Chapter XVI
A flash of a portkey arriving was all the warning anyone received, depositing two men onto the floor of Alessio's office with a thump.
"Welcome back, gentlemen. I trust your mission was successful?"
Picking himself up and brushing away dirt from his soot-covered robes, Harry nodded. "It was."
"I look forward to a full accounting of your actions, then," Daphne watched Alessio turn to the other man. "And you must be Mr. Sarstedt. Welcome to Sardinia."
"It's my pleasure to be here, Lord Zabini."
"Gianni will provide you with lodging and your payment. I'm certain we'll have need of your services again, soon."
With a crisp nod to Alessio and a wary glance at Harry, Sarstedt turned and followed one of the black-suited bodyguards out of the office.
Once the door closed behind them, Daphne reached for Harry, running her hands over his robes. "Are you hurt? Do you need a healer?"
He shook his head. "Flamel is dead, along with France's Vice-Minister."
"Indeed?" The elderly mafioso's eyebrows raised. "Well done!"
"There's more, isn't there?" Daphne asked, seeing Harry's expression. "What happened?"
"I released a half-dozen giants inside Place Cachée. When my portkey activated, they'd succeeded at destroying roughly a third of it."
Alessio's smile dropped, while Daphne mouthed 'Giants?' in surprise. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"I wanted to prove to the French that their aurors were needed at home, not in Britain. Assassinating Delacour wasn't enough."
"You- you foolish boy." Daphne was surprised at the anger in Zabini's voice. "Do you have any idea how much gold I earn from my network in Place Cachée? How many years I've invested in setting up connections, suppliers, and shell businesses there?"
Harry's expression remained relaxed, unconcerned. "It is- was the heart of Magical France's economy, their primary commercial center. With it crippled, their magical police decimated, France will be forced to capitulate and end their role in the occupation."
"Where did you find giants willing to cooperate with you?"
With a grin, Harry took a seat and began to tell of his excursion in more detail. By the end, Alessio seemed to have come around.
"It was a cunning plan. Forcing them to deal with a giant clan rampaging across the country offers a much more immediate threat, and the loss of Place Cachée will impact every wizard and witch in the country," he said thoughtfully, gesturing to the bodyguard behind him for a round of drinks. "Dealt such a crushing defeat at the onset of the war, it is unlikely that the French people will tolerate further participation. What's more, the immediacy and speed of your campaign will hopefully serve as a deterrent against more nations joining the ICW's banner."
"What's been happening while I was gone?"
Daphne chose to respond, for the sake of brevity. "Italy's Mugwump introduced a resolution to dissolve the Confederation."
Leaving the wine untouched, Harry sipped his glass of water. "I'm sure that went over smashingly."
Despite the circumstances, she smiled. "Our allies seconded the call, and were expelled from the Sorcerer's Assembly by the end of the day."
"I expect that it will be less than a week before a motion authorizing an armed response is passed. They'll couch it in terms that the public can more easily stomach, but the ICW won't allow so many nations to escape its orbit without a struggle."
"Then it's war," Harry said softly.
"It is war," came the even reply. "How did Mr. Sarstedt perform?"
The sudden change in topic seemed to catch Harry off guard. "He was capable, if a bit, um, twitchy. I'm grateful you had him waiting for me. The plan wouldn't have worked without him."
"That's good to hear," Alessio mused, draining the last of his wine. "Tomorrow we'll see the response to your action, and to our challenge."
"Are we under threat here? Will the ICW attempt an invasion of Sardinia?"
Their host chuckled, eyeing his empty glass. "In time, absolutely. But neither side is prepared to start fighting so soon. It takes time to mobilize aurors, hire mercenaries, train for battle, draw up plans of attack and defense. One does not declare war in the morning and start fighting that afternoon. Go; get some rest, you look like you need it."
Daphne accompanied Harry out of the office, making a conscious effort to restrain her hands from reaching out to him. Spending only a single day with him conscious in the last month had left her needy, like a potions addict desperate for their next fix. She could swear that she was able to feel his magic radiating off of him even now, several feet away.
"You're sure that you're okay?"
"Yes. Is everything alright?"
"I was- I was just worried about you," she started, trying and failing to hold in a sigh of relief as he took her hand in his own. "I missed you."
"Daphne," he began, staring unflinchingly into her eyes, "I thought a lot about what's coming, while I was away. About-"
"Harry!" Chiara approached them in the corridor, bouncing along happily as she jumped into his arms. "You're back!"
"Hey there," he greeted, giving her a light hug. "Yes, just got in."
Her nose wrinkled at his smell, of smoke and ash and death. "You should wash, and then I need to speak with you."
"Can it wait? Daphne and I were- we were going to have a talk of our own."
She pouted, and Daphne contented herself with fantasies of smashing the Zabini woman's face through the marble floor. "It is rather urgent, surely Daphne won't mind?"
Harry looked at her, and a long moment passed. If she refused, surely Chiara would make her look worse. But if she said yes… "It's okay. I'll meet you in your quarters later on tonight."
Seated on the tile floor of his bathroom, hot water washing over his still form, Harry worked hard at solidifying his occlumency barriers. Without the adrenaline of life or death encounters and the rush of battle, coming to terms with everything that had happened-
'Well, that wasn't quite right, was it?' It wasn't 'what had happened', it was what he'd done. Despite the cruelty and brutality of Marcel Delacour's and Nicholas Flamel's deaths, he didn't regret ending their lives any more than he did wiping out the scores of Death Eaters he'd battled in Great Britain. They'd both proven time and again their inability to accept his continued existence.
The destruction of Place Cachée, though; the terror and fear on the faces of ordinary people, families grabbing their children and running for apparition points, shopkeepers battling furiously to protect their livelihoods; it wasn't so easily forgotten.
Harry tried to relax his tensed muscles, taking deep, slow lungfuls of the steamy air. This wasn't the first time he'd done a terrible thing, not even the first time he'd done so intentionally. But it was the first time, without the magical vow, that he'd enjoyed doing something terrible.
The immediacy of his emotions faded as his occlumency settled into place. He was fighting a war, not running for Minister. If the only alternative was to lay down and die, to allow his friends and his family to be tortured, then he would match their savagery with his own.
Pressing against the rune to shut off the water flow, he toweled himself off and dressed in a casual jumper and pants, then made his way through the huge estate to Chiara's room.
"You look much better," she said, sniffing in approval as he walked past her, closing the door behind him. "I cannot imagine what sort of business you were engaged in to return in such a state."
That sort of casual condemnation was endearing in its own way, he thought with a smile. Chiara's tone made it clear she had no interest in hearing more about that 'business', only in her distaste at the condition it left him in. "Don't ever change, Chiara."
"We have not had an opportunity to talk much since your recovery. You spend all your time with Daphne or my grandfather."
"Things are different now. I'm not the same person I was the last time I came to Italy."
Chiara patted his cheek fondly. "This is not so. You are the same, it is the circumstances that are different."
Harry didn't see it that way but had little reason to challenge her assertion. "I guess so."
She toyed with one lock of brown hair, her gaze never wavering from his. "Your companion does not seem to care for me."
"Daphne's under a lot of pressure, just like me. I'm sure she doesn't intend to be rude."
"I wonder…" Chiara began, trailing off and narrowing her eyes. "Do you really believe that? Or are you just telling me what you wish to be true?"
"What are you talking about?" Daphne was at the very bottom of the list of topics he had any interest in discussing with Chiara. "From what I've seen, you rather enjoy pushing her buttons."
To his surprise, the muggle colloquialism garnered no confusion from the young woman, who instead giggled at his accusation. "I cannot disagree, it is delightfully easy to make her angry."
"Daphne has enough going on, she doesn't need to play games with you."
"To her, it is no game. You know that girl loves you, don't you?"
Harry stiffened, then made to leave. "I'm not discussing this with you."
Feigning indifference with a shrug, Chiara latched onto his arm. "That's not what I needed to speak with you about."
"Then get on with it," he demanded, no longer amused by her irreverence.
"I wanted to talk to you about the contract. Our contract."
"Chiara… if you think I'm going to marry you now, of all times-"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Do you recall what you said to me, before you left Sardinia the first time?"
"No," and that wasn't a lie. He mostly remembered being furious with her and her father.
"You said I should choose quickly, in case the worst should happen. I thought that my mind had been made, but you never came back, and then I met Pierre…"
He cocked his head, having never seen the pampered young woman look so unsure of herself. "Pierre?"
A faint blush appeared on her face, olive skin turning dusky. "He's a good man, I think you'd like him. He wants to approach grandfather about a betrothal, but with the active contract you hold, any talk of marriage is impossible."
"I still have it in my trunk," 'Somewhere' he thought, "I will destroy it tonight."
Chiara actually jumped with joy, kissing both his cheeks and embracing him tightly. "Thank you!"
"Sure. Was there anything else?"
Chiara walked him to her door but as he reached for the knob, she pressed against it with her hand. "Wait. You should know, Daphne has impressed many people in the family."
Confused, he looked between her and the door. "She's an impressive girl."
"That is the least of what they say. A quick learner with a sharp mind. The heiress to a well-regarded British family, inheritor of a business specializing in imports, and without a father to protect her interests. Even if she were not attractive, she would have a line of my cousins looking to wed her."
"How do they know all that?"
"While you were recovering from your injuries, she apparently turned a number of heads. It is only her association with you that keeps suitors away."
This topic made Harry intensely uncomfortable. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Pierre makes me so happy, Harry. I think you deserve to experience that, as well." Removing her hand, she gestured for him to leave. "Give Daphne my best, won't you?"
Their conversation's ending and the unexpected shift in topic disturbed Harry. Returning to his quarters, he dug around in his trunk, coming up with the forgotten betrothal contract that Alessio had provided him what felt like a lifetime ago.
Holding the rolled-up parchment in both hands, he sat on his bed and remembered. Back then, it was Sam who struggled to restrain his self-destructive impulses, who urged caution and reason. Then, the same as now, Harry was working to return to Great Britain; then, as now, he rejected advice and confidently followed his own plans. Was he repeating the same mistakes?
The exhaustion from his brief campaign against Magical France taking its toll, Harry's eyes drifted closed. 'No, it's different now' he promised himself. He was alone then, with Erra already manipulating both Sam and himself. There were people he could rely on here.
Not quite conscious, he absently noted the creak of his door opening. Gentle hands removed his glasses, and he could hear the click of the metal frames come to rest on his nightstand. He felt his boots being removed, a light blanket thrown over his form.
Feeling boneless and adrift, his half-awake mind catalogued the sensation of fingers lightly running through his hair, the mattress dipping beneath a new weight. A familiar scent, jasmine and something distinctly Daphne surrounded him, then the scroll he held was eased out of his grasp.
Relaxing into the safe familiarity, Harry fully surrendered to unconsciousness.
Senio grumbled as the shadows faded, looking around his room at the Leaky Cauldron for a bare moment before feeling a persistent tug in his mind once more. This was the third candle lit tonight. At this rate, they may as well have convened in Tutela Silenda in person!
"Where were we?" Tris started.
"The Sorcerer's Assembly," Unus helpfully supplied, and Tris' shadow nodded in appreciation.
"Right. The Supreme Mugwump has been burning through all the Floo powder in the whole citadel, contacting Ministries to gauge their support. Based on the reactions he's told me of, we cannot count on most of the Confederation to offer support beyond rhetoric."
"That's hardly surprising, though, isn't it?" questioned Unus. "If politicians had the stomach to make hard decisions, we wouldn't need to exist."
"While that may be true, even if our number hadn't been halved in the last year, there's no way we could stand against an army," Senio remarked, internally wondering what this would mean for the aurors enforcing his occupation. "Who can we rely on?"
"The Americans, for sure. They've cast Potter as such a villain that backing out now that he has a cadre of nations at his back is impossible. Most of the African blocs will back us, so long as we play up the threat to the Statute; I don't need to tell any of you how catastrophic it would be for them if magic were exposed." She really didn't; witch-hunts in Africa were horrifyingly regular. "At minimum, the Sahelian Ministries and the Lublundu King will join the Egyptians in offering wizards."
"Can't we just use the Blockade and starve them out?" Quinctus asked.
Octava scoffed. "Do you even know what you're asking? Manipulating the ley lines around an island like Great Britain is one thing; you're talking about shutting down access to an entire continent and all of China! There are limits to this sort of thing!"
"Then just Italy and the Scandinavians, then. Why not? We could use it to threaten the rest to the negotiating table."
Tris interjected before Octava could respond. "I think that would be a mistake. If we're being honest, we'd likely be in a better position had we not put the Blockade around Britain. That missive was a black eye for the Confederation, doing the same thing to other nations would only drive greater support to our opponents."
None of them spoke for a few brief moments, then, perhaps recognizing that the candle's wick wouldn't last much longer, Quinctus tried to get back on track. "What is our next move?"
"Hold the line; the Supreme Mugwump will keep up the pressure to prevent enough countries from following France's example and declaring neutrality. We need only wait for the rebels to overreach, and then use that motivation to rally enough of the Confederation to overwhelm them."
"That's it? Just sit and wait?" Octava's disbelieving tone matched Senio's own feelings. "These idiots foment a global war in service to an insane teenager, and we sit back and let them out of political expediency?"
"We wait for an advantageous moment," Unus' ironclad resolution silenced the others' protests. "You all have your duties; attend to them."
December 16, 1996
"So, what do you think?"
Andromeda frowned, looking from the spellbook back to Neville. "I'm not sure; the arithmancy is impossible to determine without casting it, and I'm hesitant to do so with an unknown, ancient spell."
"Everything I've cast from this book worked as specified. Besides, Harry gave it to me, it's his personal spellbook! I can't imagine he'd have any curses or hexes mislabeled."
"Yes, well," Andromeda's expression didn't shift, "I cannot imagine Harry bothering to include bloodline benificiences in his repertoire. It seems rather… out of character for his style of magic."
McGonagall and Remus nodded along with that sentiment, their opinion of Harry's use of magic being much less forgiving than Neville's own.
"Do you have any better ideas? It hasn't even been six months since the outbreak began, and everything is breaking down. Even if we took back the Ministry tomorrow, people would still die. We have to do something about the dragon pox."
McGonagall stood. "Very well. I'll volunteer. Cast it on me; Andromeda, have your diagnostic spells prepared."
"Erm, Professor…" Neville started awkwardly, not sure how exactly to couch his objections. "The thing is-"
"For Merlin's sake," Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Minerva, you're too old. The spell is meant to be cast on women of reproductive age. It's a beneficence; it strengthens bloodlines for the future, we'd learn nothing from using it on you."
Neville glanced at Remus and Sirius, seeing them masking amusement behind their hands or beneath a cough. "Right. So, either Professor Sinistra or Tonks are valid candidates to test this out-"
A new voice intruded on their debate. "Cast it on me."
"Astoria, go back inside," Sirius said at once. "You won't have any part in this."
"No! I'm tired of studying for OWLs and playing chess like everything's fine! I want to help!"
"We've been over this before-"
The fourteen-year-old drew herself up, standing tall against her guardian's demands. "I'm not asking to go into battle. Let me do something to help, no matter how small it might be."
Sirius, predictably, seemed to weigh her demand, something that irritated Neville to no end. "You're sure this… beneficence is the real deal? Not some trick?"
Letting out a frustrated noise, Neville stood and grabbed Tori's arm, pulling her away from the others to the other side of the cottage. "What is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you?" she snarled in reply, yanking her arm out of his grasp. "I thought we were friends!"
"We are, why would you think otherwise?"
"Then why do you try to keep me in the dark? You know, I have as much to lose as the rest of you if we aren't successful."
"You're too young-"
Her dark eyes burned with anger. "You don't get to say that. The others can, but not you! You were barely older than I am now when you marched into Azkaban, for Merlin's sake! How much more of a hypocrite can you be?"
Astoria's words caught him flat-footed. "I- I…" A memory from years past of Luna's accusing silvery eyes, glistening with tears outside the Forbidden Forest, rose unbidden in Neville's mind. Was he treating Astoria the same way?
Stepping closer with her hands clenched, he was afraid she might actually haul off and hit him. Instead, he stiffened with surprise when she leaned her head against him, one hand on his shoulder. "I was born with a death sentence hanging over my head. It took all the gold in my family's vault for me to even make it to Hogwarts, and despite that, the best healers in Britain told me I wouldn't live to graduation."
"But you're better now," he said quietly, "You have a long life ahead of you, there's no need to take risks."
"You don't understand. My father gave up our wealth to keep me alive, and my sister gave up her freedom to cure me. I want my life to be worth something, to mean something greater than just standing by and watching the people I care about, the people that I-" Astoria raised her head, meeting his gaze. "-the people I love risk their lives and not do anything to help."
Neville was silent for a long moment, eventually acquiescing with a small nod. Astoria whooped with joy, then dragged him back over to the others. "Neville will test the spell on me."
McGonagall and Remus frowned but Sirius just shrugged as Neville drew his wand, looking over the spellbook once more, memorizing the incantation and wand movement. Mouthing the phonetic pronunciation several times, he glanced over Andromeda. "Are you ready?" She nodded, and he aimed a questioning look at Astoria, who simply nodded.
"Buāru balāṭu."
There was no flash of light, no visible spell that emerged from his wand to impact the girl standing fearlessly before him. Neville watched Astoria intently, looking for any sign of the spell working or affecting her.
Andromeda's gasp to his side drew his attention, the glow of her diagnostic charm interrogating the spell's characteristics. "By all that's magical! Where did Harry run across something like this?"
"It's from his personal spellbook; if I had to guess, he picked it up somewhere in his travels. Why? It worked?"
She nodded, eyes still glassy as she reviewed the data. "It- it's like a strengthening ritual encased in a single spell."
"That's nice and all, but not exactly what we were looking for," Sirius noted, also giving Astoria a once-over to make certain she was alright.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Remus, you see what I do, don't you?"
The werewolf gave a hesitant nod. "I believe so, but for spell-crafting of this level we'll need some outside assistance. Every aspect of this spell down to its foundation is foreign to the way modern spells are created. Modifying it to suit our purposes won't be easy or quick"
"I can ask Healer Fulbright for assistance; I know she'd jump at any opportunity to alleviate the dragon pox outbreak."
"Great-Uncle Algie would also help us. He's been in hiding since our raid on the DoM," Neville offered. "Do you really think we can fashion a cure?"
"I honestly don't know but I think that, at last, we have hope."
Blaise stared longingly over to where Tracey was studying with Lilith Moon, the only other surviving Sixth Year Slytherin girl still at Hogwarts. It felt like it had been ages since they'd spent time together, and the vacancy that left in his life was alarmingly large.
"Zabini, are you listening?"
"Hm?" He refocused on Nott, who had apparently been blathering on about something or other.
"I asked if you knew anything about where the younger Greengrass girl spirited away to. I asked Davis, but she just told me to bugger off and threatened to hex me."
Cocking an eyebrow, Blaise replied, "What makes you think I won't do the same?"
"Besides the fact that you've spent the whole term hanging around a different sort than your usual crowd?" It was true; his Great-Uncle had asked that Blaise keep his ear to the ground with regards to any news of the swelling resistance against the ICW occupation. That meant that he'd attached himself to Montague as best he could, to try and learn anything useful that might serve his family's interests. "What's the harm in telling me? It's not like any of us are going anywhere anytime soon."
That much was true; the American Headmaster had canceled their Hogsmeade weekends, and there was even talk of not allowing any students that went home for Yule break to return, for fear of bringing dragon pox into the castle with them.
"Why do you want to know? Don't think I've forgotten you skulking around her compartment on the Express. Isn't she a little young for you?"
Nott's lip curled into a sneer. "Don't insult me."
"Then what? Give a little to get a little, Theo."
"I met someone on the last day of summer hols. She asked me for help, help that I couldn't give."
"But a Fourth Year on the run can?"
Nott gave a furtive look around the common room. "Susan Bones said she could, yes."
For a moment, Blaise just stared, wondering what was so important about a dead girl's request. Then the dates clicked in his mind. "The last day of the summer holiday? That's not possible."
"She's alive. And, if I had to guess based on her size when I left, she's a mother by now."
"Susan Bones, the former Hufflepuff? Potter's girl?" This sounded too ridiculous to be true. "So she faked her own death, ran away from her family and friends, and decided to summer at your family home?"
"Keep your voice down!" Nott hissed. "She wasn't at my house. And she wasn't there willingly."
"Let's say you're telling the truth; why would she ask you to contact Tori?"
"How should I know? Longbottom was her first choice; given that Greengrass ran off with him, I suppose that Bones thought she'd alert him."
"This is like something out of a Wireless serial," Blaise muttered, and stared at Nott for several seconds. "I don't know where Tori went; that's the truth."
The sneer eased off of the other young man's thin, pointed face. "I figured, but I had to ask."
A few more minutes went by, and Blaise pretended to get back to work on his essay, all the while working through the information that Nott had just dropped on him. Susan Bones alive, kept prisoner along with Potter's bastard child. He had to find out more.
"Why did you wait so long?"
"Hm?" Nott asked, eyes still on his Charms homework. "What's that?"
"You said you saw her on the last day of summer hols. We're less than a week away from Yule Break. Why the delay?"
Nott's jaw clenched, and his knuckles went white around the quill in his hand. "I suppose you ought to know, given how close you and Montague have gotten."
"What's he got to do with this?"
Checking their environs once more to ensure no one was paying attention, Nott leaned forward. "Montague serves the Dark Lord. It is He who holds Bones prisoner, and I suppose her child as well."
Although Blaise's air of sarcastic nonchalance had become second-nature to him over the years, he couldn't suppress his reaction to this news, his instinctive jerk away from Nott causing the book on his lap to slide to the floor, upturning his inkpot as it did.
"For Merlin's sake, you dunderhead! Why not stand on the sofa and shout that we're trading secrets?!"
"I'm sorry," Blaise muttered, and to his surprise, he actually was. "I guess the Dark Lord faked his death just like Bones, then?"
"No," Nott answered, voice firmly laced with terror and a touch of awe. "He is not like he was when I met him in Fifth Year. He really died again, but he came back once more."
"But- that's-"
"Impossible, or it should be. But it is the truth, nonetheless."
Some of his mental faculties finally shifted back into operation as his shock faded. "If this really is true, why would you tell me? You know my family has no loyalty to the Dark Lord."
"My father, he- the Dark Lord killed him just before Halloween. He tortured and mutilated him to such an extent that his remains fit into a box, one no larger than your school bag."
Rather than fake condolences, Blaise stayed silent. Nott continued, "My father was a loyal servant, one of the most respected Death Eaters! But he murdered him, without hesitation. My mother never took his mark, she is outside his reach. I won't keep secrets for my father's killer any longer."
"So why tell me, then?"
Nott's cool stare met Blaise's eyes. "Surely you don't think that I'm the only one to question why a Zabini is suddenly so interested in Montague's little student rebellion, do you?"
A chill ran up Blaise's spine. He needed to get word to Uncle Mauro, and quickly.
As the two Slytherins parted ways, neither noticed the long piece of string slowly retract from beneath the sofa, the pranking device sliding away from them and back towards the boys' dormitories.
"You look like you're enjoying yourself."
Harry glanced up from his seat atop a gentle hill amidst the Zabini vineyards. "It is a lovely day."
"Maybe beneath these climate-controlling enchantments; you realize it's the middle of December, right?"
He grinned in reply, patting the ground next to him. "C'mere, sit with me."
Daphne obliged him, removing her plain black robes and smoothing the skirt she wore beneath before taking a seat. "I just finished a meeting with Lord Zabini; why didn't you come?"
"We meet with him every day. I thought we could use a break."
"Harry… you know what's going on out there. We can't afford to sit by and allow our enemies to outmaneuver us." She reached out and took his hand, and he wished for a moment that he could feel what she did when they touched. The little sighs she let out every time their skin met were very distracting.
"I haven't been sitting out here all day, thank you very much," he responded, still with a smile. "In fact, I worked for a good part of the morning."
"Doing what, exactly?"
He reached into his pocket, unshrinking a covered basket and setting it in front of her. "Preparing for our long overdue picnic." Daphne didn't react beyond tightening her grip on his hand, her eyes locked onto the basket while he reached in to pull out a light lunch of fruit, cheese, and pastries. "Why don't you tell me about what I missed while we eat?"
"You-" her eyes jerked up to meet his, and she seemed at a loss for words, finally settling for a quiet "Okay."
They ate together, enjoying the warmth of the vineyards while the winter sun shone down on them. Once they finished, Harry leaned back, propping himself up with his hands behind him, feeling the moist soil beneath his fingers. "So what did I miss?"
Daphne leaned her back against his side, her head falling against his shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly, lungs full of the scent of her hair. "Not yet," she murmured, "Let's just enjoy this a little longer."
They sat together for some time, soaking up the warmth of each other in addition to the enchantments, relaxing and basking in each other's presence, ignoring the stress and anxiety of the world for the first time in months.
Eventually, Harry's arms tired and he sat up. "We should do this more often."
"I would agree, but I don't know how possible that will be. Lord Zabini wants us to head out next week."
Harry had little reaction to that news. "To where?"
"Brazil. The South Americans want you to lead their offensive against the MACUSA." This news was disquieting, something Daphne immediately picked up on. "What is it?"
"I made friends in America. It's hard to stomach the idea of attacking them or their families."
Daphne stood, picking up her robes and putting them back on, making a token attempt at brushing away the dirt before gesturing for him to follow. "You had to know it would come to this. They're the ICW's biggest backers. They make up almost the entirety of the occupation."
Accompanying her on the walk back to the mansion, Harry shivered as they left the vineyard's artificial warmth. "It doesn't make it any easier."
Perhaps wisely, she didn't respond to that, instead changing the topic. "It's important that we capitalize on this moment of inaction. Several Ministries that nominally support the Confederation have been tied up with internal discord, preventing mobilization on a large scale against us."
"Why? What happened?"
"Lord Zabini made certain that he had, uh, 'family associates' in place to speak with reporters around the world to make sure that our side of the story was told. Some people agree with us, even if their Ministry does not. Here and there, there's been conflict inside countries on whether to back the ICW or us."
"Really?" That was surprising.
"Yes, but it won't last long. Counting only the Ministries that are currently arrayed against us, we're vastly outnumbered. We have to start leveling the odds."
Harry groaned, realizing exactly where she'd led him. "What happened to our day off?"
Opening the door to Alessio's office, she grinned back at him. "Time to get back to work, Potter."
"All finished? You didn't forget to wash behind your ears?"
By now numb to this discomfort, Susan merely shook her head, accepting Eddie from Luna's arms. "I'd like to go to sleep now."
"Goodnight!" The waifish blonde stood and strolled out of the room, striding past the bedsheet that Susan had put up to give herself a pretense of privacy.
Once she was sure she was alone, Susan attended to Eddie, making certain he hadn't soiled his makeshift nappies and that he was sleeping peacefully. With that task completed, she lay him down in the bundled blankets, reaching into the pocket of the robes she'd mended too many times, withdrawing the twine-wrapped Stone she'd managed to keep secret. The darkness of the hut meant the shadows encroaching her room following three turns were hardly noticeable.
"Susie, it's wonderful to see you again."
While she wished she were able to echo that sentiment, in truth Susan still had conflicted feelings about her aunt. On one hand, Amelia Bones had raised her, cared for and loved her as well as any mother; on the other, she'd blatantly undermined Susan's choices with a heavy hand at practically every opportunity for the last several years.
"Auntie, I need your help."
"My knowledge is at your service." Her aunt hadn't been her first choice. Night after night, Susan had summoned spirits, hoping one would be able to offer her advice on how to help Luna and escape from the horrors that infested the ruins of Potter's Lodge.
She'd turned first to her parents, but they'd died young and years ago; Lily and James Potter suffered from the same drawbacks. Susan had even considered summoning Lucius Malfoy - who better to provide advice at weaseling out of a tough situation, after all? - but couldn't bring herself to ask assistance from such an evil man. So, swallowing her misgivings, she brought her aunt's spirit out of the underworld, explaining the situation that she found herself in.
By the time she'd finished, Amelia's form was blurring. "Your duty is to your son, not the Lovegood girl."
"I'm not going to leave her. She- she's not well. She needs help, and these monsters aren't going to provide it. Besides," she added after a moment of thought, "I know almost nothing of what's happening on the outside right now. Between You-Know-Who and the occupation, I wouldn't know where to run to, even if I were to run away."
The pain was obvious in her aunt's spectral form. "If there is no avenue of escape, then take advantage of the girl's vulnerability. If she is unwell, use that to your advantage. Manipulate her into providing you the security you require."
"How?"
Amelia's features started to warp, stretching to and fro in unnatural ways. "Please, you must release me…"
"I'm sorry, Auntie, but I still need your help. How would you manipulate her, if you were in my position?"
"I don't know- I am not the person to ask. Please, Susan-"
"Who would you turn to for advice?"
Acting as though she were gasping for air, she answered, "Slughorn, Horace Slughorn."
"Thank you, Auntie," Susan said, turning the Stone once and allowing Amelia's specter to dissipate.
Seated in the corner of the office, Senio read through parchments detailing items of interest to his and his comrades' objectives, listening with one ear while the Minister dealt with the various crises that rocked Britain. He almost regretted the way he'd dismissed the man as useless; he'd turned out to be rather effective at mollifying the people that inevitably came storming in day after day, despite having no solutions to their problems.
The Ministry was the only governmental apparatus still in operation; barely so, with the disease ravaging this land, but operational nonetheless. The Wizengamot had not convened in months, the few members still in attendance all disappearing into hiding following the discovery of Lord Perks' body in the aftermath of the attack on the muggle refugee camp. That left MacDougal the star of the show - and himself as stage director, whispering commands into his mind.
He might have been irritated at this situation when he first arrived in Britain, but after six months of the operation, Senio regarded it as an opportunity. The Umbra had long felt that most nations were too lax in their governance, that a heavier hand at the helm would offer greater domestic and international harmony. Ruling this country - even with all the problems that kept arising - was an interesting experience.
"Randolph, please. My town won't survive at the current rate; do you want to be responsible for Hogsmeade being abandoned?"
"Really, there's no need for hyperbole, Mayor. These are extraordinary times, you can hardly fault the school's administration for canceling the students' field trips. I hardly think candies and butterbeer are worth the risk inherent in reinstating Hogsmeade weekends."
"The shopkeeps are unanimous - they'll weather the danger of infection. We are desperate; with the rest of the country turning to owl order for their purchases, Diagon Alley's shops are turning a tidy profit. No one thinks to order from a smaller shop that's further away, and it's not as though we can ship a mug of butterbeer or a pot of tea! The students are an essential part of Hogsmeade's economy, and the Headmaster chose the worst possible time to pull them away!"
MacDougal nodded, giving a glance in Senio's direction. "That is true, I agree."
"We even pooled some gold together and paid a healer from St. Mungo's a consulting fee to draft this," he handed over a sheaf of parchment. "It's a report detailing the risks to the students visiting Hogsmeade during the outbreak. As you can see, it is my own citizens that will bear the brunt of the threat, not the children."
"That doesn't sound like a reason to grant your request."
"But it is! Everyone is willing to ride out the danger. Better to take the risk than lose our businesses, our livelihoods, our homes! What use is being free of disease if we cannot feed our families?"
Senio had given up the pretense of feigning ignorance to this dialogue. Hogsmeade was important; the village might be a relic of forgotten times, nearly as old as the medieval castle whose walls stood nearby, but losing it would be a blow. It was far from any muggle settlements, and provided wizards and witches a place to congregate with no fear of drawing the wrong sort of attention. He sent a mental command to the Minister.
"Very well, you've convinced me. Beginning after Yule Break, the student weekends will be back."
December 25, 1996
Italian magicals had unusual customs, Daphne mused, holding a glass of wine tightly while she listened to accordions and bagpipes play a bizarre festive melody. There was a certain irony in the way that one of the oldest magical nations, with a continuous history stretching back millennia, would be so… muggle in their holiday celebrations.
She supposed that came with the Zabinis fully straddling both the magical and non-magical worlds. Still, it didn't feel like Yule without the sacrificial rituals, the traditional feasts, and the cultural practices she'd grown up with.
"Happy Christmas," Harry said, dropping into the seat next to hers. "Having fun?"
"Happy Yule," she replied. "It's… interesting. Why are all of the musicians wearing those red suits? They're ghastly."
"It's a muggle myth, about an immortal spirit who rewards well-behaved children with presents and punishes the naughty ones by only leaving them a lump of coal. I guess it's sort of a way to keep children from acting out during the winter."
That would explain the excitement of the smaller children in the Zabini estate for the past few days. Daphne finished her own wine, smiling impishly at Harry as she reached out to take a sip from his glass. "And were you a good boy or did you get a lump of coal when you were little?"
A shadow fell over his face, his eyes dulling behind his glasses. "My relatives didn't see me as part of their family, so I got nothing from them. A good Christmas was one where they ignored me."
Feeling very foolish, Daphne winced. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- I wasn't thinking."
"Don't worry about it, it was a long time ago." Throwing one of his arms around her shoulders, Harry pulled her closer to him, and the two watched the red-suited musicians finish their performance to the raucous applause of the Zabinis and their servants.
"Have you ever participated in Yuletide celebrations?" Daphne asked, curious since she knew he'd attended the Abbott's Eastre event their First Year.
"No. After my parents rescued me from my relatives' home, I would spend Christmas with them. When they were killed, I- well, I had other things on my mind."
Right. Merlin, with his history, it was practically impossible to talk about the past! "Do you think you'll raise your own children with these muggle customs?"
"I think that would depend on the mother of those hypothetical children. Plus, I don't know anything about Yule. How did your family celebrate?"
Daphne spent the next half-hour telling stories about her childhood, about Yuletide celebrations with family friends, with business associates and clients, of the gifts and feasts and events. It was nice to remember better times, to share those memories with someone else. It made them feel more alive, more relevant, and less like something she'd lost and would never get back.
The festivities seemed to be dying down when Harry reached for her hand. "Want to head out?"
He didn't release her hand as they walked through the winding corridors back to his room. There was this nervous energy that welled up inside her, a strange anxiety that she couldn't explain. Rather than give voice to that feeling, she instead grasped for a safer topic. "What do you think is waiting for us in Brazil?"
"I'm not sure. They wouldn't have asked Alessio for my services if they didn't have a plan, so I suppose we'll just wait and see."
"Are you still- I mean, you mentioned some mixed feelings about this offensive."
Harry was quiet, opening the door to his quarters and motioning her inside. "I'll do what I must. I- I don't really want to talk about that right now."
"Okay," she said and took a seat on his bed.
Observing Harry, it was apparent the nervousness she'd felt earlier was exuding from him. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses, took a step towards the bed and paused, then retreated a few steps. It was like he was pacing in slow motion.
"What is it?"
Despite her question, he didn't reply for several more moments. "I've been thinking about what to say for days, weeks even, but it all feels so trite and silly."
"Then why not just say it?" she offered, wondering what this was about.
"Chiara mentioned something to me, about you," he began, and Daphne couldn't stop herself from stiffening. This wasn't going to be good if it started with her. "About how you've caught the attention of several members of her family. In a good way, I mean," he hurried to add.
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
He continued, though, as if she hadn't spoken. "I mean, you and me, we have a long history, and most of it is the two of us doing terrible things to each other. And this last year - it's like our relationship has been stuck between the present and future tense, a destination we're heading towards but never seem to approach. Maybe we'd be better off with other people; someone new, someone that doesn't share the baggage we carry."
'What was this?' Daphne thought, fear welling up inside of her. She didn't interrupt, though; it felt like there was no air in her lungs to speak, even if she wanted to.
"So I decided I should let you go, let you find someone better. I thought this jealousy would pass, that I was a good enough person to be happy for you if you were happy with someone else. I do want you to be happy, Daphne, it's just… the thing is-" Harry ceased his pacing, and took a seat next to her, reaching out for her hands with his. "I want to be happy, too."
"Just say it," she whispered.
"I love y-"
In hindsight, she wished she'd let him actually get all three of those words out. Her tongue in his mouth sort of muffled the words she'd been wanting him to say for so long, but her impatience was such that she couldn't wait.
Harry kissed her back, ardently so, and Daphne surrendered to the blissful sensations as their embrace turned heated. Was it their magical connection, or was it simple arousal that was pushing her to go further and further? In the end, she thought distractedly as she unbuttoned her blouse and yanked his own shirt off, it didn't really matter all that much.
Once they'd fully disrobed, Daphne pressed herself as close to him as she could, and she swore that she could feel their hearts beating in sync. She felt feverish with pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to break their kiss and put one hand against his chest as he positioned himself between her legs.
"Wait," she gasped out, his kisses down the side of her neck drawing an involuntary moan from her throat. "We have to stop."
Harry pulled back, eyes darkened with arousal. "Why?"
"I can't cast the Contraceptive Charm. Are you able?"
"The what?"
Daphne blinked. "The spell that keeps witches from getting pregnant. You don't know it?"
"Err, no. Can you teach me?"
What followed was an embarrassing exercise, the two of them naked in his bed, Harry struggling and failing to cast the spell wandlessly, both practically panting with desire and ready to howl in frustration.
"Can't we just..."
"You're not going to leave me here pregnant while you go off to fight a war. We'll just have to wait until tomorrow, I'll visit a healer and get on the potion."
His shoulders slumped momentarily before his head came up and he speared her with a look so intense that she almost melted into the mattress. "Tomorrow, then."
Contenting herself with the feel of their nude bodies pressed together, the sensation so overwhelming and perfect, Daphne nestled closer to him and closed her eyes. 'Tomorrow'
When she woke the next morning, Harry was already dressed. "I thought we could have a lie-in," she mumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
He sat down on the bed, giving her a deep kiss, morning breath and all. "I had a morning off a few days ago, now it's your turn. I'm meeting with Alessio; apparently, something's happened in Asia that's got him worked up."
"Okay. I'm going to go and see the Zabini's healer. Meet back here before lunch and tell me what happened?"
She watched his eyes flick down her naked body, only half-covered by the blankets. "Meet back here before lunch, but not to talk."
Daphne blushed and slapped his shoulder. "Go, get out of here."
Grabbing her clothes from the night before from where they'd been haphazardly scattered, Daphne hurried back to her own room to shower and get dressed for the day. It felt like she was walking on air; after last night, even the war seemed a far-off concern. She thought Harry might just have converted her to loving muggle Christmas.
The estate had a healer on-site, one whose sole purpose was to treat members of the Zabini family. Daphne asked one of the servants for directions and knocked on his door. "Hello?"
"Miss Greengrass, please, come in," an elderly man perhaps a few years younger than Alessio greeted her. She'd long since given up wondering how every person on this island seemed to immediately recognize her. "Is there something that I can help you with?"
"I- yes, I was hoping that I could purchase a potion from you."
"Certainly, I maintain a stock of the more common brews, and anything you should require that I don't have can be sent up from the apothecary."
Merlin, this was embarrassing! Why couldn't the healer be a woman? "I'm in need of a contraceptive potion."
"Of course, that's no trouble at all, in a family as large as this one I always keep a supply of that brewed and ready. When was the last time you visited a healer?"
Daphne thought back to the various times that she'd been treated for injuries, but knew that wasn't what he was asking. "It's been a rather long while, sir."
"Well, I could give you the more general version of the potion, but I'm sure you're aware that it is less effective. If you don't mind, though, I could give you a brief check-up and tailor it to your magical signature."
She remembered Madam Pomfrey giving the Third Year girls a similar speech back at Hogwarts. "That would be fine."
Daphne made to remove her robes, but the healer waved her off. "No need for that, dear. Just stand over here, that's fine, right there."
The healer waved his wand, silently casting several spells. His face pinched, eyes squinting like he was trying to work out a difficult problem. "A moment more, if you don't mind."
This time he incanted aloud, multiple spells the likes of which she'd never heard, his face growing more and more concerned with each casting. "Is something wrong?"
"I think I'll need you to remove your robes, after all."
Daphne complied, not sure what this was about. "Your blouse as well. No need for modesty, child, and I wouldn't ask if it weren't necessary."
Standing in the chilly room in only her skirt and brassiere, Daphne felt her flesh prickle as he crouched down, tracing the scars on her stomach with his wand. "This wound - please tell me more about the circumstances behind it."
"I was stabbed; the blade held a curse that sapped the victim's magic. It was countered, but my magic was destabilized in the process," she recited the story clinically, then added, "That's probably what's making your diagnostics return strange results."
"I'm afraid that's not- Miss Greengrass, why don't you get dressed and take a seat?"
Something was wrong. Hurriedly slipping on her blouse and robes, Daphne sat down in front of the healer's desk, hands tightly gripping her chair's armrests. "What is it?"
"Can you tell me about your cycle since this injury?"
"It comes every- well, not every month, but I've gone through a lot in the last year - dementor exposure, battle injuries, and more. Sometimes the timing is irregular, but… what is this about?"
The healer rubbed his weathered face with one hand. "I don't know how else to say this: the curse from that wound, though it was countered in time to save your life, has left you barren."
"Barren? But- that's-"
"I'm sorry. Curse wounds manifest themselves in various ways; you're lucky to have escaped with your life, but I'm afraid the damage is irreparable."
"It can't be," she protested while anger, grief, and horror flashed through her. "Do something! Fix this!"
The healer grimaced, eyes full of pity. "If it were possible, I would. Cursed injuries resist healing, as I'm sure you well know. There is no treatment that will heal you."
Daphne abruptly stood up, ignoring the healer's calls to come back, fleeing from his office and running through the corridors, running away from what he'd just told her. She eventually stumbled to a halt, leaning against the wall and sliding to the ground, sobbing into her hands.
It was just- it was so unfair. After everything she'd gone through, all she'd endured, to have any chance at a family, at motherhood, snatched away from her. How could she tell-
'Oh no'.
Harry. The last Potter, the man orphaned twice over. Harry, who watched the Zabinis interact with their spouses and children with an envious longing. Harry, who was in love with her.
Harry, to whom she'd never be able to give children. To whom she would never be able to provide a family.
Daphne fisted her hands in her long black hair, pulling and squeezing, preferring the pain in her scalp to that of her heart. When this was all over, he would want- he would need a family. The Potter line depended on him, he would never spurn the sacrifices of his parents by letting their legacy end with him.
Her tears had ceased, the emptiness inside her so vast and complete that she was unable to even summon the requisite emotion to cry anymore. Why now? Why did it have to happen now, when the stars had finally aligned and they- they…
She stood up on shaky legs, leaning hard against the wall as she did. She had to get out of here, had to go somewhere that she could scream and curse her rage at Erra, at her barren womb, at the whole fucking world for the injustices that never seemed to cease.
Daphne fled towards the nearest exit.
A/N: Poor Daphne!
RE: Neville and Harry's spellbook. The foreshadowing for this was waaaaayyyyy back in Chapter 36 of ASAoV, Sam and Erra's argument on Sardinia. You all thought it was just a throwaway line, didn't you? HA! Everything always comes back! Just for reference, the spell he casts (translated from Akkadian) literally is "strengthen vitalize". I meant 'benificence' the way a priest or whatever blesses people, except this is a spell that will give 'gifts' (like strength, longevity, increased hardiness from disease etc) to a woman's offspring. Seemed like the sort of thing that Erra would share - powerful, but unable to be used against him.
Susan continues to toughen up. I was telling Nauze that there is a certain irony in the way that as Daphne softens and becomes more warm and loving, Susan is growing more ruthless and hard-hearted. I sort of love that dynamic.
Fic rec: I've rec'd it before, but Wakefan's "Harry Potter and the Dance of Death" is about to have it's final chapter published. If you're enjoying WaR and ASAoV, chances are you'll love that story as well. He's a fantastic author.
Next chapter - off to South America! Harry hits the road once more!
Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles
