Posted 10/3/2014
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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-Three - The Library
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When Harry woke up the next morning, he couldn't help the small smile on his face. He had rather liked the previous night, the kisses and the warmth of her close to him. They had kissed for a while, swaying softly, before they had stumbled and fallen on the bed, the surprise destroying much of the mood. However, they had fallen asleep arm in arm again. He could feel her trying to disentangle herself from him, which proved somewhat difficult and unsuccessful so far. She couldn't have known he would be roused by something so minor – she was careful not to disturb him – but the shift in his surroundings was apparently enough. Or maybe it was just the wet spot where she had drooled on his shoulder cooling down that had woken him up.
Smiling, he opened his eyes, coming face to face with her. She froze, blushing slightly and not quite meeting his gaze.
"Morning," he greeted, shifting enough so that she could pull out her arm from under him.
"Yes, err... Morning," Daphne replied, sitting up and straightening her nightdress and dressing gown. She still didn't look directly at Harry and instead gazed around the room. Her eyes came to rest upon the grass snake curled around the bedpost from where it gazed back with a curious and almost questioning look. When the snake dipped its head momentarily, Daphne tried to shoo it away with an angry hiss.
The snake seemed to have understood the meaning, but didn't react.
"Creepy," Daphne murmured, shaking her head. To Harry, she added, "Sorry for, you know, waking you."
Sitting up beside her, he waved her off. "Doesn't matter, does it?" He paused, but before either could say something, someone else spoke up.
"Slept well?" the small wizard from before asked from his portrait.
The movement of clapping from another painting caught Harry's eye; the impish girl was there was well, grinning and ignoring the glare her regal father sent her in their painting, but not making any sound. After years of hearing paintings sigh or ruffle their clothes, the complete silence despite obvious action struck him as odd and made him wonder why paintings did make sounds in the first place. Or could the magic wear off after a while? Both the girl and her father's clothes would have fit in the middle ages.
"Or should we answer that question for you?" the small wizard added from his painting. While some of the portraits huffed or frowned in response, some smiled or even laughed quietly.
Daphne and Harry glanced at each other for a moment before looking away with a smile and a slight blush.
She was the first to move, standing up. "Well, I... I guess I'll..." She broke off, brushing down her dressing gown self-consciously.
"See you later?" Harry offered.
She blinked, looking his way, but once more not meeting his eye. "Well, yes, I suppose," she agreed. "I... I suppose we will... Studying! We should study later," she added, suddenly looking happy to have found something safe.
"Ooh," the small wizard spoke up with a meaningful glance around the room, giggling. "Studying."
Daphne sent him a glare and he shut up. "So, Harry," she began, hesitating, "err, about... Not a word from you either," she addressed the grinning girl in the painting who pointedly glanced away. "Well," Daphne said, "listen, about last night and... and all... and then us..." she glanced towards the bed, "you know, falling asleep..."
Harry stood up as well, shrugging. "Happens. Entertaining, remember? Your words, not mine?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. But then, Harry noticed, the word didn't seem as fitting any more. Listening to the radio was entertaining. Watching a movie was entertaining. Winding up Ron was entertaining in its own right. Kissing Daphne – and maybe kissing in general – had a different feeling to it. Even nice as he had called it the night before didn't quite fit.
Both ignored the snort from the portrait of the small wizard. Instead, Daphne blinked. "Yes, that's... Entertaining," she replied as a pleased smile showed on her face. "Yeah, that true, I guess."
"Ah, to be young again," the portrait of a wizard sighed.
His neighbour added with a wistful smile, "You looked so dashing back then."
"No one's asked for your opinion," Daphne growled. After a moment, she added to Harry, pointing towards the portraits around the room, "Okay, if nothing else, they have to go. They're really getting on my nerves. And your snake too."
"The paintings? Fine, first thing after breakfast, yes," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "I'm guessing Sirius put them here in the first place..."
"He did, ungrateful boy," one of the witches confirmed with a huff.
"It wasn't used at the time – not as a bedroom, at least," he glanced around, "and now I'm wondering how he brought the Hippogriff in here; perhaps there are windows like the Ministry has? A Portkey?" For a moment, Harry tried imagining bringing a Hippogriff by Portkey, sharp claws and all. "But I guess that doesn't matter..."
"A hippogriff?" Daphne repeated, looking unsure of whether to believe him or not.
"The point is," Harry continued, "yes, the portraits go, I agree. I'm sure I can find some place for them. Well, most of them go," he amended, nodding towards the empty frame of his lookout. "But what has the snake ever done to you?"
"It's not... It's staring at me. It's suspecting me of something," Daphne tried. Almost as if to prove her point, the snake tilted its head slightly and tasted the air.
"He's just curious," Harry defended. "There's no malice behind it."
"Well, all right," Daphne said. "Err, so..." She scratched her head. "What did you have in mind for today? Any plans?"
After a moment of silence, Harry shrugged. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to breakfast. Also, there's removing the portraits later, apparently. Apart from that, nothing planned yet."
She nodded, if perhaps a bit too vigorous. "Sounds good. Breakfast it is, then. I'll see you later." With another smile, she ducked out of the room.
After getting dressed quickly – paying close attention, he noticed almost all of the portraits pointedly looking away; the impish girl watched him very intently with a grin reminding him of Sirius – Harry walked downstairs and into the kitchen. It seemed as if he was the first up apart from Kreacher who grumbled, moving about.
Grabbing a slice of bread, Harry thought about the previous night. Entertaining really didn't describe it, he felt; entertaining seemed to lack a certain quality to it. Thrilling? Nice? Hmm, no, not quite, he mused. But he didn't need an answer right away. He had had fun, he had gotten rid of the frustration bothering him – Daphne seemed to have as well – and cleared his head, and to top it off, both seemed to have slept quite well afterwards. For a moment, Harry grinned as he thought back to the previous night. He looked forward to their next meeting – he had certainly enjoyed kissing... well, his wife, technically. Funny how that had worked out. But unless he had been mistaken, she shared his feelings on the matter if her reactions and – more importantly – her actions from the previous night had been any indication. From the first, purely instinct-driven, aggressive snog to the fun dance with each other to the slow, tender kisses, it had been clear just how much she had enjoyed it.
"Master is happy this morning," Kreacher croaked, bustling around, but Harry didn't reply with anything more than a greeting.
"Should Kreacher call the Mistress Greengrass to the table, he wonders?" He scratched his chin, making his ears flap. "My Mistress Black, she didn't like being raised in the mornings, but Master Orion did." He peered at Harry, likely seeing if he could get a rise or an answer from him. After a moment, he left, grumbling to himself about work and ungratefulness and whatnot.
Left alone for the moment, Harry replayed parts of the night in his head. The feeling of her lips on his, the intoxicating scent, her hands running over his back and into his hair, the tantalizingly soft touches, the subdued moan she had tried to laugh off when he had traced her spine through the smooth satin nightdress...
Soon, Hermione came into the kitchen. "Oh, good, you're up already," she greeted him. "Morning, Harry. Slept well?"
Grinning for a moment, Harry was glad she was getting herself something from the kitchen and had her back to him for a moment. "Yeah, it was all right. Yourself?"
"I was busy," she waved him off, "but thanks for asking. But another thing, Harry, have you looked into getting me into the library yet? I mean, I do have some ideas about the load for the capsules, but I'd be good to have options to choose from just to make sure I don't miss anything."
"Well, I did some checks here and there, yes," he admitted. "I think I can fix it so that you can be brought in, but it'd still be..."
"One visit at a time, yes, I know," she sighed, rummaging through a drawer. "Well, better than nothing I guess. Ah, there. Well, how about we try it today, then? The sooner, the better. Any idea when you'll..." But she broke off as someone came down the stairs. Moments later, Ron stepped into the room. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and looked very much like he would have wanted nothing more than to return to his bed.
"Harry, you up as well?" He grumbled in greeting.
"Morning. I'm more surprised you are," Harry countered with a raised eyebrow, knowing just how difficult it was most of the time to get Ron out of bed.
"Well, someone kept me up all night with her mumbling about stupid theories and whatnot." He shot Hermione a half-hearted glare.
"Why would that bother you at all?" Harry wondered. "You've slept through worse. Neville's snores, for example. And I know for a fact that we've both slept through her studying sessions more than once, so having her mumble next to you shouldn't be anything new, right?" She glared at him, but Harry merely sent her a cheeky smile. Harry was tempted to ask just what they were doing in the same room anyway, but thought it better not to know.
"She woke me up every now and then to ask for my opinion, not that I have any idea what she's talking about," Ron replied, rolling his eyes.
"Err, fine, that's new," Harry admitted. "Then again, you do occasionally have valuable input, so it's understandable." Following sudden inspiration he added, "I should count myself lucky, then, that she doesn't value my opinion as much, shouldn't I?"
Caught, Hermione looked pointedly away, but Harry thought he saw a faint blush appear on her face. Still, she didn't admit her feelings, and neither did Ron.
Harry fought down a sigh, wondering how long they'd continue dancing around each other. They couldn't be so blind that they didn't notice what was going on, could they? How could they not have noticed the tension, the unspoken question between them? Harry knew it. Every Weasley except Ron knew it. Every student at school had seen it. The teachers probably knew as well, even if they didn't let it show. Even three years after the Yule Ball had neither made a move, making Harry wonder whether they enjoyed the tension. Or maybe, he mused, Ron and Hermione had bet on some specific date for the eventual hook-up and wanted to cash in? It wasn't impossible, but Harry figured a lost bet would be a small price to pay just to get past the open secret. After the last night, he considered snogging significantly more rewarding than some gold.
Should he ask them about a bet? He'd be willing to compensate them for the lost money; that way, they could finally be open about their attraction, snog the living daylights out of each other and stop building up tension in the house for Harry to get rid of.
Then again, he didn't mind the tension that much any more, did he? Strange what one night could do, he mused. No, he certainly didn't mind it any more, quite the opposite, actually. Following that logic, shouldn't he try to keep them apart now?
"I do value both of your opinions," Hermione spoke up, glancing to both of her friends. "And I wasn't up all night, Ron," she added, sounding slightly annoyed. "I read a bit, I wrote a bit and I worked on my Occlumency. That hardly counts as 'all night'. A few hours maybe. And I only woke you up for that last part – Occlumency. With how much that is going on around you, it might help you in the long run if you knew how your mind works."
"Well, I know I need my sleep," Ron countered. "Sorry if us mere mortals can't keep up with you."
"It's not about keeping up, Ron," Hermione sighed, "it really isn't. We both know you won't..."
"Oh, so I'm stupid then? Slow? Is that it?"
"I didn't say that, don't start accusing me..."
"You meant it, though," Ron shouted. "Didn't you?"
"I'm the Firebolt of learning, Ron," Hermione hissed.
Harry snorted, earning himself a glare from both of his friends. "Quidditch metaphor?" he asked, adding, "Being fast doesn't mean being good. When you're losing control, for example."
"So I'm losing control?" Hermione countered.
"I didn't say that," Harry tried, not quite able to disagree. Hadn't third year proven she could lose control and obsess over learning? And looking back, he could remember a few other instances of her wanting to know every little detail, whether it mattered or not. "Look, there's..."
"So she really is the best, then," Ron growled, "and I can't keep up. Nice to know both of my friends agree on that."
"Don't try it," Hermione warned him, "you claimed you wouldn't be able to..."
"You didn't deny it!"
Harry cleared his throat. "There's something I..."
"How should I know what... ?" Hermione threw back.
"Oh, don't try weaselling out of it now!" Ron shouted.
"New topic!" Harry cut in, only to find both of his friends glaring at him.
"Don't change the subject!" Ron yelled, red-faced. Turning to Hermione, he added, "So, enlighten me, then! Am I too slow to keep up with you?"
"If you'd really apply yourself..." Hermione began, glaring.
"So I'm lazy then? Is that it?"
Harry could see Hermione swallowing the reply she had – likely the truth, but something Ron wouldn't want to hear either way. Knowing the argument wouldn't really get anywhere anymore, Harry rose from his seat with a sigh. "Well, have fun arguing, you two. I'm going to train for a bit."
On his way upstairs, he saw Daphne glancing out of her room for the source of the noise. Their eyes met, and both snorted, shaking their heads.
"So much for a quiet breakfast," she told him. "Don't forget the portraits, though."
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Any reason why you're so insistent about that? Or in a hurry to get rid of them?"
Instead of an answer, she shrugged seemingly carelessly and retreated to her room.
It didn't take that long to remove the paintings. Most of them Harry simply put in Sirius's old room for the time being. He'd have to find a permanent place for them later, but at least he wouldn't be disturbed or watched any more. The muted painting of the girl – a Cassiopeia Black from the late fourteen-hundreds – got a place facing a stretch of wall after a suggestive wink from her.
Once in the training room, he conjured a dummy. It looked human enough, he mused, looking into the dead, droopy eyes of the puppet. Stowing his wand away, he chose the spells he wanted to try wandlessly. The simple cutting curses worked reasonably fine, even if targeting took some getting used to. He thrust his palm out, and a cloud of dust rose from the target as the magic hit it with quite a bit of force. It wouldn't be enough to push someone back, but only because he hadn't put enough power behind it. He followed his first attack with a sudden jerk. It didn't work as well as he had hoped, the dummy was too heavy to be pulled over to him, but the theory had worked at least. Snipping his fingers, he sent a powerful piercing curse against the dummy. It hit, but sadly the wall, not the dummy. That one was notoriously hard to aim right, unfortunately. With a backhanded slap, he sent a sweeping cutting curse that hit the neck of the dummy. Its head rolled off the shoulders, but Harry had already cast a silent and wandless Stunner.
All in all, he was reasonably happy with the results. Years of learning to stick to wand movements weren't as easy to overcome, and the lack of a focus removed some of the control over his magic. After a while of getting decent results, he tried a shield charm. It took a lot of strength and concentration – he had grown used to it ever since he had first managed the wandless variant – and he was sure it wouldn't withstand much, but it held. It had taken a while until Harry had understood the reason for the difference between wandless offensive and defensive spells. Shields were meant to protect an area; instead of focusing on the target and the intended result – cutting, piercing, burning, breaking or any other effect – he needed to concentrate on opening the shield similar to an umbrella. He didn't have a visible target he could concentrate on, and it was more like throwing the protection at nothing specific, just letting it linger in mind-air.
That, it seemed, was the main problem with the wandless magic. Whether it was pointing a wand or a hand at a target didn't make that much of a difference, apparently, or not to his magic, so offensive magic was easier to learn and mostly about keeping the control. Defensive magic on the other hand seemed to work better wandlessly ever since Harry had come up with new movements and images to keep in mind to replace the control the wand normally provided. Conjuration proved even more difficult without a wand than it was with one. The more complex something was, the trickier it was to get the details right. With the decreased control over the results due to the missing wand, all of Harry's tries with solid objects had ended up distinctly misshapen. While it would theoretically look impressive to create a weapon with a sleight of hand in the middle of a battle, it did little else than look good in practice.
Having warmed up, Harry let his shield collapse and attempted Conjuration next. With a snap of his fingers, he tried conjuring a wooden stake, yet it didn't quite work as he had hoped. He was certain no one would fear the gnarled and twisted piece of wood he had produced. With a quick twirl of his wrist, paper appeared, but instead of the smooth, clean-cut piece, got a discoloured scrap. His frustration mounting, he snapped his fingers, focusing very clearly on his intention, but not a single bird came into being above his outstretched palm. Sufficiently used to the process of Conjuration after the small warm-up, he thrust out his hand, picturing a simple knife, but all he had managed was a twisted, blunt piece of metal.
With a swish of his hand, Harry tried vanishing the items, but it didn't work – as the counterpart to Conjuration, it was equally difficult. Shrugging, he pulled his wand instead, Harry reflecting upon his past experiments. While it was true that solid matter was difficult to conjure wandlessly, the same didn't apply to water. Harry had been surprised to find a wandless conjuration of water fairly easy, with only control being a real issue. Even creating small gusts of wind was comparably easy, even if it wasn't as useful as it could be – there were spells for levitation and repulsing something directly. Easiest of all to create, though, was fire. Lupin had made it look easy in third year, and it was. Once started, it felt like a constant drain, a constant flow down the arm. The fire, Harry had been surprised to find out, almost had a life of its own and took what it needed, and controlling it wasn't about keeping it alive, but holding it back. It was the reason why Lupin had been able to maintain the flames and cast a difficult spell at the same time – the fire had eaten away at his magic, but Lupin's mind had been able to switch to the Patronus spell for a moment.
That, Harry had realized, was a small flaw of the wandless fire conjuration. While it was possible to focus on something else for a moment or two, maintaining a shield or a Patronus or any spell for a while left the fire unchecked and in danger of getting out of control. It was apparently simply fire's nature to consume and grow.
He gave it a try. With little effort, he managed it, and a cool, blue flame sprang up over his left hand. Harry was happy to see next to no flickering – a sign of control over his creation. In fact, it seemed as if it grew more calm, more balanced the longer he looked at it; the longer he kept it going, the more he became aware of the flow of his magic down his arm. His hand tingled with power. Narrowing his eyes, he manipulated the spell, changing it like they had learned in Charms. It worked; blue flames turned violet, then red and, flickering, green and back to blue.
Harry stopped the flow of magic. The fire died almost at once.
"Well," Harry said, looking at Hermione, "this is it, then. Now's your last chance to back out." She glared at him, and he shrugged. "Worth a try." With a quick swish of his wand, he cut the palm of his hand.
"I've said it before, but purebloods are crazy," Hermione commented with a frown. "Why couldn't they choose something saner?"
"Don't ask me. I didn't invent it, I'm just making use of it," Harry pointed out. He stretched out his hand, and she took it, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Together, they stepped up to the threshold, standing side by side.
"Fine then," Hermione told him. "Let's do it so I can get us cleaned up."
Taking a deep breath, both stepped inside the library. Only when nothing happened did they let go of each other, feeling slightly stupid.
"What do you know," Harry said, chuckling, "it actually works."
"Still crazy," Hermione hissed, busying herself with vanishing his blood from her hand. "Why does everything have to do with blood?"
"Blood and intent and the right mindset," Harry counted, pulling his own wand to heal his cut. "Don't know, but are you really complaining? I got you inside..."
"And to do so, we'll have to do the same stupid ritual again," she interrupted. "Blood this, blood that. Blood sacrifices, blood as an ingredient for potions, blood..."
"As nourishment for vampires?" Harry asked, smiling.
"Them too," she agreed. "Oh well, I'll just have to plan my excursions carefully, then."
"And not take books from here, yes," Harry reminded her. "Anyway, there's a working area upstairs. Common texts are here. Charms, transfigurations, Runes, and Arithmancy," he pointed at the respective shelves. "And there are the Potions books."
"When you say common texts," Hermione began, running her fingers over the spines of old tomes, "how common are we talking about? 'Hogwarts: A History'?" she read on one.
"About seventy years old," he told her, nodding at the book. "These are books you might find at Flourish and Blotts," he indicated a few shelves. "Well, you could have found them there once, I guess. There or at some other store that deals with non-dark books. Over there are some rarer works you'd have a hard time finding anywhere for sale. Mind arts, scientific works, unusual subjects like prophetic dream interpretation for those with the Inner Eye. A few gifts as well. This one," he pulled it from the shelf, "apparently never saw publication. Granted, it's rubbish or terribly outdated for the most part, but still."
"And upstairs?" Hermione asked.
"The truly rare," Harry replied. "Books Flourish and Blotts would never get their hands on, much less wanting to in the first place. Everything from shady to truly dark. Dark spells, dark rituals, dark secrets, dark potions. Also all kinds of remarkable, advanced works. Healing magic, offensive spells. Warding for experts. What you only need once in a lifetime, you'll find up there."
She gave him a look. "Dark magic? You still want to keep those here?"
He shrugged. "Well, dark by the definition of the Ministry. Law-abiding storeowners wouldn't want to get caught with a lot of them, but I bet the Ministry has a copy of each of them – for research purposes, of course. The darkest I've seen so far is Fiendfyre, I think – all-consuming flames with a mind of their own. Yeah, there are some really nasty spells and potions, but there's a reason why I want to keep all this locked away." Scratching his head, he added, "Well, I guess I could burn them."
Paling, Hermione steadied herself on one of the shelves.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he laughed. "Honestly? I'd have guessed there'd be more. Yeah, we're not talking stunners here, and there are some spells I'd rather not see used one way or another, but that was to be expected. From the way people talked about the Blacks as the darkest and evilest family around, I'd have expected worse. A book or two about political manoeuvring – you know, swaying of the public's opinion, twisting the laws to suit your needs, extortion."
"And you say the Blacks weren't all that evil?" Hermione reminded him.
"Well, apart from that, I haven't found much that justifies the Blacks' reputation as the darkest and most evil family around. A few darker spells, yeah, but not really darker than what Riddle found or invented on his journeys."
"Maybe it's just smoke and shadows? Make-believe to keep people from messing with the Blacks?"
"Possible. It does help that even in here, some shelves are inaccessible and the knowledge out of reach. Come on, I'll show you." He led her over to the corner. "Come on, try grabbing that copy of 'Mysteries of the Past'."
With a quick glance in his direction, she tried it, but somehow, the shelf seemed to jump out of the way of her hand, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right.
"See?" Harry laughed. "It's password-protected, in a way. Now think 'Show me the way to wisdom beyond all measure'."
It worked, and with a grin, Harry plucked the book out of Hermione's hands and put it back. "Why would someone try protecting that particular book? History isn't really dark magic."
"Around here, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry chuckled. "I haven't had the time to look through everything you see here, after all. But that particular book? It's the mysteries part, I think. The Blacks wouldn't have wanted those secrets getting out, would they? There's a bit about the origins of some old families, particularly their less-than-pure ancestry. Prime blackmail material, perhaps?" Gesturing at the shelves around them, he continued, "I haven't figured out many of the passwords, but they work against even the rightful owner. For those upstairs, I'm guessing some old codger wanted to take those secrets to his grave. Maybe they require some specific mindset or something. Remember the enchantment Dumbledore used on the Mirror of Erised? 'To possess, but not use it?'" Clasping his hands, he nodded at his friend. "So, what shall it be, then? Deadly poisons? Advanced healing magic? There's an exquisite manuscript about slow and painful deaths upstairs."
They had just finished an awkward dinner, in part because they had found themselves in an unusual seating arrangement with girls and boys on different sides of the table. Granger and Weasley had seemed to have reached an impasse in their shouting match and argument, but had avoided sitting next to each other. From the looks both had thrown the other, Daphne guessed both had some regrets over what had been said that morning. Weasley had seemed on the verge of apologizing; Granger had looked ready to make amends. Neither had acted upon those impulses, which had meant their attempts at dinner talk failed horribly. They hadn't tried talking to each other, and they hadn't wanted to talk to Daphne more than necessary. Weasley had grunted upon seeing Daphne, which had probably been meant as some show of sympathy. Granger had offered a few words of comfort to Daphne, but apart from that, there hadn't been much to talk about. Harry's contribution had been asking about the latest reports in the Daily Prophet.
As Kreacher began clearing the table, Granger sent Harry a meaningful look, catching his eye. Weasley, having his back turned to the group, had missed it, stretching a bit.
"So, any plans for tonight?" he asked into the silence. "Chess, Harry?"
Harry gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think so, Ron. I've got a bit of thinking and catching up to do."
"Her..." he began, only to clear his throat to cover his slip, "yeah, well, do that, then. Maybe some other time, yeah?" He glanced at Harry.
"Yeah, maybe," Harry replied.
When Weasley's eyes flicked to Granger for a fraction of a second, Daphne caught the girl giving an awkward smile.
"Well," Weasley sighed, "that's something, then. I guess I'll... train or something?" He left, walking a bit slower than strictly necessary, but Granger didn't speak up or stop him.
Daphne pursed her lips, unsure of what to do. She hadn't taken part in any of Harry or Granger's planning sessions so far, and she wasn't sure she should invite herself. Did she really want to get involved in their plans? Did she want to know about their secrets, possibly having to take them to her grave? Did she want to know in detail how Harry and Granger worked? She didn't feel quite ready for that kind of responsibility, which meant that she would leave Harry and Granger to their planning.
A small part of her was disappointed. After the last night and the huge step they had taken, she had hoped to have Harry for the evening. They could have talked about something or another, they could have kept themselves entertained somehow or another. They could have tried to get accustomed to the new and exciting situation; they could have learned as much as possible about the new dance between them. Or they could have spent time together as friends. It would have been like a bit of normalcy. Even if they would have simply talked or read, it would have almost been like being back in Slytherin with her friends.
Could she get into contact with them somehow? It had been a while since she'd last heard from either Tracey or Millicent. It was understandable, of course, since they had to be careful to not give away their true allegiance, but that didn't stop Daphne from missing her dorm mates.
"And you, Greengrass?" Granger asked. "What are your plans for the evening?"
"I guess," Daphne began, wondering whether she should act oblivious, "I'll go read a bit. Sounds good. Or maybe I'll head off? Take a quick nap?"
"Didn't you sleep well last night?" Granger spoke up. She seemed to have missed the twitch of Harry's mouth – Daphne, however, hadn't.
Knowing why he had almost smiled reminded Daphne of the previous evening, but didn't help her come up with a suitable answer for Granger. Blushing a bit, Daphne tried coming up with something innocuous. "Well, it wasn't all bad, just not... enough?"
"Ah," Granger interrupted with a smile, "well, all right, then."
"So, I guess I'll just..." Daphne replied, rising from her seat. "Well, I'll leave you to your plotting, then."
"Good night," Harry called after her. Had Daphne imagined the slight disappointment in his voice? Maybe she had, or maybe she just wished she had.
She had reached her landing and was almost in her room when she changed her mind. Training sounded a bit more appealing and gave her a convenient reason to hang around on the second floor close to Harry's room. Maybe he would be finished soon enough, she reasoned. It could happen, after all. If Granger stayed behind on the first floor, then Daphne could slip into Harry's room, possibly finding out if he had indeed been disappointed earlier. If Granger came up to the second floor, then Daphne would have the perfect reason to be there as well.
Training turned out to be fairly boring. After the training with Harry over the last few weeks, her aim had improved. The access to the library had increased her spell range, making her less predictable. Duelling with another human had taught her a bit about reading the opponent, something she couldn't have picked up from a book. Daphne wasted some time conjuring dummies and raining down spells on them.
Vanishing the burnt remains of one, Daphne wondered whether the duelling club from her second year would have been as helpful as her training with Harry if it had continued for a while. Professor Lockhart had been a disaster as an instructor. If not for Professor Snape, it would have been a complete waste of time, but it did raise the question why the club had been discontinued at all. While the execution had been dreadful, the idea had been a good one. Surely one of the Professors could have found the time to help out. If not Professor Snape who might not have wanted to teach the other houses, then perhaps Professor Flitwick, who was rumoured to be a duelling champion. Maybe Harry had had the right idea back in their fifth year; while Professor Umbridge had called it the formation of an army to fight the Ministry, not teaching the students how to fight and defend themselves seemed like a massive oversight when looking back.
Conjuring another dummy, Daphne sent it to the other side of the room.
Students really should have been taught how to fight, she decided. Potter seemed to know how it was done – far better than she would have expected, in fact. Granger and Weasley had to have gotten a few pointers, at least, if they managed to survive during their raid on the Ministry. The same was likely true for Longbottom and Lovegood, and from what Daphne knew, all of them had been part of Harry's little rebellious group back in fifth year. Daphne's friends, however, had received some training and pointers from Professor Umbridge and a few older students, but it probably wasn't the same.
After about two hours of training, Daphne gave up waiting for Harry to come. Whatever it was, it seemed to take a lot of time, and even though she hadn't told the whole truth, she hadn't lied either – the last night had been nice, but she hadn't slept as much as she probably should have.
A quick shower later, Daphne sank on her bed, listening to signs of movement in the house. A deafening silence settled. Her body seemed to feel strangely heavy, and something was pressing in on her.
Maybe it was the disappointment, Daphne thought, staring at the ceiling of the room. She had started looking forward to the evening ever since she had seen Harry come up from the kitchen that morning. They hadn't talked about it, true; they hadn't made any plans, but it had seemed like a certainty. During their short studying session, she had caught him watching her for maybe a bit too long to be coincidental. When he had handed her a book and their fingers had brushed against each other, she had felt a tingling warmth spread through her that had only intensified when their eyes had met. When he had returned a book to its proper shelf, Daphne had found both her eyes and mind wandering; from time to time, she had seen a shadow of the hunger from the night before in his eyes. In those moments, he had reminded her of the men in her favourite books, from the roguish smile with a hint of mystery to him to the confidence radiating from him, but the moments were gone too fast. Nothing had come of them, much to Daphne's dismay.
For a moment, Daphne wondered whether she should grab one of the books from her trunk, but discarded the idea. It wouldn't really distract her as much as she would have wanted; in fact, just thinking about the books reminded her of how much she missed spending time with Harry, both in general and kissing him in particular. The thought and the silence around her made her feel lonely, longing for his company, but a giddy happiness filled her as well thinking about Harry, her...
She hesitated, unsure of what to call him, exactly. They were married, for one; while it had had little meaning before, it felt every bit like a commitment now – one Daphne didn't quite feel ready for. Still, Harry was her husband.
Her husband Harry. For a moment, she imagined introducing him as such at some formal event, only to giggle childishly at the silly notion.
Once she had calmed down a bit, she shook her head. While she liked the fantasy of introducing him, needless as that would probably be, she found it too impersonal. As part of an introduction, husband was just a word among others, and while it did cause a rush of happiness for her, she preferred the implied sense of belonging and unity. She liked the implied intimacy.
But they weren't that close, were they? No. It was still a word. However, she couldn't really call him her friend any more. That seemed equally inappropriate.
One thing was clear, though – he was her ray of happiness. Her time with him seemed like a part from someone else's life, far away from the civil war and casual oppression around them. It was such a simple and yet wonderful part of life to find someone who made her happy.
The books in her trunk came to her mind again, and she couldn't help comparing them to her reality – excitement and amusement on one side, contentment and longing on the other.
The books also caused Daphne to think about her future. Kissing was very nice, of course, but her stories never stopped there. Would hers? Harry made her happy, and unless she had misread him, he seemed to feel the same. How long before kisses and caresses weren't enough? How long until the hunger returned – the burning hunger for life?
For a moment, she closed her eyes, imagining it. The shared desire heavy in the air as her hands roamed over his body, a fire coursing through her, his touches on her skin hot and sending shivers through her. Glimpses of his eyes through the shock of black hair as they performed their passionate dance, as they clashed, skin on skin, lost in the moment –
With a silly grin, Daphne rolled on her side.
Not quite ready to focus on something completely different, she replayed the previous evening in her head, from his hands brushing over her skin, washing away the worries on her mind, to the moment when passion had taken hold of them. The delicious moment of indecision until desire had triumphed. The slow start, lips brushing against each other, then drawing closer and closer as the tiny spark had grown into a flame – as the world had shrunken around them. The sudden realization, that instant when Daphne had started to understand...
A sound drew her from her thoughts. Something seemed to have moved outside. Someone was in the corridor; Daphne felt the presence more than she heard anything. She rose, drawing her wand as she crept closer to the door. When she heard nothing, she opened it, careful to avoid any noise.
The hallway was empty, illuminated by a pale light that cast dark, harsh shadows. Just as she was about to close the door again did Daphne hear rustling. Of leaves? Of clothes? Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room. Only the echoes of her breath greeted her. An empty frame of a portrait hung nearby, the plaque too old to read.
"Hello?" Daphne called out. When neither reply nor spell came, she took another step into the hallway. The stone floor was cold under her feet, but she paid it little attention.
Once she had walked past the ugly bust of a screaming, gaunt man on a pedestal whose empty eyes felt almost accusingly, she wished she had stayed in her room; however, she was already close to the next door. She pushed it open, her heart hammering in her chest.
It was an empty bedroom. Nothing indicated it had ever been used except for a small photograph on the wall.
Daphne continued on her way, reaching the door to the bathroom before long. Her hand closed around the brass doorknob. Her wand giving her strength and confidence, she cast one last look around her for signs of anything out of the ordinary.
Tinkling laughter echoed through the corridor, making Daphne almost jump at the sudden sound.
"Hello?" Daphne repeated, her voice sounding harsher than she had expected.
Giggling answered her, jumping from wall to wall and from shadow to shadow, only to break off abruptly. The silence that followed pressed in on Daphne. Something wasn't right. Something was there; a presence was lurking in the shadows just out of sight.
The rustling returned, and this time, Daphne recognized it. The shadows were whispering, conspiring; the news jumping from one to the other so fast Daphne had trouble keeping up.
The sound of cracking stone made her turn around. The bust had come alive; screaming silently, it crumbled to dust, from skin to skull.
The giggling sounded once more, mocking Daphne who whirled around helplessly; loathing seemed to drift through the hallway – invisible, but very real.
And then Daphne found herself facing a mirror that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It showed Daphne's reflection, in a sense, but with an unblemished, unnaturally pale face and staring into the distance unblinkingly – the feeling of loathe redoubled, almost drowning Daphne –
She woke up with a start, heart racing and her throat dry. She should have known, Daphne sighed, rubbing her eyes.
"Hello, old friends," she spoke into the silence. No answer came from the shadows.
"You're doing it again," Daphne told him, rolling her eyes. Harry looked up, blinking, and with a nod towards the book in his hands, she added, "You're hogging my reference material."
He snorted. "Yeah, sorry. Just wanted to check something. Give me a moment, please." His eyes jumped over the page, stopping occasionally, only to move again. "Ah, not quite. Well, doesn't really matter." Putting the book down next to her, he smiled. "Sorry, I..."
"I know. It's fine, just..." With a sigh, Daphne rubbed her eyes. "Ah. I think I got it anyway. Jellified bones. Recalcifying bones. Think they counter each other?"
Harry leaned back. "Might work. Jellified bones are decalcified? Or is it a change of the bones' properties?"
She sighed, closing the book in front of her. "Good question. It doesn't say. That's what you get for looking for combat spells – who cares how it works? Stupid duellists. Why can't they care about what they do?"
Harry shrugged, chuckling. "I can understand it somewhat," he told her. "In a combat, why care about countering the damage? That's what healers are for."
"I have just about enough of these books," Daphne said. "We've been at it for hours. We're reaching the limits, aren't we?"
"The limit? Of learning?"
"No, I... Efficiency," she explained. "We've been at it for hours, but we haven't really found anything truly useful. It's not like we have unlimited time on our hands. Learning new spells is fine and all, but doesn't it come down to having the one spell to win the fight? Do I need five cutting curses? Do you?"
"Ah, that. Well, true. One spell can make all the difference."
"And if he starts flinging curses at me, how am I supposed to recognize them? Do I even need to? If I evade them, then all I have to worry about are transfigurations and conjurations."
"Those can be dangerous," Harry reminded her.
"True, but neither has a specific defence I can learn like shield charms. And as for spells flung my way, I'm probably better off not trying to figure out what is sent my way, so I don't need to learn what others might try, I only need to learn what I want to use. So I'm thinking I should work on the spells I already do know."
He watched her for a while. "More training, you mean? Probably a good idea, yeah. Maybe we could go easy on the research for the next few days." He glanced around the room. "Mid-January already. No time to waste any more."
"I didn't say it was a waste of time. We do learn something, don't we?" She raised an eyebrow.
"True. It's just..."
"Another attack?" she guessed, frowning.
"That too," he admitted. "For now, I'm set, but I've thought about the one after the next already. If I'm trying to pull the teeth of the beast, I'll have to fight his followers on all fronts. Ministry, Death Eaters, the scum looking for easy money."
"The Snatchers," Daphne added.
"Yes, I know. I know who it'll be this time, but as for the next... Fear needs to be cultivated. 'Look out, I'm still here. It could be you next. No one is safe.' Something like that. It's my message to him and his followers. A Death Eater would fit; they are still his most devoted followers, and I'm hesitant decimating the Ministry."
"How very noble of you," she snorted. "'I don't want to butcher the Ministry.' Not that I disagree, of course, but..."
"Exactly. Some of them might come to their senses. Some of them might only act out of fear. And for all its faults, it's still the Ministry. Declaring war on the Ministry means declaring war on Magical Britain." Harry scratched his head. "A Death Eater, then. Malfoy Senior would fit, but he's bound to be well protected. And I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't his sister-in-law with him. Say what you will, but I don't fancy a run-in with her at the moment. Granted, getting rid of him might be worth the risk. He's got political power; he's pulling the strings."
"You'd still have to deal with Lestrange," Daphne reminded him. "You did mean her with sister-in-law, didn't you?"
"I did. A run-in with Lestrange. Hmm." He stared towards one of the shelves. "Well, she is a problem all by herself, but... Lestrange and Malfoy in one go? Hmm." Of course, he would need to keep both of his marks from escaping. Bellatrix; she liked her games. She liked the thrill of a fight, the thrill of the hunt. Could he use that against her? Would it work?
"Don't joke around, Harry," Daphne warned him with a worried look. "They're dangerous. They're powerful. You'd..." She hesitated before finishing in a softer tone, "You could get hurt. It's not worth it, Harry."
"Worried about me?" he joked, but in his mind, he still toyed with the thought. If he went after Malfoy first, lured Bellatrix to him... but there could be others who'd escape. Malfoy Manor was big enough to house an army, so maybe it was one of their strongholds.
"Yes," she murmured, drawing him out of his thoughts. Louder, she repeated, "Yes, Harry. They're dangerous. Running in and getting yourself killed won't achieve anything. And... Harry, I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose any of my friends or family." After a moment, she seemed to have realized the ambiguity of her words and added hastily, "We're friends, aren't we?"
Harry took a moment to watch her carefully, but decided against teasing her. "Friends? Well, yes, I suppose you could call it that," he replied. Guessing by the twitch of her lips, she seemed to have picked up on his thoughts, but when she didn't speak up, Harry added, "Both Lucius and Bellatrix might indeed be a risk right now."
Blinking, Daphne wondered, "Lucius? Bellatrix?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, there are a number of Malfoys and Lestranges, aren't there? You know whom I meant. But back to topic, it probably wouldn't work anyway. One of them could get away. Can't have that, can we?"
"Well, at least we can agree on that," she asked him with a pained smile. "Small steps, Harry. You don't have to take them out in one evening. There's always tomorrow, isn't there?"
"True," he laughed. A moment later, he shrugged, adding, "And he might be living with the Malfoys as well. That's one fight I'd rather have on my terms and turf."
"He? The... the Dark Lord?" He could hear her uncertainty and renewed worry in her voice. "You think he's living there?"
"I wouldn't call it living," Harry mused. "And I did say he might be there, but it's a good guess, actually. Riddle does like his grandeur. It makes him feel more important. He wants to appear as more than he is." After a shrug, Harry continued, "Well, no, he does have some noble ancestry, I guess, but it doesn't really matter. The point is, the Malfoys are rich, own a manor large enough to house an army and several rooms to function as an audience chamber, I'm sure. It's a decent base for him to welcome his followers. Apart from that, the Malfoys have that petty streak of caring for each other; without watching, they might do something stupid, like betraying their master to save themselves."
"The Malfoys? Betray him? I seriously doubt it." Daphne shook her head. "Right now, he offers them a lot of power and wealth, doesn't he? They primarily look for the greatest profit; that's why they hadn't bought out of the contract years ago – haggling instead of acting. Working alongside the Dark Lord? Lots of gold, lots of power, little to no resistance. As long as they don't betray him, they aren't in any real danger. As long as they aren't in danger, they have no reason to save themselves and no reason to betray him." Laughing, she added, "But what you said about their home does sound right. Now I'm doubly glad I didn't marry Malfoy. With them so close to the Dark Lord, he'd be almost an honorary in-law."
Harry nodded, scratching his chin. "Hn, thanks for that thought. Riddle, the grandfather-in-law."
"Grandfather?" Daphne laughed.
"Well, yes," Harry told her, "He's seventy-one now. Or thirty months, if you count his current body."
She blinked. "I... how do you know that?"
"He's made it his mission to kill me. I made it mine to know as much as I can about him." Harry shrugged. "The more I know, the better I can fight him."
"His age? What, do you plan to send him a birthday card or what?"
"You know," he said with a thoughtful look, "I can actually see him coming over for Christmas, knitted sweater and all. 'How are the children? Fine? Ah, I got myself a cat.' Well, he'd have a snake, more likely, but..."
"Could we... could we not talk about that? I might dream about that otherwise, and that's the last thing I need."
Harry nodded, schooling his features. "How are you doing with your Occlumency?"
"I'm... getting there. It's complicated. Well," she smiled, "you know that, of course. But I think I'm making progress. I... Cat, you said. Have you ever tried disentangling a ball of yarn?"
"Not really, but I think I know what you mean."
"Well, good. It's like that, I feel. It's there; I'm sorting through the stuff that's... I'm trying with the Organized Mind. Maybe it'll work. If it does, I'll have a chance at that dream controlling." He almost missed the hopeful note in her voice.
In the following silence, Harry wondered whether he should ask her about her nightmares. She hadn't mentioned them for a while, and he had hoped they would be gone since she had talked with her friends at Hogwarts, but wasn't sure. Looking closer at her, he thought he saw something in her eyes – like a passing cloud, maybe, that dimmed the light.
"A month or two," Daphne guessed, "then I should have it down. Why?"
"Well, what good is knowing spells if the enemy can read your mind? If Bellatrix learned Legilimency, then it's likely Draco tried to as well."
"It'd be like him, yes, we've been over that already. I'm working on it, all right? But yes, that's another reason for wanting to learn it. I don't like the idea of someone rummaging around in my head or pulling my plans out of it." She glanced around the table. "Anyway, I don't want to see books right now. You?"
"Not really, no," he admitted, getting up and putting some of the books away by hand. Ever since he had had one tome explode and scorch the table, he had been careful with magic around tomes from the library. Trust the Blacks to own books infused with volatile magic.
"Not long until dinner," she spoke up. "How about a duel after that?"
"So eager to lose?" he chuckled.
"Pah! One day, it'll be you one the ground, mark my words," she warned him without any real edge in her voice. "And then it'll be me who's laughing."
"One day? Maybe," he told her. "When we're old and grey and you've tripped me. Maybe then." It was true, he mused. He had both decades of experience and the body and reactions of a skilled Seeker. The thought made him itch for a fight to test his strength. A real fight, a real challenge.
"We'll see," she replied, stepping up to Harry with some books of her own she put away. In the quiet, private room, he thought he could hear her breathing. It reminded him of their time in his room, of being close to her – of kissing her. "Dinner's first," Daphne told him.
"Waiting for dinner, technically," Harry pointed out, glancing at her with a smile.
She had noticed his look. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly; sorting away her books, she hummed. "Well," she spoke up after a moment, and Harry watched her lips form the words, "I'm sure we can come up with something to pass the time." The way she had said it had almost seemed like a kiss.
Their eyes met, and she answered his smile with an impish one of her own. "Unless you miss the audience, of course," she added, glancing around the room.
"I guess I can do without for now," he chuckled, stepping closer.
They kissed, softly at first, savouring the first taste. His hands found their way to her waist; hers came to rest on his shoulder and in his hair, mussing it up. He doubted anyone would see the difference, but he didn't care either way. If he wanted to kiss his wife, then it was no one's business but theirs. It fit, they fit as well, and he wondered why he had only realized it months after their wedding.
No real surprise there. I had half a mind letting Hermione wait for another chapter or two, but it shouldn't make that much of a difference.
