Posted 9/13/2014

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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 Fifty-One - Growing Tension

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"So, let me get this straight," Hermione spoke up, leaning against the kitchen counter, "you dreamt about Harry, sitting atop a goat, watching as the droppings of a flock of birds rained down on a field of corn?"

After a moment of hesitation, Ron shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"And I proceeded to eat a slice of maggot-infested cake?" Harry pressed, forcing himself not to smile.

"While a two-headed rabbit constantly shifting through all colours of the rainbow screeched at you," Hermione reminded him.

"It was singing," Ron insisted. "Just in a high-pitched voice, so I couldn't make out the lyrics." When he didn't attempt to explain it any further, both of his friends shrugged.

"Fine," Hermione told them with a sigh, "it's definitely weird. My strangest dream was about a blob that assumed shape after shape. People or objects, it didn't matter. And every once in a while, it seemed to shiver. You know the ripples of water if you through a small stone into a pond? Like that, only with the blob. And I think there was some form of whispering. Well, a low murmuring, technically. If I had to guess, it was trying to tell me something."

Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, fighting smiles – they were both familiar with Hermione's quirk of occasionally mumbling during their studying sessions.

"Well," Harry started, but he was interrupted by the return of Kreacher from a shopping trip into the magical world.

"Took your time," Ron said with a meaningful glance to his friends, likely thinking about the betrayal that had led to Sirius's death.

"You were sent more than an hour ago to buy more supplies," Harry added, making an effort to sound curious instead of accusing.

"Kreacher did as he was told," the elf announced with a snap of his fingers, making the bags appear. "Kreacher went and bought what he was ordered to buy. Kreacher wasn't told to come back at a specific time."

"And what did you do in the mean time?" Harry tried. "Why did it take so long to return here?"

The elf's eyes narrowed slightly. "Kreacher waited for the dark ones to go away. Once the dark ones were gone, Kreacher returned."

"Dark ones?" Harry wondered, looking to his equally confused friends. "Death Eaters? Magical beings?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione's widen as she gasped.

"You mean Dementors? There were Dementors around?" she asked, sharing a worried glance with Harry.

"Kreacher couldn't think to leave with so many around," the elf replied, "so Kreacher didn't leave."

"Aren't they in the Muggle world most of the time?" Ron brought up.

"Maybe not any more," Harry replied with a shrug. "Or maybe they were ordered there? Maybe Riddle is confident he has gained enough control over Magical Britain that he doesn't have to rein in the Dementors."

"Still, bad luck for Kreacher to run into them," Ron pointed out.

"Maybe not," Hermione added hesitantly. "Maybe the Ministry is trying to capture Kreacher? Bellatrix Lestrange knows what he looks like. So does Narcissa Malfoy. They might suspect we're using the house-elf that is bound to Harry for our needs."

Both looked to Harry.

"That might be," he said, weighing his words carefully. "Kreacher, how long did it take for the Dementors to arrive? What did you do when they turned up?"

The elf wrinkled his nose. "Kreacher was gathering the purchases when they floated down the street. Kreacher stayed out of sight."

"And they didn't come looking for you? They didn't investigate or anything?"

"No," Kreacher told them. "Wizards came and chased the dark ones away. No one came looking for Kreacher."

As if waiting for the appropriate punishment for wasting time on his trip, Kreacher looked to Harry.

"Err, sort away the supplies, Kreacher," he told the elf after a quick glance to Hermione and Ron.

While it hadn't been an order in the strictest sense of the word, Kreacher immediately did as he was told. When he was finished, Harry sent him to clean the bathrooms and training room. The moment he had left, Ron cleared his throat.

"Do you believe him?" he asked, glancing around nervously, almost as if he expected to spot the elf listening in. "You know he's not the most trustworthy around."

"I do," Harry spoke up with a sigh. "Dementors are no fun. We know they're around. They've been roaming the country for months. Frankly, it's a wonder we haven't had a run-in with them already."

"Still, hiding for an hour," Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him before he could continue. "He has a history of going behind our backs." Blinking, he added in a slightly startled voice, "And he's a house-elf."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Hermione hissed with barely controlled anger. "Does that make him any less worthy of life? Does that...?"

"No," Ron interrupted, "but house-elves follow orders, and Harry isn't the only one who can give him those. We've suffered once because of it."

"He'd have told us if he'd been ordered by someone else," Hermione argued, but Ron shook his head.

"Harry didn't order him to tell us the truth," he reasoned. "And even if he had, Kreacher would have had conflicting orders. I'm not sure what that would have made him do, actually. Maybe he could have chosen to with order to follow?"

"So you're accusing him of betrayal?" Hermione asked.

Ron seemed to have missed the edge in her voice. "I'm just saying we shouldn't ignore the possibility."

"So you are accusing him?" she repeated. "So because he's not trustworthy because he's a house-elf?"

"I believe him," Harry offered, "and I think he's loyal to the Black family and by extension me. He had only started visiting Miss Cissy and Miss Bella when Sirius ordered him to leave, that is to say, only when Sirius gave him permission to seek them out did Kreacher have the option of visiting them."

"And you're fine that he doesn't have the choice of where he's going?" Hermione asked almost at once.

"In general," Harry argued with a shrug, "he should be allowed to do whatever he wants, but if it keeps him from being forced to turn against us, I'm fine with him forced to do my bidding first. It's the lesser evil for now, in my opinion."

"So you acknowledge that the treatment of house-elves in general and him in particular is evil?" Hermione pressed. "Does that mean you'll do something about it once the war is over?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Won't we have more urgent business then?" he laughed. "Like cleaning up the country?"

"Wouldn't it be the best time to introduce the change when we're rebuilding Magical Britain?" Hermione gave back. "If you're already renovating the house, why not rework the plumbing as well?"

"People won't accept it," Ron threw in. "That's just how it is, Hermione. House-elves have worked for wizards for centuries. Pretty much any old family has one, not just the Malfoys. Telling them that they'll have to change won't go that well."

"So I'm supposed to accept it just like that?" Hermione spat. "I'm supposed to let an injustice continue because society shouldn't have to change?"

"I didn't say that," Ron shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation, "don't put words in my mouth! All I meant was that there are too many people that would be affected by your plans. You wouldn't get enough support, that's all."

"So I'm supposed to give up just because old families are used to a comfortable life thanks to the house-elves doing the work? What about the Muggleborns? What about the Half-bloods? They're also part of this society. They have a voice, don't they?"

"House-elves are still part of wizarding culture all around the world," Ron explained. "Muggleborns enter this world..."

"It's as much a Muggleborns's world as it is a purebloods'," Hermione interrupted. "The one thing every witch and wizard has in common is magic. At the heart of this culture you're defending is magic, not a shared language or nationality."

"Well, when Fleur came here," Ron argued, "she started speaking English. It's part of living in Britain. House-elves are part of the wizarding world."

"Personally," Harry spoke up, "I think that people will probably resist a drastic change, which is mostly what Ron was about. A gradual change should be a lot easier to achieve – by making people acknowledge the house-elves's feelings as a first step, for example. I haven't decided what I'll do about Kreacher after the war, but sending him away right now would probably kill him."

"It's still not right," Hermione insisted.

"Well," Ron told her with a shrug, "right or wrong don't really matter, do they? Not when there's something to gain or lose by choosing a side."

"I know that the magical world is corrupt," Hermione spat, "you don't have to remind me."

With a shake of his head, Harry left his friends to argue as much as the wanted. He hadn't quite decided what to do by the time he reached the first floor when he found his path blocked by the twins.

"Hey, Harry," Fred greeted.

"Think we could have a word?" his twins added, nodding towards the drawing room.

"Err, sure, why not?" Harry replied.

"Do you know where Ron and Hermione are?" Fred asked before they had reached their destination.

"In the kitchen," Harry told them, "arguing about the corruption of the magical world."

"Ah," George sighed, "so they're at each other's throats, then?"

"That might take a while," his twin continued.

"Probably best to leave them be," Fred agreed, pushing the door open.

"Ron and Hermione won't be joining us," George announced, walking inside the drawing room. Harry knew he shouldn't have been surprised to see Charlie waiting for them in an armchair.

"They're arguing," his twin explained needlessly, closing the door behind him. With a lazy flick, he pulled his wand and cast what Harry recognized as privacy spells.

"We have some questions for you," Charlie began, leaning forward.

"We may fool around a lot," George spoke up with a chuckle.

"But we're no fools," Fred finished. "Over the past few days, we noticed some things around here."

"In the past," his twin said, "Hermione, Ron, and you were inseparable. Where one went the others followed."

"That's how it was in the past," Fred agreed. "But that's no longer the case, it seems."

"What they're trying to say," Charlie explained, "is that we're worried something might have happened."

"Ron's our brother," Fred said. "You're almost like a brother to us."

"You're more willing to play along when you got hit by a prank," George put in. "Remember when we got our prank sweets mixed up with Ron's supply?"

"And even though she's too much of a stickler for rules most of the time," Fred added, "we do like and worry about Hermione."

Harry raised his hand. "We're just working on different projects, that's all," he told them. "Hermione is trying to restock on healing potions and the like," he said, glancing at Charlie and turning to George, "Ron is trying to catch up on spellwork. And I'm training for the war," he finished with a glance at Fred. "In case you haven't heard, there are people after me. I will have to fight at some point."

"Still, shouldn't you be working with Hermione or Ron?" George asked.

"Hermione would make a valuable addition and could look up spells for you," his twin argued.

"I'm doing fine," Harry tried. "As long as we're talking about spellwork, I'm not that bad. Don't forget, I did manage to earn my O.W.L.s fair and square. I even got an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts. If anything, it's theory I'm not that great with, and even then, I'm doing fine as long as I don't have someone breathing down my neck." When they didn't look convinced, he rubbed his temple. "I don't know what you want to hear. Hermione and Ron are occasionally arguing, but they've done that ever since they met, so it's hardly anything new. Ron's trying to improve, so he's busy most of the time. I think he wants to catch up to Hermione."

"Good luck with that," Fred chuckled.

"And Hermione's many talents mean she's doing a lot of jobs, both big and small, allowing me to focus on other things," Harry reasoned.

"There's still something you don't tell us," George insisted. "It feels as if there's some rift between you three. That easy camaraderie from the past doesn't seem to be there."

Harry glanced to the window, thinking about what he could tell them. "We've had some tense weeks," he explained. "Months, actually. When Ron and Hermione joined me, we knew very little about what was going on. We've been stuck in here most of the time, and only Hermione and I left occasionally. Shopping for supplies, you know?" Turning to them, he smiled and added, "Getting you was the first time Ron had left the house since August. You can imagine his mood when he had been stuck in here."

"Well, all right," Fred admitted, "that must've been bad."

"And Ron, Hermione, and I... we did argue more than usual. About the war, for example, and the role we'll have to play in it."

"You mean fighting the Death Eaters?" Charlie asked. "Mum's worried at first that you'll join the Order some day."

"I think it'll probably be the other way around," Harry joked. "When the time comes, the Order will join me."

"So you do plan to fight?" George spoke up.

"Eventually, yes," Harry confirmed. "This war does affect me. This is the war of our time. I'm the Chosen One – if I join the fight, it'll be far easier to rally troops. There's a reason I'm training, but I prefer waiting until I know I can make a difference. I mean, I haven't even finished school yet." He laughed, scratching his chin in what he hoped would look like the unease of a teenager admitting his own shortcomings. They still didn't look convinced.

"And," he began, glancing to the side, "well, to be honest, spending time with Ron and Hermione can be a bit awkward. They're too busy staying out of each other's way, but..." He paused, swallowing a lump. "They've been in here for months with only each other or me for company."

"Kreacher's there," George pointed out.

"Greengrass as well," Fred added.

"Still," Harry insisted, "there isn't that much room to hide. There aren't that many people to interact with, and it brought up some..." Harry hesitated, wondering how he should phrase it, "issues. You can imagine Ron's opinion of Daphne. Hermione had her doubts as well. We have to be careful. Kreacher isn't the best of company. And, you know, with Hermione and Ron... whatever it is between them..."

"You mean that belligerent tension between them? Like they're not sure whether to rip each other apart or their clothes?" Fred chuckled.

"Well, you could say there has been some... tension of sorts," Harry compromised. "Without classes or Quidditch to distract either, I think they've become aware of the unspoken feelings between them, but... you know them. So there's this unspoken matter between them, it's for them to work out on their own."

"And then there's Greengrass," George said, nodding slowly.

"Well," Harry laughed, "that too, yes. She ended up here, true, but as I've said, neither Ron nor Hermione were that happy to have her around or make life easier for her, so she only had Kreacher or me to talk to."

"So you did the noble thing and were a friend to... well, to your wife, even in only technically," Charlie finished the thought with a smile.

"It is just technically, right?" Fred asked after a moment of silence.

"Not that we'd fault you if it wasn't," George added immediately with an impish smile that was mirrored on his twin's face.

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "She had been chased out of Hogwarts and forced to leave her friends behind, only to end up in a house with few friendly faces. I did take it upon myself to keep her company from time to time, in part to determine the risk she posed – Ron and Hermione will tell you the same if you ask them – and in part because, yes, she is my wife and will be for the next few years."

"Unless either of you dies," Fred pointed out.

"Unless either of us dies, yes," Harry agreed. "It can't hurt getting to know her. Since she arrived, I have concluded that she's not our enemy."

"And you've gotten to know her?" George guessed with a smirk and a glance to his twin.

"You certainly seem to get along very well," Fred added, wiggling his eyebrows.

With a shrug, Harry smiled. "We're friends, yeah. Of course, it does help that she has a grudge against Malfoy and has said she wants to make him pay."


Once Charlie had been healed enough to be moved, he left with the twins to a remote house in the middle of nowhere Moody had found. It was the best solution, both to get them out of the house and away from his secrets for the time being – Harry's main goal – and to get them to safety. Ron had looked conflicted when the plan had been agreed upon, likely wondering when he would meet his brothers again. Maybe he just wished they would stay and keep him company – Hermione and Harry were spending a lot of time together discussing theories about magic he couldn't follow, Kreacher wasn't good company, and he had no interest in going anywhere near Greengrass, not that she had shown any inclination to do so either. As much as he would deny it, his brothers were his companions in the house over the past days.

"So, this is good-bye then," Charlie said, shaking Harry's hand. "Thank you for your help, if you need anything..."

"I will contact you, yes. One day, I'll be counting on you." He turned to the twins without further explanation. "The same goes for you. If I call on you, I expect you to come running, are we clear?"

Both nodded enthusiastically, shook his hand, winking one last time at Hermione – Ron glared, but kept quiet – and left with their older brother.

"Well, that's that," Ron mumbled dejectedly.

Hermione sighed. "I just wish I could have helped more. Charlie should have stayed here for a bit longer, shouldn't he have? I mean, he is relatively well, but maybe I should have kept him here just to make sure nothing happens."

"Don't worry about that," Harry waved her off. "If you thought he is well enough, then he is. We have more important matters to take care of – plans to make and notes to compare, getting up to speed. Are you coming?" He glanced at his gathered friends.

"Have fun then," Daphne told him. "I'll go read a bit, if you don't mind."

Ron and Hermione glanced to Harry who shrugged, and together, they retreated to the dining room.

Hermione waved her wand in a complex movement, erecting some privacy wards. Ron wrinkled his nose at the shabby room and refused to take a seat. Harry meanwhile pulled some sketches from his pocket and spread them on the table.

"So, what is it?" Hermione asked, glancing at the parchment.

"I've outlined my plan. You see, I thought about a good date for my strike. It would have been nice for New Year's Eve – his birthday, just as a little present to him, but no matter. So here's something I thought about. The day of the mark's branding. Think about it, on the anniversary of their branding, they die."

"Not a bad idea, if tasteless," Hermione told him. "But I guess I should be used to that already. I assume you have picked a target, then?"

"Not yet. Well, Malfoy would be in two weeks, but I don't want to pay him a visit. If his master is hiding somewhere, Malfoy Manor is a good guess. No, at first, I thought about the Carrows. Two days after Valentine's Day, that's when they earned their mark. Their idea of a fun holiday."

"I don't want or need to hear about that," she interrupted.

"Yeah, skip that part, all right?" Ron added.

"Fine," Harry said. "No, it's actually the Twins that gave me the idea."

"Umbridge?" Ron asked, looking slightly more alert.

"No," Harry laughed, "Nott. Theodore Nott's father. He's in charge of the Snatchers. Well, we can't have that, you know?"

Ron pursed his lips, but didn't comment.

"That's why I'm considering Nott. I've gone after a Death Eater working in the Ministry – two in one. I've gone after a willing helper and by extension someone who doesn't care about right or wrong. Nott is both a Death Eater and in charge of the Snatchers; if I get him out of the way, it'll hopefully cripple them for a while. It'll also take out one of his followers – one less for us to worry about."

"Riddle can recruit new ones," Ron pointed out.

"He can," Harry agreed, "but unless he gets someone with at least some experience, it'll take time to train a recruit, either to make them lose their common sense or to learn enough dark magic to make them a threat. That's where the abysmal Defence Against the Dark Arts classes of the past years work in our favour, for once. There aren't that many skilled duellists left apart from the Ministry forces. The Ministry's already under his control, so he wouldn't really gain a new supporter – he'd upgrade one.

"No, Nott is a good target. He's known, he does have some influence, and he controls one part of Riddle's forces."

"Well," Hermione sighed, "fine, if you're sure. But perhaps you should still look into other marks as well, just so there's some back-up plan and mark involved."

Harry chuckled. "Well, I guess I can look into others as well. Some secondary targets. Grunts maybe? I'll think of something if it makes you happy."

"Not happy, but it's preferable. Now then, I've chosen a poison; it should work reasonably well..."

"Where did you find the recipe?" Harry wondered.

"I might have bought some additional books in Diagon Alley once," she replied, shrugging. "It sounded useful, 'Common Poisons and their Antidotes'."

"We don't want it to have an antidote."

"Well, if you're that worried, Harry, maybe I could find something..."

"In the library?" He scratched his chin. "Well, I've thought about that myself," he raised his hand to stop her enthusiasm. "I took a long look at the wards around that place. What happened to you seemed to be more like a warning than anything else. Anyone who is not connected to the Black family might die if they are too persistent."

"So break the wards apart," she argued. "We both know that should be possible."

"Err, about that, Hermione, I don't think either is such a good idea, to be honest. Those wards protected the library for decades, centuries even in a couple of cases, and they are still strong. I don't want to destroy a protection or take them down; I might need them some day. Right now, they're in our way, but that could change in the matter of a day or two. More importantly, messing with protections so old and powerful, carefully shaped over centuries, is not something to be taken lightly."

"That's still doesn't mean you can't do it. You have the knowledge of a dark lord and expert on warding, I fail to see why you shouldn't be able to take those wards down. You do it for your raids every time."

"I leave them mostly untouched, actually, just use loopholes here and there to slip through," Harry pointed out. "And few of those are as old or specific as the one's on the library."

"Who do you want to keep out of there, anyway? Me?"

"Ultimately?" he laughed, "Anyone who is not a Black, I think. That's kind of my responsibility as the Head of House Black, isn't it? I took a look around, and while a lot of that stuff is dangerous and downright dark, it's still mine and useful should I ever need to identify a curse or poison. It's not something I want as public knowledge, but throwing it away? Also not that smart. Keeping it available? Yes. Letting people peruse it at their leisure? Better not. I plan to keep it for the time being, and since I'm not comfortable with taking the wards down, they'll stay in place. But don't worry, we got a bit off-course. I think I found a way to bring you inside. A temporary solution to be sure, but it should work one visit at a time."

"Do tell," she spoke, a glimmer in her eyes at the thought of finally getting access to centuries of secret knowledge – a veritable treasure trove.

"Under certain conditions, friends of the family can enter it if they accompany a Black, I think," Harry told her. "I haven't worked out the finer details, and since it didn't work the last time you tried to go in there, I'm guessing there is more to it than simply being friends, so I'll have to look into that."

"So if I go with you...?"

"You should be safe, or at least that's how I read the explanation and examples from the past working. It'd be something like inviting you in each time we enter, or something like that. If we don't do it right, though, it might also unleash the ward's full power against you, and since they are potentially lethal, I'd want to make sure nothing happens before we try."

"Yet you still consider them adequate protection?" she asked him, glaring.

"I do, in fact," Harry told her, standing up taller. "Only those who managed to get past the other protections trigger the really bad stuff, and I do hope people understand a warning when they feel one. I'd rather burn down the house and destroy each and every book in the library than letting them fall into the wrong hands."

They sat in silence for a while.

"Fine," she sighed. "Fine, it's your decision. It could help us if I could have a look around, though, so please don't dawdle. Anyway, until I can find something better, the poison issue has been taken care of. The ingredients might be tricky, but other than that, we're doing fine on that front. The capsules were a bit more difficult, but... they work now, I think. I had to compromise – I made the twins think it's for healing. A few more tests..."

"You dragged my brothers into the mess?" Ron shouted.

"I didn't drag them anywhere. They stumbled into the room, they realized the pranking potential of delaying effects. I used the opportunity to get their help. They think I want to simplify healing potions. That's all there is to it.

"As I was saying, a few tests and we should be fine. It's mostly making sure we have consistent results, but other than that, we're set. Shouldn't be too hard, right?" she joked.

Harry nodded slowly, going over his plan once more. The first attack had been meant as a demonstration just how competent he was. Killing someone at a predetermined time, in front of dozens of witnesses, without being caught or his method understood, had surely proven without a doubt his competence. Using Goyle to get attention meant he was willing to go to great lengths and – unlike the Order – didn't value the enemies' health much.

The second attack, the one against Szarka, had been similar in that respect. In one strike he had shown both his ruthlessness – not an Order trait – shocking dozens of witnesses. It had also been another mystery. Just how did one blow a man up? Harry knew spells like that existed somewhere out there, he was sure of it, but they needed the attacker to be present. So how did one commit a murder in that manner without being present?

His third attack was meant for the Snatchers and by extension collaborators in general. Work with the Death Eaters and your life is forfeit – that would send a good message. Going after Nott also made sense in another respect; he wasn't just dumb muscle. Yes, Macnair and Goyle had taken the Mark, but neither had been known as cunning or valuable in life. Useful, yes, ruthless, of course, but important? They had been willing helpers, murderers in the service of Voldemort. They would be easily replaced, Harry guessed, and in a few months, they would be forgotten. Nott was slightly higher in the respect of Voldemort, both with some wealth and power to his name.


"How about that one?" Daphne spoke up. "Rots the intestines away over the course of hours. Urgh, that's certainly nasty. I would ask why someone would invent something like that, but..."

Harry looked up. "Interrogation, perhaps. 'Talk, or you like slowly rot away.' Anyway, this has some merit to it. A curse that randomly switches the impulses in battle. You want to duck, but jump to the side. You want to lower your wand, but jerk it away. Additionally fun because it needs to be either broken through strength of will..."

"Not Malfoy's forte," Daphne chuckled.

"Or lifted by someone else. Dispelling it yourself doesn't work; instead, the idea is replaced by something else. Wow, that's rather complicated, though. Seems more like a joke spell for the really brilliant, which means I'll have to keep it far away from the twins."

"Hmm, might be a joke, yes. Is it painful?"

"Not that I can see," Harry replied, looking at the description again, "but really tricky to pull off, unfortunately."

"Not what I need," she told him, waving him off, and returned to her own tome. Making teeth grow into the skull, making hair strangle their victim, making eyes glaze over, making the victim hallucinate... Whoever had written the book had liked nasty hexes all right, but also aimed for more time to torment the victim than she was willing to wait. They also lacked the certain brand of torment she was looking for.

"A compulsion to target oneself instead of the enemy, whenever it is meant as a harmful spell?" Harry offered, leafing through the book in front of him. "Might be fun, actually, but I'm not certain it's such a good idea. 'Harmful' is up to the definition of the victim, and it wears off rather quickly, I think. Oh, and following it with spells of your own can break the effect. Weird."

She sighed, walked over to him and sat down on the armrest. He moved the book slightly so she could see as well. It looked easy enough, she mused, reading the incantation, but she agreed with him. It wouldn't work that well in a combat against a single target.

"It's more for duels against more than one, I think," she concluded. "Hex one enemy and he will keep himself busy while you deal with the others."

"Malfoy might not be alone when you face him," he pointed out.

Well he was right, she guessed. But should she spend valuable time to prepare for the possibility of Malfoy having help? Wouldn't it be more prudent to take any opposition out before the fight got off the ground? She was unsure; both had its merits. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry shift slightly in his seat. She glanced at him and found him smiling at her, laughter in his eyes.

"You're doing it again," he commented. He looked to his shoulder. She followed his gaze and found her hand resting gently there.

She removed it immediately, but the damage was already done. "I just needed to steady myself," she lied.

She really needed to pay better attention, Daphne chided herself. Over the past days, her hands seemed to have developed a life of their own. It had begun at breakfast two days after New Year's, when she had touched his hand during a lull. She had noticed before any of the guests had, and had managed to explain it away as trying to catch Harry's attention and nothing more, but it had happened nonetheless.

The next time, she had handed him the breadbasket, not just passing the item, but also steadying his hand at the same time. It had gotten worse that day; while reading up on spells, she had unintentionally put her hand on his arm while pointing something out for him to read. And when he had helped her to her feet during one of their duelling practices, she had held onto him for a bit too long, and even her claim of steadying herself hadn't sounded that convincing.

"If you say so," he replied, smirking.

"That spell sounds interesting, but not what I'm going for," she told him, getting to her feet. Once at the place, she returned to looking at the book. But Daphne found it hard to understand the words. Her mind was trying to work out her feelings.

For one, she was well aware of the charged atmosphere in the house. Granger and Weasley were almost undressing each other with their eyes nowadays, especially after the departure of his brothers. It had gotten worse than ever now that Granger and Weasley were once again no longer under constant watch. And they weren't the only ones in the house. As much as she wanted to deny it, being around a lovesick couple had increased her longing for a bit of romance and fantasies of her own. Normally, she would have dug up some trashy novel and curled up in her bed, but she had nothing at hand. What she did have was a husband who spent a lot of time with her.

She didn't want to think about it, but he was actually quite decent. He was reasonably handsome in his own right. He had a mind to him she hadn't expected and had been about as understanding of her situation as she could hope for, looking back. Ever since the night of New Year's, he had sent her little smiles and looks that she found difficult to dislike. He could be quite funny if he wanted to. They were similar in some respects. And it'd be a lie to say he didn't have a roguish charm to him.

But then, she didn't like him, Daphne told herself. Yes, she had come to terms with being married to him. Yes, he was nice and interesting, had even wheedled his way past her walls, but that was all it was. The tension between Granger and Weasley distracted her, that was all. So she found Harry not quite as bad as she had originally thought. So he was actually fairly nice. Nothing of that mattered to her, did it? No, she decided, but she couldn't quite convince herself.

And that didn't take into account her curiosity. Something was going on with him; something was kept secret. Oh, she didn't mind secrets, not really, but she could tell they – that is, Granger, Weasley and Harry – knew something crucial, yet kept it just out of reach just to taunt her. They were playing a game with her, weren't they, trying to wind her up?

She had watched him over the weeks. She had noticed his different personalities, one moment kind and youthful, the next cold and with the strange aura of experience. His assassinations, for example, were very daring, not only to announce them, as she had heard from Charlie, but also to target Ministry workers. But on the other hand, he had done it without leaving much evidence, if any at all, hadn't boasted about it and acted surprised when he heard about them from the twins and Charlie. And there was a definite cunning to his actions, for even she didn't know how he had done it. Those weren't the actions of a foolish Gryffindor, she felt. She doubted many of her housemates would have come up with something similar, let alone go through with it.

The curious mix of courage and cunning intrigued her. Maybe that was it, she mused. Yes, he intrigued her, nothing more.

Daphne forced herself to read the spells in the book in front of her. Ripping the enemy, cutting living flesh, heating metals, burning nonliving matter, spell after spell she read through, all-the-while very aware of the lingering thoughts in the back of her mind.

She had heard Pansy talking about it once - getting it out of the system. Well, no, she had Pansy talking about hearing it once from a distant, open-minded, amoral relative. Pansy had explained it, somehow keeping a straight face, but Daphne had known just how much it had cost Pansy not to giggle. It had probably been nothing more than a stupid tale, Daphne reasoned, and technically speaking, she had read and heard more scandalous things since then, but it had been about as juicy as they had dared thinking back then. Still, Daphne doubted whether getting the tension out of the system and dealing with her own longing for some romance really counted as a cure to her problem.

Not that she had a problem as such, of course, Daphne added a moment later, the circumstances were just very unfortunate for her. How was she supposed to keep a clear head when two of the other occupants were continuously dancing around each other instead of just getting a room for a few minutes? Since the charged atmosphere wasn't her fault, how could she have the solution to it? No, Granger and Weasley, they needed to sort it out, and then everything would return to normal.

Daphne grabbed the next book. Ah, the ever-popular cutting curses. Not that she minded the idea in general; she just couldn't see the necessity to have half a dozen of them at hand. If a cutting curse couldn't be healed – dark magic was that way, occasionally – why invent more of them? If one worked, why think up others?

Shattering inflexible matter. Ah, that one sounded interesting. She read it more carefully. It sounded useful, but she wondered about it. Just what counted as inflexible? She could see the use of shattering bones, but were they meant with that? Or was it more along the lines of walls and armour?

"Harry," she called, waving him over. "What do you think, would that work on body parts as well? Bones? Teeth? Nails? It doesn't say just what counts as inflexible, and I'm hesitant to try it in our next duel."

"Much appreciated," he laughed, leaning over her shoulder. "Good question. It might be worth a try. It could be useful or complete rubbish, depending on where they draw the line, yeah. There was nothing else? No guide, no introductory words?"

She shook her head. "No, otherwise I wouldn't have called you over, right?"

He reached over and turned the page, reading some of the finer points. "Curious, this looks like some modification or something. History of it, hmm." She glanced down at the page. He was right, sort of. There were references to other spells, and one of them sounded like a clue. Rock-smasher sounded less like an offensive spell and more like masonry or mining. Even magical folk tended to get their material the old-fashioned way instead of conjuring.

"There, that might be something to look into," he pointed out, tapping a spot on the parchment. "That sounds familiar. I'm thinking Bone-Breaker, but it's not, that has a different line of reasoning. Maybe some hybrid bastard child of other magic?" He pulled his hand back.

Just as she was reading about the development of the shattering spell during a goblin revolution, she felt the same hand come to rest on her shoulder. She fought back a smile.

"Now who can't help touching the other?" she asked impishly.

"Don't know who can't help it," he replied casually.

In response, she flicked his fingers, and he withdrew his hand. Unfortunately, he put it on the armrest, leaning closer to her. She could almost fell his breath on her cheek.

"Well," she announced, jumping up, "I think you are right. Do you think we should work that one out?"

He straightened, glancing at her in question. "Well, a few tests might be worth it. A slab of rock, a block of wood, some cans. Tell you what, I'll copy it, and then we'll see whether we can't crack it."

"There's also a nice little spell in there," he pointed to another book. "Wait a second," he stepped over and leafed through the book. "No, no, but this one might still be fun, conjuring leeches on the enemy. No. No. Ah here you go. Bewitching your enemy's clothes to develop a life of their own." He pointed to a page, and Daphne leaned over his shoulder.

"Ah, I see. Well, isn't that still more of a prank then an actual attack? Not that I mind if it were, but it does seem like a waste of time. And as far as I can see, it'll mostly jerk the arms around. And it can be cancelled by a simple Finite, so..."

"It's an invisible spell, so it doesn't draw attention to you. It's also mostly a point with the wand, which should be easy enough to hide. I should also point out that robes could try to strangle someone, so animating them does at least do something. Anything to keep you unpredictable."

She nodded thoughtfully. He had a point there. Leaning closer, she read the description once more. It sounded manageable, she thought, if a bit on the complex side for a prank.

"Well, it's not top priority right now," she compromised, "but it's at least something. Oh, and it seems as if it might also work with carpets and other decorations of fabric. I guess I could..."

"You're doing it again," he interrupted with a laugh.

Once more, her hand had come to rest on his shoulder. She resisted the groan.


That's the one spell even Muggles can learn with little trouble - conjuring an elephant to keep in the room. Best of all, it even works wandlessly and nonverbally.