He couldn't sleep. His body was tired, but his mind was awake, staring dead-eyed at the ceiling of his empty dorm. He grasped desperately for a thread of intelligent thought, hoping he could run his brain into the ground, but it was in vain. This is how he'd spent the entire night - somewhere between asleep and awake, feeling neithering, but suffering. All of him was limp and paralyzed, apart from his senses, which were scornfully hypersensitive. His head pounded. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to lay as still as he could, which in his state is not a very hard thing to do.
He glanced at the wall clock.
6:54am.
Was that late enough to justify giving in and just getting up? It wasn't like he had lessons he had to be attentive for…
And then he jolted awake.
He'd finally fallen asleep, but for how long? What time was it now? His headache was gone but he was feeling lightheaded. Pushing his bed curtains aside, he squinted against the unfiltered light from his window. So it was actually morning now, then.
Ignoring his body's stiffness, he got out of bed and looked at his clock.
It was 11:14am, to be precise. Four hours sleep. Still better than nothing.
Alone in the dorm, he looked down at his morning wood. He was disturbed by what he saw , he should have taken that bath last night. There were smears of lipstick over the base of his now-shriveled shaft and spread onto his balls. It was a pathetic sight to look down on, and remembering what caused it didn't do him any favours, either.
Shower. He needed a shower.
He preferred the larger showers of the Quidditch changing rooms, but when a face-full of warm mist hit him as water came crashing into the Gryffindor boys' showers, he struggled to care. Shivers rocketed up his spine as his feet made contact with the pooling water and he clung suddenly to himself. He inched his way into the shower stream. Closer and closer, until the ends of his elbows and chest began to intercept with the stream - he flinched as a wave of goosebumps erupted out of his back.
And he cleaned. He scrubbed and worked every single inch of him until the grimy, dirty feeling that lingered with him since the night before finally vanished down the drain. And then he scrubbed further still, hoping that maybe if he did it aggressively enough, the memory of it all might follow suit.
Staring into the drain as water pooled around it, he finally found himself.
"... what the fuck's happening to me?"
It had been happening ever since he lost Sirius. Something was wrong with his life. It wasn't just one problem after another - they were overlapping, and creating new and increasingly difficult and obscure problems for him to deal with. This life and normality he'd built for himself at Hogwarts didn't exist anymore. Or not in the way it used to. It wasn't quite reality, anymore. Of course, this castle had always come with that feeling, but now it was something else.
It was as if the universe was out to get him.
The sound of the shower nozzle turning off brought him back. He hadn't even realized he'd done it. But it was okay now. He had self reflected. Now he was able to take a step back and acknowledge, truthfully, that life was not going to go back the way it once was, it filled him with a new kind of resolve. He was never going back to the life where Ron and Hermione were his best mates, he finally had a caring and loving godfather and Dumbledore was the elderly mentor figure he'd always wanted. Those were all either gone or fractured, now. The only thing he could do was move forward, take each day as it came, and not guilt himself for those he may leave behind.
He moved down the corridor like a force of nature. Anxiety coursed through his veins, but he was the one in control this time. He had weaponized it, utilized it and was letting it drive him to do what he needed to do.
Pretending it didn't happen wasn't working, so he was going to try the opposite approach.
He was going to corner her. He doubted she'd be showing her face anywhere else in the castle, so it would have to be in her own common room. A look at the Marauders Map before he left confirmed it, and he'd seen her perform the password little over a week ago, so if the Slytherin entrance was anything like Gryffindors, it wouldn't have been changed so soon.
His train of confidence and self-determination was interrupted as he came around the corner to the entrance hall and, to his shock, almost smashed straight into her.
She'd been coming the opposite direction. Was she coming to find him?
She leapt back as soon as. She looked like she hadn't slept - she often looked a mess, but now even more so. Good.
This wide-eyed standoff lasted a few seconds, each daring the other to speak first.
"- What the fuck -"
"- I'M SO SORRY -"
And when the time had finally come, they'd both spoken at once.
He took a sweet breath in, calming his anger.
How dare she apologize for that? How dare she even consider that after how much his life had been torn apart and after all he had suffered - now, he just found out, some of it even at her hands - that an apology would fix things?
Reluctantly, she seemed to understand it's uselessness. Oddly, she seemed far more composed than she did last time they'd reached this stand off, when she had stood him up. Suppose she meant she knew the seriousness of the situation and was forcing herself to keep a leveled head? At least until she was sure he wasn't going to the Aurors or anything.
"...do you… w-wanna get b-breakfast?"
Honestly, if he hadn't had been barely holding himself together, he'd probably have even smiled at that. The girl had gaul, he'd hand it to her. He very much doubted she meant it like that and was probably saying the first that had come to her mind, but still.
The tension was palpable as she waited for his response. He had come down expecting a shouting match - wanting one, if he was perfectly honest. But that was only because he wanted answers, or something vague enough to explain to him what had happened last night. Anything to justify him feeling like such an utter, deluded idiot… for which, he wasn't even sure why he felt like that.
And so, breakfast it was, then. He nodded and without another word, began to the Gryffindor table. Seating himself, though he was starving, the smell of food knocked him sick and he grimaced and turned away from it. Daphne came into the seat opposite and close up now, he thought she looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and a thin, papery look about her skin that had not been there on their pseudo-date.
No words could summarize what he wanted to say to her. Or what he wanted to ask her. He was absolutely furious - though he didn't know what it was directed at - but it was overridden by sheer, morbid curiosity.
"... what the fuck happened last night?"
As the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted their harshness, but it wasn't like he could take them back. Or that they were unjustified. Frankly, he was well within his place to be shouting and screaming at her, the only thing holding him back from it was an insatiable need to understand it first.
She gave a painful sigh. It was quiet unlike any noise he'd heard from her before, or anyone, in fact. It was a sigh of total and complete defeat.
She gave a long sniff before speaking. It sounded like she'd cried herself dry.
"... have you... h-have you ever heard of the Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde?"
She sounded concerned, or was it fear? His anger boiled further and he wondered, did she possess enough self awareness to realize now was probably not the best time to be bringing up fairy-tales? He let his temper simmer before replying.
"The… storybook?"
She closed her eyes. She had been holding back tears remarkably well, but this action caused a lone drop to make its way down her cheek.
"It's not a storybook... It's me."
She choked a breath. Though she was being held together by a thread, she was watching him with important, tear-stained eyes. He couldn't ignore it - it was the strongest he'd ever seen her. His annoyance at her lessened with this, as he understood he was about to hear something important.
She coughed her throat to life, gripping her knuckles tight. She looked like an Olympic swimmer about to take the plunge.
And so it began.
"W-when I was eight... I started having blackouts… b-b-but... they weren't really blackouts, because I was conscious and moving around during them," she paused for breath. "I just wouldn't remember anything I said or did after I woke up. The nurses in the orphanage thought I-I was cursed. I turned horrible, I was a bully, a-and a thief… and I looked different, too. Eventually, when I got to Augery's Cradle, they got the St. Mungos Beast Division involved, thinking I-I was a werewolf or a c-changeling…"
She took her glasses off and began to finger her bangs nervously, like she was tying them into a knot. She put her other hand over her eyes and breathed a few deep, short breaths, then began to calm down.
Bringing her hand away, she looked worse. Seconds away from being sick or passing out. He wanted to help but also… no, he didn't. She put her glasses back on and continued.
"... and… and they said that I was simply a-a Metamorphmagus w-w-who was using her powers to be a b-bully without getting in trouble and they sent me right back. Then Tracey - that's what I called her - would do more horrible things and I was the one who'd get the blame for it, again and again. They all hated m-me so much - I tried telling t-them it wasn't m-me, that I wasn't in control, that I-I didn't know w-what was happening, b-but…"
Her shrill voice and the expression of abject terror with what she said next was enough to make his blood run cold.
"When I was ten I tried killing myself. I knew a transformation was coming so I-I-I tried to drown, hoping she'd take over just as… j-just as I died... so it'd would only kill her a-and leave me alone… It didn't work, obviously. But… but... it got me on the radar of the Ministry again… and in came Albus Dumbledore."
She moved forward and for a second, looked like she was going to be sick. To be honest, he felt similar.
"He took me on as a… a kind of special project, I think. He paid off the orphanage and I was able to live in the school until I was ready to start Hogwarts. In that time he researched and researched and… t-turns out Henry Jekyll was a real person. And his best mate was Robert Louis Stevenson, the… the author of the book..."
It made no sense to him, but the look on her face told him it was true. Or Daphne believed it to be true - she was haunted by it. It was a tall tale to believe, but he didn't doubt that she was telling the truth. Watching her go through this, exposing her dark secret to him, it felt dirty. It felt like watching open heart surgery. He couldn't look away, though he wanted to... Nobody was that good of an actor.
"I'm the great-great-granddaughter of Henry Jekyll, and Tracey is my Mister Hyde. You weren't supposed to find out like this… nobody ever was…"
Whatever strength she had been using to hold herself together began to crumble. Her face screwed itself up in defense as tears began to leak. She took in a sharp breath, and the wheezing caused in her throat made him cringe.
The quiet sounds of eating took over the rest of the hall, drawing a thick divide between the two, as Daphne appeared to give way into a daydream. He liked to think it was because she was mulling her decision over, but in all likelihood she was probably just out of breath.
There was his answer. It was a shit answer and it didn't do an awful lot for him… but it was an answer.
Was this pity that he was feeling? No… pity was easy. You pitied anyone below you, pity was a double edged sword, just a nice way of reminding somebody how much better than them you were. But sympathy… sympathy was what it felt like to extend your hand to somebody and for whatever reason, no matter how much they wanted to, they couldn't take it. That was what he felt towards her, right now. And a little bit for himself, if he was being honest.
A while passed and he knew it was his turn to speak. He'd remained entirely silent through her explanation thus far. And as much as he was still determined to be mad, he was proud of the fact she'd managed to do it.
He was at a loss for words, though.
"... how?"
"I don't know."
He gritted his teeth. He wasn't satisfied by that answer. He didn't care about the state she was in - he deserved more than that. She seemed to feel this way too, and she struggled to organize her thoughts into something more.
"W-well… I… I can't change at will. But, sometimes it does have patterns…"
He cocked an eyebrow, but wouldn't give up anything more. She closed her eyes and continued
"... I.. I can usually predict when she is coming and plan accordingly… usually that means I get far away from everyone. Dumbledore gave me access to the Shrieking Shack, but Tracey figured out how to get back from there. She… she's not like a werewolf, she's fully conscious and intelligent... We made an agreement that, s-so long as she doesn't go too far, I won't try and imprison her."
Her will gave out and her head hung forward limply - he could hear her sobbing now.
"Last night…" she cried. "...was too far… I'm sorry… I'm sorry..."
The sounds broke his anger down. At long last his conflict was able to organize itself. His head was awash with so many thoughts and feelings, enquires and impossibilities, that he had clung onto the one constant that he had known - his anger at her. But as he worked through it, he finally found his mind addressing the things he was hearing.
"No… that's not… you two got in that fight? She broke your nose?"
She closed her eyes in frustration, and he realized that this probably wasn't the best thing to say during her big and dramatic reveal.
"The change can be triggered. Stress… arousal... being drunk… I-I don't know… but I was panicking about being your date, I could feel her coming and... and I didn't want to let that happen so I tried fighting her... It got really messy and I completely destroyed my dormitory. She won out. But that's what happened."
He pushed breath from his lungs. What else was he expecting? He wanted a better answer - he wanted something to be mad at. But this was the answer he was getting. He wasn't sure if it was enough of one or if he entirely believed it, but it was an answer. Forcing his head straight, he plucked the next thing to say from his ocean of thoughts, this one being a big one.
He brought his hands up to physically gesture.
"So, let me get all of this straight… Because this has really fucked me about… You change physically… into Davis?"
It was probably backtracking, but he needed to hear it. He needed it to hear her say it. He had opened Pandora's box - he at least wanted to be clear what was coming out.
Solemnly, blinking away more tears, she nodded.
"I do. And I'm sorry."
He opened his mouth to respond shortly before processing what she'd just said. It took him a few seconds to formulate his next question. He wanted it to matter - he wanted as much information as possible before he decided how to feel. Each question he asked, he tried it as his last.
"... Anything else?"
"She is bigger than me. By about a foot in height and forty pounds in weight. Her boobs are bigger than mine, w-which all means when I transform she tears through whatever I'm wearing… half my Gringotts allowance always goes on buying new clothes. I wore my only nice clothes to our picnic because… because I… wanted t-to…."
She hesitated, then gave up. Mostly from the shock of it, he suddenly felt red.
"...she does have her own clothes, but when she turns back into me, obviously I don't ruin her stuff. And our hair is different colors, mine is blonde and hers is black, but hers is actually a bit shorter than mine too. You can't tell because of the height."
"... how do you know all of this?"
Apparently he believed her, then. He didn't see many other options but to. It was a lot to take in but he was here and with it, reality was long out of the window. If this was how they were going forward, if she was being as truthful as he felt she was, he needed to know.
She gestured sadly, not looking at him.
"We have ways of talking... Notes, usually. When we feel a change coming we try and leave each other in context saying where we are and what we've done… she's unconscious when I'm awake and vice versa, so it goes both ways. She's a bitch, but she compromises. She knows there's no point in us being at war."
She buried her head in both hands all of a sudden and made a noise - he couldn't quite tell if it was a scream or a yell of pain. He looked around - suddenly thankful that so many students were not in attendance. The few who remained looked in their direction but did not seem overly concerned with them - probably another relationship drama in Hogwarts, they probably figured.
She pulled away her hands, tears flowing as she finally seemed to crack and began shivering.
"I hate her. I hate her. I hate everything about her! She's ruined my entire life and I despise the way she lives, b-b-but... but she keeps her promises about what she can and can't do, so I let her have free reign, but… I always s-said that i-if she ever hurt anyone, or… o-o-o-or… did what happened last night… I said I'll turn myself in. Which… which…" she breathed. "... which is what I will be doing tonight..."
He couldn't help it. His empathy took over and his hand shot to hers, gripping it tightly.
"Stop. Breath, slowly.."
He cursed himself for breaking solidarity and a moment later he snatched his hand back, but he feared the damage was already done. The damage being her thinking that he wasn't absolutely, utterly furious with what happened, he definitely was… and he didn't want her to think this could just be swept under the rug, the way so many of Davis's incidents had been done before.
But when he heard that crack in her voice and how pathetic she looked… he couldn't help but emphasis for her. And if what she was saying were true, she technically was not at fault…
He shook the thought free of him. He needed to stay solid with this. He needed to get justice and that wouldn't happen if he started feeling sympathetic.
But his words did seem to have an effect on her. She brought back the hand he had touched, bringing it up to wrap in the other.
"You were raped, Harry…" she said after a long breath. "She did that… I did that… and I'll never be able to take that back. I knew it was only a matter of time before she crossed a line… I'm just... s-s-so sorry it had to be you."
For an instant he considered dismissing this, but something deep within him told him to shut his mouth. He had earned that apology. It didn't matter how defenseless or pathetic she looked right now - he was not going to be guilt-tripped into feeling like the bad guy in this. She was right. He had been forced into doing... that, with Davis. And whether or not she did it intentionally, she was responsible. It was good they were on the same page.
"... in Azkaban she won't be able to hurt anyone… it's best this way..."
He breathed.
It was what he wanted to hear - it was what she and Davis deserved - so why did it churn his stomach to hear? He should be happy with that. It was justice well served. But it…
… it wasn't…
She wasn't lying about this. About Davis and the pain it all brought her. She couldn't be. He knew what it was like to hate someone - to hate someone who ruined your life was a special kind of feeling, not like normal hate. You couldn't fake that. He felt it when she said she hated her, he knew she meant it. The same frustration he had over her, she shared it… probably tenfold, if he was being realistic. She had every reason to hate Davis as much as he did, but she had the added frustration of knowing she was the cause of her every action...
This was what inspired that maligned sympathy within him. It wasn't defeat, and he didn't feel guilty about being angry in his position. Justice needed to be served and nothing would change his mind on that... But to enact it on Daphne would be cruel, because she was not his enemy in this.
"Daphne…"
He sighed, finally giving over.
"You can't hand yourself in for something you didn't do..." he continued. "If what you're saying is true... if it is... then you are the victim in this. Just as much as I am."
There was no answer. She rubbed her eyes under her glasses, brow furrowed. She was trying to answer, but something told him she couldn't.
He didn't know if he would go as far as to say he felt sorrow for her, but he could at least recognize that she was not the one he ought to be directing his anger towards. And fortunately for her… he believed her.
She hiccuped suddenly, a rather out of place noise than in any other circumstance would have been cute. She covered her mouth apologetically.
"We… we get flashes of each other's lives… like remembering a dream, it's fleeting, but… I saw what she did to you last night. I felt it. And I think she did it… to mess with me..."
She scrunched up her face again, struggling with something. It looked like she was building to another revelation, which he dreaded to think what could follow. When she did bare her soul again, it wasn't how he expected.
"I… I… I liked you for a bit, Harry… Ever since you stood up to that horrible Umbridge woman… But it w-was never anything serious!" she emphasized. "And… but, yeah… I-I had a bit of a thing for you… and I think she sensed this, so then… she..."
His cheeks were glowing.
He'd be lying if he said he hadn't sensed it. He didn't know why this wasn't a shock - he didn't know when he'd figured it out, but now he did, he realized he'd known for a while. The shocking bit was that - hearing her confession, he realized that he was somewhere in the realms of those feelings himself. His mind was too askew to know right now.
"... messed with you, by messing with me?" he finished for her.
Her head dropped again, nodding on it's way down.
"So, you see... it is my fault. It's all my fault."
Her confession had inspired his voice to become more active, and he brought the next question to life.
"But why...? Why is she like this?"
"Because she hates me. She dances the line between doing just enough to ruin my life, but not enough that I can punish her… When she used to be... bad... I'd lock myself up whenever I felt a transformation coming. And that worked, she'd drive herself crazy, but then... but all that did was make her even more reckless next time she got free. She wants to be her own person, she doesn't want to be stuck inside me, she doesn't want to be half a woman… I-I don't want those things either."
"... there's no chance for a cure, I take it?" he asked uselessly.
He already knew the answer. And the question seemed to do nothing but frustrate her.
"Pft… they've only just invented the Wolfsbane potion. My condition is unique, I'm the only recorded person to suffer from a Mister Hyde. It would take hundreds of years just to even figure out what's actually causing it… and if I try looking for a cure myself… t-then she's said she'll tie a chain to her leg and throw herself off a bridge. So… we're stuck with each other forever..."
He shook his head.
He felt conned, though not by the girl before him. By the universe. As if his life was not as demanding and cruel enough the way it already was. Of course a girl fancying him would come with the side effect of her having a psychopathic evil twin. How predictable of his life.
Maybe he was better off at Grimmauld Place after-all?
