AN:

Many thanks to my great beta reader Verlor (id: 1113787) for his help with this chapter!

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Chapter 34 - E Tenebris Lux

Tears flowing, Harry looked at Daphne's sleeping face, her ugly, dead eyes finally covered by her eyelids. Harry hated himself for the thought, and it certainly wasn't the reason he had put a Sleep Charm on her, but… the sight hurt. He could not deny it. The beautiful blue of the Arctic Ocean, in which he had so often lost himself to escape the cruel reality ... taken by Voldemort, her punishment for loving him.

Harry clenched his fists. It was his fault, his damn fault. How much more would Daphne have to suffer just because he was too weak to protect her?

A low croak tore Harry from his dark thoughts. Turning his head, he saw Fawkes on the carpet in the center of the room, his red and gold plumage battered from the previous fight, his wings covered with numerous cuts. Harry was seized by a sense of gratitude. Only thanks to the phoenix had they made it out of the Ministry to Grimmauld Place.

"Thank you, Fawkes," he whispered, his voice sincere. "Thank you for saving us again. Without you, we would've been lost long ago."

Fawkes croaked again before spreading his wings. With a few unusually inelegant-looking strokes the phoenix rose into the air, only to settle down on Daphne's chest shortly afterwards, which rose and lowered quietly in her sleep.

"Can you help her?" Harry asked hopefully, his hand, still holding Daphne's, clenched at his words, but he did not notice it, his gaze alone on the flaming bird in front of him. His tears had worked miracles before...

Fawkes' deep, golden eyes met Harry's gaze, mirroring his desperate expression. Then Fawkes straightened up, leaning over to Daphne's face. With anxious heart and fragile hope, Harry watched as two shimmering silver tears fell from his eyes directly onto Daphne's closed eyelids. There was a hissing noise as if a drop of water was thrown on a blazing fire, and the phoenix's tear evaporated without being able to deploy its healing magic. Disappointed, Harry slumped on the stool next to the bed.

"Thank you anyway, Fawkes," he whispered while a sad melody rang out in the room, one that could not be heard by human ears, a true wonder of the ancient world. Again, Harry started to cry. He cried and cried and cried. It was too much, it was just too much.

He did not know how long he cried. At some point, he felt a hesitant touch on his upper arm, abruptly pulling him back to reality.

"Mr. Harry, Mr. Harry," he heard Dobby's worried voice, the only friend left after Remus' death.

Stop saying Remus' death, came a voice in his head. YOU killed him.

"Mr. Harry, Mr. Harry Sir," Dobby squeaked, his voice getting higher and higher. "Mr. Harry, you must wake up, you must –"

Harry forced himself to straighten up. Deeply exhausted, he turned to Dobby, whose bat-like ears drooped limply. "I'm listening," Harry said softly. "What is it?"

"Mr. Dumbledore is at the door and wishes to speak to Harry Potter Sir. Do you want Dobby to let him in?"

Harry jerked at the house-elf's words. Dumbledore was here! Maybe he could help! The most powerful wizard in the fucking world had to be useful for something, right?

"Let him in," Harry croaked. "And Dobby, can you bring some strengthening potions for Daphne? She had to endure a lot today…" His voice failed.

Dobby leaned forward, putting his small hand on Harry's. "Dobby will pep Mrs. Daphne up again," he said. "Mr. Harry doesn't have to worry. Everything will be fine!"

A lump formed in Harry's throat. Unable to speak, he simply nodded gratefully to Dobby, who apparently was not expecting an answer either. The house-elf squeezed Harry's hand one last time before straightening up and quickly leaving the room. "You can come in," Harry heard his voice.

The next moment Dumbledore walked into the bedroom, still looking the same as he did during the fight in the Ministry's cell block, his white beard and red robe scorched in many places, his hand still holding the bright wand that was not his. Only his eyes had lost the energetic glimmer of fury, instead they were filled with deep sadness and exhaustion that did not come just from his old age.

"Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "we need to talk."

He gave Dumbledore a deep look before pointing to Daphne's sleeping figure. "Yes, we do," he replied, "but please have a look at Daphne first. Can you do anything to restore her eyesight?"

Dumbledore frowned but hurried to the bed. With the wand in his hand, he leaned over Daphne, muttering magical formulas Harry recognized as ancient Greek. The air over Daphne's head started to shimmer and Harry felt the room getting noticeably warmer, but eventually Dumbledore just gave a heavy sigh. Sluggishly, as if every movement caused him pain, he sat on the bed at Daphne's feet while Fawkes curled up on her stomach.

"I'm afraid," said Dumbledore, "that this is beyond my knowledge."

"What are you good for then?" Harry shouted desperately. "Why can't you ... what am I supposed to do now?" He felt helpless, so helpless. He couldn't even hold his hands still, they trembled like a leaf in his lap. Couldn't he get anything right?

"I'm sorry Harry," said Dumbledore. Through the window, the first rays of the rising sun shone in the room, illuminating Dumbledore's white beard and the wrinkles that were carved deep into his face. "I cannot help her," he continued, "but I could tell that it's very dark magic. The curse that weighs on her is directly related to Voldemort's magic. I'm afraid as long as Voldemort lives there is no hope of a cure."

At his words, a jerk went through Harry's body. That would mean, he concluded, that there was hope when Voldemort was dead. White-hot wrath and a feeling of unprecedented determination boiled up in him. He would kill Voldemort and save Daphne! That had been his goal before – to avenge his parents and give him and Daphne a future – but with the events of the previous day something had changed. After tonight, Harry was ready to sacrifice anything, if necessary, to achieve that goal. What did he care about the wizarding world that had betrayed them again and again, that condemned him and Daphne? They could all burn in hell, Harry didn't care. He would even set the whole country on fire just to save Daphne. He had already committed terrible crimes. So terrible that he felt he could do anything, commit any sin, betray any trust, because no matter what ruin he would make of himself, it could not be worse than what he had already done.

"I'm giving this back to its rightful owner," Dumbledore's voice suddenly reached Harry's ears as if from far away. Harry looked up to see him put Daphne's wand next to her on the bed. "Part of me is happy not to have it anymore. That wand has already done a lot of appalling magic…"

"I have no nerve for your sermons," Harry replied irritably. "Just say what you have to say."

"Is it true? Is Daphne Voldemort's daughter?"

Harry jumped up, his hands clenched into fists. "What if she were? What if we had known for years? Would that matter in any way? Children aren't their parents. I am not like my father and mother and she is not like him. So don't talk about her like that! You… you have no idea what kind of person she is…"

"Please calm down, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "You're right. I don't want to presume to judge her. You and Daphne are…"

"What are we?" Harry hissed angrily. And why was Dumbledore so damn calm? And what was wrong with his goddamn eyes behind his glasses that they always twinkled like that?

"You're angry with me," Dumbledore stated aptly as if he could read his mind. "You're angry with me because I'm not angry with you. Because I'm not yelling at you, telling you that you are a monster so that you can wallow in your self-pity that the world was oh so unfair to you. What, Harry? Do I see surprise in your eyes? No, you are not monsters, you and Daphne, even though you might wish you were. It would undoubtedly make a lot of things easier. Yet you are deeply human, with everything that comes with that. You may not realize it yet, but your souls are on fire. They're burning because of the things you did."

Exhausted, Harry fell back on the stool. "Do you think I don't know?" he said. "Do you think you reveal some great insight that I will use to rethink my entire life? Do you think I have no regrets? Of course I do. Every day for the rest of my life Sirius and Remus' dead faces will haunt me."

"And what about the others?" Dumbledore asked. "All the others you killed?"

"What about them? Should I mourn for them? For Daphne's so-called parents? You have no idea what they did to her. They've even got off too lightly ... and Malfoy? And all the other Death Eaters? They deserved it too! Just like our classmates, for what… what they did to Daphne…"

Dumbledore's piercing gaze bored deep into Harry's eyes. "Has it never crossed your mind," he said, "that your actions have consequences? That maybe it was you who drove your classmates down this dark path when you killed their parents?"

"Should I feel sorry for the bastards? Well, that won't bring them back to life either."

"No, Harry, I am not asking you to feel sorry for them, even if their dead souls deserve all of our sympathies. No, what I want is for you and Daphne to reconsider your life so far. Back in the hospital wing, you told me that your goal is happiness, love, a family. Tell me, have you come closer to that goal?"

Harry's body shuddered, but whether from anger or despair he couldn't tell. Meanwhile, Dumbledore waited with all his goddamn calm for his answer, which Harry knew but was unable to utter.

Just then the door to the bedroom opened again and Dobby stepped in with a tray full of colorful potions in glass vials, releasing Harry from the need to reply. Focused, Dobby walked through the room, setting the tray down on the bedside table next to Harry.

"Dobby gives Mrs. Daphne the potions now, okay, Mr. Harry?" asked Dobby.

Harry just nodded, watching as one colored liquid after another disappeared down Daphne's throat, seemingly already making her look a little less pale, even if that was of course impossible. He had never been particularly good in Potions, not least because of their teacher – may he rot in hell – but even he knew that the potions could not work that quickly.

"Dobby," Dumbledore suddenly turned to the house-elf. "I think it would be a good idea if you headed to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing next and asked Madam Pomfrey for potions specifically against the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. I think Daphne could very well use that. Also show her the empty vials, so she can consider any incompatible potions."

Dobby gave Harry a questioning look, but Harry nodded one more time before muttering" Thank you" in Dumbledore's direction.

"No need," replied Dumbledore. "Regardless of our previous conversation, I think it would be good if you'd tell me exactly what happened tonight, Harry. The Ministry will no longer deny that Voldemort has returned, but that also means he can now act without any restraint. So what happened, Harry?"

Brushing a strand of blonde hair from Daphne's face, Harry started talking in a shaky voice. He told of the arrival of the four Death Eaters, of how they had got him out of his cell, how he had to leave Daphne behind to accompany Barty and Snape to the Department of Mysteries. He told about how he had taken the glass ball from the shelf, how he had suddenly felt Daphne's pain, how Barty had been killed by Snape before he died himself. At this point Harry paused. Why did Snape kill Barty?

"You are probably wondering why Professor Snape behaved the way he did," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. "When we have more time, I will tell you about the life of the man Severus Snape. At the moment, please just know that he apparently, or at least that is what I suspect based on what you just said, sacrificed himself for you, Harry. So that you can live. In doing so he incurred his master's wrath. I guess it was part of the spells that bound Severus to serve him. I'm afraid Voldemort never fully trusted Severus again…"

"What are you talking about, Professor?" Harry asked, confused. "Why would Snape sacrifice himself for me?"

"As I said, Harry," sighed Dumbledore. "at another time, under different circumstances … when we can appreciate the truth, the painful, tragic truth more than we can now. I'll also have to think more about it first…" Dumbledore stroked his scorched white beard, looking thoughtfully at the floor, before he suddenly looked up again, right into Harry's face. "Please continue, Harry," he said. "I think you were just about to tell how you saved Daphne."

Harry's stomach tightened as he thought about it, his gaze sliding to Daphne's sleeping face, so calm and peaceful, very different from the moment he had walked into the cell block and she was writhing on the floor in pain. At the time he had thought that her eyes, blemished with bloody streaks, were the worst thing he had ever seen...

Suppressing the icy despair inside, Harry told how he had killed Daphne's tormentors in his rage, but how Bellatrix Lestrange had survived long enough so that he could penetrate her mind to get the repository of the Horcrux she was hiding. However, he deliberately left out what magic he had used for it; Dumbledore had already learned enough secrets this night. Feeling Fawkes' knowing eyes on him though, Harry finished, "So the Horcrux is in the Lestrange Vault in Gringotts."

Thoughtfully, Dumbledore stroked his beard. "And how is it," he asked quietly, "that you knew that Bellatrix Lestrange was hiding a Horcrux in the first place?"

Harry shrugged, Dumbledore could probably figure it out anyway. "We learned it from Lucius Malfoy," he said. "Before we killed him, he begged for his life. He then revealed it."

Again, Harry felt as if he was being X-rayed by Dumbledore's light blue eyes as he asked, "Am I correct in assuming that you two killed Lucius Malfoy to forge your soul bond? Which would mean you lied to me when you said you did not have to kill anyone to do it." His voice showed no anger, maybe just a hint of disappointment, but perhaps Harry simply misheard. Dumbledore's gaze seemed to be far away.

"And if we did?" Harry replied. "What would that change? You too don't tell us everything, like that there was a prophecy about me and Voldemort. And Malfoy deserved it, he arranged for the Chamber of Secrets to be opened."

Dumbledore sighed. "Please continue, Harry. We can talk about everything else afterwards."

Harry continued his story. He told how Voldemort had suddenly appeared in the cell block, how they had tried to fight him but had no chance in their condition. With pride and also a touch of satisfaction he told of Daphne's defiance, how she had refused to join Voldemort and instead swore her love for him again.

"So Daphne is very different from how the newspapers and the Ministry always portray her ... Then Voldemort demanded I kill her," Harry told haltingly. "that I should prove to him that love is actually worth something. But I refused to kill Daphne. Voldemort was about to torture her again when you showed up. You know the rest."

For a good minute, no one said a word, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, it was Dumbledore who spoke again. "Thank you, Harry," he said. "So the prophecy is destroyed ... maybe that is the best thing that could have happened..."

"The best?" Harry exclaimed angrily. "What part of it was goog?!"

"Forgive me, Harry," replied Dumbledore in a soothing tone. "I was just referring to the prophecy."

"What is this fucking prophecy anyway?"

"I suppose I should have told you about it much earlier," Dumbledore muttered, before giving Harry a deep look. "You once asked me why Voldemort tried to kill you in the first place. I didn't want to tell you then, you were too hurt by whatever had happened in the Chamber ... and yes, I also distrusted you too much ... The reason Voldemort wanted to kill you when you were a child was a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And that's why, I suspect, since his rebirth, and especially since your miraculous return from death, he has been determined to hear the prophecy in its entirety, so that he can finally learn how to destroy you."

The truth felt like a punch in the gut for Harry. So his parents had died only because of the words of a stupid prophet or fortune-teller? Some bloody prophecy had stolen the life he could have had?

Harry swallowed. Wistfulness would not solve any of his problems.

"Then it's a good thing that Voldemort doesn't know its contents," he mused, to steer his thoughts in a different direction. "But it would have been good if we had known exactly what was said in the prophecy about me and Voldemort."

"Then you will be glad to hear," said Dumbledore, "that the thing that was smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody who, even after all these years, can still remember every single word."

Surprised, Harry looked at Dumbledore. "The prophecy was made to you?!" he asked in amazement.

"As quick as ever," said Dumbledore with a slight smile on his lips. "Yes, the prophecy was made in my presence. Therefore, I can now reveal it to you." Dumbledore cleared his throat before beginning to recite in a calm voice, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Motionless, Harry stared at the bare wall, processing the information he had just heard; these words that had changed his entire life, the words that caused him to become the person he was today.

"That ... that is," he said haltingly, "that Voldemort thought the prophecy was about me because I was born on July 31st..."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Harry. And because your parents faced him in battle three times and escaped. But he only knew the beginning of the prophecy. Little did he know that by trying to kill you he was marking you as his equal, just as the prophecy requires."

Harry shook his head dazedly. Of course, his damn scar had to play a role too. Then he thought of the last words of the prophecy. "So one has to kill the other," he concluded. "Either I'll kill Voldemort or he'll kill me." No matter, that didn't change anything. He had intended to kill Voldemort anyway.

"Yes Harry, I think that is the case," confirmed Dumbledore. "At least Voldemort believes you are a threat. Therefore, he will keep trying to destroy you, even if the prophecy does not hold any supernatural power."

"And I'm supposed to have a power he doesn't know," Harry mused aloud. "A power..."

"That's the really interesting part, don't you think?" said Dumbledore. "A power that you have but is completely unknown to Voldemort."

Confused, Harry looked at Dumbledore. What did he mean? He couldn't –

"Love, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort doesn't know it, doesn't understand it. That was shown once again in the Ministry when he asked you to prove him the worth of love. He does not see love as a strength, but rather as a weakness. If you had killed Daphne out of love, that would only have strengthened his belief that love enslaves people, constrains them, prevents them from achieving true greatness. For what powerful wizard would kill a useful instrument out of pity, out of love? Because other people are nothing else to Voldemort."

"You think love is the power I have?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course, Harry. Just look at what you have already endured. And yet you are now sitting in front of me. I think it is not daring to say that without love, neither you nor Daphne would be alive. Love is the greatest force in this world, but Voldemort has never understood it."

Although Harry had once spoken the same words to Daphne, he knew something that Dumbledore did not know, he was aware of another power that neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore knew. What if the power spoken of in the prophecy was the demon magic that he and Daphne had found and were still learning?

As if Fawkes had read his mind, he suddenly raised his head and looked at Harry with his deep, golden eyes before straightening up, rising into the air, and finally landing on Dumbledore's shoulder, making low caws.

"I think," said Dumbledore with a smile, "Fawkes is telling me to leave you alone for now. You need to rest after everything that has happened." With that, Dumbledore began to lift himself from the bed.

"But what are we going to do now?" Harry asked. "What's the plan?"

"The plan is for you and Daphne to rest first," Dumbledore said firmly. "After that, you will stay here in the house. I am afraid your time at Hogwarts came to an abrupt end yesterday. You will be wanted by both the Ministry and the Death Eaters. Use the time to regain your strength, Harry. Come to terms with yourself and think about what is really important to you in life. Recognize your burn scars ... and stop trying to burn them out with fire. I, on the other hand, will continue to investigate possible Horcruxes ... soon I will turn to you about this too. I also have some memories to show you ... and the Horcrux in Gringotts ... I don't think we should act too quickly. The goblins will never let us get it. We need a good plan ... and most importantly, we need to find out how many Horcruxes Voldemort made in the first place..."

"Professor, "Harry suddenly called. Stopping, Dumbledore looked at him curiously. "Remus ... will there be a funeral?" Harry asked hesitantly. "If ... if so, can I please attend it? If I have to, I'll wear my Invisibility Cloak all the time!"

A sad smile settled on Dumbledore's features. "I'm sure something can be done," he said. "I will see that your cloak and all of your other belongings are brought here. Now please excuse me, Harry. I'm an old man and now I have to wallow in my own self-pity and nurse my own burns."

Harry was not sure if Dumbledore had tried to crack a joke. If so, he would have failed quite a bit.

"Well, good night, Harry," Dumbledore made his farewells, "or rather, good morning. The sun has risen. A beautiful sight, don't you think?"

With that, Dumbledore left the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

Harry knew what awaited him now. With a painful feeling in his heart, he lay down in bed with Daphne, putting his arms around her warm body and plunging into their shared dream world.


Smiling, Harry walked along the quay, above him a summer sky, as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Daphne had chosen the port of Alexandria for their dream, where they had once dreamed of their future life. And sure enough, at the end of the quay, he could see his partner, her legs dangling over the quay wall, a light breeze playing with her blond strands, the screams of seagulls surrounding her.

"Well, Princess," Harry said as he sat down next to her. "How are you?"

Daphne gave him a short smile before leaning her head on his shoulder. It was with some relief that Harry saw that her eyes looked perfectly normal.

"Better," sighed Daphne. "I guess you and Dobby stuffed me with tons of drugs, didn't you?"

Harry smirked. "Just a little."

"Thank you," Daphne said sincerely. "I think I needed that. I cracked up again, didn't I? You don't have to spare me the truth."

Harry tried to laugh, but the laugh did not go beyond his lips. "Your reaction was understandable, Daph. You had to endure so much."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Puzzled, Harry looked at Daphne. He could sense that she was plagued by feelings of guilt, but what did she mean?

"I'm sorry I was such a burden," Daphne continued. "That I couldn't help you."

"You are never a burden, Daph. Without you, I would have given up a long time ago. Do you believe me or do I have to give another melodramatic speech?"

Daphne began to giggle, and a warm feeling crept inside Harry. "I love your speeches, but no, it's not necessary." She sighed. "We're in a very tricky situation, aren't we?"

Tightening his grip on his partner, Harry kissed the top of her hair, its fragrance mingling with the smell of the salty sea in front of them. "Nothing we can't overcome together," he said.

"Is it as bad as I suspect?" Daphne asked, turning her head so she could look him straight in the face, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.

Harry could not bring himself to tell her the truth, even though she could probably feel it in his soul anyway. Instead, he shared his memories with her, everything that had happened since their escape, everything he had learned since then.

Daphne's body trembled as she saw his memories of her blind, color-stripped eyes. "I'm disfigured," she sobbed. "I could feel your disgust. If you look at me in the future –"

"I will still see the person I love with all my heart," Harry interrupted, taking her face in his hands. "Listen to me, Daphne, listen to me very carefully: I love you! I will always love you! Yes, it hurts to see what he did to you, but I promise you, I promise you, I'll do everything I can to get your eyesight back, your beautiful, beautiful eyes. We're going to kill Voldemort and get out of this fucking situation. I promise you that, Daphne Potter."

A shiny silver tear ran down Daphne's cheek. Tenderly, Harry wiped it away with his thumb.

"But I won't be able to help you," sobbed Daphne. "I'm blind. I'll just sit around uselessly. If I could at least see you..."

See!

Harry had a brainwave.

"Daphne," he called out loud. "Are we both idiots? Have you already forgotten what a damn cheater you are?"

Daphne looked at him in confusion before suddenly widening her eyes as Harry's idea slowly trickled over to her. "You mean ... you mean..."

"Yes! You can use my eyes as we did before, although very briefly. As long as we touch, you can fall back on my eyes. You'll be able to see through me."

A hopeful glow fell on Daphne's face. "I'll be able to see you," she whispered. "And fight with you..."

"Exactly," Harry exclaimed, his body trembling with joy. It was the kind of joy you only knew if you had previously been surrounded by a dark abyss. "Granted, it won't be easy. When I first experienced it after the ritual, I found it very hard to move my legs while seeing my body through your eyes. But we have time. We can practice. It'll work somehow, I'm sure. As soon as we wake up we'll –"

"Thank you, Harry," Daphne interrupted him suddenly, leaning forward until her lips were only millimeters from his.

Harry blinked in confusion. "For what?" he asked.

"For giving me new hope," Daphne whispered, her breath sliding over his face. "That I can still dream because of you."

With that, she closed the gap between them.


The Dark Lord was furious, his rage devouring him like a ravenous fire whose hunger could never be quenched. Not only had he lost four more of his Death Eaters and the students in which he had placed many hopes, no, Potter had also escaped once more, along with his daughter. And he hadn't got the prophecy either. And now the whole world knew he was back...

He screamed. Outside the doors of the room he could hear his servants whimpering in fear. They were afraid, afraid that he would take out his anger on them, but ... but he still needed them, now more than ever. The very thought caused him pain. He hated people. And even more he hated being dependent on other people.

He'd been so close to killing the old fool, as well...

His fingers played with Dumbledore's wand, which he had taken from him. The Dark Lord felt a strange, electrifying, indescribable power emanating from the wand that, in his old life, would have given him goosebumps. What kind of wand was that?

But that was not the only puzzle the Dark Lord faced. What kind of magic had his daughter tried to use against him? She had whispered something in Parseltongue, but he hadn't understood everything. Just thinking about her words made the soul piece in his body vibrate…

He would uncover this mystery, after all, Lord Voldemort was the most powerful wizard of all time. He would subdue this unknown, yet so powerful magic. And then he would crush Potter, Dumbledore, the Ministry, and anyone else who dared to resist him. Oh yes, the future would be his...


HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

By Boris Chamberlain

In a brief statement Tuesday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is alive and has returned to this country. At the same time, Fudge appealed to citizens to stay calm. He guaranteed that the Ministry would take all necessary steps to protect the magical population. He also announced that guides to elementary home and personal defense would soon be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month.

However, it seems unlikely that Fudge will be in charge of the upcoming fight for much longer. The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community since the Fudge administration had rejected the rumors of the return of You-Know-Who until now. Already, more and more influential wizards and witches are calling for Fudge to be removed immediately.

Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Monday Evening. Rumors that their goal was to free Harry and Daphne Potter have not yet been confirmed. The Potters had been arrested just hours earlier on suspicion of murdering Remus Lupin, a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. Over the past few weeks, he has insisted that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic has launched a large-scale manhunt for You-Know-Who and the fugitive Death Eaters, as well as the fugitive Harry and Daphne Potter.

Quietly, Hermione put the newspaper on the table in front of her. The faces of Ron and Neville next to her were deeply worried, as were the faces of all the other students and teachers in the Great Hall, and probably her own face as well. The school had been in a depressing mood since Lupin had died the day before.

"At least they no longer deny that Voldemort is back," Neville whispered. "Depending on who's going to be the new Minister, we might have a real chance now."

Nodding, Hermione's gaze slid over the staff table. Umbridge was not there and something told Hermione that she was not going to return either. Professor Lupin's chair was empty too, of course, as was Dumbledore's golden throne in the center of the table.

"Do you think he's with them?" Ron whispered, his gaze also on Dumbledore's empty chair. He did not have to explain who he meant. Harry and Daphne Potter. The couple were a mystery Hermione just couldn't figure out.

"Probably," she said. "They're certainly … you know where. I don't think for a second that the Death Eaters tried to free them."

No, she found the two eerie, and she would not rule out the possibility that they had dire goals, but they were certainly not supporters of Voldemort. And she had seen Potter's face when the Aurors led him away yesterday. Lupin's death had shaken him, that much was clear, even if she did not yet know what exactly had happened.

Ron nodded slowly. "I agree. But nobody will tell us anything anyway. Not Neville's grandmother, and certainly not my parents."

Hermione and Neville looked at their friend in surprise. "You have changed," Hermione stated in astonishment, but at the same time she put her hand lovingly on her boyfriend's.

His gaze fixed on the plate in front of him, Ron replied in a trembling voice, "I still don't like them ... They have a lot to answer for, and maybe we'll just exchange one Dark Lord for the next, but … I'm afraid they are our best chance to defeat Voldemort…"


Time heals all wounds, Harry had once read somewhere, even if he could not remember where exactly. He also did not know if time would heal their wounds as well, but with each passing day they faded a little further, only his guilt he would carry around with him until the end. Daphne, however, decided to conceal her wounds so that Harry – and thus she through his eyes – no longer had to see them, the sight being too painful for both of them, as it reminded them of their terrible failure. One morning she returned from the bathroom with a dark blindfold around her head, a stark contrast to her pale face and honey-blonde hair, and from that time on she never took it off again.

It was difficult for both of them, much more difficult than Harry had imagined. It was the little things that made this particularly evident, things Harry had never given too much thought to before. If Daphne wanted to change, he had to help her, if she wanted to go to the bathroom, he had to accompany her, at least for some time, until Daphne got along better. One day Dobby brought her a stick, like the ones Harry had sometimes seen in the Muggle world, that blind people could use to get around. At that moment Harry wept tears over the love of their friend.

Slowly it got better. Daphne could move better and better, only rarely bumping against furniture and walls anymore. She even said that her blindness had improved her other senses, but Harry suspected she was only saying this to soothe him, feeling her grief whenever she touched him, her longing to see him with her own eyes. Often they spent their dreams just looking at each other while the world seemed to stand still around them. Every sleep, however, was followed by a new awakening, and so days became weeks and weeks became months.

As if 12 Grimmauld Place were a bubble separated from the rest of the world, they were watching what was happening outside. Occasionally witches and wizards disappeared, undoubtedly killed by Voldemort's Death Eaters, but overall the war had been less disastrous than Harry had feared. Apparently they were not the only ones having to lick their wounds. Voldemort had lost many of his followers, a fact of which Harry was thoroughly proud. He also felt a strange, macabre kind of pride in the bounty the Ministry had put on him and Daphne – five thousand galleons, per head!

At least, under the newly elected Minister for Magic, Amelia Bones, the Ministry had now begun to fight vigorously against Voldemort's henchmen, even if this had led to the Order having almost sunk into insignificance.

Still, the war could really go worse, even if no one would probably ever thank them for it. The newspapers still vilified them, publishing new horror stories every day, all of course baseless lies – an anonymous classmate even reported that they had gone to the Forbidden Forest every full moon to hunt centaurs and drink Hippogriff blood.

"Ridiculous," Daphne had said when he had read the newspaper article, before adding with a mischievous smile, "The only blood I drink is yours."

Now and then Harry had to leave Daphne and the security of their hiding place to secretly visit Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts – thanks to magical house-elf transport, this was not that difficult – since that is where one of extremely rare Pensieves was. In this Pensieve, Dumbledore was able to show him the memories of long past events, magically taken from the mind of the witnesses, voluntarily and thus much, much more gentle on the mind than the magic that Harry had used against Bellatrix Lestrange.

Finally, Harry and Dumbledore had pieced together enough puzzle pieces and they were pretty sure they had found out the whereabouts of yet another of Voldemort's Horcruxes...


Tired, Daphne rose from their bed. For many, waking up meant leaving the darkness of their sleep behind and turning to the bright and colorful hustle and bustle of waking. For her, however, it had been the other way around for several months now. Her dreams were filled with colors and all the wonders one could imagine, especially the beautiful green eyes that had always fascinated Daphne, even when she had still given her husband the cold shoulder. Her waking days, however, were shrouded in darkness.

"Do you need help?" Harry's thoughts reached her.

Lovingly, Daphne squeezed his hand. "No. You can sleep a bit longer."

Harry gave an approving grunt.

Smiling, Daphne grabbed her cane, which she always placed at her bedside table in exactly the same place. She then carefully made her way forward, only bumping into one of Harry's shoes he had simply thrown on the floor in the passionate loveplay last night. Finally, she reached the closet and began to dress. With her fingertips she felt how she had to put on the clothes for today. By now she had almost no trouble with it anymore. If an activity was carried out simply often enough, it eventually became one's second nature.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and after a short "Come in" Dobby entered the room – she heard it from the way he walked.

"Good morning, Mrs. Daphne," Dobby greeted her. "Mr. Harry." A grunt from the direction of the bed. "Professor Dumbledore is already waiting downstairs. Dobby told him Mr. Harry and Mrs. Daphne would be down soon."

"Thank you, Dobby," Daphne said. "We'll be down in a few minutes, but please offer him one of your freshly baked biscuits."

"How does Mrs. Daphne know that Dobby has baked biscuits?" came Dobby's surprised voice.

"You smell of flour," Daphne replied with a smile.

Meanwhile, Harry had also got up from the bed, as Daphne could hear. After dressing he took her hand. A brief effort of thought later, Daphne felt the familiar pull on her soul as the bond between them tightened. From one moment to the next, the darkness vanished from Daphne's mind and she was able to see again.

She saw her own body standing in front of her, no, in front of Harry, whose eyes she was using at that moment. Her hair was still dishevelled; she wouldn't have minded her beloved husband telling her that beforehand, then she would have had the time to brush her hair.

"Sorry, my love," Harry thought with a laugh.

Daphne sighed as they left the bedroom together. It had taken them a long time to move with just one pair of eyes, over which Daphne also had no control. By now she had mastered quite well to watch herself out of the corner of Harry's eye and move her body accordingly, even if she did not want to know how many valuable Black family vases she had destroyed during their exercises. The greatest challenge was that Harry also had to pay attention to his surroundings and therefore could not just look at her body all the time. So she pressed tight against Harry, especially since they had to have skin contact anyway to share his vision.

Eventually they reached the dark wooden stairs. Daphne had learned quickly that she should not think too much about the movements of her feet, especially on stairs, or she would get tangled up and fall down – that had happened more often than Daphne was willing to admit.

"Good morning, Mistress, Master," Kreacher's croaking voice greeted them; he was dusting off his ancestor's hideous shrunken heads that hung on the wall.

"Good morning, Kreacher," Harry replied. "Good work. I haven't seen the heads this clean in a long time. You truly bring honor to House Black."

Daphne saw Kreacher's ears begin to wiggle slightly at Harry's words. "You charmer," she commented with a smile.

"What can I say, I had a good teacher."

In the entrance hall, Dumbledore was already waiting for them. "Hello, Harry, Daphne," he greeted them before a big smile suddenly spread across his face. "Daphne, do I see a new blindfold? It's so colorful."

Daphne instinctively touched the fabric in front of her eyes, while she felt a warm feeling in her cheeks. "Harry tailored it for me," she said with a smile. "Several others as well."

"I wanted Daphne to add a little more variety to her wardrobe," Harry tossed in, tenderly squeezing her hand.

"You made them yourself?" marveled Dumbledore. "That's impressive. Sometimes I feel like we wizards rely too much on magic. It can be extremely satisfying to create something with your own hands. I, for example, always wanted to learn pottery..."

The three laughed quietly until Dumbledore's face suddenly turned serious again. "Unfortunately we cannot continue the conversation about early Christmas presents," he said. "Harry, we have to go. Are you ready?"

Before Harry could answer, Daphne had already spoken. "I'll come with you too," she said with conviction, clearly signaling that she would not tolerate any contradictions.

Harry beside her sighed, probably having sensed her intention long ago. Daphne herself sensed that while he was glad not to leave her alone, he was also worried. Gently, she squeezed his hand again, letting him feel her love.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, reacted as Daphne had feared. "Daphne," he said urgently, "I can understand that you want to help, but with your blindness –"

"I won't let Harry go alone," Daphne interrupted. "It's too dangerous. In an emergency, someone has to cover his back and you, Professor, are, with all due respect, too old for that. I don't trust you with my husband's life. Besides, I've been sitting in this house for far too long. I have to get a breath of fresh air. When, if not in the company of the most powerful and the second most powerful wizard I know."

With that she headed for the front door, pulling Harry behind her, who in turn exchanged a look with Dumbledore, causing Daphne to almost run into the umbrella stand. Not that she would let it show, of course.

"What are you waiting for?" she called. "Let's go."

"I love you," Harry said with a touch of admiration in his voice.

Daphne squeezed his hand. "I know. I love you too."

Dumbledore just sighed, mumbling something to himself that Daphne could not understand, not even with her improved hearing.

Opening the door, they stepped out onto the battered stone steps. Goosebumps spread over Daphne's body as she felt the cool wind on her skin, and with Harry's eyes she could see the bright winter sun in the cloudy sky. The sight was truly beautiful, at least if you had only seen dreary wallpaper for months.

"I really can't change your mind?" they heard Dumbledore's voice behind them, the door clicking shut.

Daphne just shook her head. She had already said everything there was to be said. With one last low sigh, Dumbledore handed them his arm, which felt surprisingly strong under Daphne's fingers, before feeling the familiar pull on her body. The world spinning around them, they left the desolate neighborhood behind.

The next moment they appeared in a country lane bordered by tall, tangled hedgerows. Daphne had already seen this country lane in Harry's memories which he had shared with her after looking at a memory that Dumbledore in turn had shared with him. They had never talked about it, but Dumbledore probably knew that Harry shared with her everything they discussed in their secret meetings.

Thus, Daphne knew they had to walk a little more before they would reach their destination. They followed the lane until it suddenly curved to the left, and they looked down onto a valley. It was the same village Daphne had seen in Harry's memory. Little Hangleton. Completely unaffected by what was happening in the world, it lay there, as it had been decades ago. Inconspicuous stone buildings giving off clouds of smoke, a small church with a graveyard. Opposite, on another hill, stood a beautiful manor house, in the middle of an overgrown-looking lawn.

However, they did not go in the direction of the village or the manor house but rather turned to the hedge on their right, which loomed high in front of them. In the memory Harry had seen, there had been a gap in the hedge, but many decades had passed since then, and the gap had long since grown. Dumbledore waved his wand – a new one, Daphne noticed – and an opening formed in the hedge through which they stepped onto a narrow dirt track beyond.

"Interesting to see other wizards solve problems," Harry commented, amused. "I would have just burned a hole in the hedge."

"And it's this attitude that keeps putting us in difficult situations," replied Daphne, regretting it at the same time. It was meant to be a joke, but she felt Harry's mind darken at her words.

"Don't worry," said Harry. "After all, you're right."

They followed the dirt track, which was bordered by even higher and wilder hedgerows. Again and again, Dumbledore had to open a path through the thicket that seemed to swallow all the light around them. It was not all natural, Daphne felt. Dark magic surrounded this place.

The path was bumpy, rocky, and full of roots and potholes – as if moving one's body through someone else's eyes was not difficult enough – causing Daphne to almost fall several times if Harry hadn't suddenly held her. Eventually, Daphne almost ran into Dumbledore when he stopped in front of them without prior notice.

Daphne was about to ask what was wrong when Harry's eyes recognized a stone building hiding in the darkness, surrounded by tall, old trees. However, the term building was probably too generous, as Daphne noticed on closer inspection. There were big holes in the roof while the right wall had collapsed when a tree fell on it, presumably in some storm many years ago. It was a ruin, but a ruin that was protected by strong spells. Muggles probably would never have found this place.

"We are there," said Dumbledore.

Only now did Daphne notice that it was completely quiet in the forest; no wind nor chirping birds, only the wild pounding of her heart in her chest.

"Draw your wands," Dumbledore said needlessly, for both Harry and Daphne had their wands in hand since leaving Grimmauld Place.

Slowly, Dumbledore walked towards the ruined house, and Daphne also paid attention to any suspicious movement, but nothing moved.

"I believe," said Dumbledore when they arrived at a rotten wooden door, "that we have nothing to fear for now. If I am right, the Horcrux hidden here was the first Voldemort created. Back then he was just a little older than you are now. I am sure the older Voldemort would have taken some more eccentric security precautions. But be careful and stay behind me."

With that, Dumbledore pushed open the wooden door, revealing the interior of the house in which the Gaunts once lived. Even in the memory Harry had seen, the house had been shabby and filthy, but now everything was covered in dirt and grime. Cautiously, the trio entered the house; only a squeak under Daphne's feet indicated that there was a wooden floor.

Harry's and thus Daphne's gaze slid to the remains of an old stove on the wall. Here, Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's mother … her Grandmother ... hand once cooked for her father and brother.

"Do you feel it too?" Harry's words tore her out of her thoughts.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "That is the aura of the Horcrux. Hideous, disgusting. A sacrilege of magic."

Daphne followed Harry's gaze, which was fixed on a spot on the floor in the middle of the room. She, too, felt an eerie presence, as if they were not alone. A cold chill ran down her spine.

"Let me do this," said Dumbledore. "Be ready in case I need your help." He then pointed his wand at the spot on the floor that Harry was still staring at, and the next moment the floor began to vibrate. As if Dumbledore was reversing time, heaps of dust, debris, and dirt rose into the air until they could see the original floorboard below. This, too, was torn from the ground, revealing something that did not at all fit into a ruin in a gloomy forest.

The two pairs of eyes focused on a golden box decorated with small emeralds that had been placed in a hole under the floorboard. How incredibly vain, thought Daphne. However, Voldemort's vanity was their only chance to track down his Horcruxes in the first place.

"Stay back," ordered Dumbledore as he carefully stepped onto the golden box. Slowly, he dropped to his knees before poking the tip of his wand against the box, but there was no sound. Dumbledore hit the metal one more time, but still, everything remained silent. After Dumbledore hit the box a third time, it finally opened with a low, hissing noise, unveiling its contents.

Transfixed, Dumbledore stared into the box, causing Harry and Daphne to step forward as well. Over Dumbledore's stooped figure they looked at a crude gold ring with a black stone, lying on green velvet in the box. The stone appeared to be scratched in several places, if Daphne saw correctly, and she also felt that the ring was covered with a powerful, dark curse.

Daphne was about to open her mouth to propose the immediate destruction of the nefarious object when she and Harry suddenly saw Dumbledore reach for the ring. Instinctively, they both darted forward, slapping his hand away just before he touched the black stone.

"What the heck?" Daphne shouted angrily. "Don't you see that the thing is cursed?"

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had begun to gasp as if he had been rescued from the water just before drowning.

"Professor, Professor," Harry called. "Are you okay?"

Dumbledore did not answer, his gaze returning to the ring, a wistful glimmer in his eyes, but he then abruptly looked away, shaking his head in a daze. "I'm sorry, you two," he muttered. "Apparently you are stronger-willed than me and better suited to resist the temptation."

Daphne had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about. Although the ring was undoubtedly covered with a curse, which would have devastating consequences for anyone who would touch or even put on the ring, she could not recognize any special magical attraction for the ring.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, rising from the filthy floor. "There is no fool like an old fool, I suppose. Well, all right, I think it would be best to destroy the Horcrux as soon as possible. Harry, would you reach into my right coat pocket, please? You have calmer hands than me. There's a vial of basilisk venom in there, yes, that's it. No need to look so surprised, Harry just because you've never seen a vial like this in class. There are only three of these vials in the world. Now pour the venom over the ring. Be careful not to let the liquid touch you. And don't spill anything. Horace would kill me if I wasted it."

Daphne watched tensely as Harry pulled the stopper from the vial and began pouring the world's most powerful venom over the Horcrux. As soon as the liquid touched the metal, there was a loud hissing sound, as if the liquid was evaporating. The metal began to smoke before it finally melted, or so it looked to Daphne. Suddenly, a long, horrible, piercing scream rang out, making Daphne's blood run cold, but after a few seconds it was all over. The scream fell silent, and the gold ring and much of the box were gone, corroded by the basilisk venom. The Horcrux was destroyed.

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief while Harry plugged the now empty vial again, handing it back to Dumbledore. But then there was a jolt through Harry's body as he looked in shock at the remains of the destroyed box. Confused, Daphne followed his gaze, sending him questioning thoughts before recognizing it too. Surrounded by the still smoking remains of the golden box, the black stone that had been set into the ring sparkled, undamaged.

That couldn't be possible, Daphne thought in disbelief. The stone had been hit directly by the basilisk venom, she had seen it with her own, no, Harry's eyes. So how did the stone survive the venom unscathed?

"You can touch the stone," Dumbledore said wearily, as if he were actually just an old, frail man. "The curse was destroyed along with the Horcrux."

"It was the stone," Daphne concluded, astonished. "You wanted to touch the stone, didn't you?"

She saw Harry look over at her, an old habit from when they could still exchange looks. Dumbledore, on the other hand, gave a heavy sigh. "It was just an old man's foolishness," he whispered.

Daphne felt a hot rage grasp Harry. "Well, you can explain everything to us right away," he hissed. "I'm excited to hear your story."

"Harry –"

"No, Dumbledore. This time it is us who will ask the questions. Whatever that was, what you almost did, you would have risked everything. You are useless to us dead."

Looking like he shrunk by several inches, Dumbledore hesitantly replied, "I… I don't know what you want to hear from me, Harry…"

"The truth," Harry replied. "I already have a guess, but I want to hear it from you. I think you owe that to us after we just saved your life."

Dumbledore sighed, giving up his reluctance. "Yes, Harry, I'm afraid you're right ... but not here..."

"Then we better go back," Harry said firmly, looking back at the enigmatic stone.

Leaning down, Daphne grabbed the stone to take it with her. It felt strangely cool in her fingers, even though she sensed unfamiliar magic. Somehow she had thought it had to be warm, even if she could not explain to herself why this should be the case. Fascinated, Harry and she looked at the black stone in her hand. The notches that Daphne previously thought were scratches were actually a symbol; a line, a circle, and a triangle ... the symbol of the Deathly Hallows?!

"That's what I was wondering, too," Harry thought.

"But how is that possible?" asked Daphne. "They're just a legend, a fairy tale."

"Maybe the old man can explain that to us..."

Together the three left the ruin in the forest, making their way back to the country lane. No one said a word. As soon as they had climbed through the hole in the hedge, Dumbledore held out his arm again, which this time was shaking much more than it had on their previous journey, and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

An enthusiastic welcome by an overzealous house-elf later, the three so dissimilar figures – an old man with long white hair, a blond girl with a brightly colored blindfold and a black-haired boy with a searching look – sat down at the long kitchen table, steaming cups of hot chocolate in front of them, placed there by the same overzealous house-elf. They sat on opposite sides; on one side Dumbledore, head on the cup in front of him, deep in thought, on the other side Harry and Daphne, eyeing their former headmaster attentively, Daphne's fingers still sliding over the cold stone in her hand.

"Well, Professor," Harry finally broke the silence. "What do you have to tell us? Why did you risk your life for that mysterious stone?"

"The weaknesses of an old man who regrets a lot," whispered Dumbledore.

"Stop talking in riddles," Harry replied harshly. "So, what is it?"

Dumbledore sighed – how often did the man sigh, Daphne wondered – before finally lifting his head, his eyes filled with a glitter as if he were about to burst into tears. "You must understand," he said, "that there is one thing in my life that I regret the most. I once made a horrific mistake that resulted in the loss of someone I loved with all my heart. And when I just saw the stone and the symbol on it..."

"You thought it might be the Resurrection Stone," Harry concluded with a trace of compassion that Daphne could explain all too well. Lovingly, she squeezed his hand.

"I see you know the fairy tale," said Dumbledore. "The Deathly Hallows! Even the term sounds so grand, doesn't it? Hallows! Holy artifacts with which one can rule over death itself. A stone that can be used to bring the dead back to life. Who wouldn't be tempted? Who hasn't lost someone to death whom they dearly miss?"

If Daphne had still had seeing eyes, she would have glanced at Harry, but so she had no choice but to look at Dumbledore's hooked nose with Harry, whose hands, she felt, were clenched, his mind indulging in wistful thoughts.

"So do you think there might be something to the fairy tale?" Daphne said.

"I once did," Dumbledore replied with a nod. "Once I thought that there could be such Hallows personally created by Death. Once I was looking for them with a friend..."

"Is that the same friend you wanted to soul-bond with?" Harry asked in a sharp voice.

Dumbledore froze before a sudden, joyless smile spread around his lips that didn't reach his eyes though. "As quick as ever, Harry," he muttered. "I guess I was showing too much..."

"You did," Harry said. "But you were at odds, weren't you? You didn't want to kill someone for it."

Dumbledore nodded silently before continuing in a trembling voice," Yes ... it was the first sign that our paths would be different ... if only I had turned away from him then..."

Daphne was keen to know who that fateful friend had been, but she also knew that the information was far too personal for her to investigate further. Harry thought the same, as she could tell from his conflicting thoughts.

"But you no longer believe that these Hallows exist?" she asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, at least I don't think there are any objects that come from Death itself."

"Why the change of mind?" Harry asked.

"If they were Hallows, I have held two of them in my hands without finding anything holy," said Dumbledore. Noticing Harry's questioning look, he continued, "Do you remember what the Hallows are supposed to be? Wand, stone, and cloak."

"My Invisibility Cloak!" Harry called. "Are you saying –"

"Yes, Harry, that is what I thought when your father showed me the cloak for the first time. But I have done a lot of tests and nothing has indicated that it is anything other than an extremely long-living Invisibility Cloak, in any case you cannot hide under it from Death itself."

"If you saw the stone for the first time today," Daphne concluded, "That means you must have had the wand, too."

"Yes, "Dumbledore nodded. "For the past fifty years I have carried a wand that many would consider the legendary Elder Wand, won in the fight against Gellert Grindelwald. Until it was again taken from me by Voldemort at the Ministry."

"So it doesn't make you invincible?" Daphne asked.

"That's the only logical conclusion since it changed hands at least twice in a fight. Even after you disarmed me, I felt that the wand would no longer serve me as well as before. Therefore, I now think that the Hallows are only exceptionally powerful magical artifacts that were created at some point by very powerful wizards and that undoubtedly have special abilities but do not come from a personified Death, if there is such a thing at all, for which I have not yet found any evidence."

Harry and Daphne exchanged thoughts. They, on the other hand, knew all too well that there must be more to death than what was commonly believed. The living proof of this was just upstairs.

"Until you saw the stone today and succumbed to the temptation," said Daphne, tightening her grip on the stone. "That's why I will keep the stone. Unlike both of you, I have completely committed myself to life. I don't long for anyone in death, only hatred and despair await me there. I choose life."

Surprised, Harry turned his head to her, so that Daphne now saw her own determined face. She was afraid he might contradict her, but suddenly he seemed to smile, telling her in his mind, "You just know me too well, my love."

"Of course I do," replied Daphne. "I'm your wife."

Dumbledore just nodded absently before giving a final, loud sigh and rising from the table. "Then I will now bid my farewells," he said. "I still have to run a school as a side job ... Harry, I will get back to you very soon. And Daphne, you have no idea how much you have grown. And by that I do not mean physically. Sometimes the light is truly hidden behind the darkness…"

With these cryptic words, Dumbledore left the kitchen, leaving behind a couple who had experienced and learned a lot that day. They now were one step closer to defeating Voldemort. If only they knew how many steps they still had to take...


The next few days passed quite uneventfully. Dobby and Kreacher had started to decorate the house for Christmas, even if it was clear that one of the two house-elves was more enthusiastic about it than the other. Harry and Daphne, on the other hand, used every free minute in which they did not eat, sleep or take much-needed breathers to train, after all, they had to learn to fight together to survive.

But whenever Daphne was alone with her thoughts, they circled around the black stone that she had started to carry around her neck in a small pouch. More than once she found herself running her fingers over the stone through the fabric as if it had a magical attraction on her as well. And indeed, like a splinter that kept penetrating Daphne's mind, a bold idea formed in her; an idea that would change everything if it succeeded.

Even at that moment, when she was sitting in the library with Harry – him reading a book, her listening to an Italian opera – her thoughts were revolving around this one idea. Sometimes she could feel Harry's gaze on her – he must undoubtedly have felt that she was deep in thought – but so far he had not said anything. Lost in thought, she played with the stone around her neck, felt its magic, the crackle under her fingertips.

What would the stone really be capable of? Bringing the dead back to life was beyond all principles of magic, and she did not believe that the stone could be used to create Inferi. But what then? Harry's encounter with his mother in a world between life and death proved that, under certain circumstances, one could still communicate with the dead. Was that the stone's power? However, Daphne was still convinced that there would be no blessing in such magic. It would only intensify one's pain to see something that was nevertheless unattainable, beyond all borders. She would never expose Harry to such pain. He would see his parents again – but not yet.

But what if the stone were capable of other things? If it could bring echoes of dead souls into life, as the fairytale suggested as well, could it also make it possible to communicate with souls who had not yet died?

She would only find out if she tried.

"Harry," she called her partner.

"Yes?" replied Harry. "What is it? Shall I bring you something? Are you hungry or thirsty?"

Daphne smiled. Harry had become even more caring since she lost her sight, and she would not say no to some of Dobby's freshly baked biscuits, but this was more important than physical needs.

"Come here," she said. "I have an idea."

She heard Harry rise from his chair, walking over to her. In doing so, she knew, he had to go around the two motionless bodies of Valeydor and Valeydis, who were sitting on a carpet in the middle of the room, wrapped in an ancient stasis spell. Finally, Harry came to stand next to her chair, taking her hand, and immediately Daphne shared all her thoughts and deliberations with him.

"That ... that might actually work," Harry said after a few seconds.

"Yes, it's worth a try, isn't it?" replied Daphne. "I've thought about it for the last few days –"

"Yes, I noticed."

"Anyway ... I can't explain it to myself, but somehow I just know that it will work, as if fate wanted us to find the stone, just as it wanted us to find the two below the Chamber."

I don't believe in fate," Harry replied with some resentment. "And if there is fate, they are quite a bitch. But yeah, I see what you mean…"

"I think we should try it right away, Harry," Daphne said impatiently. Curious, once you had made a decision, you lost all previous reluctance.

"Okay, okay," laughed Harry, "but you should call him over. Part of her soul is in him."

Daphne nodded before calling out in her voice and soul, "Fawkes! Fawkes! We need you! Please come to us, Fawkes!"

It took a few seconds before the phoenix appeared above them with a loud bang in a cloud of smoke. Through Harry's eyes, Daphne saw Fawkes giving them a curious look; they had never called him this way before.

"Fawkes," Daphne addressed the flaming bird, "please don't get yourself too hopeful, but we have an idea how we might be able to communicate with you, or rather the real you."

Fawkes glanced at Valeydis, before giving a low caw and landing next to the two bodies, followed by another caw in their direction that Daphne could only interpret as approval.

Hand in hand, Harry and Daphne went to Fawkes, sitting down on the floor in front of him.

"I'm going to touch you now," Daphne said, her heart pounding with nervousness. "I … I don't know exactly what's going to happen … or if it's even possible. Just act as you think is right. But you must be ready to open up."

The phoenix nodded gently, and it seemed to Daphne as if a glimmer of hope had seized his golden eyes. Taking a deep breath, she placed her right hand on his warm plumage, while her left hand pulled the black stone from the pouch around her neck. Harry, meanwhile, sat down on the floor behind Daphne, causing her to see her own head of hair, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll help you with my strength if necessary," he told her.

Daphne did not reply, instead began to reach for the stone's magic for the first time. She felt it, ancient and filled with an eerie but powerful presence, felt the breath of death slide across her face from invisible gates, but she had no intention of passing through these gates. Daphne could also feel Fawkes' soft feathers under her fingers, the rise and fall of his body, but she was also not looking for his physical existence, but his soul, the soul of the demoness. So she plunged deeper into the stream of magic, and finally she saw it. She did not see it in the classical sense of the word – even if she had still had seeing eyes, she would not have been able to do so – but if she had to describe it in words, she would most likely refer to it as a long, golden string crumpled in the stream of magic.

Cautiously, Daphne reached out her mental feelers for the string, causing a warm feeling to spread inside her as if a small fire was blazing where her heart was, not painful but incredibly comforting. She realized that she could pull the string if she imagined it. Slowly, very slowly, she then pulled the golden string out until the crumpled tangle came apart, revealing a single, shiny tear.

Daphne kept pulling on the golden string, which she suspected was a manifestation of Fawkes' soul, until she suddenly felt the warm feeling inside her disappear, replaced by an icy cold. That had to be the stone, Daphne realized. She could feel it, a kind of black hole in the stream of magic, swallowing up all light and warmth, truly a portal to the underworld. However, she knew she had to connect the string to that very portal, desperately trusting that it was indeed made to bring souls into life instead of throwing them into damnation. Praying inwardly, she pulled the golden string one last time until the end hit the dark hole…

Panting, Daphne regained consciousness, immediately feeling Harry's concern as she watched her trembling body before his eyes.

"All's well, all's well," she gasped before following Harry's gaze. The flames in the fireplace and the numerous candles in the library were extinguished. Dark smoke billowed through the air, which had turned icy cold. And before them stood the slightly shimmering figure of a beautiful woman with long black hair and blood-red eyes, giving off a cold light. She was neither ghost nor flesh, and yet she looked much more alive than her half-dead body right next to her.

A smile fell on the demoness's lips. "Finally we meet, my little birds..."


Next chapter: General, Traitor, Queen

Preview:

"Welcome, my little birds, to the Battle of Cannae."


AN:

That was a very long chapter, but I really wanted to show both the aftermath of the last chapter and the introduction to the final phase of the story. The next three chapters will be a little shorter again. I'm also making great strides on the rest of the story and am currently writing several chapters at once. However, the Christmas season and then New Year can lead to delays in the final fine-tuning and the publication of the chapters. So don't be surprised if a little more time will pass between updates. We are definitely nearing the end and I think for the moment that the story will be finished early next year. Until then, many greetings and thanks for all your support up to this point!