Chapter Seventy-Two
There was a darkness, broken every now and again by the shimmer of moonlight upon the stone ground beneath him.
He moved in a slow, steady slither across the pavement.
There was a hissing in the air that surrounded him: as if it were coming from him.
And then blank darkness.
He was back.
Slithering onwards down the street – gaining speed – and the hissing intensified, and he felt excited, but he didn't know why.
And then blank darkness.
He was somewhere else the next time.
In a room – decorated ostentatiously – but he caught only a glimpse of it before all he could see was someone masked – a Death Eater – kneeling at his feet, pressing a kiss to the hem of his robe. A hand that was not his own moved into his line of vision, holding a wand, beginning to lift it.
"Harry."
The hand hesitated – hearing it too – and then there was only blank darkness once more.
Harry awoke to chaos.
He was in the Gryffindor Common Room and people were running around him - shouting his name - and hands were on him pulling him back from where he was knelt on the floor, and he quickly realized – with a glance down – that he had Ron pinned to the carpet beneath him, his hands around his neck.
Harry quickly let go, scrambling backwards.
There were voices shouting all around him; a panicked frenzy at what had happened.
"He just attack Weasley!"
"Someone get Professor McGonagall!"
"He's lost it – did you see his eyes?"
Harry hurried back to Ron's side – pretended he didn't notice the way he flinched when he did – and Hermione was on the other side of Ron, looking concerned for both of them when she met Harry's eyes.
" – the – bloody hell – was that?" Ron's hand was on his throat, eyeing Harry uneasily.
Harry shook his head; "I…I dunno."
He glanced over his shoulder, at the couch. He couldn't even remember falling asleep. There were still voices, chattering away in alarm, and Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm, speaking closely, as quietly as she could manage over the noise.
"We should go and see Professor McGonagall, Harry."
Harry started to shake his head – no, he had to see Snape – but he knew Snape wouldn't be there, he'd be at the Foundation, at this time. A glance at the timepiece confirmed it. So he nodded, getting to his feet along with the two of them.
"Yeah. Yeah, but…I'll just go myself. You – Ron – you take him to the Hospital Wing."
"The Hospital Wing?" Hermione repeated, before eyeing Ron where he now stood beside her, looking just fine – with the exception of the look of pure terror in his eyes – and she shook her head; "I think that's probably a bit dramatic, Harry –"
Harry was already leaving.
He by-passed McGonagall's office when he came to it and headed somewhere else – anywhere else that wasn't the Common Room – determined he'd speak to no one about it but Snape.
"This is ridiculous."
Lily glanced at Severus where he sat behind his desk at the Foundation with a smile.
"That's – oh – the third time you've said as such in the past half hour."
Severus tossed the parchments on Blood Magic he had been perusing – with obvious reluctance – since before Lily had come into the room, under the guise of seeking his guidance on the new project due to launch the following week.
"Well. It is," Severus stated, unapologetically, pushing the parchments aside and putting a paperweight on top of it – obviously deciding he was done for the day, on that matter – and he rolled his eyes; "It is an act that has never been done – willingly, so – and the last instance of bloodline severance was outwith the past century –" he gave a point in the offending parchments direction; "You have read this, have you not?"
"I have, yes," Lily nodded, fighting a smile at Severus' obvious exasperation with his new task.
"It is even more ludicrous that I thought," Severus went on, oblivious to her amusement; "I hope you told him as much, upon your own reading; that only the greatest of fools would attempt to exercise this. And he is clearly so far removed from reality if he believes he has these capabilities; either intellectually or emotionally."
Lily chuckled, shaking her head; "Well. I do think I may have phrased it a bit more diplomatically than that."
"And how does he expect he is going to evoke a severance of the bloodline, dare I ask?" Severus raised an eyebrow; "A forbidden summons for a loved one across the divide? Or, perhaps, the declawing of kittens? The acts committed to enact this penalty put, even, the Dark Lord, himself, to shame."
"Isn't that why Regulus involved you?" Lily raised an eyebrow; "To find another way."
Severus rolled his eyes, before reaching out a hand for the parchments Lily held – the discussion obviously done – and she handed them over.
"How is the set-up coming for Project Gryffith?" he asked, as he skimmed the proposals.
"Hm. Fine," Lily shrugged, leaning back in the chair, giving him a smile; "I do, in fact, think we may just be able to get along with it without your input at all, if you're too busy."
Severus frowned, raising his eyes from the parchment to meet hers; "If Heart does not require my input, then why has she sent you with the proposals?"
Lily's smile turned cheeky and she raised an eyebrow.
Severus expression warmed, then, when he realized it; that she'd convinced Heart and simply used the situation to her – or, rather, their – advantage.
"Well, Clay did suggest we make the circumstances arise in which we'd work together again."
Severus lifted an eyebrow, turning his attention back to the parchment; "Indeed."
He lifted a quill, putting the parchment onto the desk, and began scribbling notes in the margins; "It is an ambitious project. Did you propose it?"
"Yes. I got the idea from Regulus' ludicrous parchments, in fact –" Severus met her eyes at the mirth in her voice, as she went on, clarifying; "- the horcrux side of it. It's rather interesting, actually; the way a soul may divide. And, also, how a soul may be scarred – even without such a separation – in light of certain deplorable acts."
Severus' eyes narrowed slightly upon the parchment, though his quill continued to move smoothly as if she had never spoken.
"Then you have convinced Heart and the others involved in the project that it is the duty of the Foundation to mend those broken souls?"
"Well, we've spent all this time focusing on minds. Those weren't the only things damaged by the wars. And we can all see it, now, that what's ahead – what we've faced before – even that is unlikely to be enough to prepare us for what we're soon to face."
Severus said nothing to that – not disputing the statement – as Severus knew, better than most, what would soon be coming their way.
"How is Grace?" he said, instead.
Lily smiled; "Not at all happy to have returned to the Learning Centre this week, in lieu of Hogwarts."
Severus got a smile, then, in turn, eyes lifting from the parchment and going in the direction of the Tonks Facility that housed it; not that it could be seen from this window.
He finished up, dropping the quill he held back into the jar, and leaned back in his chair; "And you?"
She nodded.
"Better than most, I would imagine."
Her mood – which had been elevated, as always, on the rare occasions that she and Severus found themselves in one another's company – dimmed, somewhat, as the unwanted recollection of what had happened the week before came back to her.
"I heard from the reports that you were there; along with another two –"
"Remus and Tonks. Yes," Lily nodded, eyes lowering; "It was…"
Lily had no words to describe it. What it was and how it had been even, only, as an observer.
Severus nodded, slowly; "I know."
Lily met his eyes.
She knew that, too. That Severus knew it. Better than anyone.
Lily had seen Voldemort only twice in her lifetime, despite the fact she had been at war with him for, it seemed, almost the entirety of it. The Foundation at New Year, upon which she had little, if no, time to process it, before she had been incapacitated for months; and then last week, at Regulus and Julia's wedding, following which she had had more than ample time to process it.
And, even now, a week later, she could not claim to be unaffected by what she had seen.
Lily had witnessed only a glimpse at the horrors that he inflicted; and yet, Severus, was there – bearing that – day in, day out, whenever the circumstances allowed and demanded it.
The reality of that - of what Severus endured for them all - made her heart heavy, with concern, and regret and with love.
As if sensing her thoughts, Severus reached out a hand towards her.
Lily went to him.
She took a seat upon his lap and he drew her close, touching his forehead to hers for a moment before his lips found hers – their movements far more leisurely than they had indulged themselves in, throughout the summer, ever aware of their children's presence in the house during the moments they'd managed to steal – and they took their time, just touching and kissing and finding comfort – an escape, even – in one another.
This, truly, was not the reason why Lily had come here, she tried to tell herself, as their embrace became more and more heated: the tugging of Severus hands and the press of his lips becoming more insistent against her and she chuckled against his lips, before telling him.
"I told Heart I'd be heading home after dropping off that proposal. They're not expecting me –"
She didn't manage to finish her sentence, Severus getting to his feet – which forced her to as well – and he urged her back onto the desk without a word.
The doors – both doors – locked with a click.
The blinds upon the windows – which were already enchanted against onlookers – snapped shut.
And then Lily could think of nothing else but the feel of Severus pressed flushed against her, when he stepped in close, his lips and his hands upon her once more – very quickly making her breathless, for he knew exactly where to taste and where to touch to make her shudder – and with a sigh, she tightened her legs around his and drew him further down to her.
Using the situation to their advantage, indeed.
"You know, you're never gonna get any better if you don't pay attention!" Harry called across the space between them, with a smirk.
Malachi rolled his eyes, before mustered up as much will as he could and flung a stinging hex Harry's way, which the other easily blocked.
The Duel Club was back in session in the Great Hall and had been since the first day of classes – every afternoon of the week, this term – and Malachi was glad they'd kept the same year groups together, rather than going by the same formula as the last, so that he'd be able to keep Harry as his duelling partner.
Not that he was offering Harry much of a challenge, mind.
"Good work, you two," Professor Lupin said, as he stepped in beside him.
"Harry's good. Pretty sure I'm just a lost cause at this point."
Professor Lupin chuckled, putting a hand on Malachi's shoulder; "Well, I don't believe there's such a thing as lost causes, Mr. Black."
"Well –" Malachi rolled his eyes; "- prepare to be amazed, Professor."
Professor Lupin and Harry laughed, sharing amused glances between them.
"Excuse me – Professor Lupin?"
They – all three of them – turned at the voice: Daphne.
"Miss Greengrass," Professor Lupin smiled, warmly, and Malachi could detect the same concern in his eyes that both he and Harry had expressed in the aftermath of what had happened to her sister; "Can I help you?"
It was odd, now Malachi came to think of it. Not just that Daphne was here at Hogwarts – her parents had whisked her off home the week before without notice – but that she was here, at the Duel Club.
As far as Malachi knew, her parents had forbidden her to take part.
"Um. Yeah," Daphne nodded; "I wanted to talk to you."
Her eyes met Malachi's, after addressing the Defence Professor, and – to his relief – she gave him a little smile, before Professor Lupin led her out of earshot so that they could speak, privately.
"I didn't know Daphne was back," Harry said, suddenly at Malachi's side, his eyes all for the girl who'd interrupted – surprise, surprise – and Malachi shrugged.
"Me neither. Wasn't sure if her parents would want her here."
They both watched – shamelessly – as she spoke to Professor Lupin, beginning to look more and more disappointed as the conversation went on. Until, finally, she gave a nod and made her way from the hall.
"Hey, I'm –" Malachi turned to Harry; "I'm gonna go after her, alright? I wanted to talk to her. About –"
"Sure," Harry nodded, indicating that he do; "I'll practice with Uncle – Professor Lupin for a bit."
Malachi didn't wait, hurrying in the direction Daphne had gone, hoping he'd catch her – very, very glad she was back, so he could finally apologise for everything that had happened – and it didn't take long, Daphne's steps slow and despondent as she made her way back down the corridor that would lead to the dungeons.
"Daphne!"
She turned, getting another smile when she saw him.
"Hey, Mac."
"Um. Hey."
Malachi slowed as he reached her – feeling a bit awkward now – and he drew in a breath; "I…uh… I didn't know you were back."
"Just now. My father dropped me off."
Malachi nodded, slowly, glancing away; glad he hadn't run into her, then, with her father in tow.
"I'm really sorry, Daphne. For what happened –"
Daphne averted her eyes.
"- I didn't even think. I just…I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault, Mac."
"No I – I mean, it was a bit. I shouldn't have –"
Daphne shook her head, meeting his eyes then, saying with more certainty; "No. It wasn't. It had to be said, the things you wrote. And…it made a difference, you know. It…We can't let people like that silence things that need to be said," she drew in a breath, before adding, with a not entirely convincing act of certainty; "Because that's how they win. When people stop talking and fighting back."
Malachi hesitated. Not really sure how to respond to that. He guessed it made sense but…
Daphne drew in a breath, averting her eyes; "That's what my father said. When I apologised for giving him the articles."
Malachi realised, then, that she wasn't entirely convinced, herself. Even if it did seem that it was true, that she wasn't blaming him for what had been written and printed.
"Oh."
"Yeah," Daphne nodded, meeting his eyes; "He said, tell Max MacLean, never stop writing. You're hitting the mark."
Her eyes went to the side of the Hall and she nodded, then, at a Notice on the Board that Malachi hadn't ever paid much attention to – and, upon it, was a One World poster, the movement clearly having reached and come with them to Hogwarts – and he got a little frown, before he met her eyes.
He saw Daphne draw in a breath, not quite meeting his eyes when she went on.
"My father. He still wants to print your work. He said he'll pay you more; if you want it."
Malachi frowned, fully, then.
"But…I thought the Death Eaters have your sister? That they'd taken her, to stop your dad from printing anything else?"
Daphne nodded, slightly, meeting his eyes; "Yeah." She cleared her throat, glancing away; "He said he will not be silenced by threats of violence. And that freedom of speech – spoken or written – is not a negotiation he is willing to make."
Malachi could only stare back at her for a second. Not fully comprehending what Daphne was saying.
But when he realised he was just as horrified – if not more so – as he was upon learning Astoria had been taken in the first place. That Mr. Greengrass would keep printing the articles – fighting the war with his newspaper – regardless was just so…cold that Malachi was flabbergasted.
His dad would never - not in a million years - put anything over and above his safety – he knew that for a fact – not even the war.
Malachi had always taken that for granted; that parents just did what was best for their kids – that their kids came first – always.
At least, ever since he had come to live with him.
That Mr. Greengrass would be willing to sacrifice one of his own daughters to make a stand against Voldemort – no matter how successful his efforts were proving themselves to be – just appalled him, almost to the point of speechlessness.
Well.
Not quite.
"I'm not writing for him anymore," Malachi said it, with certainty.
He wanted nothing to do with him – or it – anymore. Not if that was something considered a worthy cost.
He expected – wondered – if Daphne was going to try and convince him; give him some spiel about the value of words and her own reassertions of how she deplores violence and she, too, would not be silenced by threats of it –
But no.
She didn't.
Instead, Daphne met his eyes and he could see both pain and gratitude in them when she did. And she drew in a breath, before she said; "He's not wrong. If no one is willing to speak up - to put themselves out there - we don't really stand a chance. And...I've always known that my father was a man of principle. And that no fight can be won without sacrifices. It's...what he's always instilled in both of us," she swallowed, as her eyes lowered; "But...I never thought my father would be willing to let either me or my sister die - on principle. I mean...he's our father."
Malachi stared at her, not even knowing what to say. He didn't think there was anything that he could say to that. Except.
"I'm not writing for him. Ever."
Daphne drew in a breath, eyes meeting his. As if she wasn't really sure if that was the right choice. But she was evidently grateful, all the same.
"Thank you, Malachi."
They shared a smile.
"What were you talking to Professor Lupin about? The Duel Club?"
"Yes," she conceded, glancing in annoyance back in the direction of the door; "I hoped I might be able to take part this term."
"Well, why can't you?"
"Because my father wrote a pretty convincing letter forbidding it last term, citing philosophical differences -" she rolled her eyes as she said it; " - so convincing, in fact, that now I won't be permitted to join without a letter from either him or my mother requesting that I may do so."
Daphne looked more and more irritated with each word spoken.
"They wouldn't let you? Not even your mum?"
"No. Pacifists, apparently, just stand back and let insane Dark Wizards and their followers kidnap their daughters while insisting we do not 'stoop to their level' and engage in violent retribution. Apparently, that makes us better than them."
She pressed the fingers of both hands to her forehead, then, and Malachi thought she might cry.
He cleared his throat.
"Oh. Well. Maybe Professor Lupin might teach you privately, or something? He does it with Harry."
Daphne got a wry smile at the idea, dropping her hands, but then she looked at him, considering for a second, before she said;
"Well, why don't you? You could teach me some stuff, right? Things you do at the club?"
Malachi scoffed, rolling his eyes; "Yeah, right. I could do with private lessons myself, whenever me and Harry –" he broke off, meeting her eyes, the idea coming to him, suddenly; "You should ask Harry."
Daphne frowned.
"Potter?"
"Yeah."
She scoffed.
"Potter's not gonna want to help me, Mac."
Malachi fought back a laugh, looking at her sceptically, entirely unable to believe she hadn't noticed. She must have. She must have. Everyone else had.
"Um – yeah – he will."
Daphne looked a little bit confused at his statement – along with the little smirk he couldn't hold back – and she realised, then, Malachi was pretty sure of it. Because she reddened a little – almost in a blush – and she eyed him, as if she didn't quite believe what Malachi was getting it.
And then he shrugged.
"Ask him. See what he says."
"That's it? Nothing. It's been over a week and that's all you have to say about it? Did you even read the texts?"
"I did give you ample warning, Regulus, that there were no answers to be found," Severus said, unapologetically, before adding as Regulus took the seat opposite across the desk in Severus' office; "My findings –"
"Of which there are none."
"- of which there are none," Severus agreed, to Regulus' exasperation; "Would have been relayed to you sooner, had you not been entirely inaccessible for the past week."
"I've been here; I've been on the grounds."
"Doing what, exactly?" Severus raised an eyebrow; "Nipping at the heels of the Department Heads, giving them unsolicited advice?"
"Making sure they knew that I appreciated the fact that they even turned back up to work."
Severus lifted his chin in acknowledgement of the statement.
Regulus was not the only one who was surprised by the fact; that the Monday following the wedding, all who worked within the organization – many of whom had been present at the spoiled nuptials – had all flocked into work without hesitation; entirely convinced of the fact that the Foundation – and Regulus Black – were entirely capable of keeping each and every one of them alive and safe.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter."
The door opened and – to Severus' surprise – Julia appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Black," Severus' eyebrows lifted; "Can I help you?"
"Actually, I was looking for my husband."
Severus' eyes went from Julia to Regulus who, Severus now realized, hadn't turned or even acknowledged his wife's presence behind him. Instead, he sat still as stone, eyes upon the desk between them.
The three of them were silent for a moment. Both Julia and Severus' eyes upon him. And then, Regulus cleared his throat, mustering up a smile – that his wife would surely know was not sincere – and turned where he sat, not meeting Severus' eyes as he did, to face her.
"Hey."
Regulus' voice was quiet. Almost ashamed.
Julia did not smile back.
"I was just wondering if you were planning on coming home tonight?"
Severus frowned.
Regulus shifted where he sat, not quite meeting his wife's eyes, and he gave a little jerk of a nod; "Yea - yes. Of course. I…I've been home. Just…it's been late. You were asleep."
Julia stared back at him.
Severus could see the hurt in her eyes from where he sat all the way across the room.
"I'll wait up."
She turned and left, without another word.
A heavy silence fell upon the two of them in the wake of her departure.
At what the exchange quite obviously meant.
Regulus cleared his throat, leaning forward, and lifted the nearest parchment; his voice not quite steady when he spoke; "From what I could gather –"
"Regulus –"
" – while, usually, the severances occur following a misdeed – unprovoked – that is not always the case –"
"Regulus."
" – on occasion, maybe just one, I admit, there has been –"
Severus slammed his palm down on top of the parchment Regulus was holding.
Regulus still wouldn't meet his eyes, averting them instead, and Severus shook his head, speaking lowly.
"Tell me –" Severus began, eyes narrowing; "- that that was not the first time that you have seen your wife since the wedding."
Regulus drew in a breath, shifting in his seat. Slowly, he met his eyes; and the truth – the shame – was as clear as day within them.
Severus released a breath – a grunt of disbelief – and closed his eyes, shaking his head; "Regulus."
"What?" Regulus snapped, immediately on the defensive.
"You are just –"
"What? Hm? What am I?"
"Oh this - this is just –"
"What?"
Severus opened his eyes, glowering at him.
"It's Evelyn."
Regulus looked stricken.
"Don't."
"Is that what you want for your wife, Regulus? For her to be alone, in that house, believing herself unloved, wondering where her husband is?"
"No."
"Leaving her to go through all of this alone, while you whittle around saving the rest of the world – wondering why she is not enough for you and why you cannot stand to look at her?"
"Stop it."
"- and if Death Eaters were to show up at that door tonight –"
"Stop it!"
"You married that woman, Regulus," Severus snapped; "You allowed her to give up everything for you; you cannot – you cannot treat her this way."
Regulus looked small – extremely small – where he sat in the chair opposite, chin lowered, and there was so much shame and self-loathing roiling off of him that Severus feared that even this exchange would not be enough to drive him back to the arms of his wife.
Anything Severus had said in the past had never been enough to convince him, after all; not with Evelyn. And it wasn't as if Severus had not had plenty to say about the fact back then, either.
Perhaps Julia would be no different.
In all honestly, Severus was not in the least bit surprised.
But that lack of surprise did nothing to allay his displeasure at the fact.
Severus released another breath, shaking his head, and he began to gather up the parchments in front of them – done with this now – and said.
"Wake up, Regulus."
Regulus lifted his eyes – no other part of him moving at the statement – and met his own, guardedly.
"Wake up. And go home to your wife."
The Duel Club ended at seven, as always, and his group was the last for the day and Harry hovered around the corner of the exit to the Great Hall, when Malachi told him to wait there for him for a bit, while he went to get something.
He'd been waiting a good ten minutes before Daphne – not even Malachi – appeared and Harry got that little flutter he always did, when he saw her.
But that's not all he felt this time. He was concerned, now; especially when he saw how she looked. A little lost, not quite so sure, and he was surprised when her eyes scanned the Hall – landing upon him – and she made her way over.
"Hey," he said, giving her a smile when she reached him.
"Hi."
"I um…I'm really sorry. About your sister."
She nodded, getting a small smile – a sad one – that didn't meet her eyes.
"Thank you."
Daphne drew in a breath, looking a little uncomfortable. A little bit, in fact, that she was lacking in confidence right now, which was something Harry thought he'd never see.
She cleared her throat, meeting his eyes, and she said more certainly; "I heard that you take extra defence classes; to get you ready to fight in the war."
Harry got a little grin, raising an eyebrow; "You here to scold me for that? Tell me to pick up a quill?"
Daphne met his look, not smiling, entirely serious when she answered him.
"I want you to show me how to fight."
Harry frowned.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Obviously, Malachi had had something to do with this; the fact that it had now been fifteen minutes since he'd scampered, and he still hadn't shown back up – Daphne appearing instead – made that obvious.
"Well," Harry began, chuckling a bit – nervous, for some daft reason – before he went on; "I don't know what Malachi's told you but I'm actually not very good. There's the Duel Club; that'd be better for you."
"I've seen you with a wand, Potter. I know you're good."
It took all Harry's willpower not to physically puff up and grin like a fool at her praise – even if, in Daphne's case, such a statement shouldn't really be a compliment – but Daphne's next words certainly helped in that regard.
"My parents won't sign the permission slip for the Duel Club," she explained; "It was compulsory, initially, but my father wrote a letter to excuse me from the practicals. Of course, the Ministry jumped at the chance to not have to teach a Slytherin anything that might be used against them, when they finally spit us all out into the war. And now they won't let me back in without my father's written request."
Ah. That made sense. Malachi had told him. That the Ministry – well, they hadn't ordered it as such – but they had encouraged Professor Dumbledore to time the detentions of any wayward Slytherins to coincide with the Club; and they were automatically ineligible - another reason to be given, of course - for any of the accelerated training programs that would land them in early service upon their graduation.
Still. As far as Harry knew – other than the obvious offensive insinuation – that wasn't something that had really even bothered Malachi or Daphne. Neither wanted to fight – physically – anyway.
"Well," Harry shrugged; "I mean, it's not really you, is it?"
"Maybe not. Or maybe it is," Daphne shrugged; "Who are we, anyway? My father's always said there's no conflict that can't be better solved with words than a wand," she lowered her eyes; "But I don't wanna write about this. I can't just stand by and let them hurt the people I love and do nothing and pretend that makes me better," she lifted her chin, with a conviction that made Harry's stomach flutter again; "So, if they want a fight, I'll give 'em one. I want to fight them," she sighed, averting her eyes, looking both lost and certain all at once – as if she were going against everything she'd ever been told to believe in; "Vengeance isn't the answer – but I want to avenge my sister. I know that sounds awful…"
"No. It doesn't," Harry said, quietly, knowing the feeling all too well; "It's human. You're grieving."
"It wouldn't bring my sister back. It wouldn't change anything."
"They could find her."
"Maybe."
The two of them were quiet, then. The change between them almost palpable, now, for they'd never done this; they'd never really talked, much less revealed as much of themselves as Daphne had just let him see of her, in that moment.
She drew in a breath, meeting his eyes.
"Is this how it was for you? When you lost your Godfather?"
Harry smiled slightly at the mention and he nodded.
"Now it is. I was a kid back then. I wasn't angry. I was just scared."
"But you're not scared anymore?"
"Are you kidding? I'm terrified," he laughed, and Daphne got a smile – a smile for him which he was sure had never happened before; "But I know I have to fight. Words won't save me now."
Daphne nodded, seeming to get it – for the first time, getting him – and she drew in a breath, before she asked him again.
"Show me?"
Obviously, he would.
"What do you wanna know?"
"Um. Something…lighter, I suppose. At first. Not the Unforgivables or anything."
Harry frowned. That wasn't the Duel Club. That was what they'd done in Defence.
"You didn't do the Unforgivables assessments last year?"
"No," Daphne lifted her eyes, almost in a roll; "I refused. I was an idiot."
Harry shook his head, not having that.
"You're not an idiot. You're…one of the smartest people I know."
Daphne met his eyes at the statement; said with far too much sincerity to be subtle, Harry realized, with a blush. So he quickly went on.
"Okay, how about a Patronus Charm? You know what that is?"
Daphne shot him a look.
"Yes, I know what a Patronus Charm is, Potter."
Harry's lips twitched and he raised an eyebrow; "Can you cast it?
Daphne lifted her chin, pursing her lips together – but Harry could see she was fighting a smile – at the way he said it: only a tiny bit cocky.
He grinned, indicating with his head she come a little more out of the corner; "Come here."
She did, standing where he said, and they faced the center of the Hall, with Harry at her side, as she took out her wand.
"So. You're gonna have to try and be really, really happy a minute."
Daphne eyed him out the corner of her eye and lifted her wand in a point.
"You know the incantation, right?"
"Yes."
She tried it – speaking it – and nothing happened. Not even a spark. But he knew she could do that, at least, for he remembered she had been in his class in third year when his Uncle Remus had first taught them.
"One happy memory or thought, that's all it takes."
She tried again.
Again and again; and, although he teased and encouraged her in equal measure, ten minutes passed and Daphne had only managed to get out a few sparks from the end of her wand. Once, it almost began to shine a light, almost – but it was quickly snuffed out.
Daphne lowered her wand, meeting Harry's eyes where he stood next to her, standing a bit closer, now, than he had been when they'd started.
"Yours is corporeal, isn't it?"
He nodded; "Yeah."
"What form does it take?"
Harry held her look for a second, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own wand, speaking the incantation and the Patronus formed quickly – easily, even – on his first attempt.
The massive silvery dog – very familiar to him now – burst forth and bounded throughout the Great Hall. Harry smiled. He always did with he saw it.
"A dog."
Daphne said it, as if trying to hide the fact that she was impressed – but Harry could tell that she was and he felt his own pride swell up at the fact.
"A big dog," Harry clarified and the smile Daphne had been holding back came out then, along with a little chuckle, as she met his eyes.
"Come on," he said, giving her an encouraging nod and another smile – one that wasn't really leaving him at all, now, as they carried on.
Daphne lifted her wand and said the incantation – trying far too hard, much too serious for this to work – and Harry grinned beside her.
"You've really gotta be in touch with your emotions," he told her, still grinning, before he went on, feeling mischievous; "Really feel that…that…oomph –" he beat his fist against his chest; " – of happiness."
Daphne turned, shoving him then, and they both laughed.
And it was, probably, the most beautiful laugh that Harry had ever heard, as she looked at him, her eyes shining with mirth.
Harry drew in a breath, averting his eyes, his stomach fluttering like crazy now, and he felt a little boost of confidence at the look she gave him.
"Here."
He stepped forward and put his arm around her to take and lift her wand hand, higher; "Close your eyes."
Daphne eyed him. It was a little bit playful, a little bit distrusting, and Harry just grinned.
"Come on, what do you think I'm gonna do?"
He couldn't help it; his eyes dropped ever-so-slightly, down to her lips, which made what he was thinking more than a little obvious, now. And Daphne lifted her chin, raising an eyebrow, before she did as he said and closed her eyes.
He wondered if actually kissing her would just be as dumb a move as his brain was telling him it was.
"Okay," Harry said, focusing, stepping in a little closer and tightening his hold on her hand; "Now. Find a moment. Something – even someone – that makes you feel good. And just feel it."
Daphne stood there – in his arms – and he could tell she was trying. Trying and failing.
"What if I can't?" she said it almost in a whisper, and with her eyes closed it was if she was allowing her walls to drop and let herself be vulnerable with him, for the first time; "What if all you feel is…angry or sad or…lost."
Harry swallowed, eyes upon her face; and he felt it, for her, the pain that she was obviously going through. The turning upside down of her world. His arm instinctively tightened around her and he spoke, as quietly as she, a murmur, almost, in her ear.
"I've felt all that," he admitted, remembering last year; "But I know there's always something – even just one thing – good. Even if you don't have it yet. A hope or a dream. Even if you still have to fight to get it; it's a light. It's enough."
They stood there a second, neither saying anything more, and when Daphne spoke again it was the incantation – "Expecto Patronum" - barely more than a whisper, but with so much feeling behind it that Harry knew, even before the light shone forth, that it was going to work.
And it did.
A bright, silvery light – not corporeal, not yet – filled the area in front of them and Daphne's eyes opened, widening in wonder at what she had done.
And when the light went out in the room, it didn't go out in her eyes, and she turned her amazement upon him with a smile. And then she laughed again, almost giddy this time, and she was just so beautiful when she laughed.
Harry was sure he could listen to that sound all day long.
"What were you thinking about?" he asked, forcing his entirely inappropriate thoughts away.
Daphne eyed him, getting a cheeky little smile at that.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Harry felt himself blush at the obvious flirty look she cast his way. But, for the first time, he didn't look away when he felt it – the flutter in his tummy – and he smiled, instead. And hoped that maybe that look she was giving him, meant that she felt it too.
"You wanna try again?"
Daphne smiled.
"Yeah."