Chapter 4 - Back to the Future

When Liv woke up, she found herself in a strange place, and above her, she looked into the warm-hearted face of a woman she did not know. The woman introduced herself as a cook in the Court of the Everlasting Frost. Rupert, the king's confidant, had brought her here and placed her in her care. From now on, Liv was also to work in the castle kitchen to serve the king and his guests.

Liv shuddered when she heard this. Her mother had always warned her not to come here. But her mother was dead, as was her entire family and every person she had ever known, killed by the warriors in grey. Here, at least, she seemed safe. She agreed, even though she probably had no choice anyway.

And so began a new chapter in Liv's life. A life in the service of Santa Claus.


The sound of a strange voice jolted Harry out of his dreams. Dark they had been and filled with the clang of weapons, but that was all he remembered. How long had they been asleep?

He felt himself being shaken on the shoulder. And a voice was talking to him in a language he didn't understand. Norwegian? Yes, it sounded like Norwegian.

Harry opened his eyes, which seemed surprisingly heavy. Bright light blinded him, making his eyes water. So they had slept through the whole night and a new morning had dawned. Harry blinked until his eyes adjusted to the light. Above him, he now recognised the face of a blond boy. He might not be ten years old, if Harry had to guess. But there was a relief on his face that spoke of worries no child should have. The boy asked him something, as Harry could tell from his tone, but he could not understand his question.

Something stirred beside him. Harry glanced to the side and realised that Daphne was awake too. Her eyes were blinking too, trying to adjust to the light. She let out a low moan.

"Daphne," Harry called hurriedly, leaning over her, "are you okay? What about your injuries?"

Daphne smiled at him. "I'm fine, Harry. My head is just buzzing a little."

"You speak English!" suddenly came the voice of the boy next to them, and this time Harry could understand him, as he had now switched to their mother tongue. "Finally, you've woken up. I'm so relieved. I was about to call an ambulance, but the reception is so bad here."

"Thank you," Harry said while helping Daphne to sit up. He suspected the boy was a Muggle, so they had to be careful what they said to him. "We're fine, we were just sleeping and lost track of time. What's your name?"

"Mica," the boy introduced himself.

"Nice to meet you, Mica. This is Daphne and I'm Harry."

Daphne gave the boy a friendly nod, but her gaze froze as she looked towards the exit.

"What?" asked Harry, following her gaze.

What he saw made him freeze too. The ice wall that had blocked the exit the night before was gone – which made sense, because how else could the boy have got into the cave? What made Harry freeze was the sight beyond the cave. No longer were they looking at snow and ice as far as the eye could see, but a grey, dusty wasteland. How could this be?

"Mica, where has all the snow gone?", Daphne voiced their confusion.

Now it was Mica who gave them a puzzled look. "What do you mean? I mean, it hasn't snowed here in years. My parents still talk about it sometimes, but I've never seen snow here. Only further north is there supposed to be some, but I've never been there and my parents forbid me to go."

Harry and Daphne exchanged a look. She seemed to be thinking the same thing he was.

"Mica, how old are you?" asked Harry.

"I'm nine, but I'll be ten in four months."

So just as he had originally guessed. But that only added to the terrible suspicion that was beginning to spread through him like a blaze in a dry forest.

"What's the date?" he asked.

Mica was still looking at them in confusion. "Well, the thirteenth of November, of course. Tuesday. Why are you asking me that?"

So there must have been some magic at work, Harry realised, because how else was it possible that they had entered the cave in May and it was now November. But the scenery outside even suggested that it wasn't simply the season that had changed.

"What year?!" Daphne asked the question that was on his mind too.

"Well, 2035 of course," Mica replied in a tone that revealed he must find them both extremely strange.

For a moment, an ice-cold shiver raced down Harry's spine. He felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under his feet. The world was spinning around him.

They had been in the cave for ... thirty-seven years?

Harry looked at Daphne. She seemed to be taking the news even worse than him. With one hand she propped herself against the cave wall, the other she had clenched into a fist over her heart. She shook her head as if just by not accepting it she could change reality. Harry stepped up to her and put his hand on her arm. She turned her head towards him. In her gaze, he saw the same despair that threatened to overwhelm him too. But Harry forced himself to remain calm, as hard as it was for him. He had to keep a cool head. For both of them.

"We must go back," he whispered in her ear so Mica couldn't hear him.

Daphne looked at him with widened eyes. A few moments passed – Harry could hear her heart pounding as if it were his, so close were they – and then Daphne nodded.

Harry returned her nod before turning back to Mica. He kept his hand on Daphne's arm, however.

"Thanks again for waking us up, but we need to get going," he said and started walking towards the cave exit. Daphne followed beside him.

"Do you need a lift?" the voice of Mica sounded behind them. "My parents live only seven miles away. And there's a hospital in twenty miles if you want to go there."

"Thank you, but it's really okay," Harry waved it off.

They stepped outside and were greeted by the sight of a vehicle unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. It was reminiscent of a car, a convertible, only slightly smaller and, most importantly, without tyres. Instead, the vehicle hovered several feet above the ground. Was the boy perhaps not a Muggle after all?

The air was dusty and scratchy in Harry's throat. It made him cough.

"Are you sure?" asked Mica. "And what are these?"

Harry glanced back and abruptly jumped forward when he saw what Mica was carrying in his hands. The Sword of Gryffindor and Daphne's rapier.

"Better give this to the grown-ups," he said, taking the weapons from Mica. "Before you hurt yourself."

"You don't look that grown up either," Mica muttered, slightly sour, but this quickly disappeared from his voice as he eyed them worriedly again. "Maybe you should still go to the hospital. And what about your clothes? They're damaged and you're dressed far too warmly too."

Harry looked down at himself and then at Daphne. It was true. They were still wearing their winter clothes, even if they were torn where Servant Rupert had hit them with his claws. But their wounds underneath were fully healed. Neither blood nor dirt had remained, as if by magic. Still, they must look very strange indeed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Daphne clutching her wand. He shook his head slightly. Mica had been sweet and kind. He didn't deserve to get a spell cast on him. Daphne removed her hand from her wand.

"Well, I guess we're not the best-prepared tourists," Harry laughed playfully, giving Mica what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He pointed at the rocks to their left. "Our vehicle must be somewhere back there. We were just a bit exhausted and lay down to sleep. Thanks again for waking us up."

The boy still didn't seem entirely convinced, but after several more reassurances from Daphne and him that everything was fine and he had nothing to worry about, he finally let it go. And then he finally got into his flying vehicle and started to drive off – but not without inviting them both to his home once more. He really was far too sweet for this world.

As he drove away, Mica turned to them and waved. Harry and Daphne waved back with forced smiles. When the vehicle, at last, disappeared into the horizon, they instantly dropped their hands.

"Harry, we must –" Daphne began, but Harry interrupted her.

"I know. Hold on to me."

Daphne's eyes widened. "You're going to Apparate? Can you make it?"

It wasn't beyond what was theoretically possible, but it was far beyond the usual distances. And he had never Apparated that far before. But it wasn't as if he had a choice.

"I'll make it because I have to make it," he said.

Daphne nodded as if his words made perfect sense. "I'll support you with my magic."

Harry felt Daphne's mind reaching out to his, but much more gently than Snape had in their Occlumency lessons, or Voldemort had when he'd tried to get inside his head. It surprised him – and at the same time, it did not surprise him – that Daphne was capable of this. He let her in, did not resist the mental contact, and the next moment he was flooded with a storm of feelings. Fear, despair, love. Most of all love.

Daphne's feelings gave him strength.

He gave her a grateful smile before concentrating on their destination. Daphne's hand clasped his upper arm. Her fingers clawed into his skin. They were torn away. It felt like they were being squeezed and pulled through a tube. Harry gritted his teeth. It lasted longer than ever before.

Then they emerged at their destination. Below them was yellowish grass and above them a clear sky. And in front of them towered the Burrow, just as crooked, just as tangled, just as adorable as Harry remembered it.

Suddenly, however, everything around him began to spin. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. Shortly afterwards, Daphne followed him and fell into the dirt beside him.

Harry heard shouting and the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the worried face of a young woman with long red hair that seemed familiar and strange at the same time.


"…haven't reached her yet. But her secretary said he'll notify her and then I'm sure she'll get here right away."

"Has anyone told Scorpius and his father?"

"Of course, nana. And Mum, let me do that."

The voices came to Harry as if from a great distance. He tried to open his eyes, but light blinded him. He was lying on a soft surface, he felt, and the scent in the air brought back warm memories. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but only a croak came out.

Footsteps sounded, and in the next moment, Harry felt a body above his. Hair tickled his face. He blinked until he could slowly make out contours and colours. Again he looked into the face he had seen just before he had lost consciousness. And now he realised why it had seemed familiar and strange at the same time. The long red hair, the freckles on her nose, the dimples in her cheek – all that reminded him of Ginny the last time he had seen her. But the blue eyes and round chin were such obvious differences that Harry's head ached at the thought of what that meant.

"Good, you're awake," the young woman said with a smile.

Then another face bent over him, also familiar and strange to Harry. She had grown older, had small wrinkles around the corners of her mouth and her nose looked as if it had been broken once long ago. But she still radiated a warmth and energy that had made their short time together at the end of his sixth year seem like a dream. Ginny. His girlfriend. At least she had been when he had left for Norway.

Ginny's brown eyes glistened in the sunlight shining in through a window, and Harry realised they were tears. More and more tears fell from Ginny's eyes, as if any self-control she had previously imposed on herself had collapsed with his awakening. The thought pleased and shamed Harry in equal measure. Ginny threw her arms around him, so violently that it took his breath away. He felt her tears wet his neck and began to pat her back.

Meanwhile, he let his gaze wander. He was in the living room of the Burrow, he realised, even if the furniture was different from the last time he had been there. In one corner stood a large silver mirror that had not been there on his last visit, but was marked by long use, with scratches in the glass and a broken foot. And on another couch lay Daphne. She was still asleep, and her face looked calm and peaceful. Harry felt relief.

There were other people in the room. Molly and Arthur, both visibly aged. A brown-haired man Harry didn't know. And the young woman Harry had first seen. She had to be Ginny's daughter. He swallowed.

He was going to try to say something again, but suddenly he heard the slam of a door. The next moment an older Hermione rushed into the room. Her hair was still as bushy as ever, but she was now wearing an elegant trouser suit that showed she had made it in life.

Within a few steps, Hermione was with him, also throwing her arms around his body and taking his breath away. Her tears joined Ginny's.

Past Hermione's head, Harry could see Tracey enter, also aged, but with the familiar mocking smile on her lips that he'd come to associate with her, and which looked just a little fake at that moment.

Tracey stepped over to the sleeping Daphne, who had so far received no further attention from the others present, and grasped her hand. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," she murmured, "or are you waiting for your Prince Charming to kiss you?"

At her friend's words, a jolt suddenly went through Daphne's body. She startled. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Tracey, and even more as she took in her surroundings. Tracey smiled at her, squeezing her hand.

All the while, Ginny and Hermione hadn't stopped hugging him, as if they feared he would vanish into thin air if they let go. Presumably, they did. And who could blame them, Harry thought.

He cleared his throat and this time his voice didn't seem to fail. "Um, hello, guys," he said. "How are you?"


It was half an hour later that they – Hermione, Ginny, Tracey, Daphne, and himself – sat together at the kitchen table, cups of hot chocolate in front of them. Molly, Arthur, Ginny's daughter, and the brown-haired man – apparently Ginny's husband, at least they wore similar wedding rings – had gone out to give the friends a chance to talk. And they certainly had more than enough to talk about.

"We thought you were gone," Hermione said, her voice almost pleading. "The Norwegians told us about an avalanche. And after your Patronus, no one saw anything of you. For years. We even went there ourselves, looking for you, in vain. Please believe us, Harry."

Tears came to Hermione's eyes again. Harry reached across the table to squeeze her hand.

"I believe you," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "We were trapped in some kind of" – he looked questioningly at Daphne, but her gaze was lowered to the cup in her hands – "magical sleep or something. In a magical cave. It hasn't been … thirty-seven years for us."

Then he looked at Ginny. "She's your daughter, I suppose?"

Ginny nodded. Tears came to her eyes again too. "I've waited so long for you," she said, sobbing. "So, so long. At some point ... at some point, I had to admit to myself that you were probably never coming back. I met Brian afterwards on a Quidditch trip to America."

"Is he a good man? Does he make you happy?"

Ginny nodded again, and this time a small smile tucked around the corners of her mouth.

"I'm glad," Harry said. It wasn't even a lie, even if he couldn't deny the pain that was tightening his chest. So this was how his first real relationship ended. Shattered in the turmoil of time.

Silence spread around the table, interrupted only by a few sips from their cups. It seemed as if no one knew what to say to the other. What could one say to a friend who had been thought lost when he reappeared after thirty-seven years? And what could he say to his aged friends, when an abyss of decades of life experience had opened up between their shared memories? Hell, Ginny's daughter was older than him now.

At some point, however, Harry could no longer stand the silence.

"So?" he asked around the room. "What about Ron? Is he coming too?"

At his words, a heaviness settled over the room, and if Harry had thought that the previous silence had been uncomfortable, he was proved wrong. His guts tightened. Meanwhile, Ginny and Tracey were looking at Hermione.

Hermione gave him a tearful look. "Ron ... he's dead."

Her words struck Harry like a bolt of lightning. "How?" he asked, the word more physical reflex than willful expression.

"He ... he joined the Aurors," Hermione said, sobbing. Tracey handed her a handkerchief and she began to wipe the tears from her face. In a shaky voice, she continued. "After you disappeared, he blamed himself a lot. He said he should have gone with you. That it was his fault that you ... disappeared. He searched for you for the longest time, to the borders of Everfrost, and never wanted to give up hope that he would find you. And when he could do no more, he threw himself into all kinds of dangers. Then, fifteen years ago, he left on some mission, no one knew what exactly, not even his bosses. But ... but he never came back. And then the Weasley clock confirmed the terrible news to us. He died and we had to bury an empty coffin…"

Hermione burst into tears, unable to continue. However, there was no need to. Harry had heard enough. So Ron was dead. Because of him.

"And Astoria?" Daphne's soft voice suddenly sounded beside him.

Harry looked at her. She still kept her head down, her gaze fixed solely on the hot chocolate in her hands, from which she had not yet taken a sip. It was clear from her voice that she was not harbouring any false hopes.

"What about my sister?"

Tracey broke away from Hermione, who she had been comforting until then, and turned to Daphne. She reached out her hands but stopped short of Daphne's body, as if she didn't dare touch her for fear of breaking her.

"She died five years after you left," she said, "She lived to be twenty-one."

Daphne nodded slightly. Then she rose from the chair, but still avoided their eyes. "I'd like to visit her now. I –"

But just at that moment, the front door opened. Molly stuck her head in and seemed to grasp the situation immediately. In a comforting tone, she said, "There are some here who would like to see you. Especially you, Daphne dear."

With that, she opened the door fully and none other than Draco Malfoy stepped into the kitchen. This surprised both Harry and Daphne, if he read her expression correctly.

"What are you doing here?" asked Daphne.

Malfoy returned her suspicious look in such a meek, even sad, way that Harry could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.

"Hello, Daphne. Long time no see."

Daphne clenched her jaw. "I'm only going to ask one more time. What are you doing here?"

"I have, as I will reveal to you in a moment, my place in this gathering we all dared not to hope for," Malfoy said. He heaved a sigh. "Just please don't curse me when you've heard."

Daphne was silent, but her face had taken on hard contours. And Harry, too, had a guess as to where all this was going.

"Daphne, I must tell you that a year after you left, I fell in love with Astoria. With her kindness, her warmth, her zest for life."

Daphne's body began to shake violently, but she did not avert her gaze from Malfoy. Harry suppressed the impulse to reach for her hand. Not in front of so many people.

Malfoy continued, "I still don't know what got into her, but she returned my feelings. Two years later we got married. I loved her, Daphne. She made me happy. I like to think I made her happy too. And everything she's ever said to me confirms me in that belief. We had a good time, the few years we had."

Daphne closed her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists. Then she suddenly jumped forward and slapped him across the face. "Then why didn't you save her?!" she cried with tears in her eyes. "Why –"

"You think I wouldn't have given anything, really anything, to save her?" yelled Draco back. "The love of my life and mother of my only son?"

Daphne froze. "What ... what are you saying?"

Tracey put her hand on Daphne's arm. "There's someone else you should meet, Daph," she said softly.

Tracey waved towards the door, and the next moment a young blond man stepped inside. And again Harry felt swept along in the stream of resemblances and memories. For the young man looked like a cross between his father, who stood before them, and his mother, as Harry remembered her. But he looked older than Astoria had when she had waved goodbye to them, and older than Daphne did at that moment. And in a way he was.

"This is Scorpius, your nephew," Tracey said.

Daphne averted her eyes from the young man. "I ... I can't do this," she said in a shaky voice before suddenly running out the door. Harry held out his arm but could not stop her.

"I'll take care of her. You go on," Tracey said and ran after her.

Silence spread through the kitchen. No one said a word. Malfoy and his son joined them at the table –apparently they had not yet given up hope of speaking to Daphne. Harry thought that was highly unlikely after all he had learned about his travelling companion in the short time of their journey. Their short journey that had lasted thirty-seven years. He heaved a long sigh.

It was Hermione who finally broke the silence. "Harry ... I still don't know how to talk to you, but you're taking all this better than I would have expected. What happened to you? Why have you been gone all these years? Why do you look like you haven't aged a day? Why do you suddenly appear here now? What do you mean by a magical sleep and a cave? Why –"

"Jeez, Hermione," Ginny interrupted her, "one question at a time."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered.

They all laughed, and Harry felt that his laughter loosened a knot inside him. It was comforting that Hermione, despite how much had changed and how much had happened, was still the same in some ways.

"The Norwegians wouldn't let us go to Everfrost," he started. "So we started an avalanche to distract them. But then we ran into Servant Rupert and had to fight him."

The others looked at him with wide eyes, listening to him with full attention. And so Harry told the whole story.


It was several hours later that Harry's feet carried him across the small cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole. In the conversation with his friends, not only they but he too had learned a lot. Ginny had had a successful Quidditch career and now worked as a sports reporter for the Daily Prophet. Neville was a professor at Hogwarts and Luna travelled the world. Hermione, meanwhile, was Minister for Magic, and it didn't escape Harry's notice how close she seemed to Tracey, but he didn't bring it up. Tracey who had become an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, as she and Daphne had intended, had returned to the kitchen some time later. She had only said that Daphne needed time to herself.

Still, Harry was worried about his travelling companion – here his thoughts faltered. Were they still travelling companions? Were they still on a journey? Hermione had also asked what he was going to do now, and frankly, he didn't know. What were they going to do now? Go back north to take revenge on Santa Claus? Because even if they could break the curse with that, it wouldn't bring Astoria back to life. And wouldn't they perhaps even be walking into a trap? Because once again it had been Hermione – with her brilliant mind – who had raised the question of why the cave had reopened at that exact moment in time. Did someone want them to be released now? But why?

But even if Daphne and he were still on some kind of journey, were they just travelling companions, or were they not more by now?

But all these thoughts, all these questions, and confusing feelings, suddenly disappeared from Harry's mind when he came to stand in front of a bright gravestone with a lovingly tended flowerbed. On the headstone was written:

Ronald Bilius Weasley

Born 1 March 1980, died 13 May 2020.

Beloved son, friend, and husband

Harry sank to his knees.

And at last, he no longer held back his tears. He let them run free, here, in front of his best friend's grave.


Each step felt heavy to Daphne as her feet carried her across the grounds of her ancestral home. Elysium. Rarely had the name seemed so apt to her as it did at that moment. The place was filled with the memories of her life. And the lives of all the Greengrasses before her, but at that moment those faded into the background for Daphne. Instead, her thoughts were filled with the laughter of days long gone, of sunshine and joy, and the smell of freshly baked cake and a picnic on a high, green hill.

Once again, tears clouded her vision. Angrily, Daphne wiped them from her face. Why was she crying so much lately, as if she were still a little girl? She was stronger than that.

Her steps carried her past the white mausoleums that had given this place its fateful name. She had run past these mausoleums so often as a child, playing in their shadows, that she could still remember every scratch in the stone. Only two of the buildings were not so familiar to her. Her mother's, which she was walking past at that very moment – she had never had the heart to visit it – and next to it, a new mausoleum. New at least from her perspective. Actually, it was over thirty years old. It was the tomb of her little sister.

You are not the mistress of your fate, Daphne, but its slave. Harry's words in the cave had been true. She had fought so hard to save Astoria, but in the end, it had all been in vain. In the end, her sister had died anyway.

Daphne touched the white stone, which was cold from the November air. As cold as Daphne felt at that moment.

She sank to her knees and let her tears run free.


When Harry found Daphne later, she was sitting on the stairs to her family home. The sun was already setting on the horizon and a frosty breeze had taken hold of the evening air, but neither of them seemed to care.

"Hey," Harry said as he stopped in front of her.

Daphne looked up. She looked incredibly tired. "Hey."

Harry sat down beside her on the stairs and let his gaze wander over the estate, this garden of graves that the setting sun made glow with an orange sheen. When he had first come here, before they left for Norway, he had found this sight depressing. He still did, but he could now better imagine what it all meant to Daphne, who had lived here since her earliest childhood and surely had many memories of this place.

"You didn't bring any whiskey this time?" asked Daphne next to him.

Harry shook his head. "No. Should I?"

Daphne shook her head as well. "No. But, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Can I lean on you?"

Harry looked to Daphne, and his eyes met hers. Like an abyss they seemed to him at that moment, deep and lost.

"Of course," he said.

At that, Daphne rested her head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. Silence fell between them. Not an uncomfortable silence, but it was obvious that they both wanted to say more to each other, but were struggling to find the right words. Finally, at some point – the sun had already set – it was Daphne who spoke up again.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For running away. It was just ... so much."

"You don't have to apologise. I almost ran away myself," Harry said.

I'm glad to have you by my side. Even if you're just running from your demons too. Daphne's words in the cave came back to him. How right she had been. For so long he had been on the run.

"I haven't had the heart yet. To go in, I mean," Daphne continued. She bit her lips. Harry thought it looked extremely cute. "Would you come with me?"

"Sure. Right now?"

"We can wait a little longer..."

Again they were both silent, enjoying the moment and the peacefulness that seemed to be inherent in it. From above, the stars shone dimly down on them, a light breeze blew across their faces, and Harry felt a pleasant warmth emanating from Daphne's body. He closed his eyes. It felt nice, if one ignored the reasons they were sitting here.

"I'm a failure," Daphne's soft voice sounded beside him.

Harry opened his eyes again and sought her gaze. "No, you're not, Daphne."

"Yes I am. I've failed at everything I've ever set out to do. I failed in our fight against Servant Rupert. And because of that, my sister is dead." Her body tensed.

"You didn't fail. We had to fight him. We had no other choice." Harry would have liked to say something more convincing, but he couldn't think of anything.

"We could have just not set off on this mad quest in the first place," Daphne said. "At least then I would have had five more years with my sister. Now I have nothing."

"We both know you could never have done that, Daph," Harry replied. He realised that he had instinctively used Tracey's nickname for her, but he didn't think any more about it. "You're a fighter and you could never have sat idle."

Daphne's voice, as she answered him, was dripping with contempt. "I'm not a fighter. How had you so aptly put it? I'm just the slave of my fate. And you were right."

She jumped to her feet. Her hands were clenched into fists. Her body quivered.

"I didn't mean it like that, Daphne!" said Harry excitedly, rising as well.

Daphne looked at him with a face that was unfathomable to him. What was going on in her head? "What else did you mean? I'm a failure, after all. Always have been."

"Let me be there for you," Harry said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to be there for you. Because I like you. Because you're my friend."

Harry stepped up to her, raising his hand as he did so. He grasped the back of her head and pressed it against his shoulder with the pressure of a falling leaf. He felt her breath against him and the warmth of her face. Her hair brushed over his hand on her head.

Slowly Daphne calmed down and after what seemed like an eternity, during which neither of them had said anything, Daphne released her head from him again.

"Thank you," she whispered. She smiled, but her eyes betrayed wistfulness. "Thank you for your selflessness. You think of me, and I, I think only of myself."

"Daphne –," Harry began, but stopped when she put a finger to his mouth.

"Don't say anything," she whispered.

She placed one of her hands on his chest, the other on his shoulder. Harry's heart began to pound wildly. Daphne slowly moved her head to his, her golden strands blowing in the gentle evening breeze.

"I'm selfish. And so I will continue to take advantage of your selflessness."

Her lips were now just before his. Her breath brushed across his mouth.

Harry didn't know who closed the gap, but when their lips met in a tender kiss, a shiver went through his body. Their kiss became more intimate. Full of passion, they caressed each other's lips, giving free rein to their pent-up feelings. Daphne put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Harry's hands ran down her side, over her back, and through her soft hair.

Their kiss lasted maybe a minute or two, and when they finally parted again, Daphne gave him wry smile. "I'm 54 years old and that was my first kiss. I guess I'm a bit of a late starter."

Harry grinned at her. "But you're a natural."

"I liked it too," Daphne said, taking his hand. "And now, Harry, I'd like you to accompany me into the house."


Warm sunlight tickled Harry's face as he awoke. He opened his eyes and surveyed the room he had only casually looked at the night before. Bright it was, with light shining in through several large windows. One side of the room was completely taken up by a large bookshelf, but Harry was unable to read the titles of the books at this distance. In front of it lay the marbles of a Gobstones game, apparently started and never finished. In the corner stood a dressing table and above it hung a poster of the Weird Sisters.

It was, it could be noted, a typical room of a young, inquisitive witch like Daphne was – had been – preserved in the flow of time by magic and the care of the Greengrass house-elves, who still looked after the estate decades after their masters had disappeared; even yesterday Harry had only felt their magic, but not seen them. Had Daphne spoken to them, he wondered?

Speaking of Daphne. Harry felt a movement and looked at the person next to him in the big four-poster bed. The blanket had slid down, exposing Daphne's bare back and her soft skin, which he had caressed last night.

The blood rushed to Harry's head at the memory. It had been the first time for both of them, and as such it had been a little awkward at first. But they had quickly become more familiar and at ease with each other.

He had no regrets. They had both needed it, to be touched and held. And he liked Daphne. He even liked her a lot. Her determination, her warmth towards those she loved. Attractive she was too, as Harry had noticed from the very beginning. Some would even say she was beautiful. Moreover, they were connected in a way that was unique, as strangers in a new life, cast out of their time into a world unknown to them, separated from their friends by the experiences of decades.

But what was to happen to them after this night? Were they now a couple or –

Harry was jolted out of his thoughts when suddenly an owl landed in front of one of the windows and struck the glass with its beak. The sounds woke Daphne too.

"Hmm, what's wrong?" she murmured sleepily.

"It's just an owl," Harry said gently.

Daphne straightened, the blanket sliding even further down her body. Again Harry felt his head grow quite hot. He hastily rose from the bed, went to the window, and let the owl in. It had a letter tied to its leg, addressed to him. But without an address, just Harry Potter. He untied the letter and began to read.

"What is it?" asked Daphne, by now fully awake and giving him a curious look.

"From Hermione," Harry replied. He glanced at Daphne and his eyes slid over her exposed body. He was about to turn away, but then he noticed that he was also completely naked in the room, and Daphne didn't seem to mind.

Daphne smiled at him as if she could read his mind. "What does Hermione write?" she asked.

"She wants me to come to the Leaky Cauldron at eleven. She wants to talk to me. That's all she wrote."

"Should I come, too?" asked Daphne.

Harry grinned at her. If Daphne wasn't bothered by the new development in their relationship, even liked it as it appeared, then he would do the same.

"Are you kidding? I'm never let you out of my sight again," he said.

"Don't get creepy on me or I'll reconsider wanting to be with you," Daphne replied, but she was smiling when she said it.

Harry's heart leapt at her words and he was about to say something when suddenly another owl flew into the room. It flew straight to the bed where it landed in front of Daphne and held out a leg with a letter on it. Daphne untied it and began to read.

"Well?" asked Harry. "Who's writing to you?"

Daphne's brow furrowed. She looked up and replied, "Tracey. She wants me to come to the Leaky Cauldron too. Also at eleven."

They both exchanged a curious look. What could that mean?


AN: Oh dear, our two adventurers have found themselves in an awkward situation. And what could Hermione and Tracey possibly want? Little hint: I already hinted at it in one of the previous chapters ;)