Chapter XIV

It had been a long climb, and the two of them were not as young as they used to be. It had not taken very long to discover where he'd holed up, for it was not as though the man they sought was even attempting to hide. However, traveling here was a lengthy journey, all the more so given they had no portkey and brooms were not an option.

The wind whipped at their robes, and each recast warming charms at least every half hour. The Rhodope Mountains, in the Smolyan Province of Bulgaria, were not the most hospitable of places in the winter, but given how quickly things had spiraled out of control, the decision had been made for them.

At last, they arrived; the citadel before them was crude and amateurish in design, but nonetheless fairly formidable given the speed of its construction. 'This doesn't bode well,' Unus thought to himself, a heavy sense of resignation filling him as he took in the sight of Septum's severed head, staked to the front of the massive doors before them.

"By the gods!" Quinctus whispered from behind him, stunned at the audacity on display.

A quick announcing charm, and from Septum's head came Tuor's voice. "Who calls on the Dragonlord of the Danube?

"Open the gates."

A low, throaty chuckle was their only response, Septum's lips twisting into a macabre sneer, and with a rumble the doors opened, admitting them into a huge courtyard. Unus realized that calling this a citadel had been an overestimation; it really was more of a fort, with high walls protecting a flat clearing. There was a smattering of huts spread throughout the space, with one large house at the center. It was from there that their former colleague emerged.

"Welcome to Apicem Draconis! I've been expecting a delegation for several weeks."

"Have you lost your mind? No - don't answer that, you obviously have. What could have driven you to such acts of insanity?" Quinctus, much like himself, had recognized there would be no negotiations.

"All great nations have humble beginnings, my friends. You should consider it an honor to see the future of Eastern Europe in its embryonic state!"

Unus loosened the clasp on his heavy woolen cloak, freeing himself from its restriction. "Is that why you murdered the Bulgarian Minister and turned the Romanian Dragon Preserve into a weapons platform?"

Tuor scoffed. "That man didn't deserve to lead flobberworms, much less wizards! His inaction carried with it consequences, ones that I helpfully brought to him."

"Bulgaria is a sovereign state, a member of the Confederation you agreed to serve. Since when are you so concerned with the loss of nonmagical life?"

"Since when do wizards and witches cower in fear, allowing demons to trample their lands unchecked? I will unite all wizards and witches, and return to them the glory and eminence our ancestors wielded!"

His unhinged speech unnerved Unus. "This isn't like you, Tuor."

Withdrawing a long, unusual wand from his robes, the man scowled. "That name means nothing! I am the Dragonlord, and all those who oppose me will burn beneath my fury! Now!"

At his command, two Ukrainian Ironbellies soared over the walls, one landing near Tuor, the other blocking off the doors they'd walked through. "Do you understand now? I am no longer a servant to your decaying empire!"

Twin roars preceded two jets of dragonfire launching towards them, and Quinctus and Unus sprang into action as the battle was well and truly joined. Unus entrusted his companion to guard against the enormous beast to their rear, focusing entirely on the twin threats in front of him.

They had not come to this place unprepared; that Tuor had coerced the dragon handlers into doing his bidding following the successful battle at Flamel's was hardly a secret, and he'd spent more than a week with Octava preparing while Quinctus scouted out this location.

Rolling away from the searing flames, Unus focused his magic, calling out "Potentiam Malleus!" A crackling beam fired out, the energy shifting and twisting, widening in a conical fashion from his wand's tip to reach a width of fifteen feet, striking the dragon in the center of its mass.

Cracked and broken scales scattered around the courtyard, the dragon's armored protection splintering under the pressure of the ancient Roman siege spell, driving it backwards until it collapsed to the ground, crushing Tuor's home beneath its ponderous bulk.

Howling in rage, his former compatriot sent a shower of sparks skyward, and Unus could hear distant roars. No doubt the dragon handlers that had joined him were positioned outside the walls, ready to provide necessary reinforcement.

"I thought you would outgrow your cowardice, Tuor," he remarked, peppering the traitor with a battery of Sahelian strangling curses. "It was a mistake to grant you a place among the Nine."

His curses ineffectually impacted a Shield Charm of greater strength than he'd ever before witnessed. 'He wasn't this strong before!' Unus' wand was nearly wrenched from his hand as he deflected an Explosion Hex of immense power away, its effect demolishing a half-dozen huts.

There was a rumble behind him, as the Ironbelly Quinctus faced collapsed, deprived of air from the modified Bubble-Head Charm that Octava had tweaked to sap, rather than produce oxygen.

"Quinctus! Seal off the area, he's called for more dragons!" Nodding at his command, Quinctus rushed to the nearest stone wall and hurriedly began carving runes into its surface with targeted gouging curses, leaving him to face Tuor free of distraction.

"You think I am unable to match you by myself? I've grown more powerful than you can possibly imagine!"

Unus narrowed his eyes, uninterested in further conversation with the clearly insane man, and the duel began in earnest. His own skill far surpassed Tuor's, but the sheer power behind the other man's spells meant that he could not press his advantage. Conjured animals fell to severing curses, transfigured attacks melted away into nothingness from Vanishing spells, and his own curses fruitlessly impacted shields.

Switching to Unforgivables, he at least garnered a reaction, forcing Tuor to duck and dodge; as expected, he avoided using conjuration now as he had when they first met. Throwing his heavy cloak into the air, Unus used an overpowered Engorgement Charm to enlarge it to the point it could have easily covered one of the fallen dragons, reinforcing it with multiple Unbreakable Charms. They surely wouldn't hold up against Tuor's curses, but all he needed was a moment.

As the other man raised his wand over his head, preparing to shred the enormous incoming projectile, Unus whispered "Solaris Calorum," and a steady, continuous needlepoint beam of light arced outward, drilling a hole in the ground between Tuor's legs before the beam swiftly shot upward, cutting out just as Unus' wand pointed to the sky.

There wasn't even time for his expression to change. Tuor's body, split down the middle as though cut in half by a buzzsaw simply collapsed in dramatic fashion.

"Find the wardstone so we can portkey out of here, these enchantments aren't going to hold back those dragons forever!" Quinctus called, still carving more reinforcement runes into the walls to hold back the next wave of dragons.

"I suspect it won't matter before long. Without whatever compulsion Tuor used, it's unlikely that the dragon-handlers will carry on the fight," he replied, approaching his fallen opponent.

It was most curious that this bout of insanity asserted itself immediately after his defeat of Dumbledore. Was it possible that Flamel had bewitched him in some way? 'Unlikely' he ultimately decided. Crouching next to the body, he leafed through the standard robes that the Umbra wore, cursing the other man for not having the decency to wear something else before embarking on this campaign of madness.

There was nothing of note, so Unus moved his examination to the unusual wand, innocently lying on the ground next to Tuor's right half. He'd never seen a wand with that design; the knots present along the handle giving it the rough appearance of a thin branch snapped off a tree.

Picking it up for a closer look, feeling a surge of confidence and unimaginable power that accompanied an eruption of sparks from its tip, Unus suddenly understood.


"Who are you? How did you get in here? I told my assistant I wanted no interruptions!"

Supreme Mugwump Braheem Salah was not having a great day, and hadn't been for the last month. There had been emergency hearings day after day in the Sorcerer's Assembly ever since the news had broken of just how wretched conditions were behind the magical blockade that cut Britain off from the rest of the world.

While Magical Britain had a certain reputation for instability, given they'd endured two civil wars in less than a half-century, it also was an important part of the international magical community. The news of learning that the sudden closure of their borders was made externally, by the ICW, without even the consultation of the installed provisional government had not been received well.

"I'm a very busy man, and I have no time to deal with unscheduled visitors!"

"I think you do, sir," the woman replied evenly in flawless Arabic. She was middle-aged, unremarkable in appearance, wearing expensive but plain robes bearing the Confederation's insignia.

Salah sighed, seeing she displayed no reaction to his demands. "What is this about?"

"You authorized a vote tomorrow on reinstating Magical Britain's rights and responsibilities to the Assembly."

"What of it? Everything was done according to procedure."

"Those of us responsible for safeguarding magic's secret feel such a move would be… premature."

"Your opinion matters very little. I am the Supreme Mugwump, I don't take orders from low-level bureaucrats-"

A folder slid across his desk, the woman having removed it from her robes. "I think you'll find that you can't affordnot to. Sir."

"What is this?" He looked down at the list of vault deposits. "What- where did you get this?"

"It's a far less interesting story than what I'm going to do with it. Paying off your Minister's niece to hide that she bore your illegitimate child; I'm sure it would cause quite a scandal back home. Unless, of course, you quash this vote."

"It's not that easy!" he protested, a desperate note to his voice. "Maybe, maybe had an ICW official not just assassinated the Bulgarian Minister for Magic and incited a revolt in two countries, what you ask would be possible. But now? There are many Mugwumps with orders from their government to rein in the Confederation's authority. Suppressing the vote is not possible!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Well, if you'll excuse me-"

"Wait! What- what are you going to do?" Salah felt droplets of sweat running down his collar.

"There is an international portkey waiting for me, timed to activate in a half-hour, and I need to change. These robes are far too warm for the Egyptian climate, even in winter."

"You can't do this! I'll be ruined!"

The woman stood from her seat, smoothing her robes. "I'm afraid that holding back information like this, about the Supreme Mugwump and a teenage mother, would be hiding a potential conflict of interest. How unfortunate, then, that we both have these things we cannot do."

His voice was hushed, full of fear and shame. "I'll make certain the vote doesn't happen."

"Thank you, sir, I'm glad to hear you agree that's for the best." The woman turned and made for the door, pausing just before she turned the knob at his final question.

"Who are you, really?"

"Merely a low-level bureaucrat, doing what's best for wizards and witches everywhere," Tris responded, smiling to herself and leaving his office.


"Harry? Are you awake?"

The surge of relief that flowed through him was palpable as he heard Daphne's voice, and he opened his eyes to make sure that she was alright. "Where are we?"

Her relieved smile faltered slightly. "It's a long story but we're safe. How do you feel?"

Harry touched himself in different places, feeling no discomfort or pain. "I'm fine. Are you- your leg…"

"I'm better, too. Come on, let's get you dressed," Daphne offered, placing a pair of glasses on his face and helping him out of the bed, his limbs stiff and awkward from disuse.

"Ugh, how long was I lying th- wait, where did you get those?" Hanging inside the open wardrobe were a set of freshly pressed, finely tailored silver acromantula-silk robes.

Daphne assisted him in slipping the robes on, taking a step back, and giving him a once-over. He didn't need to look at her, the smile was evident in her voice. "That takes me back. You look good."

Despite the smile on her face, when he turned to look at her, Daphne's violet eyes were filled with sadness. "Want to tell me what happened in the Channel Tunnel? How did we get out?"

"I collapsed the tunnel, and the disapparition jinx was lifted when the aurors fled. I apparated us back to Calais, where we were rescued."

"Rescued by who? Taken where?"

The door opened, and he took in Daphne's grimace moments before someone slammed into him, announcing their presence with a happy cry of "Harry!"

"Chiara?!" Looking past her dark brown hair, he caught sight of Daphne's sour expression. "It's nice to see you again."

"You do not know how worried I was! It is a relief to see you back on your feet!"

"Thanks, but I'm still trying to get a handle on everything that's happened. How long have we been here?"

"Over a month," Daphne said quietly. "We barely made it out, you were in really bad shape."

"What's been happening?" he asked, extricating himself from a pouting Chiara. "Has there been any news from Britain?"

"Grandfather sent me to fetch you, he'll have all the answers that you seek."

Surprisingly, it was Daphne who led the way, while Chiara held onto his arm and chatted aimlessly about what she'd done since they'd last met. When they reached Alessio's door, she used her fingers to try and straighten his hair before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, offering Daphne a parting grin before sashaying away.

"Is there anything I need to know before we go inside?"

"Why didn't you ask your betrothed?" Daphne replied with a waspish tone before her features reset. "Sorry. Something about her just- I don't like her very much.

"As for Lord Zabini, he's definitely our ally, at least so long as our interests coincide. I've been meeting with him regularly while you recuperated. He can help us." Implicit in her comments were the orders to 'be good', and she knocked once before opening the door.

"Ah, my old friend Harry Potter! So nice to see you healthy again," Alessio greeted cheerfully. "Come in, take a seat, we have much to discuss."

Lockhart-smile firmly affixed, Harry shook hands with his elderly host. "Only so long as you don't make me drink more grappa."

The two laughed as though they'd been friends for years, which, in a strange way could almost be considered the truth, and Harry and Daphne sat down.

"Your lovely companion has been telling me about your journeys, and I must say, your reputation has only grown since we last met," Alessio began diplomatically. "Your quest, and the reactions to it, have become something of a lightning rod in the Wizarding World. I daresay you've caused a political earthquake."

"That was hardly my intention."

"Perhaps not, but the effect is the same. Do you have any plans, now that you're back on your feet?"

"There are a few people I need to meet with, but as far as a general goal, I'd like to return to Britain, liberate my godfather, and make certain that my friends are safe."

"I'm sure you've realized by now that those goals are not so easily accomplished."

Harry nodded. "Something tells me, though, that you're about to propose a solution to all my problems."

With a low chuckle, Alessio leaned back in his seat as a plate of hors d'oeuvres were brought in. He waited for the servant to close the door behind him before speaking. "The international order has been in a fixed position since Grindelwald's defeat. It's why so many of us foresaw the reaction to your rise in power once you started making your abilities public," Daphne opened her mouth, but Alessio raised a finger, signaling her to wait. "Your companion is no doubt prepared to tell you how unprecedented the current situation is but I assure you that is owed entirely to your resiliency. You are not the first powerful wizard to draw the attention of the Confederation, merely the longest to last against them."

"If I were them, I'd be worried how long they will last against me."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Regardless, events being what they are have led many to question the wisdom of so much power centralized in an institution proving itself to be very unaccountable. If it could happen in Magical Britain, after all, who is to say it could not also happen in Russia, or Turkey?"

"In other words, the ICW has overreached," Daphne summed up.

"I am currently hosting a few other guests here in Sardinia, enjoying my family's hospitality. I would very much like for you to meet them."

Harry was familiar with being paraded around to people of influence. "Of course, I'd be delighted to."

"Wonderful! I am certain you will not regret it."

"Naturally, while I am entertaining your guests, there is something I would appreciate your help with."

Daphne cringed at his lack of subtlety, but Alessio showed no offense. "What is it you desire?"

"A portkey to France, and an assistant. Someone able to cast disapparition jinxes and raise anti-portkey wards."

Their host's easy-going expression settled into something harder, more calculating. "The 'people you need to meet with', then?"

"That's right," Harry replied, trying and failing to keep the snarl off his face.

"Very well. I suspect, if that is your wish, you will be very grateful to have met my other guests. Dinner will be in an hour, be sure to wear those robes - they've become something of a trademark of yours."


"What was that?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. What has he been telling you for the last month?"

"What- no, we'll get to that. Why are you trying to go back to France? You woke up twenty minutes ago!"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, expression hardening. "In the Channel Tunnel, those aurors were French."

"So?"

"So, they apparated in from the British side of the barrier. They're part of the occupation."

She'd known that for quite awhile already. "What are you planning to do?"

"Flamel comes first. Then, then I will just convince their Ministry that their aurors are better served elsewhere, not in our homeland."

"This is a bad idea, Harry. Acting without thinking is what started all of this in the first place, have you forgotten?"

The anger was clearly evident in his eyes. "You weren't there, you didn't watch Dumbledore die. There's no way I'm going to let him go on living forever, not after what he's done!"

"If he killed Albus Dumbledore, he could kill you!"

"Why the sudden lack of confidence? There's very likely a reason that Flamel needed twenty wizards and four dragons for that trap. This time will be different, don't worry."

Daphne stared at him, baffled by this brash confidence. "'Don't worry'? I watched that wizard burn away practically every inch of skin on your body, and you tell me not to worry?!"

"That was different," he countered, closing his mouth after that simple statement, but she was sure that both of them were thinking the words he'd left unspoken - that it was different because he had to save her.

"I never thanked you, for what you did," she said, their argument clearly over. Daphne took a step towards him then abruptly stopped when his eyes widened and he glanced towards the floor.

'Of course,' she realized, closing her own eyes in despair. For Harry, who'd been unconscious while he healed, it had been all of three days since that night in the Belgian forest, when she'd- "I need to get dressed, but after dinner, can we talk? Please?"

"Sure. Tonight," he agreed.

Just then, the door opened, admitting Chiara who predictably entered without knocking, looking ravishing in a sea-green gown, one that highlighted her many charms. Daphne knew she had to get out of there. She didn't think she could bear to see his face transform from the cautious worry she'd elicited to his casual charm in the beautiful Zabini woman's presence.

Keeping her eyes locked straight ahead, Daphne hurried back to her own room, the lonely, empty room she'd stayed in since arriving on Sardinia. There, a dress was hanging, waiting for her - a lovely, sleek, traditional garment, white as snow, the color a perfect complement to Harry's silver robes. She reached out, running her fingers along the fabric, imagining in her mind's eye the sight they'd make together, adorned in such a fashion.

Daphne's fingers slowly curled, grasping the thin fabric in her fists. These stupid fantasies had to stop. There was too much depending on this meeting - a fact Daphne knew well, what with Lord Zabini having previously informed her of who would be attending this evening. She had to grow up, stop acting like a schoolgirl rejected by her crush, and be the woman that Astoria, Lord Black, and yes, Harry, needed her to be.

Threads popped loudly as her muscles tensed, the seams giving way and tearing apart beneath her effort. Daphne ripped and shredded and destroyed the dress, falling to her knees to find scraps and ruin them too, stopping only when her tears blurred her vision to such a degree she couldn't find any more.

It might have been just a few seconds, or maybe half an hour, but she eventually pushed herself off her knees, slipped on a set of unremarkable black robes, and went to the bathroom to press a cold washcloth against her eyes. It wouldn't do to arrive in such a state, after all.

"Daphne?" Harry's voice was faint, masked by the thick door separating them. "Are you ready?"

"Go on without me, I'll be just a minute longer!"

Holding her breath, Daphne strained to listen for his retreating footsteps, ashamed at the tiny, selfish smile she couldn't hold back when they didn't sound. Not bothering to style her hair, she opened the door to find him leaning against the wall, waiting.

"You look great," were the first words out of his mouth. "Ready to wow this mysterious dinner party?"

She just nodded and smiled, gratefully taking Harry's offered arm and leading him to the formal dining room.


"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Harry Potter and his companion, Daphne Greengrass," Alessio announced as they stepped into the large room that he and Sam had eaten in years before. Unlike that time, however, the room was filled with a collection of finely attired people, all clad in diverse styles and outfits. "Please, be seated."

Servants moved quickly and efficiently around the table, placing the first course in front of each seat and pouring glasses of wine and water. Once they'd left, Alessio, seated at the head of the table, stood.

"Before we break bread, let us pause to mark the significance of this occasion. Representatives from nearly a dozen nations, hailing from across continents and oceans, sitting united in service of an ideal that our ancestors bled and died to secure. May our purpose always be so righteous, and our struggle unrelenting," he said, raising his glass as a few scattered whispers could be heard here and there from translators. "To liberation!"

His toast brought a unanimous response, and everyone sipped from their wine. "Please, enjoy your meals, our discussion can wait until we've had our fill."

This… wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Daphne," Harry whispered urgently, "What's going on? Who are these people?"

She nibbled at her aperitivo, looking perfectly at ease. "Lord Zabini will make more personal introductions after the meal, don't worry. Ideally, we would have had more time to prepare you, but outside events have forced our hand."

"Who's 'we'?" he asked, trying not to show how alone he felt, being the only person not having any idea what was happening.

"That woman, there, in the gray dress robes? That's Shun Zhang, Chairperson of the General Secretariat of the Magical Worker's Party - China's version of a Ministry. The man with the yellow accents on his robes, that's Esteban Choqui, President of the Bolivaran Magical Territories. Across from him is the Premier of the Brazilian Wizarding Federation, Francisco Oliveira-"

"Wait," he interrupted. "What is this?"

She nodded her thanks, offering a polite smile as a waiter removed her plate, replacing it with antipasti. "We need allies, Harry. You said, before, that this would never end with the whole world against you, remember?"

"Wait, you're saying that these people- these countries are willing to go to war for me?"

Daphne chuckled, finishing her glass of wine. 'How is she so relaxed?!' "No. From what Lord Zabini told me, there's no single reason they each came." She tilted her chin, quickly, gesturing further down the table. "Look, there - the short blonde man? He's the Heir Apparent of the Duchy of Württemberg; that's the region of Germany Grindelwald was born in, and where his war began. They've been an international pariah ever since his defeat. Next to him, that's the Chairman of the Board of Governors at Durmstrang, here representing the Nordic Ministry. The ICW placed a prohibition on rituals involving magical creatures a quarter-century ago, which ruffled some feathers up there."

Harry's appetite vanished as he realized this wasn't a dinner party, but rather a council of war. There were wizards and witches from all over the world, bar North America and Africa, the two most rabidly anti-muggle regions.

The meal went on and he steadied himself, mentally preparing for what surely going to be a discussion he wasn't ready for. He could do this - hadn't he faced higher stakes before, talking his way out of murder charges and Azkaban during his quest for revenge? There was little point in engaging in self-doubt now.

Thusly fortified, Harry handed his salad plate to a waiter and accepted a cup of espresso, perched on a saucer. The doors closed behind the last servant, and Alessio placed his elbows on the table, leaning forward and letting his gaze travel around the assorted dignitaries.

"Well, shall we begin?"

The Marquess of Württemberg immediately spoke up. "I'm concerned about the lack of attendance by European Ministries. Why were more not approached?"

"They were," Alessio answered, "But after the ease with which Bulgaria fell, few have any appetite to question the Confederation." Both the Marquess and Dumrstrang's representative paled at that reply.

It was the Scandinavian man who spoke next, the woman next to him translating his words for the rest of them. "Sardinia has no armed forces, and Württemberg is surrounded by people unlikely to welcome conflict. Why should we risk making our opposition public when we will likely be immediately overrun?"

"You assume that every member of the Confederation is willing to shed blood in their name," Alessio pointed out. "We've seen that dissatisfaction is far more widespread than just those of us here today."

"And yet," Zhao said softly, "Besides my own people, none of you have aurors in sufficient numbers to field any substantial forces. China will not fight this war for you."

"You're forgetting one very important thing, Madam," Daphne spoke up, her voice clear and confident despite every head turning in her direction. "We have Harry Potter."

"Bah!" spat Choqui, the South American. "I fail to see any value the boy provides. He is powerful, most assuredly, but no one here wishes to expose our world to Sin Regalos."

"Neither does Mr. Potter. Our qualms lie not with the Statute of Secrecy, but with the flagrant abuse of sovereignty that the Confederation shows no hesitation to engage in."

With the context of Alessio's rebuttal, Harry was able to understand the Bolivarian President's concerns, and decided it was time to speak for himself. "Lord Zabini is correct. I'm well aware of what the ICW has been saying about me, but they failed to offer the details around my supposed recklessness."

"I can hardly think of any excuse for your actions," the Marquess scoffed. "Your path of destruction across Europe certainly needs no further explanation."

His Lockhart-smile sharpened, taking on an almost predatory glint as his green and golden eyes flared with magical energy. "Indeed? If that is so, then you really need only ask yourself one question, Your Grace, all of you, really: in which direction would you prefer I next direct that path of destruction? At your lands or theirs?"

There was a stunned silence, broken a moment later by a slow chuckle, growing into a hearty laugh, Alessio Zabini practically doubled over in mirth.

"Yes, I believe Miss Greengrass was correct, after all!"


"That went better than I thought it would," Lord Zabini commented happily, his mood apparently good enough that he'd decided to indulge in a cigar. "I must say, threatening them like that was inspired. Well done, Harry!"

Daphne watched Harry grin sheepishly. "Next time, don't throw me into a fight or flight situation like that."

"Oh, I don't know, it seemed to make our point very clearly. Now, I believe you asked for something in exchange." He gestured to his bodyguard, and the man reached into his suit, withdrawing a folded handkerchief that he handed to Harry. "This is your portkey. It will take you to the location of an associate of my family's, one that will assist you in your mission. Keep hold of that, Harry, for it will return you to Sardinia in three day's time."

"I understand, thank you."

Feeling like perhaps she'd had a glass too many of wine with dinner, Daphne tugged at Harry's sleeve. "I'm tired."

"Of course, of course. Miss Greengrass, I'll see you tomorrow. Harry, good luck."

They said goodnight and made for Daphne's room, but even through the haze of exhaustion and inebriation, she was able to recall the mess that she'd left, so she steered him towards his chambers instead. Sitting heavily on his bed, Daphne pulled him down next to her.

"I wanted to talk about what happened."

"Alessio may have been overstating things a tad but overall, I have to agree that went pretty well, all things considered."

"Not that," she shook her head vigorously, immediately regretting that decision. "About before, in Belgium."

Harry stiffened. "I really don't want to talk about that."

"Please!" Why had she drank at all during dinner? This would have been hard enough sober! "I need to- you're all I have, and- and I can't take knowing I've upset you so!"

"Why did you do it?"

How could she answer that, without making her appear worse than she already was? In the end, the alcohol had loosened her tongue enough that the truth came tumbling out. "After what happened at Azkaban, when I fought off the curse on Erra's blade, something changed with our magic-"

"'Our' magic?"

She nodded. "It was subtle, at first, enough so that I hardly even noticed it myself. But every time that our skin touched, I felt- I could feel... " Daphne could feel her face warming, her next words coming out as a whisper. "You make me feel good."

"And you think it's because of our magical connection?"

"Yes. Maybe if we hadn't spent so much time alone together, hadn't gone through so much, things would have been different. But the more that I depended on you, the stronger my feelings grew. And then, that night, when I told you… that, and we kissed. I was angry and hurt. I couldn't believe that you didn't- that it meant nothing to you."

He didn't speak, so she soldiered on. "I was jealous and so, so bitter. When you looked at me, I- I'd just spent so much time inside your mind, it was almost a reflex. Some part of me had to know, and once it started, it was like I couldn't make it stop. I'm so, so sorry."

The silence stretched on, and Daphne's eyelids began to droop. A warm, pleasing sensation traveled up her arm, however, as Harry took her hand.

"That was what you were asking, in Slovakia? When you wanted to know if I felt it?"

She latched onto his hand with both of her own, nodding jerkily, luxuriating in the feelings that came with his touch after so long…

"What does it feel like?"

"Safe. And comforting, and- and good," she mumbled, her eyes closing completely, head falling forward to rest against his arm.

"Why don't I feel it? Why does this, uh, whatever this is only affects you?"

"S'not, jus' dif'ren…" Her tongue felt thick, like it was too big for her mouth, and words weren't as easy as they should have been.

She vaguely heard him ask how it was different, but words were hard and she was so very tired. The room spun as she was laid out flat on the bed, several pillows propped up under her, sharp tugs freeing the blankets from beneath her weight so that Harry could cover her up. A bleary smile was all she could offer as he brushed away some dark strands from her forehead, finally relinquishing her hand.

"Get some sleep, I'll see you in a few days."

"Mm-kay," she said, feeling warm and comfortable and sleepy. "Love you, so much."

Daphne smiled happily as his fingertips trailed down her face, his hand cradling her cheek for a moment before his weight moved off the bed. 'This was a good night' she thought, as the lights in the room extinguished and the faint sound of the door closing reached her ears.

A/N: Aw, drunk Daphne is a big ol' sweetie!

Not very important, but in case anyone was wondering, salad is served *after* the main course in Italy. Something about helping digestion, I don't know. Have you guys ever had a traditional 7-course meal? I lived in Italy for several years, and I ate more than any human being should.

Oh right, almost forgot - so... there are several countries apparently willing to buck the ICW. Now that's obvious where I'm going with this, what do you all think?

Hope you enjoyed! Stay safe, happy, and healthy! ~Frickles