Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. This fic is based on 'The Darkness Within' by Kurinoone, Harry's background story as well as Damien belong to her.

A/N: Another day, another chapter. Please review and tell me what you think, how you felt, etc. Even if it's only one word. I've changed the rating to M because of the brutal violence that will come in later chapters, as well as the sexual references. This was a very emotional chapter for me. On a different note, please be safe, Covid-19 is not over yet. Hopefully we will have a vaccine soon.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did
I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery
I will not break the way you did, you fell so hard
I've learned the hard way to never let it get that far

Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me
Because of you, I am afraid

Because of You – Kelly Clarkson

Mommy was beautiful.

She had known it her whole life. Every time they had visitors, at least one of them would remark on how she herself would be even more beautiful when she grew up. They would comment about how adorable her blonde hair was while it wasn't covered in her favourite green blanket. How her eyes were stunning when they weren't hidden behind Huggie — her teddy bear. The adults would always tell her that she should be smiling, she was pretty.

But Mommy was beautiful.

So, if Mommy was beautiful, why wasn't she smiling? Why was she crying?

"— won't matter at all. Fuck!" yelled Daddy as he flung his wand across the room.

She didn't understand those words.

Daddy was not crying, but his face was red. His glass was empty. She thought he was going to fill it back up, but instead when daddy's hands wrapped around the strange glass bottle, he just raised it to his mouth and started drinking from it.

"This is YOUR FAULT!" yelled back Mommy through her tears.

A princess should never cry. That's what Mommy always said to her. If she was a princess, then Mommy was a queen. So why was she crying? A pureblood should never raise their voice. So why was Mommy shouting?

"Shut up," mumbled Daddy as he sat on their bed. "There has to be something we can do."

"There is much more at stake here than just our lives! Or have you forgotten about your daughters, as always." Mommy said. She was sitting on the floor of their bedroom, leaning her back towards the wall as she hugged her knees close. There was something shiny in her hands.

She couldn't see what it was.

"I haven't forgotten," answered Daddy, his voice sounded weird.

"She is a child of five!" shouted Mommy.

"She is a GREENGRASS!" Daddy yelled back, standing up from to bed and turning to face Mommy.

She wondered why Daddy was yelling. He had never raised his voice at her, even when she threw a tantrum.

Would he, if he found her now?

She knew she was being naughty. It was way past her bedtime. Daddy had told her that she should never be walking around the house after her bedtime. Little Tory was already sound asleep.

Neither Daddy nor Mommy heard the faint padding sound of her pink little slippers as she inched closer to their door, trying to see what was in Mommy's hand without being caught.

Her little hands wrapped around the edge of the door. Her eyes widened.

There, in Mommy's hands, was a picture of the four of them. It had been taken just last year. The picture was moving in a loop, Daddy had little Tory on his shoulders, and she saw herself smiling as Mommy carried her. Daddy was bending down, giving her a kiss on the cheek while Tory played with his hair. The picture would have been perfect if it wasn't in a broken frame, the glass was completely shattered.

She gasped out loud.

Instantly, both Mommy and Daddy turned to face her. She saw surprise made its way into Mommy face just one second before Daddy yelled again.

"Daphne! What are you doing up?! Get back to your room NOW!"

Sixteen-year-old Daphne jolted out of bed with her heart beating fast and hard. Her clothes were drenched in sweat. The sound of her heavy breathing was all that could be heard. Her father's words echoed in her mind.

She sat up, one hand pressed to her chest as if to slow down her frantically beating heart, the other wiping a trickle of sweat from her temple.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The room was lit by a faint white light that was filtering through the curtains, courtesy of the full moon. Outside the window, rain poured down like waterfalls from the skies. The sound calmed her racing heart.

She knew this room. This was Harry's bedroom. More importantly, how had she ended up here? The last thing she remembered was caring for Harry while he healed in the Dark Lords private chambers.

Harry was out cold next to her, snoring loudly, a thin line of drool running from the corner of his mouth to the pillow. He had taken a Dreamless Sleep Potion so he could rest while his injuries finished healing.

Daphne ran her fingers tenderly over his lightning bolt scar, he didn't look to be in any pain.

After a moment, she scrambled to out of bed, crossed the room, and entered the huge bathroom.

The dream had shaken her. Her hands moved to turn on the tap at the bathroom sink, flooding it with water nearing on uncomfortably cold. Tears flowed from her eyes as she splashed the freezing water in her face.

She looked up and found her reflection in the mirror.

Her breath hitched.

Where she had expected bloodshot eyes, there was nothing but her mother's familiar icy blue. Eyes that reminded her of what she had lost every time she looked at them. As if that wasn't enough, her mother's exact shade of blonde hair was there too, mocking her. In the last few years, she had lost the baby fat on her face. Daphne looked as she always did nowadays — flawless.

She hated it.

I was hard to look at herself, and even harder to look away. Oh, the irony. If there really was a deity in the world, then he must really hate her. She looked beautiful on the outside, she had always known it would happen one day, even though sometimes she had wished it wouldn't. It wasn't vanity, it was a fact. Everyone always assumed she loved her looks, and she supposed that in a way she did, but her beauty was more a curse than a blessing. It was a total contrast to how she felt inside. To look like that — like her mother — when emotionally she was damaged beyond repair, seemed like an insult to her mother's memory.

Tragically flawed, beautifully designed.

How ironic.

She gritted her teeth. Her magic boiled to the surface, biting and scratching, burning with its coldness, longing to easy her pain, to tear to pieces what caused her suffering. She felt it flowing up and down her body like a tide.

The water froze.

Her ears began to ring with the beat of her own racing heart. Her eyes hardened and a large vertical crack appeared in the mirror, splitting her reflection in two — right down the middle.

What a joke. As if she was anything more than a cheap lookalike of her mother, walking in her shadow. What kind of cruel and shallow God would create something as twisted as her? Her mother. Mommy. Mum. A woman who put her to shame with the way she used to wrap anyone and everyone around her fingers with effortless ease. The woman who taught her how to do the same thing — even if she wasn't always the best student. Someone all the Lords and Ladies looked up too, not because she was the wife of one of the richest and most powerful men in Britain, but because of her cunning mind. Everyone loved her, even the women who envied her.

Daphne's gaze lowered.

The sound of faint footsteps reached her ears. In the corner of her eyes a familiar figure appeared. It paused, leaning back against the frame of the bathroom door.

Daphne's breath hitched.

"You shouldn't be up," she said without turning towards the figure, a hint of concern in her voice.

"I felt your magic," explained Harry, his tone filled with worry. He crossed his arms in front of him. "It woke me up."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "You need a new mirror."

"Are you okay?" he asked, ignoring her apology.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" Daphne shot back. "I'm fine," she said, but her body betrayed her, and she felt herself trembling.

Harry ignored her again. He knew when she was fine and when she wasn't.

She exhaled and her breath came out in a long stream. The water unfroze, the sound shattering the silence in the room.

Leaning forwards, she touched the broken mirror. "What is it the muggles say? Seven years of bad luck?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, like he was amazed she knew about muggle superstitions. Daphne didn't have it in her to even pretend to be insulted.

She shut her eyes to stop herself from crying again. Her voice lowered until it was almost a whisper. "I dreamt about them. They were having one of their fights, one of the first ones I can remember."

Harry pressed his lips in a thin line, uncrossing his arms and walking towards her. He was clearly still in some pain as he tried to keep all his weight on his good leg. The pain was fitting, Daphne thought. A small price to pay. Maybe next time he would remember not to fight five Aurors at the same time.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist. The gesture made her feel warm and safe. He drew her to him, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, the soft fabric of his shirt was like a pillow. His chin came to rest upon the top of her head.

"Why were they fighting?" He asked.

"I don't know, I wish I did," said Daphne. "I'm sorry I woke you up when you were supposed to be healing."

His smile was gentle. "Don't apologise, you never have to apologise, least of all to me."

Daphne felt the need to apologise again before pushing it down. She knew he was wrong, no apology would ever be enough, but she loved Harry's sweet words like she loved everything else about him.

"I remember every single detail about that night, everything." She muttered.

A bit of puzzlement filtered through Harry's expression of concern. His grip on her tightened. "You've never talked about them. Not once in six years. Why now?"

She gave him a wry smile. "Do you want to know what Lucius said to me, the first time he saw me. He kneeled next to me, he looked directly into my eyes and said 'You look so much like her'" Daphne imitated Lucius voice perfectly. "And I could see through my tears, the sadness in his eyes was real. It was only later that night that I met you. But Lucius's words have stayed with me all these years. I was a ten-year-old girl who had just lost her family, and to hear that I was — however remotely — similar to my mother was just so reassuring. I thought it was a blessing." Daphne paused. "But now I see it for what it is, a curse. I'm no just similar to her, I'm her spitting image, a carbon copy. I can't escape her, no matter what I do, I'll never be good enough."

"You are not your mother." Harry replied while running his fingers through her silky hair.

Her teeth clenched in defiance. "You are not there at the parties, when then esteemed members of the dark party of the Wizengamot gather to socialize and gossip. You've never seen how they all just stop whenever I enter a room. I remember what it was like, to be a little girl walking alongside her. How people would stop and stare. How they would form a circle around us. How they would fawn over my mother. How entire rooms would grind to a halt when she entered, and Lords and Ladies would listen in complete silence as soon as she spoke." Daphne paused. She was under no illusion of who the real mastermind behind her family's financial and political power had been. It was an open secret. Her father had been the name; her mother, the brains. "Now, they come up to me looking like they've seen a ghost. Davina they all whisper. Davina Greengrass, perfection personified. Would she be ashamed of me, if she could see me now?" Her voice was flat and tired.

"If she could see you now, your mother would think someone used her hair for a Polyjuice potion," he said with a lazy smile, trying to make her laugh. She didn't, but it did make her feel somewhat better. "She would be proud of you, and all those Lords can fuck off. In time, you will be above them all," his tone was dripping with sincerity.

Daphne stayed silent, not trusting herself to speak. There was nothing she could say to that. A small tear slid down her cheek as she caught sight of her reflection again. She missed them. So much. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to think of the question she had no answer to.

Why was she so broken?

For all his sincerity, Harry hadn't once turned to look in the mirror since he had entered the bathroom. She knew Harry detested his appearance. Something they had in common as she sometimes hated hers, even if in Harry case it was because he loathed that he looked like James Potter. He had even gone to his father and begged him to change his features with dark rituals — the Dark Lord hadn't agreed.

The selfish, shallow part of Daphne was glad that the Dark Lord had said no. Harry was almost unfairly attractive, with his smirk, his messy hair and his flashing green eyes that seemed to glow when they caught the sunlight. She liked how Harry looked, even if he didn't. She understood though, sometimes she wished she wasn't a younger copy of her deceased mother, but even if there was a tug in her heart every time she caught sight of her reflection, even if her breath hitched and the corner of her eyes watered. For a brief moment, she could pretend it was her mum starring back at her and not the broken and hollow shell of a daughter she had left behind.

She could imagine what her father would tell her, turning his back on her as he smiled.

You are a Greengrass, Daphne. We fight, we stand up when we fall. And if we die, we do so on our feet, not on our backs.

Had they died on their feet? She sometimes wondered.

She was so tired. Of everything, of fighting, of standing up, of waiting.

She mentally snarled at herself. Her knuckles turned white from her grip on the sink. Harry's gaze shifted to her hands, clearly noticing, but wisely choosing not to say anything.

There was one thing that she wasn't tired of, one thing she would fight for, one thing she would stand up for, one thing she would wait for.

Revenge.

Harry chose that moment to question her. "What brought this on?" He asked, unaware of her train of thought.

"I've been dreaming about them, ever since we killed Podmore." She took a deep breath, Harry's scent clung to her like perfume.

She shut her eyes as her fingers painfully pushed into the palm of her hands, not enough to draw blood but close. Daphne desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand. She wanted to scream and never stop. She wished to answer Harry's question truthfully, but something inside her prevented her from doing so. She didn't want to tell Harry how she really felt about being a killer. How good it made her feel, invincible and full of power. He wouldn't understand, Harry had always been powerful. He was good at fighting, great even, the best fighter she had ever seen. Thanks to his magic, he was always leaps and bounds above everyone else. He had killed way more people than her and yet, he wouldn't understand. Harry never liked killing, no matter who it was.

It was impossible to forget. The moment the incantation for the Killing Curse had left her lips she had felt as if all her hate faded away, but then the next second, as the green light appeared, something else had replaced it. Two emotions clear as day, wrapped around each other while simultaneously clashing. Pure delight, running through her veins like lightening, and then came the shame, shame at that delight that had filled both her body and mind.

But most of all, shame that the delight had not gone away, it had only increased as she gaze upon the corpse of her first kill.

It was a struggle not to show any of the horrific thoughts that were festering in her.

"Killing brings you back memories of them?" Harry asked, giving her a solemn look. Daphne imagined it was because he already knew the answer to his question.

Her eyes snapped around and found him. "And how exactly do you expect me to answer that? I've only ever killed once. I don't have the faintest idea," her voice was a whip.

Ignoring her outburst, he bent down to give her a kiss on her forehead. "I doubt it will be the last time." He said, smiling sadly.

Daphne sighed, acknowledging his words.

She is a child of five!

Her dream had shaken her more that she had previously thought. She was losing it. She remembered the dream. Her parents had been fighting. It had been the first of the countless times she had seen them fight. They were real, she reminded herself. Human. Imperfect. They had fought in front of her numerous times. Often, she herself had been what they argued about.

Was that a glimpse of her future with Harry?

No, she had decided, if she and Harry ever had children, they would never fight in front of them. Their relationship would never be like the one her parents had behind closed doors.

She is a GREENGRASS!

"Distract me," she pleaded, closing her eyes in order to get rid of the image.

Harry lifted one eyebrow, smirking in that annoyingly attractive way only he could do.

She huffed in annoyance; all her past thoughts almost forgotten.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"There is supposed to be a raid in two days." The smirk never left his face.

"Where?" She asked.

"Diagon Alley. Father says that Cornelius Fudge has recently increased the number of Auror stationed there. He needs to show that the Ministry is doing something after all," He gave her a small grin. "It'll blow up in his face when we attack them and prove that they provide absolutely no protection whatsoever."

Daphne laughed lightly, still trying to push down her memories with everything she had. "And you'll officially be introduced to the world won't you, my Prince?" She teased with a knowing smile.

Harry gave a massive shrug.

"Perhaps."

Soon my love, the world will know how great you are. The beginning of your reign, of our reign, Daphne thought, staring at him, thought she did not dare say it aloud. Harry would take it was as slight to his father.

Her hands unconsciously shifted towards her mother's necklace, running her fingers through the golden-green snake coiled around her neck.

Harry's face filled with sudden concern. "You're shivering."

A shudder went through her body.

Daphne gave him her best nothing-is-wrong smile, he was still holding onto her like her life depended on it. "The water was cold."

With the worse possible timing, the moonlight hit his eyes, making them shine even more, and his scent rushed around her — as all-consuming as it had always been. Why was he so infuriatingly lovely? Lust almost took over as scenario after scenario flashed across her mind, stopping all her other thoughts, scenes of what he could do to keep her warm. She was suddenly very much aware of the hard muscles pressing against her, of the strength of his arms while he held her. The light made his face appear almost innocent, but his mouth was curled slightly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Get out of my head, she hissed inwardly but with no actual venom.

His smirk only grew in response as his arms tightened around her.

"Impossible," stated Bellatrix.

"Why?" asked Daphne, rolling her eyes.

"I know you think most Death Eaters are total idiots, but they are no strangers to war. They have trained in different formations and it's second nature for them to fight together. You on the other hand —"

"Have been personally trained by you and Harry. I can probably beat all of them!"

Now it was Bellatrix's turned to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"— are still a child who hasn't even finished Hogwarts," finished Bella with a chuckle. She put down her drink and lifted both her legs to place them on the table, never once taking her eyes off Daphne.

"A child?" repeated Daphne incredulously, clenching the arms of her chair with unnecessary force.

Bella smirked back. Her hand kept playing with a strand of curly back hair that had been falling on top of her face just moments before.

"Yes, I happened to be somewhat of an expert on children believe it or not. Even not having one of my own, you are basically mine."

It would be a lie to say that Bella's words didn't make her feel warm and special, a type of special she hadn't known in a long time. Motherly love, what a strange thing to feel from the most feared woman in the country. Something inside her purrs at Bellatrix claming her openly, at her possessiveness. She yearns for it. But even so, that doesn't prevent Daphne from scowling at her defiantly.

Bellatrix did not even so much as flinch from her glare, if anything she seemed more amused. "See what I mean," she chuckled while pointing at Daphne's face. "Thank you for proving my point. You are no where near ready to raid with Death Eaters, even if Harry is there with you. You will not go to the raid and that is final."

Her jaw clenched shut as she looked down at her feet. Just a few more years, once Hogwarts was over, she would finally be able to take her family's rightful seat in the Wizengamot and help with legislation and other issues like a good little pureblood girl should. But that was not who she wanted to be. She wanted to fight too, to be helpful in other ways, to be respected and feared not just because of who her betrothed was.

She wanted to be like the woman who sat across from of her.

The Dark Lord had said that he would soon send her with Harry on assignments, but she knew those would not be a real test of her skills. Harry was likely do all the heavy lifting. If she was going to be his other half, she needed to prove herself while he was not there to cuddle her. She needed to prove herself on her own merits. Harry would still be recovering by the time the raid was scheduled, and she could be there with him, to help him should he need it.

"But I want to fight," she argued again. "I already know how to manipulate and get people to do what I —"

Bellatrix cut her off, unimpressed.

"Oh yes, your little schemes and plots. Tell me, have you ever seen a raid?" Bella's voice was honey, her smile sweet and innocent looking.

"No," whispered Daphne, so low that she was surprised when Bella heard her.

"Have you ever seen a battle, a real battle?" asked Bellatrix, raising one eyebrow.

"No," she repeated a little louder this time, averting her gaze.

"Well I have, and it's not a pretty sight. Purebloods, Halfbloods and Mudbloods alike piss themselves once they have stared death in the face, some even before. Once they have known true fear and their illusion of immortality has been shattered. It's one thing to hear stories, it's another to fight for your life, and it's one thing to kill someone alone, it's another thing entirely to fight in a war, Daphne."

She had to begrudgingly give her that one. "I know."

"It smells like shit. There's blood everywhere you look, the occasional random arm, hand or leg just lying on the ground, the pavement flies everywhere once the more advanced spells start being thrown around, dust clings to you like a second skin," she paused, staring at her unblinkingly for a moment. "And I love every single second of it." Bellatrix grinned malevolently.

The sound Bella's chair made when she stood was like nails on a chalkboard to Daphne. The feeling of being chastised like a little girl could not be more pronounced.

Bella paused to ruffle her hair as she walked away towards the door at the other end of the room with firm steps.

"You're not ready yet," she stated, without once looking back.