves aren't meant to know what they don't need, so Kreacher doesn't know," the elf stated, "but Master Regulus thought three-hundred."

"So your parents worked for them as well," Daphne replied, thinking about that Master Regulus. She had seen the name on the tapestry – he had been the brother of Sirius Black – and wondered about his treatment of the elf.

"Kreacher's mother did, Kreacher was told. Kreacher's father was sent elsewhere to work for a disgrace of a Black. Disgrace or not, Black is Black, Mistress said, except when they are not."

"That doesn't really limit it, does it? The Blacks have had many disgraces over time, just going by the tapestry upstairs," Daphne pointed out. "And that doesn't include those that weren't removed from it."

"The Blacks had many outstanding people. Kreacher knows," the elf told her with a crooked smile. "Mistress said her father was one; she did say that."

"So you liked your mistress, didn't you?"

"Kreacher does as Kreacher is told," he replied, bowing.

"You also served her son, Sirius," Daphne continued.

"Kreacher did; he had to. Shame of her blood, Mistress said, but Kreacher had to obey the disgrace. Black is Black, except when they are not."

"Yet you betrayed him. You betrayed him, despite him being your master."

"Kreacher did as he was told," he said, smiling. "Kreacher was just following orders. Mistress would have been happy with Kreacher, he thinks. Mistress Bella and Mistress Sissy were, and Kreacher did as he was asked."

"I guessed as much. Strange how you liked your mistress, but hated her son."

"Kreacher didn't hate her son," he told her, straightening up proudly. "Kreacher liked Master Regulus. Kreacher liked the good son."

"And he liked you," Harry said from the door. Daphne hadn't heard him come back. "And I finished what he began," Harry said, but he didn't explain just what he had finished.

"Master Harry did that, yes, but he took it away as well," Kreacher spoke, shifting on his feet, a torn look on his face.

So the elf seemed to know what Harry meant. Curious, Daphne thought.

"Everything is cleared up?" she asked, changing topic and her conversation partner.

"Hardly. She's mostly calmed down, I think. Ron is with her, trying to apologize. That'll take a while, I guess," Harry replied. "I think they both need some time."

Daphne nodded slowly. "Well, you certainly do know how to liven up a holiday dinner." She glanced at the table, and he seemed to understand her thoughts.

"Kreacher, clear up. I think we are done for the day."

The house elf began his work, grumbling half-heartedly about ungrateful masters, but Daphne ignored him. Potter did as well.

"On the upside," she said, smiling, "it gives me a nice evening for relaxation I hadn't expected, so not all is bad."

"I'd rather Hermione hadn't been hurt," he replied, pursing his lips.

"You're not upstairs helping her," Daphne pointed out.

"I was. I talked to her; I think she'll be fine. But as much as I want to sort it out, this is between the two of them, and they have to sort it out themselves, I think." He ran a hand through his hair. "Or at least I hope so, I'm not sure."

She shook her head, but changed the topic. "So you'll return to your studies, I'm guessing? Or are you up for another training session?"

He tilted his head. "I hadn't planned anything yet, but training?"

"Why not?" She rose from her seat. "One day I'll beat you soundly, and it might be today. Distracted as you are, I might stand a chance. Unless you have something better in mind?" She raised a challenging eyebrow.

He scratched his head. "Well, truth be told, I'm not sure it would be the best use of that time. We've both improved, yes, but... I think, now that I have trained with a living target, maybe I should try something else for a while. Broaden my horizons and all that. Come up with something, work on some plans here or there."

She frowned. "Broaden your horizons? So you want to do what? Learn fencing? A new language? Some Muggle tricks?"

"Read up on some new spells, actually. I might need some surprises once things get serious, especially for my confrontation with Riddle. Or perhaps work on my potions skills. I'm kind of behind on those, even if they won't work that well in a fight."

"You'll never know, you might discover some Draught of Everlasting Mist or something. If they can't see you, they can't fight you," Daphne argued.

"Think so?"

"Well, think about all the lessons with Professor Snape. Remember all the times he said not to do something, not to add a certain ingredient. There has to be some reason for that. So there might be something worthwhile out there. And there are healing potions as well you could prepare and stock up on just in case." She brushed her robes off. "On the other hand, reading might just be better, yes. There's a lot you can do with a wand without preparation." Shrugging, she added, "Well, there's a lot you can do without a wand as well, I guess, which might come in handy." Following a sudden inspiration, she continued, "Or we could trade secrets. I'll teach you a spell and vice versa. There's this really handy curse to send a cloud of acid at the enemy. Granted, it's not deadly, but it does work, and it can be used against numerous enemies."

"I know that one," he replied. "Just because I don't use the most dangerous spells in our duels doesn't mean I don't know them."

"You almost cut off my fingers," she reminded him, lifting her hand as evidence of her statement. "Fine then, how about..." She thought about it carefully.

"How about you do your thing and I do mine?" he offered with a shrug. "The evening is already halfway over, little time to lose, really."

She was stumped. "Well, yes, we could do that, yes."

He sent her a smile. "You'll get your chance to knock me around some day, don't worry." He chuckled, but stopped with a shake of his head. "How are you doing lately? How is your Occlumency?"

She froze for a moment, sending him a light glare. "Fine. I'm doing fine."

For some reason, he snorted and shook his head, but she didn't pry. If he decided to not believe her, it wasn't her problem. They left, she in the lead like most of the times they had walked together. He didn't trust her enough to have her in his back, but she didn't have the same reservation. He was still too noble to curse her without looking, wasn't he? And she hadn't done anything to upset him, so she should be safe from an attack in the back. On the first floor, he listened for a moment. "Seems like it's going well," he mused.

Daphne meanwhile looked at him, an idea running around in her head. Did she dare try it?

"Well," Harry said, "let's hope he didn't do too much damage there."

"You're going to the library, aren't you?" Daphne spoke up, carefully keeping her voice under control. "The Black library?"

He watched her for a moment. "I planned to, yes."

"Well, I know we talked about it in the past, but why don't I come with you?"

"The wards..." he began, but she cut him off.

"... accept you as the heir. I'm the current Mistress of House Black; they will let me through as well unless you specifically set them up to stop me, right?"

"I didn't," he told her, narrowing his eyes. "But that still doesn't mean..."

"Let me finish, please. Why don't I come with you? You're reading up on something, aren't you? You want to add to your spell repertoire. Well, I'm looking for nasty spells to send at my enemies, but my sources are rather limited at the moment. And you have only two eyes. If I were to join you, it should speed up the process, shouldn't it? We could both get what we want. As long as we are working together, I might be useful for you. Or do you like wasting valuable time?"

"I dislike wasting time," he admitted.

"There you go," Daphne said, smiling at her small victory. "Once I've tried getting inside, we'll know whether the wards let me in or not."

Finally, he sighed. "What did you have in mind, then?"

"Well, each of us grabs a few books, we read them through, looking for what each of us wants and share our findings. It'll be like a project in school, each doing a part of the research and later talking about it. Should be possible, right?"

He ran a hand over his eyes. "I know I'll regret it most likely, but I guess you have a point – it would speed up the work a lot. Come on, then." He led her down the hallway and to a painting of a destitute shack on a windswept hill halfway between two doors. "You do know you'll have to keep the location secret, right?" he asked her. "You can't tell anyone."

She rolled her eyes. "What, do you think I'll blab?"

"Or accidentally reveal it by walking out without checking the corridor first," he pointed out. "Who knows who might see you, after all."

"It's only Granger, Weasley, and you here. Well, Kreacher as well, but he'll know anyway. Granger knows where it is if you tried taking her there at least once. I doubt you kept it from Weasley, so why... Ah, no matter. Fine, I won't reveal the location of the Black library," Daphne replied, sighing. "Can we please get moving before winter ends?"

Sending her a smile, he pushed the wall at two nondescript places, shoulder-high on the left and below and to the right of the painting. After whispering a code phrase Daphne didn't catch, he stepped away. Something clicked – Daphne's eyebrows rose slightly – and what had looked like solid wall swung back, revealing the entrance.

Harry stepped in; she followed him, curious about the library. The entryway closed behind her with a barely audible snap. They were standing in what appeared as little more than a sparsely lit corridor, hardly wider than a human, with both walls covered in bookshelves. Old tomes rested next to scrolls, but next to no place was unoccupied. It felt like a walk-in closet she had once seen at the Parkinson's.

"So this is it?" she wondered, looking around.

"They put it in the wall," he told her. "Between the drawing room," he pointed to one wall, "and a bedroom," he pointed to the other wall. "And since the bedroom has a huge closet on that wall, the missing space is not really easy to notice just by looking into the rooms. The same applies on the next floor, there's the main bedroom..."

"The one you use," she added, nodding slowly.

"The very same, yes, and there is another closet there which likewise disguises the missing space. Honestly, who would start searching for the, what, five feet? Six? And that's not getting into extension charms."

"You said there is another floor?" Daphne glanced around.

"There is, yes." He indicated a winding staircase at the end of the room, hidden in the shadows. "Down here are most of the common texts. Potions, charms, transfigurations. Runes and Arithmancy are over there." He pointed towards the shelves. "Upstairs are the more... exotic works as well as a small working area."

Daphne looked around the room once more. "And how far have you proceeded?"

"I checked these already," he ran his hand over a number of books. "To be honest, there wasn't really that much there, sadly. Oh, there are some entertaining spells, yes, but they are quite common or too harmless to make a difference. Or they are too specific. There was one charm for temporarily cutting off the nerves to one body part, for example. While it does sound brilliant, it needs the target to stay still for a moment or it won't work. And it doesn't really work that well with larger parts."

"That is a problem, yes. Why invent such a spell in the first place?"

"Honestly?" He raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to know."

"Oh, but I do want to. Why would someone want to disable body parts?"

He scratched his head nervously. "Well, it can be used by healers. Say someone is brought in with a mauled arm or leg. They'd need it to lie still while they work, and they need to work on the nerves in the damaged part. Stunning might work, but stunning someone who is losing lots of blood? Not a good idea, and might lead to further trouble, like losing the body part altogether. On the other hand, one twitch at the wrong time and all the work before could be undone. Healing is fickle business, interestingly enough."

"I thought Granger was the resident healer?" Daphne pointed out.

"She is," Harry admitted. "That doesn't mean she doesn't try teaching me a thing or two just in case. But back to your question and the spell – originally, it had been meant as a means to dissect victims without them fighting back. You sever their motoric functions and take your time slowly flaying them as part of an interrogation. Or you keep them alive and unable to do anything but watch as you deal with their friends and family. This is the Black family we're talking about, Daphne. Granted, when I told her, Hermione did find the spell very useful and interesting."

"Fine, I get it. So how do we do this, then? Each grabs a few books and leafs through them, I'd say, but if you've got another idea..."

Harry frowned. "Well, probably, yes. You were looking for nasty surprises for your enemies, right?"

"You weren't?" she countered.

"Ah, no, I do, I was just making sure. Yeah, nasty spells. Dangerous and obscure, ideally, with few counters, but something bothersome might also be worth looking into. Oh, and preferably something that isn't too obvious of a Black spell. I don't want people to know where I learned it, after all. Imagine Bellatrix recognizing one of her family secrets in combat. Not what I want."

"Got it," she told him and moved to pick some of the tomes, when he reached out his hand.

"One last thing," he told her. "I mentioned checking the corridor." He pointed to a mirror next to the door that showed the hallway outside. "I think my godfather hid this place. He offered the house for the fight against Riddle and his followers, but they also had children running around here – the Weasleys, Hermione, and me. They probably thought it better not to have us having a look at these; that's why they probably didn't tell us about it." He gestured around the room.

"And yet here you are," she said, chuckling. "So much for the protections."

"To be fair, these books are now mine. I can do with them whatever I want, even read them. And that ignores the fact that Sirius more or less told me where to find it when the others weren't around. He wasn't that big on keeping things from me for my own good and wanted me to learn how to protect myself. Granted, it did take me a few hours to find it, but I managed to figure it out in the end."

She nodded, and both set to work. Daphne quickly got herself some books about vicious magic and cursed objects. Walking upstairs, she found the working area he had mentioned. An old armchair stood in one corner, a desk in another. Snatching herself the armchair, grinning, she opened the first book.


Around noon on Boxing Day, the front door of Grimmauld Place opened, allowing a rather haggard man inside. He glanced around the hallway, pushing the door closed behind him, but he didn't have to wait for long.

"Name the discovery and achievement the late Master of this house, Sirius Black, is credited with concerning dragons!" Harry's voice came from the stairs where he had hidden himself.

"First of all, there have been three Blacks with the name of Sirius so far," Lupin pointed out, "but you're in luck since only one ever did something noteworthy concerning dragons. The Sirius you mean, your godfather, discovered the many uses of dragon dung. Although he did claim to have come up with Slytherin feed, it hadn't been his idea originally. Sirius did discover its worth as a reactant in potions, though. Mixed with the right ingredients, it causes random, disgustingly smelling explosions when it's heated above a certain point, for example by flinging it in the cauldrons or fires. Hello, Harry." To the kitchen door, he added, "Hello Hermione, Ron."

They came out, looking slightly chastised, and greeted their old teacher in turn.

"I can't really stay for long, naturally," Lupin spoke up. "I said I was only going to visit some friends. The werewolves and the Ministry don't really cooperate, but they'd still pick up on long stretches of unexplained absences. Greyback doesn't trust me, so everyone who follows him keeps an eye out for me as well. It's only because the Ministry doesn't go near them that I can allow myself a short stop. I came in part to see how you are, and to bring you presents from your friends and family."

"I'm guessing I can find some milk and cookies for you, then," Hermione replied, nodding.

"That'd be very kind of you," Lupin chuckled. Daphne chose that moment to show up at the top of the stairs. "Ah, Mrs. Greengrass."

"Mr. Lupin," she answered with a nod, but Hermione came back with a plate of cookies, only to lead them into the slightly dusty dining room.

"Well, first of all, I talked to some of our friends, and they send greetings," Lupin began. "Now, Molly insisted that I hand them out first and I'm not so foolish to go against that order, so..." He gave Harry, Hermione, and Ron parcels that turned out to contain a knitted sweater for each of them. "Now, she said they're from Moody and her, but I think it's just Tonks' and maybe Andromeda's." He produced wand holders and handed them out. Bill and Fleur's were next – grooming tools for boys and girls. Daphne looked surprised to receive a package as well, and from the look on her face, she seemed determined to repay the favour sometime.

"Now these, they are a bit tricky, to be honest," Lupin began. "Fred and George's."

Harry got a nifty addition to the house's protections; an autonomous hall guard that attacked intruders with poisonous darts. Hermione got Black Plague – The Game for testing purposes. Ron got what appeared to be a golden desk lamp, but no one was foolish enough to touch without some protection or give it a try; Harry suspected it was a prank of some sort. The twins had even thought of Daphne, as she got a hummingbird that followed her around to annoy her with random, high-pitched advice. Lupin had found each of them some book about one topic or another. While none was new, they seemed to be fairly useful in the own right. Harry got one about etiquette – Daphne had covertly nodded – and Hermione had gotten one about applied Arithmancy in spell creation, Ron had discarded his about household charms almost as soon as he had gotten it. For Daphne, her old teacher had gotten her a copy of Spellbound, which dealt with the basics of illusions and glamours as well as how to see through them.

When all the presents had been handed out, Lupin looked around the room. "You seem to be doing relatively fine here," he commented.

"We get by," Hermione answered noncommittally.

"If you say so. Now, I hate to leave like this, but I don't want to risk drawing any more attention. With Christmas around, the Ministry's being extra careful about known dissenters. I heard they made some house calls, but I don't know for sure. And with the recent attack at the Ministry, I..." He hesitated, glancing to a nervous Hermione. After a moment of silence, Lupin sighed.

"I would have expected better of you. But that explains it somewhat. We had feared it was another ploy of You-Know-Who to distract the public. Can't really say whether it would have worked. Harry, I don't know why you did it, and..."

"War," Harry interrupted. "We're at war now. They have to suffer as well. They were pushing us back step by step. Well, I'm shoving back. A message, if you will, to scare those away who are looking for the easiest solution and join the winning side. If they aren't the winning side, if they are losing as well..."

"While I don't disagree with your goal..." Lupin ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I've fought in the previous war. People die in fights, it happens. But this isn't..."

"There are no fights, though," Harry broke in. "Day by day, they were driving the resistance back, weren't they? It was no war with them doing whatever they wanted. Now that his forces have to be careful as well, now that someone's after them, now that I prove again and again that they aren't invincible, but can be defeated and do bleed whenever I want them to, they are no longer the clear winners. They aren't the safe choice any more. Each of his fighters he loses before the final confrontation is one less I'll have to deal with before everything is over. The less who join Riddle, the less will fight against us, and the better are our odds at actually winning. And correct me if I'm wrong, but the investigation into those deaths has tied up Ministry resources and has kept them busy. And the numbers of attacks on innocents have gone down, haven't they?"

"Look, Harry, I don't deny that each of those deaths was followed by a short reprieve, but..." The werewolf ran a hand through his hair. "It's times like these I miss Sirius. He'd have given you the tongue lashing you deserve," he sighed, "not the one you get. What do you think your parents would have said about what you're doing?"

"Nothing good, I assume," Harry replied, shrugging. "Then again, Sirius is dead because he was too honourable to do what was necessary. I understand your worry, but it gave the Death Eaters something to worry about other than you. It is working, in case you haven't noticed. Now that you have done your duty of telling me off, what do you think of it?"

Lupin's face flickered between about a dozen emotions as he battled with himself. "The end doesn't necessarily justify the means, Harry," he compromised finally. "It is working for the moment, but you are playing with the fire. Anger them too much and they will strike, and that will not be pretty." The older man ran a hand through his hair. "You are basically issuing a challenge. So you have found a way to... level the field, but who's to say they won't do the same?"

"And do what, exactly?" Daphne spoke up, tilting her head. "Attack you? Kill your friends? Hunt down the Muggleborns? Crush any opposition they come across?"

Lupin turned to her, watching her closely. "I know what you're getting at," he said hesitantly. "But the last few months haven't been as bad as they could have been. As long as we weren't caught doing anything, we were surprisingly safe."

"So you'd lie on your back and do nothing?" Weasley shouted.

"I merely said as long as we weren't caught doing anything," Lupin pointed out. "Of course we were doing our business, Ron. You should know us better than that. We do our part; we just do it out of sight and try to avoid their attention. You do realize the Daily Prophet was right, don't you? That attack on the Muggleborn Registration Committee was your declaration of war on the Ministry. You've officially moved from nuisance to enemy of the state. You're now twice on that illustrious list. Congratulations, Harry."

"Whether they want me dead once or twice doesn't make that much of a difference," Harry replied with a shrug. "If I'm caught, I'll be dead either way. What does it matter to me if they're also hunting a shadow of me? If they get too close, I'll just drop the act and do something else."

Lupin stared for a long moment, before he sighed, shaking his head dejectedly. "I don't agree with you. I can't, probably. It goes against everything I was taught in my life. It's what the beast in me wants to be true. It's... I don't agree with you, Harry."

"I never asked you to agree with me," he replied. "You're free to disagree, but you don't honestly think Snape, who is your ally, doesn't have to resort to necessary evil from time to time? I made up my mind. I will not stop because you think it's kind of evil. I fight back and do what works so we'll have more time to prepare and won't be crushed."

"You shouldn't try to follow Snape's footsteps, he... Hah. Doesn't matter, does it?"

"So, have you heard anything? Apart from the lies in the Prophet?" Harry broke in.

"Nothing really concrete," Lupin admitted after a moment of thought. "There have been rumours about it naturally, but you could probably tell me more than the other way around. I do know your attack had the Ministry in disarray for days, and the Muggleborn Registration Committee is still not back to its former state."

"The paper said something about three deaths," Harry reminded Lupin.

"Apart from my disappointment that you'd go that far, there have been three deaths of Ministry workers according to official reports. That may very well be, or maybe not. I only know one name – Vayk Szarka. I have it on good authority, however, that Umbridge survived with little more than a shock."

Harry pulled a face. "Of all the people to survive..."

"I'm not her biggest fan either, Harry, but..." Lupin sighed. "Well, she survived. Nothing more to be said about that for now, I guess."

"And no other names so far?" Harry asked. "Not even a rumour?"

"The rumours are as numerous as the stars in the sky," Lupin chuckled. "But that's just it. Half of them can be traced back to the Ministry, half of them stem from some drunken idiot. No one knows, and in that mess, it's likely there's some truth in there. For a time, it was thought it had been the Minister in there, but he's been seen since then. So, no names yet. Last I talked with him, Moody wanted to look into it and ask around. You know him, even now people owe him favours left and right."


A time for change at Grimmauld Place, it seems.