Posted 04/17/2016
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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 Eighty - A late April's Morning
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Over the course of the next week, Hermione came to cherish the small successes and gained a new understanding of her former Potions professor Snape. Sarah was a reasonably talented student and had the attention span eleven-year-olds lacked, but nurturing her did cost time. Then again, after seeing Sarah's delight at managing a watery, weak lotion to heal non-magical boils, Hermione couldn't bring herself to stop the lessons.
Training with Harry was very tiring and she felt herself reaching her limits. Whether the years of Quidditch or the experience from countless battles he had fought and absorbed, Harry very clearly outclassed her in speed and skill. Even with her vast knowledge, she rarely managed to get past his shields. While it had been discouraging before, it became humiliating once he brought Ron or Daphne in for two-on-one that he regularly dominated, leaving Hermione with conflicted feelings. On one hand, Hermione hated not being the best. All her life, she had been the talented one. Her parents had been proud, and she had gotten used to being among the best at everything she tried. With Harry outclassing her even when the odds were in her favour was a definite blow to the ego, filling Hermione with shame over actually feeling humiliated in the first place. She would have to face the cruelty and skill of ruthless criminals; in the worst case, Harry would have to stand up to one of the most skilled duellists of the century. If anything, Hermione should have been delighted that he was as good as he was, even if it meant that she had to be second-best.
Interestingly enough, Hermione had also noticed a subtle shift in Ron. Going up against Harry meant getting hit and defeated a lot. This was especially true for Ron – he was the weakest link in any constellation. Daphne was fast and less predictable while Ron favoured stronger attacks and standing his ground. This meant he was the first to go down in any two-on-one. The Ron from the past would have complained about it, no doubt, but the Ron at Grimmauld Place didn't. Each defeat seemed to strengthen his resolve, and he doubled down on his efforts.
Duelling as a team was a strange, but rewarding experience for Hermione. With Ron as a partner, it was about efficiency. Her fighting style shifted towards boring and efficient spells that meshed well with his attacks – shielding him so that he could strike, distracting Harry so that Ron could attempt flanking their friend. One small success had been when Hermione had anticipated Ron's moves well enough that it was almost as if they were two bodies with one mind. While Harry had won, it had been very rewarding to see them working off of each other that well.
With Daphne, it was noticeably different. Just as Daphne was faster and leaned towards fluid styles, so did their teamwork base around a constant shift of attacking and defending as well as dancing around the room. In fact, Hermione was coming to enjoy working with Daphne. While they were no closer to actually defeating Harry, they were giving a more impressive showing that allowed more surprises, with successes and utter failures more common. In a sense, it was thrilling to work with Daphne.
Susan and Hannah had integrated reasonably well at Grimmauld Place. From what Harry had said, they were adequate duellists and students. From what Susan had said during an angry rant one late evening, Harry was the harshest teacher they had ever met, both unforgiving and relentless during their sessions. On the other hand, both Susan and Hannah were complaining less and less about sore muscles or aching bones each day, and after Hermione had talked to Harry, neither of the Hufflepuff newcomers had broken more bones.
Outside of training, Susan and Hannah spent a lot of time keeping someone in the house company. Sarah seemed to enjoy having Hannah's friendly face around, Susan and Daphne were occasionally locked in deep and private talks of some kind that Hermione knew better than to intrude. Ron had someone to talk to about Quidditch, as Hannah lacked the rabid love, but shared the extensive knowledge about the game and its history. Dudley had latched onto Harry to make up for lost time, but seemed to respond well to Susan's straight-forward attitude. It had been her idea to have him help out around the prisoners in the closet. Even without magic, he was still able to measure and administer the required sleeping draught as well as any heavy lifting that was called for. Kreacher was just happy about the additional work the newest arrivals meant for him. Hermione had reluctantly accepted that the old elf might indeed be too old to change his ways entirely and would probably always long to serve.
Unfortunately, Harry and Hermione were no closer to figuring out how to fix the Portkey birds. Not only were they still exploding occasionally and randomly pulled towards each other without any pattern they could see, they were apparently also unable to fly in a straight line and crashed into walls, floor, ceiling, each other and whoever and whatever was around. Harry's joking comment that maybe the birds were just too stupid hadn't really lightened the mood and only added to the frustration.
Shortly after six on Thursday, Hermione stepped into the chill April morning outside the house, wishing it were Harry or Ron's turn to take the trusty invisibility cloak and go shopping and hers to stay for maybe another half-an-hour in bed. Instead, she turned on the spot and apparated to a spot she had found near a run-down bakery on the shady parts of Knockturn Alley that probably wasn't much into baked goods and more into smuggling goods that were illegal even under Voldemort's rule. While this meant they wouldn't mind one of their copies of the Daily Prophet getting lost, it didn't endear the shop to Hermione who couldn't shake the feeling of dread just being near it.
She managed to slip in behind a cloaked, imposing someone smelling of rotten flesh, and used the distraction to sneak a newspaper under the invisibility cloak.
Whoever it was seemed a regular and was handed a nondescript package that had been hidden under the counter and paid without a word. Hermione managed to catch a glimpse of an oddly frilly glove, but decided not to think too much about it. Opening the door, the figure took a rattling, deep breath, and Hermione used the opportunity to dart out.
Her next stop was decidedly less dangerous. When she landed behind the crooked outhouse on the outskirts of the village that was hidden in the mundane, British country-side, she glanced to the dark clouds above. At least it hadn't started to rain already, she told herself, glancing around to make sure no one would see the greying, stern woman Hermione looked like for the time being popping into existence before she pulled off the cloak.
She arrived at the Muggle store quickly enough, and after a short nod to the owner, an elderly, tired-looking man with a handmade, ugly sweater, picked up a Muggle newspaper and a couple of eggs.
"Strange weather," the owner said in way of greeting when Hermione stepped up to the counter. "Been waitin' fer days, but jus' won't rain."
Hermione shrugged non-committally. "It's always strange lately, isn't it?"
The man nodded slowly, glancing out of the window. "Yeah." When he looked back at Hermione, he gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "'aven't seen ye 'round 'ere 'fore, I fink."
"Just passing through," Hermione replied with a careless wave of her left hand, her right subtly shifting to loosen the fastening of her wand in her sleeve.
"A trav'ller?" the man said, humming. "Don' get those 'round 'ere oft'n."
"A traveller?" Hermione asked with a fake smile. "Well, I suppose you could call me that. I'm writing a traveller's guide of the British countryside. It's like a paid vacation."
He didn't seem to have any answer to that, thankfully, and rang up Hermione's purchases. However, she noticed he didn't let her out of sight and seemed on the lookout for any sudden movement.
When she was almost out of the door, he cleared his throat. "Watch out, y'hear?"
Blinking in surprise, Hermione turned around. "Wh-what?"
"Strange folk's around." His eyes scanned the room, and he seemed to sink lower behind his counter. "Don' get trav'llers 'round 'ere, but there they are. Strange folks, some days ago. John's not come," he added as if the name should be familiar to Hermione. "Neither Charlie," the man whispered, "'nd she'd..." He drifted off, swallowing. "Y'better be gone," he told Hermione. "Go. Don' look back, y'hear?"
As Hermione walked down the street, looking for a good spot to put the cloak back on and disapparate, she glanced around the village. The last time she had been there, it had been a lot livelier – chickens clucking, a handsome man in his twenties tending to a couple of horses, and people milling around for some morning chatter. While there had been a reserved attitude back then, and she had been aware of the suspicious eyes following her, the village had been alive.
Not this day, it seemed. The day had already begun, but Hermione couldn't see any signs of life. In fact, the rustling of the leaves were almost deafening in the deathly silence around her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was watched by unseen folk. The second-to-last house was the only one with open blinds, and the darkness within stared back at her. Was the store owner just paranoid? Maybe Hermione had been fooled, maybe scaring away strangers was all that was going on? Or maybe some strange folk had indeed come through? That didn't have to mean anything, of course. Maybe Muggle authorities had arrested someone for one reason or another. Or maybe some witches or wizards had chosen the area as a hiding place?
And yet, Hermione's eyes darted around the village, looking for anything out of the ordinary in the Muggle world, and listened for signs that she wasn't as alone as she thought.
When she reached the outhouse, she threw the cloak over her head and apparated as quickly as possible to an island in the middle of a lake many miles away from London and immediately away to the top-most step of Grimmauld Place.
Only taking the time to leave the Cloak in the hallway, she headed to the kitchen, finding Harry and Daphne trying to explain magical beasts to their Muggle guests. After a quick greeting from everyone, Harry made his way to the kitchen counter.
"So," Dudley spoke up, "I've been thinking. You're getting ready to fight back, right?"
"We are, yes," Hermione agreed, not sure where he was going with that.
"Harry told me about the dragons," Dudley continued, "and I thought you could get some of those."
"Easier said than done," Hermione replied with a sigh. "Dragons don't take orders all that well, are difficult to handle, prone to violent outbursts, rare – "
"But they did bring some over for that Tournament," Dudley insisted.
"Four, yes, and it took a lot of work to keep them under control in the first place. There's also a difference between having select few Champions get past a dragon in a controlled environment and letting them rampage. What if they decide to turn on us?"
"We'll keep it in mind," Harry said, but from the glance in Hermione's direction, she guessed he agreed with her assessment. Changing the topic, he added, "Any trouble while you were out?"
"Not trouble as such," Hermione told him, putting the newspapers on the table. "The owner of one store seemed on edge and talked about strange folk."
"Maybe something to keep in mind," Harry mused. "Any hints of anything out of the ordinary?"
"Nothing I couldn't deal with," she replied.
Dudley, who had grabbed one of the papers, pulled a face. "Oh, it's one of yours."
"I got a Muggle one as well," Hermione said in his direction.
Sarah took the paper from her friend's hands, studying the moving picture on the front. "You know, these photos are really creepy. At least they don't talk back; that's something I guess, but still."
"Creepy how?" a new voice asked from the entrance. Ron had joined them.
"Well, moving around. Winking, glaring, waving or just holding my gaze. It's as if they know I'm here."
Not knowing what to say to that, Ron shrugged. "Well, that's what they do, I guess."
Shivering slightly, Sarah put the paper down, and Ron picked it up at once, leafing through it until he found what he had been looking for.
"Hm, nothing new from Ballycastle, hm," he grumbled. "Probably for the best, all things considered. Heh. 'Recruitment's going strong for the next season.' They wish. It's the Chudley Cannons, I know they'll make it next season."
"I remember you saying the same two years ago," Harry laughed, "and they were still dead last, just like the season before."
"Yes, well, that wasn't their fault, really," Ron argued, glaring at the paper. "Not their fault if Graham doesn't do his job. They should've gotten someone with experience, not him. But this year, Arthur's back with the Cannons, and he's a reserve for the World Cup."
"He's a reserve because he's got a pretty face," Daphne scoffed, "not because he's World Cup material." When she noticed Ron's glare in her direction, she rolled her eyes. "Come on, I didn't say he was bad. He is the best the Cannons have, no doubt about that, but he's got neither the experience of Walters nor the intuition of Conroy. And he isn't the best at taking a Bludger either."
"Neither is Conroy," Ron argued. "Have you seen how she whined after the match against Ballycastle?"
"Her shattered shoulder?" Daphne asked, sighing. "Yeah, that was pretty bad."
"World Cup?" Sarah spoke up, leaning forward.
"Quidditch," Hermione replied, "is the sport in the magical world. This summer, they're having a World Cup, hosted by Uruguay."
"That's that stuff with the brooms, right?" Dudley put in, surprising Hermione slightly.
"Yeah, that's the one," Harry agreed.
"Harry played," Dudley explained for Sarah's sake.
"At school," Harry added. "It's a lot slower than professional Quidditch. Personally, I liked the flying most, so in retrospect, Seeker was ideal for me."
"So it's played on brooms?" Sarah continued.
"Played on brooms, yes," Daphne confirmed, lifting her hands to count. "Seven players to a team. One Keeper trying to prevent the opposing three Chasers from scoring with the Quaffle. A goal is worth ten points. The Seeker tries catching the Golden Snitch, winning one-hundred-and-fifty points and ending the game. Two Beaters try sending the two Bludgers after the opposing team to disrupt their play and knock them off their brooms."
"And people get seriously hurt?" Sarah asked. "Like shattered shoulders?"
"It happens from time to time, yes," Daphne admitted. "But then, it's usually healed before long."
"Magic, right," Sarah said, biting her lip in thought. "Still, it sounds dangerous. What if someone does fall off their broom?"
"Doesn't stop anyone from playing. Right, Harry?" Ron laughed.
"Where'd be the fun otherwise?" Harry agreed. "And I did stay in shape thanks to Quidditch."
"There are also safe-guards in place to prevent further harm," Hermione assured Sarah.
"If they're anything like footballs," Sarah harrumphed, "those Bugders – "
"Bludgers," Ron interrupted.
"Yes, those. If they're like footballs – "
"Slightly bigger," Hermione broke in, "and with a mind of their own, just like the Snitch. They're flying around, trying to knock people off their brooms, but don't care what team the player is on."
"I got hit once," Harry said. "It broke my arm, but otherwise, I was fine."
"So moving independently as well as strong enough to break bones, but not dangerous?" Sarah asking, raising a challenging eyebrow. "And no one has been killed by those?"
"There's the occasional death," Ron tried, shrugging, "but that's rare and part of the game."
"And they only go after players," Hermione added. "It's magic, obviously. The uniforms are enchanted, and anyone wearing one is wearing a target on their back." Seeing Ron's surprise, she shrugged. "After that one Bludger was chasing Harry, I read up on it, wanting to know how that could have happened."
"I didn't know that," Harry spoke up. "That part about enchantments. Wood just said they'd be out to hit players, not how it worked. So the players are," he blinked, "err, marked?" With barely a second of hesitation, he added, "And all I would have had to do to not get hit would have been removing my uniform?" His eyes darted to Hermione, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Years of friendship and a keen observation allowed Hermione to understand what Harry was thinking, and cheating at Quidditch wasn't on his mind. Or maybe his new way of thinking, his schemes, had rubbed off on her. Either way, Hermione knew, and as little as she liked the idea and its implications, part of her was curious whether they could actually do it.
"Madame Hooch would have known what you were doing," Daphne pointed out with a snort.
"Well, maybe Bludgers at Hogwarts are different," Hermione suggested, hiding her distraction and conflicted feelings as much as possible. "Maybe the referees just carried something that signified them as a non-target or they would have gotten hit at some point in the past."
"Heh, wouldn't it have been fun if a Bludger had gotten Snape? Knocked him off his broom?" Ron chuckled. "Remember that game in our first year?"
"Well, that's all there is to say about Bludgers, really," Daphne put in. "They're the biggest risk and disruption in the game itself. Players can still foul, of course, but –"
"And this Arthur can't take a hit?" Sarah asked, referring to the previous discussion.
"Most players avoid hits anyway, so it doesn't matter," Ron grumbled. "He's a good player, he just needs a bit more time to really grow into his role. He'll prove himself, you'll see. If not this year –"
"I still think they put him on the team because he's easy on the eye," Daphne replied, sounding indifferent. "I can't see him actually playing at the World Cup, but I can see his face on banners and all kinds of merchandise. And a lot can happen before the next World Cup. Arthur might not even play in four years."
Using the moment of distraction, Hermione caught Harry's eye. They didn't need words; both knew they had the same idea. Sarah was right, Bludgers were incredibly dangerous as they were. In the wrong hands, they were potentially lethal. In Harry and Hermione's hands and with a few, careful changes, they would be the horrifying blend of Muggle technology and magic – after all, who needed guns or snipers when you already had access to target-seeking bullets that gained momentum on their own? And wasn't it convenient that Voldemort had branded his loyal followers with the Dark Mark? Wasn't it convenient that half of their work had already been done and was just waiting to be used and abused?
Tossing and turning in bed, Daphne couldn't sleep. It wasn't that she wasn't tired, of course – when Harry had asked her to take over supervision of Hannah and Susan's training, she had known she'd have to work all three of them to exhaustion. If the half-hearted glares she received from the other two girls at dinner were anything to go by, she had done a good enough job as Harry's substitute. It also wasn't her run-in with Weasley after dinner that kept her awake, as shocking as that had been.
When Daphne had returned to the training room to work on her own spell-casting, she had barely begun when Weasley had walked in, looking like he would have loved to be anywhere doing anything else. Instead of turning around, he had stalled for a bit before asking for Daphne's help. If anyone had told her that a day would come when Ronald Weasley would ask her for anything, she would have laughed. If anyone had told her Ronald Weasley would ask for a private training to hone his speed and refine his style, she wouldn't have believed a word of it. But it had happened, and Weasley had the bruises to prove it, even if Daphne had no interest in seeing them. What had surprised and, she had to admit, impressed her had been his determination. At Hogwarts, Ronald Weasley wasn't known for taking slights well. During their time in hiding, Daphne had gotten the impression that he was more temperamental than was strictly good for him. To see him dodge and take hexes and jinxes, even some mean-spirited jibes to test his temper, without an outburst, just getting back on his feet and continuing with renewed resolve, was a definite improvement over his previous attitude.
Shocking as training with Weasley had been, it wasn't enough to keep Daphne awake.
Hermione and Harry's absence for most of the day was the reason. They had left shortly after breakfast to wherever they did their little experiments and had only come out for the occasional meal. Oddly enough, they had deflected questions from Weasley and Daphne about what they were working on and had only said there had been a breakthrough without going into detail. Daphne hadn't thought much about it; Harry and Hermione's thoughts were usually in such a disarray in the early stages of planning that it was hard to follow their train of thought or understand their numerous references sprinkled into their explanations.
As Daphne lay in bed, tossing and turning and waiting for sleep to come, she listened for signs of life in the house. Maybe she should ask Kreacher to bring Harry some late night snacks. Hermione and Harry had already admitted to losing themselves in their work, and it was entirely possible they were too busy to go to sleep. A reminder would work, Daphne reasoned, but she couldn't bring herself to call for the old elf. While his kind lived to serve, he was already hard-pressed to take care of all the people in the house and probably liked the occasional hour of sleep.
Did house-elves sleep? Daphne wasn't sure. Kreacher had a bedroom of sorts, but did he actually sleep or just stare at the wall until his master or mistress called?
The door opening startled Daphne, and her gasp echoed almost deafeningly in the room.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled from the door. "I didn't want to wake you –"
"I wasn't sleeping," Daphne interrupted, forcing herself not to smile.
"You should have," Harry chided her.
"So should you have," Daphne gave back, rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see it.
"Yeah, we lost track of time," he admitted, still not commenting on her in his room. While they hadn't talked it through, she had fallen into a habit of staying in his room as of late.
"Was it worth it?" Daphne asked, sitting up in bed.
"We'll continue tomorrow," Harry told her, grabbing his pyjamas. "We'll see if it's anything good, but at least it's progress."
While he was in the bathroom, Daphne lay back down. Now that he'd join her in a matter of minutes, she felt calmer than before. For one, she knew she'd stop wondering where he was or whether she should have Kreacher disturb them. For another, she knew she slept well when he was around. Part of that had to do with him next to her, something she had grown to like a lot. Of course, it was also one of the few times during the day they could lock out the war and be just Harry and Daphne. Thinking about it, she was glad she hadn't fallen asleep yet. Just Harry was a favourite of hers, after all. In a sense, she felt it was her Harry, the one only she knew, and the one she liked falling asleep with.
When he returned, he wore his pyjamas pants, carrying his clothes from the day, and made to grab some parchment and a quill.
"Oh no, you don't," Daphne chuckled, getting up. "Sleep, remember?"
He shrugged. "Well, I just –"
"Do it tomorrow," she told him, shaking her head as she walked over to him. "Knowing you, you'll lock yourself away for most of the day anyway, and even you need to sleep some time."
"I didn't plan to stay up all night," he tried, but his smile told her he was mostly protesting as a joke. "Most of it, maybe."
"Do I need to – ?" Daphne began, doing her best to keep her eyes on his face, but his smirk told her he had caught her glimpse to his chest. "Well," she laughed, "you're not making it any easier."
"Didn't plan to," he gave back, shrugging. It made it that much harder to focus on his face. "Do you need to – what?"
"Talk to Hermione about it?" Daphne tried, clenching her hand to keep from reaching out to him. Standing at little more than arm's length, she could smell him and feel his warmth radiating off of him.
"Oh," Harry said, nodding sagely. "You think that'll help much?"
Making up her mind, Daphne ran a finger down his chest. "Then I'll have to think of some other way to get you to bed." Not giving him the chance to answer, she pulled him over to her for a slow kiss.
In a heartbeat, his arms snaked around her waist. Half-naked Harry was another favourite of hers, and it was an impressive feat that she managed to tear herself away from him after only a few moments.
Eyes locked, she walked backwards until she reached the bed, Harry following her at arm's length. The kiss seemed to have ignited a fire in him as well, and Daphne felt the thrill of anticipation instead of the fatigue from before. For some reason, Harry moved as if he were a prowling animal, hunger in his eyes. Even if she had wanted to, Daphne found herself unable to look away. When she had reached the bed, she wasted no time – pulling him closer, they fell on the bed.
What started with an almost chaste kiss soon turned a lot more passionate as suppressed urges took control and she rolled them over to end up on top. His body against hers felt right, felt better than that, in fact – wonderful when they moved in unison, but more so when out of tune. His waves meeting hers like the clash of a wild sea, it was easy to get lost in the moment, and she loved every moment of it.
It came to an abrupt end, though, as one such clash led to a startling thump as her head hit the headboard. It was enough to cool the raging fire of passion from moments before, and Daphne found herself looking down at Harry's concerned face as his fingers started searching for the injury or blood. Part of her wanted to protest and tell him that it hadn't been that bad, but his fingers in her hair had a magic of their own. Maybe, she thought, leaning into the touch, he did use some kind of magic.
Still, the more she looked at him, the more she felt that while the wildfire in her was gone, the embers were still there. Moreover, the interruption brought the intense need. The embers hungered for fuel; flames longed to be fanned. Her body ached for the clashes from before and hungered for his touch so much that she almost shivered at the thought. Anything, she realized, anything was better than just keeping still, and she was itching to move.
So she did, leaning down and capturing his lips with hers, her right hand coming to rest on his bare chest. Feeling both scalding heat and freezing emptiness tearing at her, she yearned for more than touches or kisses. Within seconds, they were back where they had stopped. To her delight, Harry wanted to make up for lost time, it seemed – his hands found their way under her nightgown – not that difficult, all things considered, and not the first time either, but this time, he didn't hesitate. As they moved upwards, they left a tingling sensation behind.
Kiss after kiss, hissed profanities she hadn't thought she knew rolling off her tongue that had Harry snort, but not stop, thankfully, Daphne felt bubbling life coursing through her veins. When they broke apart for just a second to catch a breath, she almost immediately leaned back down – seeing her feelings mirrored in his eyes spurred her on, and her passion was matched by his.
Grinding against him, she could feel his hand join hers where only the thin fabric of his pants was between them, even if she couldn't quite remember actually reaching down. A moment later, she felt skin brush over skin – like a drowning woman in a stormy sea, she took a hungry breath of air as she bent up and rose, an all-consuming freezing emptiness brushing against a scalding torch from below. In one swift motion, she sank back down with a shiver and a growl.
The cold and emptiness were gone. A wave of painful delight ran through her and drowned out any thought of the profanities she hissed under her breath in between kisses. Time didn't slow down, no fireworks went off, but for one breathless moment, Daphne's world consisted of nothing but the flames spreading out and chasing away the darkness. As far as Daphne knew, she never wanted to move again, content to bathe in the soothing calm that washed over her for eternity. However, as the fire lost most of its force and her breathing steadied, she curled up where she was as if to shield a precious flame from the world. It was hers alone, in a way. She came face to face with Harry who stared back up at her, open-mouthed and breathless.
As one, they started grinning, their breaths slowing down and in tune; Daphne was surprised by the slight shiver running through her whenever she moved at all.
She leaned down some more and captured his lips with hers, telling him what she couldn't find the right words for. His arms snaked around her. Sweet caresses, silent promises, a silent conversation followed. Her hands had moved to his chest again without her really thinking about it; his had found their way to her hip. Daphne loved it – in a way, he held her as she him.
She let the kiss linger, lips on lips and far more chaste than many kisses before, breathing in tune as they started moving again. Smaller ripples of delight ran through her whenever they moved in tune and more so when they were just barely out of sync. While they breathed as one, they began moving more and more as two. Slow and small at first, they had soon found a steady rhythm for themselves. When his hands travelled upwards under her nightdress, Daphne pulled it off and cast it aside, only to return to their duet of love with renewed vigour.
Far too soon, she was overwhelmed by the desire for more, and in turn, found it answered by Harry's as he hissed and their eyes met. Before long, she gasped, arching her back as her body burst into fire. She barely noticed Harry's hands clawing into her back. When the flames of passion died out, she sank down, panting as heavily as he did.
Lying skin on skin, sweaty and too tired to move, Daphne was content just waiting for sleep to come. Under her, Harry murmured something she didn't quite catch, but assumed mirrored her thoughts. Instead of rolling off, she wrapped her arms around his neck and listened to the deafening quiet of the room. When a cocoon of warmth engulfed her, she drifted off to sleep.
For the longest time, I was torn over whether I should actually include the second scene. I always intended to bring in the modified Bludgers, simply because it's too obvious to not do it and, with a few changes, a game-breaking weapon just waiting to be used. I can't remember a story where it had been used, though. So there was little doubt in my mind about the weaponized Bludgers. But should I also write about Harry and Daphne's first time? And when should I include it? True, they're horny teens without supervision, but also some issues.
Should I have left it out? Don't Harry and Daphne deserve their privacy? Keep in mind, they're part of my life since February 2013. Also, it's no one's business what they get up to. And including it brought the issue of timing. Would two horny teens really wait this long when they're around each other all day?
But then, at least some of the readers were probably expecting at least a hint. Hermione might have picked up on the covert glances or the happy, but tired couple and drawn her conclusions. Sarah might have picked up on Daphne and Harry's smell.
Once I had decided to include Harry and Daphne's first time, I also decided to avoid IKEA erotica as well as detailed play-by-play. The former is bad form, the latter, while not inherently bad and a guilty pleasure for many, not something I wanted to include in The Legacy. So I stuck with what I think is a reasonable compromise between class and crass.
