Posted 7/9/2015

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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 Seventy-Two - The One That Got Away

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Pansy strode through the deserted corridors, careful to not look suspicious at all. She was a Prefect, after all; she had every reason and justification to be out and about. Someone had to patrol the corridors, and apart from those directly involved in the patrols, very few students kept track of whose turn it was anyway. To the casual observer, she was just doing her duty, and if anyone asked, she could always say her partner for the night was checking the boys' toilets somewhere or dealing with some miscreant.

For once, the night was quiet. As a matter of fact, the last week had been considerably quieter in general. Professor Pettigrew had been locked out of his office – again. Professor Malfoy had seen her classroom almost ruined by a fire someone had lit that had taken a while to put out for some reason. Finnigan had been put in the hospital wing by a spell no one had been able to identify yet. He'd been the third Prefect in the last two months to get attacked while on patrol.

Turning the corner, Pansy brushed over her school uniform once, adding a slight swagger to her step just in case Draco would suddenly pop up from somewhere and see her. Maybe it would give him some ideas, Pansy thought with a slight grin. It had been far, far too long, and his embrace had usually given her peace of mind. When she was with him, things had been simpler. When she had been with him, it had been a world of Them – Mudbloods and Blood traitors – and Us, the proper witches and wizards. It had been a fight for what Pansy had thought had been right. When she had been with Draco, she had seen it – the world how it should have been. But lately, Pansy felt torn and the world full of muddied half-truths and conflicting priorities.

"Come on," Grant grunted, passing her with his long steps.

Pansy jumped in surprise. She hadn't heard or seen the boy. Could she have been so distracted? Surely not.

Grant walked into the classroom, and Pansy had a sinking feeling. So it wouldn't be a private meeting with Draco in the least.

"Finally," the blond man sighed when she entered. Around him, about a dozen students had gathered, and Pansy wasn't surprised in the least to see Astoria there, even if it pained Pansy to know Daphne's sister had been drawn into the mess. She also wasn't surprised to see many of those who had shown an inclination to join the Dark Lord soon.

Draco nodded towards the door. Pansy closed it obediently.

"Now that we're all here," Draco said, turning to the room as a whole, "it's time to tell you why I asked you to come here. We have work to do tonight." He smiled, his eyes shimmering with joy.

"The Dark Lord –?" Grant asked, standing up, but falling silent after a warning glance from Draco.

"No, this is something else," he told them. "But if you're doing a good enough job tonight, it won't hurt your chances."

Ah, Pansy thought, that would do the trick for sure. Then again, Pansy also picked up that Draco hadn't promised it would help their chances either, just that success wouldn't hurt them. So if it wasn't for the Dark Lord – Pansy was secretly glad it wasn't – then it had to be something to do with the school.

"No," Draco said with a smile, "tonight, we'll take care of an unfinished business. Professor Carrow wants to ask a few students some questions, you see? And we were asked to bring them in."

Instead of in broad daylight, Pansy finished the sentence in her head, immediately knowing who they would go after.

"Longbottom," Draco spoke, lifting a finger. "Weasley. Lovegood. They were in league with Potter in the past. It's obvious they were behind the attacks as of late even if we couldn't catch them doing it. Well, Professor Carrow has enough of it. So here's how we're doing this. Jones," he addressed a sixth-year Hufflepuff with a constant scowl on her face, "you will take Adams and... yes, MacDougal. You four will go to Ravenclaw and apprehend Lovegood."

The four girls he had addressed exchanged glances – Pansy noticed MacDougal looked a bit nervous while Brocklehurst avoided Draco's eye by ducking behind her housemate – and nodded.

"Try not to draw too much attention," Draco reminded them. "Other than that..." He shrugged. "Professor Carrow wants her alive."

Adams grinned cruelly.

"As for the rest of us," he told the others, "we'll go after the other two. It's about the same there – take them without too much of a hassle, bring them in for questioning. With Finnigan in the hospital wing, Longbottom is the only one in his dormitory. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried putting up some protections."

Grant chuckled, and Draco nodded. "So, you know what to do. Go in, grab them and leave. They're isolated, which is our greatest advantage."

Pansy bit her lip to keep the laugh in - even at their greatest disadvantage, Draco seemed to think it would take four to take down Longbottom, Weasley, and Lovegood. Then again, Pansy mused, they had proved to be quite ressourceful over the past months.

"Let's get this done," Draco told them.

He led them out of the room. Somewhere, the group split up, but Pansy didn't pay much attention. So it had come to it. She had feared it would. Once Longbottom and his friends would be locked up and properly interrogated, they would tell on Tracey and Millicent. Then all Pansy had done to protect them so far would have been in vain. In her mind, she already saw them suffer. How bad would they get hurt?

Far too soon, Draco stopped them in front of an ugly painting of a fat witch.

"Rat's nest," he told the painting with a sneer. "Draco Malfoy, Prefect, here on official business."

The painting made a face, but swung open with a glare at the group.

It was the first time Pansy had been in the Gryffindor common room. It looked a bit too cramped for her liking, not to mention too much like an old witch had decorated it. Old chairs arranged around a fireplace, bookshelves around the room, some nooks with tables, books and odds and ends. Pansy was slightly surprised to Gryffindors did seem to do more than constantly cause trouble. Who would have thought they studied as well?

"Malfoy," a younger student spoke up, rising from his seat. "What do you want?"

"That's Prefect Malfoy to you, Coote," Draco bristled. "I'd have thought you learned your lesson by now."

"So, Prefect Malfoy," the boy named Coote sneered, taking in the group that had come in. "Caught some stragglers? That's something, I guess. They're not from us, though. Sorry to disappoint, but we can't take them in." He nodded at Marilyn Baker from Slytherin. "Well, except maybe her."

Baker ducked away with wide eyes and a profuse blush. Pansy kept from rolling her eyes. Objectively speaking, the boy might have been considered good-looking, but she seriously doubted he had any interest in Baker.

"Watch your mouth, Coote," Draco hissed with a glare, stepping close enough that the boy must have felt the breath on his skin. For one wild second, Pansy even thought Draco might have leaned close enough that they might be kissing.

She really, really needed to drag Draco into a cupboard soon, she decided. She needed some release lest she be torn apart from the tension.

"I've heard that a few times already," Coote replied, smiling, but not backing down a single step. "It's the first time from a boy, though. So," he added, ignoring Draco going for his wand, "if you're not here to drop off someone to keep me company, then it has to be some assignment. Let's see. Patil?" He turned to the girl standing over by a bookshelf. Huh, Pansy mused. Had she been there before?

"Yes?" the Indian girl asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned to face them.

"It seems Malfoy – Ah, my bad, Prefect Malfoy. Well, he seems to need some help."

"It's not my responsibility," Patil hissed, glaring at him.

"I'm not here for help," Draco shouted. "As if I'd ask for your help."

"Well," Coote replied with a helpless shrug, "then I'm at a loss at what you might want here."

Draco's wand slashed. Coote's robe was cut open, but apart from that, nothing seemed to have happened.

"Ah," Coote sighed, "seamstresses really don't do quality work any more."

"Now, now," Brown spoke up, walking over from where she had sat. "I bet I could fix it in a heartbeat." To Draco, she added, "So, Malfoy –"

"Prefect Malfoy," Draco insisted.

"Yes," Brown agreed. "Of course. Prefect Malfoy. What brings you here? With seven of your friends?"

Draco ground his teeth. "That's none of your business."

Some of the Gryffindors grumbled, especially those that had come down from the dormitories to investigate the noise. The capture really didn't work as planned, Pansy, realized, glancing around nervously. Then again, she wasn't overly heart-broken about delaying it for a bit.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shimmer of the air behind two boys who had just stepped off the stairs. Stepped off the stairs side-by-side, actually, blocking part of the stairs from view, Pansy realized belatedly.

Longbottom, Pansy thought, forcing herself to not look too closely. Longbottom knew why they were there, and the house was covering for him. No, she corrected in her mind. The house wanted to know what Draco wanted late at night. Gryffindor house wasn't stalling for time, and they certainly weren't trying to hide the disillusioned Longbottom from view by crowding around Draco and the other intruders.

Focusing her attention on Brown, Pansy noticed she looked strangely tense. So she seemed to be heavily involved in Gryffindor house's attempt. Was Brown part of the resistance? Maybe she was a double agent?

"Enough!" Draco shouted. "Brown, you keep these people down here while we take care of our business."

Coote snorted, but Draco seemed to have missed it. He turned to his group to give them instructions as to what to do, but his mouth fell open as he froze on the spot.

"Th-they're escaping!" he shouted, whipping his wand out and sending a spell behind the group he had brought with him.

Pansy whirled around. Sure enough, the portrait had opened. As one, Grant and Baker drew their wands and sent spells at random spots where Longbottom or Weasley might be hidden. In the flashes of spellfire, Pansy thought she saw the light jump strangely somewhere to the left of the painting – the light reflecting off an imperfect disillusionment?

After a moment's hesitation, she sent her own spells into the corridor. Her dread turned to brief relief when the spells passed harmlessly through the air and splashed against the opposite wall.

"W-what are you waiting for?" Draco shouted. "After them!"

All eight students stumbled back out of the portrait and ran down the different corridors. Pansy took the opportunity to follow Draco. Down a flight of stairs and through a dimly-lit corridor, she managed to keep up, and just as she was about to lose him when he ran around a corner did he run into another group of students.

"She's gone!" a girl panted with Brocklehurst's voice. Pansy wouldn't have been able to recognize her from looks alone – her eyes were swollen almost shut, her face seemed to have fused with her neck. A huge boil pulsed where her right hand should have been, and unless Pansy was mistaken, Brocklehurst's left leg hadn't faced back before.

"She got Adams with something else," Brocklehurst added. "And MacDougal... Well. She's around here, though."

Draco's eye twitched angrily. "Split up!" he ordered, pointing down a corridor with a glare at Pansy.

Sighing, she followed the instructions. The evening had been a complete failure as far as she was concerned. Why had matters needed to become so complicated? She would have been happy to keep things simple – a world of right and wrong instead of the mess she was in.

She stopped cold when she heard something. Had she imagined it? Her eyes jumped from shadow to shadow. Was she alone? Maybe it was one of Draco's helpers?

There. There, hidden behind a statue. Pansy could see the slight shimmer of a disillusionment struggling to conceal someone. And unless she was mistaken, whoever it was was also watching her carefully.

Cursing inwardly, Pansy realized it was probably Lovegood. Or maybe Weasley or Longbottom, but it didn't make much of a difference. They were in each other's way. Pansy had to capture them – or try at least.

But she couldn't. She knew she should, but her wand wouldn't move.

Straightening up, she relaxed a bit and glanced around to see whether something else seemed off. After a moment, she sighed and turned around to check the other half of the corridor she was in, turning her back on whoever was hidden and trapped by her before.

She didn't see the spell coming.


With a frustrated sigh, Daphne sat up. No matter how long she waited, sleep wouldn't come to her. Too many thoughts ran through her head, too many worries kept her awake.

It was Weasley's fault, she told herself. No, it wasn't fair to him, she amended. He had simply brought it to her attention. Him trying to warn Harry had made her aware of a pressing issue she had tried to ignore as much as possible.

It would have been a lot easier if she didn't care so much about Harry. If they had been remained friends or friends who occasionally snogged without any deeper meaning, Daphne wouldn't have minded as much if Harry had heard it from someone else.

But they weren't any more. Harry and she were something else than friends. They were a couple. He trusted her. She could see him stopping Weasley from warning him, not because he didn't want to know, but because he trusted her to tell him whatever he needed to know. The thought filled her with a strange warmth.

Did he need to know?

He would learn about it one way or another. In her mind, Daphne could see it happen – he would join her for some fancy dinner or maybe merely running into an old acquaintance. And, she realized with a jolt, he would hear about it during the Winter holidays. Wouldn't she visit her family? If the war was over by then, she would. Once the war was over, she would want to spend many hours with her parents to make up for lost time. And knowing Harry, he would feel compelled to join her. They had spend one holiday with his friends, the next time, he would probably insist on returning the favour. Oh, Astoria would surely take the opportunity to pull him aside.

No, Daphne admitted with a sigh. No, he should hear it from her.

With her mind made up, she decided to go to find the sleep that eluded her. Luckily for her, she had a good idea where she had to go.

The painting of Phineas Nigellus stared at her. "Well, if it isn't the young lady," he sneered. "And here I thought I would have to waste the night on this foolish errand. You're visiting the husband, are you not?"

"That was the plan, yes," Daphne admitted, fighting back the blush that threatened to spread.

"Well, tell him his friends avoided capture tonight," Nigellus announced. "Headmaster Snape was infuriated when he heard. Personally, I don't care about it, but he sent me here to deliver a message, which I have done now."

"Wait," Daphne said, holding up her hand. "How are they doing? How are Harry's friends?"

"How should I know?" the painting answered. "They escaped, I wasn't told of any injury."

Deciding she wouldn't get any more from him, Daphne nodded. "If Professor Snap is up, please thank him."

"Do I look like an owl? I was a respected Headmaster in my time!" Nigellus groused and left.

Daphne shrugged and continued on her way.

So Harry's friends had gotten in trouble? That was a problem. On the other hand, Professor Snape hadn't sent any word about injuries, so there was a chance they had gotten away well enough.

She knocked nervously on his door. Deciding against waiting, she stepped inside and found him lying on his bed, putting his glasses on.

"Daphne? Something the matter?" he asked.

"I... Phineas Nigellus was here," she explained. "Your friends, which I guess means Longbottom, Weasley, and Lovegood, got into trouble –"

"– but got away, yes," Harry interrupted. "Yeah, I know already. They sent a message of their own. They're fine; we'll talk in the morning. Turns out Malfoy made just a bit too much noise. That, and one of my friends realized what was up and managed to warn Neville and Ginny who in turn warned Luna."

Daphne blinked, unsure what to make of that. "Well, that's... good. I mean, good that they got away, and good that they already sent word themselves."

"But that's not why you came here, was it?" Harry prompted, looking at her pointedly. "You didn't just happen to stroll up here and come across Nigellus?"

She blushed, but couldn't disagree. "Well, I... I couldn't sleep, really," she admitted.

"Nightmares again?" Harry said, sitting up on his bed.

"Too much to think about," Daphne explained. "So I thought I'd come up here and see what happens."

"Sounds like a plan," he laughed. "I don't mind 'seeing what happens'."

Chuckling, she watched as he made space for her – quite unnecessarily, seeing as how there was of course enough space for her anyway. And even if not, she wouldn't have complained if they would have had to cuddle a bit. As a matter of fact, his smile told her he had a good idea what she was thinking.

She wasn't in any mood to fight it. Once she was under the covers, she scooted close to him. A few quick kisses later, though, she was perfectly happy to bury her face in his shirt and listen to his breathing. In a way, it simplified things. It reduced the world to the moment – one she enjoyed as, unless she was mistaken, he did – and chased away the worries that had occupied her mind. It reduced the world to a handful of simple, distracting truths. One, she liked Harry – little ambiguity about it. Two, she liked spending time with him.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked from above her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"We don't have to," she gave back, content to carry on what they were doing.

"If it kept you up," he pointed out, "then it's fairly likely you'll have an easier time sleeping once you've sorted it out." His hand brushed some of her hair out of her face and came to rest on her back.

"I might just fall asleep where I am right now anyway," she tried.

Somehow, now that she was with him, she didn't want to tell him any more. Now she wanted to hide that part forever despite knowing it would never work. It was just a question of time until –

Unless, of course, she managed to keep him from ever talking to anyone else. If they never moved, never left the bedroom...

She couldn't keep the immature giggle in at the thought.

"You're laughing," he commented. "That's good, I suppose. If you're sure you're fine..."

He sighed and settled back into the pillows. She did as well, watching him smile a last time at her and close his eyes. He would sleep very soon, she was sure of that. Daphne watched him for a while, but the longer she took to consider it, the more she knew she had to do it. At the same time, she also felt the terror threaten to immobilize her as the cold dread crept up her body.

She made up her mind. Turning her head, she caught his eye.

"You know," she began, "this plan of ours, this... adventure? With you?"

He nodded.

"Well, I didn't think so at first, but," she told him, smiling as she propped herself up on her elbows, "it was a good thing. Most of it, anyway. You mean a lot to me. A few weeks back, you said you loved me, and I think... What I mean is, I do love you too." She ignored his grin and lifted a hand to signal she wasn't done yet. "I don't want to lose you. I want you in my life; I want you close. But," she paused, steeling her resolve, "Weasley made me realize something. I... There's something I have to tell you." Blinking, she amended, "That I should tell you. Or that you should hear it from me. Before someone like Weasley does."

"I told him to keep out of it," Harry reminded her. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you –"

"Harry," she interrupted him, sniffing. "You allowed me into your group. We're close, I think – I hope. But... Well, you should know. We all have a past of our own. You told me about your family –"

"A bit, yeah," he admitted. "But that's in the past."

"If-if anyone should tell you," she continued, "I think it should be me. It's because I... I trust you, Harry. I trust you. You opened up to me about your past. Shouldn't I do the same? I don't want to lose you, I want us to be close, but that means I can't avoid it forever. I can't hope that I can."

"Lose me?" he asked. "I won't run out on you."

"I know, but that's not..." She steadied her breath. "You should know what you're getting in to. You should know who I am. Who Daphne Greengrass is, and why Weasley and others might... look at me strangely. Or why I'm not... It's a story you should hear, and I should be the one to tell you.

"I told you about my boggart. Insanity, the loss of self. The idea of no longer caring. F losing what makes me a human being, if you will. It's why I don't like Obliviation as to me it is losing a part of the person, of myself, even if it is one I might not need or want." She swallowed. "Third year in school was the worst for me, I told you that, but a lot of people felt that way with the Dementors around."

One of his hands stroked her back soothingly. He didn't make it any easier for her, but he was probably one of the few people who understood how she felt about those creatures.

"It's because they steal the happiness and leave you with the darkness in you," she admitted. "The more painful the past, the more painful their presence. You know that, of course." She laughed hollowly. "Some people need to cling to every bit of happiness they have."

"My family," she began, only to stop and roll on her back, facing the ceiling. It would be easier for her to talk about it if she didn't see him, if she could imagine lying somewhere else without anyone hearing her. "My family," she repeated in a calm, distant voice, a strange tingle running down her body, "has always been peculiar. I don't know when it began, but... My grandfather was slightly odd, for example, but little more. You know, putting teacozies on his books or arguing with his reflection – a quirky, old man. That is, until he wanted to make a firecall, but didn't use any Floo powder. He died that day, still speaking to his imaginary friend as if nothing had happened. Just like that, no real warning or anything. One day, he lost something in him, and it was enough that he didn't even notice what was going on.

"Uncle Gregor... he fell." She hesitated, shrugging weakly. "Or maybe he jumped, we never learned the truth. My father always went quiet when we asked about it. I-I don't know, is what I'm trying to say.

"They weren't the only one's who... Mental problems run in my family. One moment, everything's fine, the next... Maybe it's a curse that at least one in every generation has to have issues of some kind." She stopped, considering her words, but she felt she couldn't delay the inevitable any longer.

"When I was six, close to seven, my cousin Ophelia and her mother – Aunt Phyllis to me – moved in with us. I think it was a cold November, but... Well, maybe I'm wrong about it. Old houses tend to get cold in winter. Anyway, they moved in, and I couldn't have been happier.

"Ophelia was about four months than me. We got along really well, you know? A friend who lived in the same house. A friend who was the same age! What did I care that she was a bit quirky at times? And she had this infectious giggle. Well, she was six, of course had that one. You can imagine how much fun we had. I had the best time of my life.

"We were close, and we spent hours playing and dreaming about the future." She chuckled, smiling at the memory. "We had sleepovers. We were seven; of course we had them. It didn't matter that our rooms were only two doors away from each other, it was a matter of principle. We were little girls, we wanted sleepovers; we wanted to stay up all night and play and talk. And we did. Or tried to, at least." Daphne felt the ghost of a smile on her face as she remembered those days. "Our parents... Well, they realized what was going on before long, of course, and it was even more thrilling from then on. We used to listen for steps, and when someone came to check on us, we'd hide in our beds. My parents put another one into the room whenever we had a sleepover. 'Proper girls don't share beds.' There was this..." she broke off, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter. Where was I?"

"You and Ophelia were the –"

"The best of friends, yes. Well, I had a friend, and we had sleepovers. We made plans each time about how we would get through the following day so no one would notice just how tired we were. Ophelia once said we should just split the day between us – she'd go to breakfast as herself and later me, and I'd go to lunch twice. Nevermind that we didn't look that much alike, it was fun to try once. It didn't work."

She paused, but she knew she couldn't avoid it anymore. "About a year after she had moved in, on the sixth of February, we had another sleepover." Daphne felt Harry stir by her side, but didn't stop to let him speak. "We were playing with the castle in my room – I had a castle, with knights and princesses and servants and all that. It belonged to Astoria and me. She was such a sweet child back then, I can hardly remember her being that way.

"We were talking about our future, Ophelia and I. We wanted to marry princes. Princes, can you imagine that?" She shook her head in amazement at her childish dreams, yet when she continued, the scene replayed in her mind like it always did, and she stopped seeing the ceiling. The pictures came alive once more. She could hear Ophelia's voice again, and spoke in a detached tone, lost in the memory.

"We wanted to marry princes," she repeated. "Ophelia had just decided on the names – Philoctates and Burnactomus; odd, I know, but that's how Ophelia's mind worked – when we heard the quiet steps coming closer to the door. Someone was coming. To check on us, of course.

"Ophelia and I jumped into our beds and made it just before it was too late. Our eyes met across the room, and I know we were both grinning at our daring. I was, and Ophelia and I, we were that much alike. We were part of each other in a sense – kindred spirits.

"Once my eyes got accustomed to the darkness in the room, I could see her face as clear as the laughing sun in the sky. We hadn't gotten caught; we had won that round.

"Aunt Phyllis came in. She had come to check on us, so she went over to Ophelia first. She pretended to sleep. We always did. That's how it works, isn't it?" How Daphne longed for those simpler times. "Aunt Phyllis went over to tuck her in. They always did. 'A proper girl does not sleep haphazardly covered,' my mother used to say. She was full of those. 'A proper girl knows how to address her family. A proper girl doesn't sneeze. A proper girl bows when she's complimented.'

"It was part of our game – Ophelia and I pretended to sleep, our parents acted as if we were. Well, Aunt Phyllis, she went to Ophelia first – just like she always did, with that secretive smile of hers, a smile that told us she knew we weren't asleep. That she knew what we had done and just played along. I waited nervously whether she'd tell us off. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn't. That's how parents are, I guess – not making sense. Maybe that's what she wanted to teach us. People don't make sense, so don't be confident you know what they'll do."

Harry moved, apparently trying to get a bit more comfortable to keep watching her. In a strange way, his attention both made it easier and harder. It helped knowing he was there, that she had found someone you might understand. On the other hand, it made her feel more vulnerable, especially knowing she couldn't turn back now.

"I watched her," Daphne said. "She brushed Ophelia's hair out of the face, she straightened the sheets, she kissed her brow. She..." Daphne broke off. The images were there, she could see it and hear it and smell it. Her toes curled in as her insides felt like ice. In her head, she was there again, and the little girl once more.

"I couldn't look away as she sang the song. I watched her, but couldn't move. Frozen in place, you might say, petrified until she glanced over to me. That did it, the knowledge that she had seen me watching her. But I still didn't...

"I waited for her, but didn't dare to think. So I listened to her and to Ophelia's breath, but I didn't look again, and I didn't move or... I kept quiet. Always did. Always do. I was too..." Daphne shook her head, but the scene stayed alive in her mind. It always did because it had become part of her long ago.

"She finished the song. 'And when you wake up, greeted by the sunlight...' She finished it," Daphne explained, staring off into the distance only she could see far above the ceiling. "And then she came over to my bed. She knew I was awake, she had seen me look. She had that smile of hers, and she came to tuck me in as well. I..." Daphne broke off.

"I'd kept quiet. She came to me. She leaned over me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my skin. Our eyes met, her smiling ones and mine unblinking and wide open. Alike, though. I mean, we had the same eyes back then. Not any more, of course.

"She brushed my hair out of my face like she had done with Ophelia, and it got wet. She straightened the sheets until I couldn't move anymore like she had done with Ophelia. She kissed my brow like Ophelia's, and it got smudged..." Her fingers moved to her hair absent-mindedly, and she could feel the moisture again.

"I could feel it, I could smell it. Still can," she admitted. "I could see it, on her hands, her face, her shirt, her... Still can. It's still there. Still, after..."

She broke off once more. A sound escaped her, half a chuckle half a sob. It was only right that she couldn't leave her biggest failure behind. It wouldn't be right if she could leave her guilt and burden behind.

"And she sat down on my bed and began the song, waiting for me to fall asleep. Swaying from one side to the other, singing the same song she had sung for Ophelia, smiling that smile of hers, swaying from side to side, watching me as I watched her, waiting until I'd fall asleep. 'Sleep, little darling, rest now 'til morning, the moon and stars are making, their journey through the sky.'

"And I kept quiet." And she was eight again, the bedsheets tight around her and her unable to move even without them, frozen in fright as she was. "And all the while, she still had that... that bloody knife there," Daphne spat, bile rising in her throat as the memory of the smell came to her.

Harry moved next to her, putting his hand on hers, but it felt searing hot on her skin and couldn't chase away the cold in her heart. Thankfully, he kept silent. Maybe he knew no words could help her. His support did give her a bit of strength, though. He hadn't run out yet.

"Every once in a while, she bent over me, talked to me in that soft voice. 'Come, Daphne dear, you must sleep, sleep, Daphne.' She reprimanded me for not being a good girl, for the mess I'd made. Whispered to me, 'Oh, look how pretty you are, look what beautiful hair you've got, what lovely eyes!', 'What good manners you always have, how kind you are!', 'What a good friend you are, how grown up already', 'Sleep, peaceful and serene, leave your worries behind'. I can still hear her, you know? I hear her sometimes, telling me to sleep.

"She was there, brushing my hair out of my face, and that smile of hers, as if she didn't notice... Doting on me with Ophelia not ten feet away, and..." With shaky hands, Daphne helplessly gestured over her upper body. "And still with that..." She took a deep, shuddering breath. The serene smile of Aunt Phyllis flashed in Daphne's mind, followed by the blood-drenched shirt and splattered face of her aunt.

"I didn't sleep that night," Daphne said, swallowing. "Kept quiet. Always did. And do. I did nothing. I let it happen." Turning to Harry, she repeated, "I let it, happen, Harry. I should've..." She didn't want to know how she looked, but she needed him to understand; she wasn't sure she would ever find the strength to talk about it again.

"She stayed with me the whole time, sitting, waiting for me to fall asleep," Daphne continued, returning to staring at the ceiling. "She was there until my parents came in the morning, wanting to wake up Ophelia and me. They saw it for the first time then. I'd seen glimpses all through the night. I'd seen her staring at me. Still do. And the sheets, of course, but..."

As always, she heard the crooning as her aunt was bound and lying on the floor. The smell was in her nose as she took little notice of the dried blood in her hair and on her face. While her mother and father busied themselves with Ophelia, hours too late, Astoria was peering in from the door with wide eyes – watching unblinkingly.

"A shock for them," Daphne summarised. "They'd been unprepared. I'd kept quiet – 'ways did, 'ways do – and they hadn't known 'til..."

Harry's hand gently brushed over hers. He didn't press her for details, and it helped to know he gave her the time she needed to collect herself.

"The healers couldn't do anything for me," Daphne added with a shudder. "They just kept staring at me, trying to figure me out – trying to get inside my head, as Healer Miller called it. Trying to learn, trying to help. No sense, 'course. Taking it away, they offered, yes. But..." Daphne shook her head. She couldn't have done that, she knew as much. "It would have meant losing part of myself. It would have meant..." She broke off again, certain he'd understand. "You can't erase it. Not the truth. No escape from the past. And I didn't have the answers. I couldn't tell them why. Why hadn't I ran? Why hadn't I called for help? Why hadn't I tried? Why'd I let it happen?

"Everything changed. My father, he... His sister, you know? He thinks he..." She blinked away the tears in her eyes. "He thinks he should've... done something. Seen it or... But in the end, I should've done something. I was there, I'd seen it, I'd heard it."

The story finished, the dread left her, and she was filled by cold emptiness.

Harry moved at her side, but she refused to look at him, even as he tentatively touched her arm. She didn't shake him off, but even his warm body couldn't chase away the cold inside her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She shook her head. "I didn't tell you so you'd be sorry. You... well, I thought you should know. You... deserve it, to know why I'm... I'm messed up, you know? I'm broken. I can't shake it off. It's there, always right under my skin, always lurking behind the shadows. That night, I saw it. I saw it in her eyes. I saw what I might become one day. I saw the Greengrass curse in her, and I felt in me."

"You're stronger than some curse, Daphne," Harry assured her. "And you're not like her."

"It's not... It's part of me. Ophelia is in me. Part of me died with her, and I'm all that's left of her. But I can't leave it behind. It's there, and it could come to the surface any time. When you bent over me in the library – to wake me up, remember? – or sometimes, when someone touches me..."

He moved closer, taking her hand. She let him.

"And you dream about it," he guessed.

She nodded, unable to explain it any further.

"Have you ever..." he hesitated, "told anyone?"

Daphne chuckled hopelessly. "My family knows about it. I spoke to the healers, and they read the report. I think someone talked to her, but I'm not sure. She's... somewhere. Singing, maybe. My friends... they know something, but not..." She turned to him. "Harry, this isn't... for anyone else. It's not..."

"I understand," he told her.

"I told you so you'd understand why I'm..." she broke off, unsure how to finish that sentence. "So you'd know," she settled on. "So you'd hear it from me. Because I trust you. I think you deserve to know."

"Daphne..." he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't worry too much about it. I'm healthy. I'm fine," she said with an unsure smile. I'm sane, she added in her mind. "I can deal with it. I'm..." She stopped when she realized she couldn't sound truly convincing. The cold fingers of despair gripped her heart. "But I learned my lesson." It sounded as pained as it felt, Daphne realized. "No matter what you hope or do or wish for... No escape. It's Fate, and we're helpless playthings."

They lay silent for a while, until Harry moved against her, tensing slightly. "Daphne? Your family knows about that? All of them?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, all of them," she confirmed, a sense of foreboding coming over her.

Harry stayed silent once more, but she could feel he had something on his mind. She had to have said too much.

"'A sweet child'," he breathed next to her, almost too low to catch it." It's just..." he finally spoke, "your sister, she gave us..." He drifted off, but Daphne knew what he hadn't dared to say.

"She just likes them," she assured him, but it didn't sound convincing at all. She closed her eyes as the painful reminder of yet another of her failures came back to her.


Ah, fun times. Well, there you go, Daphne's story. Naturally, I'm now obliged to whine about how difficult it was to write it, how dissastified I am by the result and that I betrayed myself by not sticking to my vision, followed by a lengthy rant about the lack of true trauma. But that wouldn't be very productive, would it? Instead, I'll just point to a few scenes with some importance to this chapter and Daphne's story:

Daphne's Grandfather was mentioned in chapter nine, followed by explaining her Boggart - insanity.

Chapter nineteen has a mention of February looming – a hint at the month having some kind of meaning. Also, she had a small freak-out in her dorm.

Daphne's opinion about losing part of herself was addressed in chapter twenty-five. It also had an instance of her driving herself crazy by worrying.

Chapter twenty-seven has Mr. Greengrass apologizing to Daphne for failing her as well as Astoria giving a dagger as a wedding gift – not the same from years before, but certainly meant as a reminder.

Daphne heard whispers in chapter thirty telling her to sleep; instead, she found some strength in her to escape Malfoy.

Chapter thirty-three mentions a picture of two seven-year-old girls – while not named, those were Daphne and Ophelia. Astoria is too young to be the one. As an aside, with a name like that, did Ophelia ever have a chance?

Chapter thirty-four has Daphne voice her dislike of Obliviation and invasions of privacy. It also has another reference to the picture with Ophelia and Daphne stating bitterly that, "No matter what you know or do or try, no matter what you may hope for or how hard you wish for it, you won't change a thing in this world." It also has her freak out at seeing Harry smiling at her with a distant smile.

Chapter thirty-six has Daphne deflect Harry's question about her sister, looking away so he won't see her pained expression. Just a few sentences before, Daphne says Astoria's gotten worse.

Chapter thirty-seven had one of Daphne's nightmares about being watched and a bedroom at home with a toy castle – not what you'd expect from a teenager – and some whispering she blocked out.

Thirty-eight had Daphne decide to help Harry after a voice in the back of her head suggested Harry might be better off drifting off to sleep to escape his troubles.

Chapter forty-three has Daphne explaining the dagger from Astoria as a prank, hoping silently he would drop it. The chapter ended with: It was just as she remembered it, from the curtains over by the window and the toy castle in the corner to the smell in the air and even the bed next to hers, bathed in the light of a waning moon, and yet something was off. Potter was there, although he shouldn't be; he was bent over her to tuck her back in, caressing her cheek, whispering to her sweetly and promising her a song; and he moved to kiss her temple, smiling enigmatically. Daphne woke up with a start.

In chapter fifty-five Daphne was less-than-happy at finding a bloodied Harry on a bed and later thought about 'blood like that stayed with someone until it became a part of' you. Similarly, in chapter forty-seven, she stood around rather awkwardly when the injured Weasleys arrived and was treated on a bed.

Lastly, chapter sixty-six had Daphne deal with the tenth anniversary of Ophelia's death just as Harry was busy elsewhere and she isolated for the first time since it happened.