Posted 11/12/2014

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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-Seven - Ron and Daphne

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Peter pushed the door open, careful to keep his hands from his pockets. He may have done foolish things in the past, but he wasn't such a fool that he would have his hands anywhere near his wand when the Dark Lord was rightfully incensed.

"Wormtail," came the hissed greeting from the throne. Peter pushed down the feeling of annoyance at the use of the name. Others were greeted with their proper name; Peter was greeted with an old shame and mocked for his past.

"My Lord," he replied, careful to keep his eyes on the ground.

"Did you finish what I asked of you?" the Dark Lord asked, and Peter shivered, imagining the glare directed at him.

"My Lord, I did," Peter answered. Feeling slightly daring, he added, "It was very difficult, my Lord, but..."

Pain shot through him, and his knees buckled as he was put under the torture curse. It was over after only a few moments, and as Peter struggled to his feet, a small part of him clung to the thought that it would one day be worth it. The Dark Lord's torture wasn't that uncommon, but Peter had at least reminded his master that he had indeed performed a great feat. The torture would be in the past, but maybe the Dark Lord would remember his skilled follower Peter, the one who could do any job he was given.

"I didn't ask for your petty excuses," the Dark Lord told Peter.

"I brewed the potions, my Lord," Peter said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Another cauldron is already halfway done."

The silence tempted Peter to look up, but he knew better. It had to be a test, to see whether Peter was a fool to act upon his curiosity or not. Everything was a test of sorts as of late, Peter felt.

"Very well," the Dark Lord. "Deliver a bottle of your brew to Bellatrix. While you're at it, tell her I wish to speak with her."

"As you wish, my Lord," Peter replied, bowing a bit more. Only one torture meant he had done well so far, and he wasn't about to push his luck any more.

Once he had left the room, he straightened up, smiling slightly. He knew he had done a good job. He knew he had proven his worth once more. He hadn't been lying; the potion was ridiculously complicated for anyone without a master's degree. The Dark Lord had others in his service that would have been a better choice, but he had given the task to Peter.

He started towards the cellar, where he knew Bellatrix would be.

Other might have wondered about the choice, but Peter had understood. It had been a test and a punishment in one. To be given an incredibly difficult task by a master who was prone to violent outbursts should have been a punishment, of course; Peter wasn't like most people. Peter was a rat.

When he had become an Animagus, James and Sirius had laughed at him. A rat, they had jeered, a pest to those around him. They had found it funny. But they had been fools, Peter knew. The Animagus form wasn't just another form of the same person, but a reflection of the inner self and matching the traits of the respective animal. Sirius had always been loyal and obedient, so he had become a tame beast, content with silly games. James had always been proud and arrogant, looking down on others. Just like the did as a human, he did as an animal – arrogantly strutting around, head held high. McGonagall's inquisitive nature had found its match in a cat's curiosity. But Peter, he had become a rat. A pest, Sirius and James had called him in jest, but Peter had understood the truth. Rats adapted. Rats built nests wherever they could, yes, and they were a problem for humans, but mostly because they were too smart to fall for simple traps. Rats learned from mistakes and adapted to new situations. Rats hid, and rats were fairly intelligent. Rats had a sense of self-preservation and were survivors.

Yes, Peter thought with a smile, descending the stairs, he had understood why the rat was his match. All through school, people had seen him as slightly dim, and he hadn't corrected their misconceptions. It had meant James and Sirius doing more of the actual work. It had meant an easier time coming and going in their shadow. With James or Sirius around, they drew everyone's eye, allowing Peter to act unnoticed – pulling pranks, sneaking glances at other's homework. And like a rat, Peter had a knack for surviving. He knew how to escape tight spots, knew when to make a run. And he adapted like few others. He had become an Animagus – difficult magic for sure, and even if he had needed help, he had done it. When confronted by Sirius after James' death, he had managed a powerful blasting curse without even looking. Twelve people had died, yet Peter had gotten little more than a bruise. And when he had found the Dark Lord, he had brewed the potions for his master. Difficult potions, even; he had done it without fail or flaw. Even the regeneration potion had been his work, and he had done that on his first try. And now, he had brewed a decent enough relief potion for long-term Dementor victims – highly restricted, mindbogglingly complicated, and Peter had done it. Yes, he was a rat – an intelligent, sneaky survivor with a talent for adapting to new situations.

With a nod in greeting, he passed Yaxley who was levitating an unconscious or dead Elmsley from one of the cells.

"Wormtail," Yaxley spoke up, "take this one out when you're done."

"Nothing?" Peter asked, glancing at Elmsley.

"He knew nothing of worth," Yaxley grunted. "What have they been doing in the Ministry, I wonder? What's the use of giving them all of that power if they don't do anything with it?"

Peter kept from commenting and continued on his way. He found Bellatrix exactly where he expected her to be.

"Look who's come to this hole in the ground," she sang. "Crawling, crawling. Trip, trip, trip, on his little feet."

"Master sent me," Peter replied, "one, to deliver a potion he wants you to take."

"Obedient little rat," Bellatrix mocked. "He's the Dark Lord's delivery boy now. Do you like your newest task?"

Raising an eyebrow, Peter watched her for a moment. "If the Dark Lord asked you to do something seemingly insignificant for him, you wouldn't do it?"

She jumped to her feet, wand slipping into her hand. "I would do anything the Dark Lord wished of me! I am his most loyal follower!"

"So if he asked you – personally and in a private talk even – to deliver a potion for him..." Peter asked with a smirk, seeing her indignation.

"I would happily do anything the Dark Lord asked of me!" she exclaimed with wide eyes.

"Well, he sent me to deliver a potion to you," Peter reiterated, holding out a bottle he had pulled from his pocket. "One he wants you to drink, by the way, and he will probably ask the next time you see him."

She snatched the offered potion and gulped it down, shivering at the foul taste.

Peter took the opportunity to look at the third person in the cell. Wilcox was sitting on the ground, gazing with empty eyes at a piece of old and maggot-ridden bread nearby; chained to the wall with one hand as Wilcox was, the bread was just out of reach by inches.

"She's not eating," Bellatrix commented, adding to Wilcox in a mockery of a motherly tone, "Not healthy, that is. You should eat, dear, you really should." To Peter, she continued in as much of a conversational voice as she could muster, "I really do want to do something with her, but what? I didn't dare destroy the Dark Lord's work. Not for me to play with her, not for me to play with the Dark Lord's toys. He doesn't like sharing. But isn't she beautiful? Isn't she a work of art?" Crouching down, Bellatrix turned Wilcox's face upwards for Peter to see. "Something to put on display, I said. Didn't I?" Bellatrix added to the girl, making her nod like a puppet. "But Rodolphus, he said no."

Watching the display, Peter couldn't help the bit of grim satisfaction at seeing the girl who had almost killed him be reduced to an empty shell. Revenge on those who had slighted him was one of the rewards Peter had gotten from time to time in the Dark Lord's service, but he knew better than to enjoy the moment for too long, least of all in the presence of Bellatrix.

"Right," Peter said, trying to brush the feeling aside, "I was also sent to deliver a message. The Dark Lord requests your presence."

Bellatrix jumped to her feet once more. "And you didn't tell me immediately? You let me waste precious moments?"

Peter kept from pointing out that she had gotten distracted all by herself, and after a tense moment, Bellatrix stormed from the room. In the silence that followed, Peter walked over to Wilcox and crouched down in front of her. Much like Bellatrix had done before, he lifted the girl's head to make her look at him. No sign of recognition or fight was there.

With a chuckle, Peter left.


Harry woke up feeling restless. He had spent the last day drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep and felt considerably better, but at the same time, he also knew he didn't want to stay put for any amount of time. Harry had disliked spending time in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, yet with the war resting on his shoulders, every moment he didn't do something seemed wasted somehow. It certainly didn't help that he was alone with his thoughts. What was going on outside? Had the Ministry found anything of note? Maybe his failed mission had bolstered the Death Eaters' courage?

Since he couldn't work on his practical skills, he spent hours going over Voldemort's memories. On the upside, it meant learning the secrets of his enemy faster; on the downside, Harry had also reached the point where Voldemort had focused on his campaign. While it did mean more experience in combat and the occasional spell, it also meant more bloodshed, more pain and suffering at his hands. It meant more memories of delightful cruelty. It meant more of the sick sense of accomplishment each time yet another enemy had been killed.

His revisions of Voldemort's memories and the similarities to his attack on the Notts also made it more difficult to block out the doubt and guilt. So far, Harry had stuck to targeting his enemies. Macnair had been a Death Eater and ruthless killer; the world was probably better off without him. Szarka had been corrupt, doing whatever served him most. He had sold his soul and had to pay the price for it, Harry could reason. Mr. Nott had been a strategically sound target with his ties to both Death Eaters and Snatchers. That thug had been a risk; not a nice thought, but that was how fights worked. Even Mrs. Nott might have been reasonable. But the pudgy girl's death had been different. He had killed an innocent without much hesitation. He'd been quick about it, and it reminded him of Voldemort. Yes, Riddle would have acted the same way. He hadn't even considered other possibilities. Killing her, wiping her mind, both would have been equally easy. The old Harry would have wiped her mind, he felt. On the other hand, Tom would have killed her. So how much had his decision been Tom?

Deciding to think about it later, Harry returned to the job of integrating the memories of a Riddle in his forties. Soon, he'd be done with that tedious work, but part of him wondered whether he shouldn't let it rest altogether. What had he gained from them over the last weeks? Riddle hadn't learned much magic in the later parts of his life, and many of his projects had been too limited in their uses to take much from them. Maybe it really was time to start the planning and preparations for the counter-offensive. Or the final battle? If they arranged a counter-offensive, wouldn't that just warn Voldemort that trouble was brewing?

After promising a frantic Hermione he would be very careful with his arm and certainly not strain himself, would only read or eat for the rest of the day – reading apparently wasn't inadvisable in any situation in her eyes – he was allowed to leave the makeshift infirmary shortly after four in the afternoon. It left Ron slightly unsure of what to do. Visiting a sick friend about every hour was suspicious, but believable. But with Harry up, Ron had trouble finding reasons to follow Harry around. In the end, Hermione took it upon herself to drag the redhead away to an impromptu lesson in the potions lab.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't find Daphne. The training room was empty, the library had a few books on healing spells and potions lying open, but no one around. With little to do until dinner, Harry finally settled on some light reading to keep his mind occupied.

Dinner was a surprisingly lively affair for once. Kreacher had outdone himself and cooked an excellent three-course meal. From the looks of it, he had also spent some time cleaning the kitchen, and if he looked hard enough, Harry could almost see the former glory of the Blacks shining through. Even Kreacher himself seemed to have changed for the better; he stood straighter, he grumbled less, and the rag he wore seemed cleaner.

Seeing Harry recovering well, Ron had found his humour again, and while he and Hermione paid attention to stay away from sensitive information, their plans for the war, and any heavier subjects for the time being, they didn't throw Daphne as many dark looks as before. Hermione even made it a point to talk to their guest about her preparation and training. After months of hostility and a tentative truce, Harry was happy to see at least one of his best friends made an effort to include Daphne even if neither girl had forgotten about the past conflicts.

"I'll go out tomorrow," Hermione told him after the treacle tart. "We're running low on Muggle food and supplies, so if you need anything..."

"Ah, no, should be fine, right?" Harry replied, shrugging. "Anything in the Daily Prophet as of late? Anything about...?"

"No," Hermione interrupted with a sigh. "They're spreading the same old lies. There was a report about the absolutely tragic Dementor attacks in the Muggle world, and everyone is urged to report any attacks they hear about."

Harry chuckled. "I'm guessing it's not about protecting them."

"Well, averting the tragedy is of course top priority. Or so they claim. I'm guessing they just want to be the first on the scene."

"To hide evidence, yeah," Harry agreed. "Sounds more like them, I guess. Ever wonder what it'd be like with a government actually doing its job and protecting the citizens? Crouch didn't bother with trials, Fudge was too busy taking bribes, Scrimgeour couldn't stop the rising evil..."

"And now they're more concerned with not taking responsibility or protecting those in need," Ron finished. "Mind you, there's probably little they can do. The Dementors are out there, after all, and they're doing what they do best, I figure."

"If you'll excuse me," Daphne spoke up, walking to the door, "the last night was a bit short. Thanks for that, Granger," she added with a smile.

"G'night," Harry called after her, but she was already gone.

"Odd girl," Ron grumbled. "Dunno why you bother, really." He lifted a hand to stop Harry from replying. "Friends, yeah, I remember. I can't understand why, and it's more than just odd, but..." He scratched his head. "If it were me, I'd be happy to stay well away from someone who tried to attack me."

"So many people are after my hide," Harry joked, "I can't really be expected to keep track of them all, can I? Or hold grudges over past disagreements? Forgive and move on, I'd say." More seriously, he added, "But really, I have enough on my platter, I don't need to cling to something so minor."

Hermione bit her lip, struggling with herself. "You know, Harry," she spoke up, "I think there's something off about her." She looked nervous. "Granted, I'm not her friend, so I don't know her that well and I can't put my finger on it, but..."

"So you agree, then?" Ron interrupted. "She's odd, isn't she?"

"If there is something there, it wouldn't be our business until she wanted to tell us," Harry declared, cutting off their comments. "Well, unless she wanted to tell us or it affected us, technically, but apart from that..."

His friends shared a look. Ah, he thought, it seemed they weren't quite convinced yet. He could see them huddling somewhere worrying about that Slytherin in their... well, not midst, technically. More in their side. But he found he didn't agree with them. He had a few ideas just what might trouble Ron and Hermione.

Ron was easy to figure out; to him Daphne was a Slytherin first and a human with her own personality second. Hermione might have outgrown the stereotypes, but to Ron, Slytherin was the house of the evil students, Hufflepuffs good-natured, Ravenclaws bookish, and Gryffindors the courageous. While most stereotypes contained a bit of truth – in the case of the houses, mostly because of the expectations placed upon the students, causing them to act according to the role they were meant to fill – people tended to be more complicated than that. After getting to know her and gaining a unique insight into the mind of a dark lord, it was obvious to him that very few of the Slytherins they had gone to school with were destined to turn bad. Greengrass had potential to be an upstanding citizen. Bulstrode and Davis fought against the oppression despite the risks. Maybe one day Ron would stop seeing things so black and white. Or maybe all he needed was a wake-up call to realize people could think and act for themselves.

As for Hermione, Harry had a feeling she had noticed some of the issues Daphne had tried to hide before. Hermione was quite perceptive when she wanted to be – as long as it didn't contradict her own opinion. She'd noticed something was off about him in the past, and he wouldn't put it past her to catch a glimpse of the Daphne Harry had seen shine through occasionally. If so, it would explain a lot about Hermione's change in attitude.

"I trust Daphne," Harry reminded them, "and as such, I also respect her privacy. She's been staying here for a while now, yet nothing bad," he added at the last second, but continued without pause, "happened."

Yes, he could hide behind a half-truth again. To say nothing had happened would have been a lie. But to state nothing bad had happened relied on his judgement. While they had had a major disagreement, they had been able to sort it out and get a better understanding of each other – not a bad thing. He'd been able to offer her help – not a bad thing, assuming it had worked. She was starting to come around and had become a tentative supporter of his side – not a bad thing as such. And yes, over the last weeks, they had grown even closer and had become... whatever they were. A couple? Harry wondered about that. They were married, yes, but were they a couple? He guessed they were, even if they hadn't spoken about it yet. But whatever they were, it was not a bad thing either. And then there were the kisses. He he, no, not bad in any sense of the word. But he still didn't quite know what to call them. Friends? A couple? Lovers? Or were they still? Had his recent brush with death changed their relationship? And if he didn't really understand it, how could Hermione and Ron? No, he'd tell them when he knew himself. Maybe. Did it matter to them? Wasn't his love life more on a need-to-know basis? He certainly wanted it for himself – a secret between Daphne and him. But more than that, he wasn't entirely sure whether Daphne would want Hermione or Ron to know.

"Or nothing truly unforgivable, at least," he said with a raised voice when Ron was about to speak up. "I've indicated as much already when I said that I trust her. I'm not sure what you refer to, Hermione," not a lie, he told himself, since he could think of more than one reason for her suspicion, "but for the sake of argument, let's assume there is something off, as you called it. As long as it doesn't threaten our safety, I don't think you should concern yourself with it. There's something off about Dung – he's a crook few people can stand. He has his uses, however, which is why he's tolerated and not bugged into telling. There's something off about Lupin – he's a werewolf, but he's also an upstanding man who does fight for our side. There's something off about Snape – he's... well, he's too many things to count them all, but as long as he's not causing any trouble for us, I'm perfectly fine letting him be. There's something off about the twins – they're always planning something, and I'm probably better off not knowing what they do so I have plausible deniability. There's something off about me." He tapped his head, raising an eyebrow.

"Not our business if she's hiding something, you say?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Unless it affects us," Harry reminded her, "or she decides to tell us. Everyone's got some secret. It's part of life, and we don't need to know everything. Maybe she's got webbed toes or something similarly silly. Remember Seamus when he... you know?" he said in a meaningful tone to a chuckling Ron. "See? It took us weeks to get it out of him, Neville's suspicions were driving us up the walls, and whatever for?"

"Thank Merlin Dean's his friend. Well, fine," Ron admitted, "maybe it's nothing."

"I don't know," Hermione spoke up with a frown. "What if it is important? What if it does affect us? She might not realize it, but that doesn't mean there's nothing there."

Harry sighed, pursing his lips. "If it is important, then it is. If it affects us, then it does. But prying into her business? It cost me weeks to gain her trust, do you think it'd be wise to gamble it away just to satisfy our curiosity? I don't think forcing her to tell us will achieve anything good. No offence, but if she'd tell anyone, I guess I'd be me."

"Because she trusts you?" Ron asked, pursing his lips.

"Something like that, yes. I think I've managed to get her to open up to me. Either she tells me and I'll know whether it's something to worry about or she doesn't tell me, then neither of you will have much of a chance getting it out of her. It's that simple."

"And if she did tell you, you wouldn't tell us unless she gave you permission or it really did affect us?" Hermione guessed. "So she might already have told you, and you'd keep it secret from us."

"She might have. I might," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. Did they have to make it more complicated than necessary? "Or she might not have; and I might not and never will. If I did know, I'd still try to protect her secrets. That was the deal, and I don't intend to go back on my word. But pushing her to tell us? That didn't work so well the last time we tried."

"Fine," Hermione sighed. "As long as you make sure she won't cause us any problems."

"Thank you," Harry told her with a small nod.

"I still don't have to like her or anything, do I?" Ron asked.

"It would make things easier," Harry admitted, "but I can't and for the moment won't force you to like each other. Just be civil."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron sighed, leaning back. "I get it. 'Play nice.' I mean, I know I shouldn't hold that marriage mess against her. You didn't choose to marry each other, so I kept quiet. I know how little you like to be pitied." Harry wondered why his friend thought he would have deserved pity. He certainly didn't feel pitiful due to his marriage with Daphne. In a way, it might have even been a strange stroke of luck, much like a back-handed compliment.

"But," Ron continued, "that's one thing. So you had to marry her. Fine. Well, not fine, but... Anyway, your friendship with her is..." He hesitated.

"Odd?" Harry guessed with a roll of his eyes. "One day you'll realize not everyone is how you expect them to be."

"You could just find her a safe house for the rest of the war, and once that's done, well, wait until the time's up," Ron pointed out. "Stay out of each other's way. Wasn't that the plan? Both of you living your lives without bothering the other? You could... No, you should think about living your life. Maybe date some girl."

"I'd still be married, though," Harry reminded him.

"That's just a farce," Ron said with a dismissive wave. "Doesn't matter, does it? And once this... thing with Greengrass is done, you split, and that's it then. You've got nothing in common. Nothing but that matter with the contract, I mean. But now you're friends, and she's so..." He caught Harry's challenging look and finished half-heartedly, "well, odd."

"Almost all of my friends are somewhat odd," Harry said, careful to keep from grinning, "which may be why I like them in the first place. It's called personality, Ron."

"Well, personality or not," Hermione spoke up with a lop-sided smile, "she hasn't really endeared herself, has she? The best I can say about her right now is that she helped me getting into the library in hopes of helping you. I'm willing to believe you're friend, but that doesn't make her friendly. She seems so reserved; granted, by far not as aggressive, but other than that... It's a bit difficult to get a reading on her, that's all, and I wouldn't be surprised if she knew Occlumency. On the other hand, she also used you for the contract business, so you can't say she hasn't been thinking of herself."

"Wait," Ron interrupted, sitting straighter. "How could she use Harry for the contract business? They stumbled into it. She didn't know Harry would activate the contract." When no one agreed with him immediately, he gaped at Harry. "You knew it would happen? You knew the contract would activate? You... you... how could you do that?"

Harry pinched his nose. "Thanks for letting that slip, Hermione."

Paling, she shrugged. "I thought he knew by now. 'Nothing but that matter with the contract,' Harry. I thought you'd have told him some time. Sorry."

"You knew about that?" Ron spat with an accusing glare in her direction. "Keeping secrets from me?"

"She realized it when all was said and done," Harry replied. "I asked her not to talk about it seeing as how it wasn't a secret for my benefit alone, but more for Daphne's safety. As for knowing beforehand, I intentionally activated the contract. I knew the contract would activate before I went to Gringotts, but I was one of the very few who did. If Malfoy had learned that we had arranged to get Daphne away from him, it would have put her in the very danger she tried to avoid. This marriage was meant to keep her safe and out of the Death Eater's reach. It was my choice to go along with it, and I don't regret it. There's nothing wrong with helping someone, right?"

"I... no, nothing wrong," Ron admitted, "but you gave us a nasty shock when that letter arrived! You broke Ginny's heart; Mum almost died of shock! Why, Harry? That was really mean! Don't you trust us?"

"With Legilimency around?" Harry chuckled. "There's a lot I'd trust you with, but asking your family to play along with it and act convincingly? For months or even years? To never reveal it to anyone? To never fall into the hands of anyone who might search their mind and won't hesitate to reveal it to the public? Because it has to remain a secret even after the war. What would happen if it became public knowledge that I conspired with Daphne? All it takes is one idiot who thinks there's a deeper meaning to make her a target. And again, it wasn't for my sake. I can weather any bad press or attacks. Daphne? Not so much."

"I... fine," Ron admitted. "I don't like it one bit, though. That was really mean, but how could you do it? How were you able to make the contract activate? It's not really a decision you can make."

"Ah," Harry interrupted. "Well, Greengrass knew about a marriage to a Black. She didn't want Malfoy and thought he might put her in danger, but originally, he was the only candidate. After Sirius' death, I became the second candidate, and with a bit of careful timing, I managed to steal Malfoy's bride-to-be right under his nose. By signing any contract after Daphne's, but before Draco's birthday, I had the power to activate the contract. For some reason, she thought she'd be better off and safer with me as the contracted partner."

"But why would you agree to that? Seven years, Harry! Seven years of being married to... her!" It spoke volumes that Ron couldn't think of a better description for Daphne. "Seven years of being tied to a Slytherin! Think of all the girls you miss out on because of that!" Ron missed the glare Hermione sent him and continued, "That's seven years wasted in your search for the love of your life!"

Harry fought down the laugh that threatened to burst out. "A Slytherin? Really, Ron? Let's ignore what you said about Daphne or me for a second. In general, there is nothing wrong with Slytherins. Cunning is not an inherently bad trait, and resourcefulness is actually a very useful attribute. They are also known for their pragmatism. It's what Slughorn said, way back in Tom's first year. And it's something the Hat agrees with, I think, as those were the traits he also recommended in me, as well as something we've been using over the past weeks for my attacks. Slytherins have a bad reputation, but they aren't inherently evil."

"They're self-serving," Ron tried.

"They may very well be self-serving," Harry admitted. "But that doesn't make them evil. However, by treating them as if they're by and large destined to turn dark, they're limited in their options to be anything but dark."

"You're talking about expectations forming the behaviour," Hermione spoke up, nodding slowly.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Regulus Black was a Slytherin, yet he came to his senses. The locket, remember? Slughorn may be self-serving, but he's hardly evil or he'd have ended up in politics instead of teaching, which is the lesser evil in this case. Bulstrode and Davis are currently risking their safety fighting on our side. Like I said, in general, there's nothing wrong with Slytherins. Each of them is an individual with choices to make. By expecting Slytherins to turn out bad and treating them accordingly, though, it's considerably more difficult for them to join the light."

"And Greengrass?" Ron tried. "You didn't say anything about her."

Harry straightened in his seat, feeling on edge. Should he simply tell his friends about Daphne and him? And what, since he wasn't quite sure just what they were to each other now. Spouses? Boyfriend and girlfriend? "About Daphne. I'm aware she hasn't been open and friendly to you, but that's not true for me. I got to know her better and..." He hesitated before continuing with a shrug, "Well, seven years being married to her might seem like a loss to you, but it depends on the perspective. Until the war is won, I won't really start looking for love or anything, so I won't really lose anything until the end of the war. And I think I can come to some sort of arrangement with Daphne so we'll both have some love life and I won't have to miss out on dating." Harry allowed himself a small smile, feeling confident he could indeed find some solution both would agree to. "If necessary, Daphne can be my date for whatever ceremonies I'll have to endure after my victory over You-Know-Who. Better than some random girl trying to snatch the Boy-Who-Lived. Actually," Harry mused, scratching his chin, "respecting the marriage traditions – appearing in public and the like, I mean – might just be a blessing in the long run, showing the traditionalists that I don't rigorously oppose everything they stand for. Something to show them I don't have to be their enemy. Hm. Might be worth discussing with Daphne."

Ron blinked rapidly, as if he hadn't thought about that. Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"But anyway," Harry continued, "those aren't seven years lost, but seven years won to find myself. Finding the love of my life right out of school is bound to fail."

"Mum and Dad did," Ron interjected. "Bill and Fleur as well."

Harry resisted the urge to point out that Bill and Fleur hadn't known each other for more than two years before they tied the knot, and similarly hadn't been married for more than a year; calling it the love of their life might be a bit early.

"Neither of them is Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Chosen One, desired by girls since before they could walk. I am. As for missing out on girls due to the marriage... Well, I'll survive. A bit of time to find myself after the war might be nice. And that's not counting that once I've won this war, a lot of girls might want to use me and my fame – nipping that in the bud by not being 'on the market' might be a good idea."

"That could also be true about Greengrass," Hermione pointed out. "She did enter the contract because you were useful to her. Even if she might not have made that deal with you with that intention, she might still look for other uses for you or your fame. I'm not saying she does, but she might manipulate you."

He turned towards her. "I'm well aware of that possibility. If she wants to leech off of my fame, then so be it. I don't care about that, and if she offers me a few years of quiet marriage without any unsavoury rumours, then it sounds like a good deal. It might help avoid any scandals of the Boy-Who-Lived's love life, and let's be honest here – once the war is over, that'll be prime gossip material. But unlike you, I had the chance to get to know her. I didn't get the impression that she is truly unkind or overly bigoted. Certainly nothing I wouldn't have to deal with from other purebloods. I consider her reasonably friendly – if a bit reserved – and intelligent."

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips. "So you've thought about it, then."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I had to get close to her and get to know her. I've spent over a month talking to her. Yes, Hermione, I have thought about it. I have gained her trust, I hope, enough so that she doesn't see me as a threat or inconvenience and instead an opportunity and a friend. In return, I have come to trust her. I know she's currently learning Occlumency – in fact, I gave her Smith's book."

Ron gaped once more, Hermione blinked in surprise.

Harry shrugged. "I need her to be able to protect our secrets or all this building of trust is for naught if the first enemy to face her can just rip them out of her head. If she learns to protect her own secrets in the process, then so be it. You know I don't agree with the Ministry's ban anyway."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "You... err... you gave her the book?"

"It is mine to lend. I saw an opportunity to earn her trust."

"Well, that's true," Hermione conceded. "Yes, it's yours, I just found it odd for you to simply lend it to her. You were rather careful with it all through last year. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised – you did show her the library, and there are far worse books there, right?"

"Probably," Harry agreed. "I don't make a habit out of ranking them according to the possible danger they pose to us."

"Well, you being friends does explain a lot," she added. "The looks and those small gestures and the kindness towards her, they've gotten more common. At first I thought there might have been something between you – you know, an attraction neither wanted to admit to. I mean," Hermione chuckled, "despite the history with the contract and its activation – a farce, nothing more – it's not impossible. The heart wants what it wants, you know?" Ron grumbled, but he didn't speak up. "On the other hand, I couldn't ignore the possibility of her being a honey trap to lure you away. But since you're just friends, you were probably just having us on, right?"

"Eh," Harry compromised, smiling. "Well, she's no honey trap as far as I can tell, but if she were, I'd..." Her glare stopped him from finishing the sentence. He shrugged. "No honey trap, no. As for Daphne and me falling for each other? Stranger things have happened, especially around me. Surviving the Killing Curse? What about all those strange catches on the field? And ignoring that Daphne is my friend, she seems to have a decent mind and is not an eyesore either."

Ron seemed torn between disagreeing – he was still within arm's length of Hermione and Daphne a Slytherin – and agreeing with the train of thought. "Still a scheming Slytherin," he grumbled in the end.

Hermione's eye narrowed further, whether because of suspicions of Ron's struggle or Harry's veiled admission of a relationship with Daphne, Harry wasn't sure.

He shrugged. "Well, there are worse things to be. I'd count myself lucky if she... Well, not girlfriend, I guess." He scratched his chin. If she became his wife for real? That seemed like too big of a step. He really should talk to Daphne about what they were now. For now, all he could do was give his side of the story. "'The heart wants what it wants?' Well, that may be true. I've come to like her."

Ron was stunned speechless while Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's an odd choice, you know?" she said after a moment of surprise.

"An odd choice? Not really. It's not like you choose whom you like or dislike, it just happens. I do think we agree she's a step up from what Cho ended up as." When Hermione was about to speak up, he raised his uninjured hand to stop her. "And I didn't mean to judge Cho for anything that happened, I was merely stating a fact. With her being hung up about Cedric, she wasn't ready for any kind of meaningful relationship, which in turn means it couldn't really have worked out with her. As far as I can see, Daphne can be nice. We get along well. She's just a very private person, which is why she had such trouble fitting in around here and also something I'm trying to respect." Harry shrugged. "Cho? Pretty, but not a good match for me, I think. I learned my lesson, Hermione. I don't think I'll rush into any relationship anytime soon." It was no lie, he told himself. He hadn't said anything about the past, after all, and he couldn't really rush into a relationship he was already in.

With a chuckle, Hermione sent him an amused look. "Well, on behalf of most of the girls in the world, I apologize for the trouble Cho caused you." Sighing, she added, "I just don't want to see you getting hurt."

"Wait," Ron spoke up, narrowing his eyes. "When you say 'like'..."

"I mean just that," Harry interrupted. "I like her; that's all there is to it, really. She's nice – to me, at least." Chuckling, he added, "And her nose is even dead centre. Isn't that just great?"

Disbelievingly, Ron shook his head. "You're having me on, right? Greengrass? Of all the girls in the world..."

"She is one, yes," Harry interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "You're acting as if there's only one possible match for everyone – one true love or something, and everyone else is completely unsuitable. The heart wants what it wants, right?"

"Well... yes, true, but..." Ron tried. From the tensing of his features, Harry guessed his friend made an effort to not look at Hermione when he said it.

"Oh, give it a rest," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What does it matter? It's not like he chose... Well, it's not really the same as the business with the contract, at least." To Harry, she added, "Just don't do anything stupid."

"What," Ron snorted, "you mean, like proposing? That's how she ended up here, isn't it?"

"Actually," Harry spoke up, frowning, "she did. It was her idea, so..."

"You know what I meant," Hermione interrupted, glaring at both of her friends.

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry replied with a nod. "Now then, if you don't mind, I'd like to retreat to my room and maybe get a bit of sleep done," he announced.

"Yes, good idea," Hermione told him with a smile and a nod. "If you need anything..."

"I'll call you or have Kreacher fetch it," Harry finished the thought. "I'm a big boy, Hermione, I'll survive one night on my own. Good night, you two."

The way up the stairs proved surprisingly difficult. Although he had been up for less than six hours, the fatigue the healing had brought with it came crashing down on him. Maybe the injury really did take a lot of strength, he mused, and as if it had noticed his thoughts, the arm started itching again. At least the Splinching had been dealt with.

"Ah, the young one returns from the field of battle," Phineas Nigellus commented. "Any reason why it took you so long?"

"Not now," Harry replied, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Well now, is that any way to talk to your ancestor? All I did was ask a question."

"You're a painting of an obnoxious man who died decades ago," Harry reasoned. "Why would it matter to you where I was or what I did? Didn't you say you only imitated the feelings, but can't feel in truth?"

"Would that make it acceptable to dismiss me? Just because I can't feel doesn't mean you should act without respecting me. How you act tells a lot about yourself," Nigellus said, puffing out his chest.

"What would that tell about you, then?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in question. When the portrait made to leave, Harry added, "Did you want anything from me?"

"Oh, certainly not," Nigellus answered, glaring. "The headmaster on the other hand was quite put out for some reason, and I chose to leave him for the time being. It's better to be here for a while and not having to put up with his complaints and the old headmasters offering advice."

Harry nodded, trudging to his room.

It was mostly how he remembered it, but with one addition. Daphne was there, wrapped in her dressing gown.

"Took you long enough," she scolded lightly.

"It's been a while since I last talked with my friends like that. And it's not like we agreed to meet up or anything, right?" he asked her, chuckling. "And weren't you tired or something?"

She nodded, smiling lightly. Then her face fell, either from seeing his exhaustion or remembering his injuries. "Are you all right? You looked, well, anything but when you came back three days ago, and when we talked yesterday, you seemed rather tired."

He sighed, but forced himself to smile. "The side's healed; the arm... I don't know, but it's only a dull throbbing now, so I guess something is happening. And I was tired yesterday, yes. Still am. Sorry I wasn't as conversational as you're used to."

"Doesn't matter," she waved him off. "I got a lot of work done this way, actually. Even it meant having to deal with Granger and Weasley. That wasn't very nice. I persevered, and they were too busy worrying about you, but it was a bit too much and a bit too sudden, to be honest. It gave me some time to think, though. Harry, there's something I..." She broke off, biting her lip. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. Mostly, I'm just tired. Healing takes strength." With a small glance, he added, "You?"

She snorted. "Honestly? I've been better. That was a rather nasty shock you gave us there. Even Kreacher seemed to be taken aback. That seemed to have freaked out Weasley and Granger, it was as if they'd never expected a house-elf to care about the master."

"Kreacher is rather special about that," Harry pointed out, smiling. "You worked with Hermione, I heard."

"Nothing that noteworthy," she waved him off. "She needed something, I could offer it. But you know, I can't say I'm that happy about all that bleeding to get her into a library. That's something I can do without." She laughed half-heartedly, hesitating. "Harry, I... yesterday, I didn't want to talk about that, not with you still there and recovering or your friends around, but I..." She stopped, looking closer at him. "You know, it can wait until tomorrow. Go on then," she told him. "Sleep; you obviously need it." He didn't comment that she looked as tired as he felt.

He did as he was told. He took off the robe he wore over his pyjamas, careful to not upset his arm. The moment he lay down on the bed, he drifted off into sleep, just barely noticing Greengrass tucking him in.


Oh, I know how much you all just love, love, love these chapters with nothing but talks.