Chapter Ninety:
Harry sat upon his bed in his quarters.
Uninterested in the twelve o'clock Public Relations Workshop that Malachi and Hermione had signed up to; the latter dragging Ron along with them, too.
Harry turned over the green and silver Slytherin scarf he held in his hands – Daphne's scarf – a deep surge of longing and loss coming over him as he looked at it.
He tried desperately to stamp down on that feeling of loss - insisting to himself she was fine – and turned away to peer at the five stones that he'd laid out in front of him on his bedsheets.
These couple of hours to himself were as a good enough time as any to carry on with the transfiguration exercises Mr. Black had told him to work on, when Harry had expressed his admiration towards Professor McGonagall's – fantastic – dueling abilities during one of their earlier training sessions.
Harry pointed his wand with one hand – the other still holding tight to Daphne's scarf – and whispered the incantation Mr. Black had gone over with him a few times.
Three of the stones transfigured – the other two remaining limp – into arrowheads. They were smaller than he'd intended but big enough to be put to use, and he grinned, more than a little proud of his efforts.
But his delight dwindled once more, when his eyes glanced back down at the scarf in his other hand.
Thoughts going back to Daphne.
To his girlfriend who remained out there, somewhere beyond the safety of the Foundation's walls – hunted now, as he and Malachi had eventually learned – and almost entirely untraceable in all the weeks since the Order had started trying to find them.
It was March, now, months since he'd last held her and Harry cursed himself at his stupidity in not saying goodbye to her properly. He should have known better than that. To assume that they had time.
But he'd been too wrapped up in his own head that day – after the Battle of Hogwarts – to give her a proper kiss and a hug and maybe a few cheesy sweet-nothings whispered in her ear, telling her to have a good Christmas.
Harry sighed, leaning back against the wall that his bed was pushed up against.
He willed himself to remember her like that – in his imagination – enjoying Christmas Day with her parents and her newly-returned sister, rather than the reality of her being outside, moving from place to place, keeping hidden, throughout those cold, miserable winter months.
Daphne and her family freezing and frightened and hunted while he…
Grace's head unexpectedly peeked around the door to his room, surprising him, as she shot him a bright smile; "Hi Harry!"
Harry frowned, putting the scarf aside, "Hey. Shouldn't you be at the Learning Centre?"
"I sneaked away," Grace said, in a dramatic whisper, touching her finger to her lips to silence him, "Mrs. Gillan is trying to make us pet snakes and spiders as part of our lesson today. Isn't that yuck?"
She flung herself backwards onto his bed, eyebrows lowered, and Harry smiled, giving her side a tickle and making her giggle and squirm out of his reach.
"What are you doing?" she asked, looking curiously at the items on the bed.
"Homework."
Grace picked up one of the arrowheads, looking at it, consideringly, before she noticed the scarf.
"Is that a Slytherin scarf?"
"Yeah."
"Daphne's?"
"Mhm."
Grace looked at him, carefully, before she said; "You're scared because she's not here."
Harry shook his head, immediately trying to reassure her.
"No. No, I'm not scared, Grace. Daphne's fine, I'm sure. She's just…having a bit of an adventure, is all, before she comes and stays with us here."
Grace looked at him disapprovingly before glancing back at the arrowhead, saying nothing.
"What?" Harry nudged her foot with his,
"You're lying again."
"I'm not lying."
"Yes, you are. You're pretending. Like everyone else. Everyone's pretending to be happy when they're not really," Grace said, putting the arrow down, "Pretending that we don't all miss home. Pretending that we're not really having a war."
Harry frowned, swishing his wand so the arrowheads transfigured back into stones and gathered them up, putting them on the bedside table.
"You're not supposed to do magic until your seventeen, Harry," Grace said, his sister looking even more disapproving than she had done before.
Harry chuckled, "Like you're one to talk, Grace."
"Mummy told me I'm not allowed – under any circumstances – to do anything with magic," Grace said, glumly, brows lowered as she stared at the stones Harry had put on the table.
He half-expected them to morph, his little sister's look was so defiant.
He didn't tell her what Snape had told him; that the Fidelius concealed all magic within the radius anyway.
Harry shimmied in closer to her, pulling on her arm so she sat up to face him.
"What do you know about the war?"
Grace shrugged, "That we're not really safe. But…way safer than the people who are outside. That mummy and Mr. Black and Tonks keep going out every day trying to bring people in and – maybe, one day – one of them might not come back. That's why Tonks' daddy died, you know. Because of the war."
Harry swallowed, nodding.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is."
"Everyone's afraid. But everyone keeps smiling. Why?"
Harry squeezed her shoulder.
"Because to keep smiling forces us to remember things that make us happy. And remind ourselves that there's hope and reasons to keep fighting. And we need those things – hope and will – so we can win."
"But…what's gonna happen if we don't win? People don't just win things by wanting to, you know. Otherwise Malachi would always be winning our boardgames."
Harry laughed then, for real.
And then he smiled fondly, the question reminding him of one of his own. Long, long ago, when he was about the same age as Grace and so very frightened by all he was hearing at the Learning Centre, too, about Voldemort and the war.
He remembered the air of uncertainty and the fear that came along with all the rumours and half-truths and dotty information that the kids would pick up from overheard conversations between their parents and share with their classmates; the silence and attempts to protect them by keeping them in ignorance only fueling their fears even more.
And, now, his sister was surely going through the same thing.
Harry shook his head, telling Grace the exact same thing he'd been told by his Uncle Sirius when he'd been gripped by it. That fear of the war and the unknown.
"That doesn't matter, Grace; because we will," he leaned forward, nose close to hers, "And when we win, we'll all get to go home and we're gonna be happy – for real – no more fighting and no more pretending."
Grace eyed him.
"Promise?"
Harry smiled and nodded, "Yeah. I promise."
Grace smiled and he tugged her arm, drawing her in and giving her a hug and a kiss on the top of the head.
A ting – once, twice – rung out from the side of his night table.
Grace perked up, drawing back at the sound; "Is that your radio alarm?"
Harry chuckled; "Yeah. Yeah, almost two o' clock. Time to go."
He got to his feet, reaching for the script he and Malachi had prepared the night before, along with the list of those who had lost their lives within the last forty eight hours that he and Malachi would have to announce before moving on to their messages of – what they hoped was – encouragement and hope and inspiration, so that the people on the outside would continue to resist as much as they could and protect the muggles and muggleborns closest to them.
Harry swallowed, looking into the innocent eyes of his little sister.
Grace accused them all – all those who were safe here – of pretending.
But, actually, sometimes the smiles were real.
Easy.
But, then, surely that was worse; that each night he and Malachi laughed and ate and were merry until early in the morning with all those so inclined who now dwelled within the safety of the walls. There were a huge number, now, compared to how it had been in the beginning, his mum and Malachi's dad, and all the other Order members working hard to save and bring in as many as they could.
Every night was a party. A song and dance and a laugh. Even without any alcohol left – not that he and Malachi were permitted any – the dwellers kept their spirits up with the uplifting camaraderie that came with fellow human contact.
Romances blossomed – with onlookers taking bets on who would fall in love next – and dares were made and games were played and truths were told. All bonded by their current circumstances, even those who would never before have any interest in one another, brought together by shared experiences, shared goals and shared trauma.
Harry pushed aside his guilt that he was totally safe while others – including people he cared deeply for, like Daphne and Remus and Snape – were still out there.
But Snape, at least, was safe. So long as Harry kept his mouth shut.
Harry tried to not think about all who were lost; all the 'casualties of war', as Mad-Eye Moody called them, occurring every single day.
None of those thoughts would help him try to remain upbeat for the broadcast that was about to start in – oh – five minutes.
Harry carefully tucked Daphne's scarf under his pillow, before he reached for Grace's hand.
"Come on. If you don't wanna stay at the Learning Centre group this afternoon, how'd you like to have a go on the radio with Malachi and me?"
Grace's eyes lit up in delight, "Really?"
"Yeah. People could do with hearing a voice like yours, after having Malachi and me drone on for weeks and weeks. Come on. He's probably down there already."
"Brilliant!"
Severus stared longingly at the moving picture in his hand.
It was a picture that had arrived first thing that morning, placed in with the short sheet of parchment detailing the most recent developments regarding the Order missions; the daily reports Regulus sent through from the Foundation.
Harry and Grace laughed, his little girl unable to keep still and smile directly at the camera, while her older brother tickled and teased her, any time she tried. Severus knew it well enough to recognise the ballroom of the Foundation, the piano being put to use in the back corner, while people laughed and danced in the background.
Severus smiled, alone in the Headmaster's Office of Hogwarts, eyes remaining upon them; heart warmed both at the sight of them and the environment that they currently lived within.
A place of joy and laughter.
"And what do we say to people who might be feeling afraid, Grace?" Harry's voice said over the radio.
Severus glanced to the side, awaiting the answering sound of his daughter's voice – one that had unexpectedly joined his son and his Godson for today's broadcast.
"I say we've gotta keep smiling!" the sweet, innocent voice of his little girl sounded, brightly, Severus' heart constricting once more with each word spoken.; "Because that's how we're gonna win!"
Severus got a small smile, eyes returning to the picture of the two of them.
"You heard the lady," Malachi's voice came next.
"Yeah," Harry said, chuckling; "And we've been hearing a lot of really amazing stories about people – even more than before – who've really been going out of their way to protect their muggle and muggleborn neighbours. We've already explained a few times how we can all help. We…we know it's tough."
There was a little silence. Long enough that Severus wondered if he'd lost the connection.
"Yeah, we do," Malachi's voice came on then, "We're not gonna lie about that. It really is…inspirational what all you guys out there are doing."
"Yeah. Pretty sure we speak on behalf of everyone when we say thank you. Really. Thank you," Harry said, "We're all in this, doing the best we can to make a difference. And, so long as we can stick with it, stay strong and stand together, then we're gonna make it. We'll see the end of this and, when we do, we'll see that it's all been worth it."
Severus bit his lip, eyes lowering at the words.
"Resistance Watch signing off. Till next time, everyone," Malachi said, finishing up; "Keep each other safe; keep faith."
"Bye!" Grace's voice called and Severus heard laughter from Harry and Malachi before the radio went static.
Severus remained entirely still in his chair – ignoring the eyes of Dumbledore's portrait that he knew were upon him – bereft, as he always felt, at the end of each broadcast.
More so, this day, with Grace's voice joining the boys.
Severus allowed himself to feel it.
He'd learned that it was better that way. To feel the grief, just for a minute, after each message that Harry and Malachi sent out from within the walls of the Foundation.
A momentary high, hearing their voices, that quickly vanished with the sound of the radio static left behind.
But rather than push it down, aside, and pretend he was unaffected, feeling the grief allowed him to let it go for a little longer.
To push on.
It would all be worth it.
Severus never looked at Dumbledore when he dared to think it. Thoughts of the horcrux coming much to quickly on the heels that. The horcrux scorning and laughing at the idea, that they would ever see the end of this.
A minute passed and the time to feel grief along with it.
Severus touched the tip of his wand to the picture in his hand, igniting the corner; watched as it burned.
He dropped it onto his desk only at the very last second – just as the flames began licking his fingertips.
His eyes remained on the faces of his children.
Before the picture become nothing but ash before him.
The door to the conference room Harry and Malachi used to transmit their broadcasts burst open a couple of minutes after they'd signed off, and the three of them looked over and found his mum standing there, eyebrow raised.
"And what are you doing away from the Learning Centre, young lady?"
Grace pointed at Harry; "I was learning, Mummy. Harry and Malachi were teaching me radio talking."
"You're back early, Mum," Harry said, surprised – usually, these days, their parents were completely off the radar until at least dinner – and his mum nodded.
"Had a good day, mostly," she reached out a hand, "Come on, Mrs. Gillan is having a kitten trying to track you down."
"People can't have kittens, Mummy," Grace rolled her eyes, shooting Malachi and Harry a grin as she reluctantly left with his mum.
"Hey, there's a new workshop starting today; a Potions one," Harry pointed out, with far more eagerness than he'd felt towards any of the others that had been announced over the past few weeks, "It's at three, we could probably just make it. Did you want to go?"
Malachi shook his head.
"I can't, I told Julia I'd help out in the Healing Unit after this. And there's a ton of reading, already, for those other ones; not sure I'll even get the next article written by the time I told my dad I would."
"Oh, well, do you even need to write the articles anymore? You're already getting through to a ton of people on this."
Malachi shrugged; "The articles are different."
Malachi didn't elaborate further than that.
He didn't have to, for Harry knew that Malachi felt the same.
That, like Harry, he was more than a little bit uncomfortable at being told to 'recruit' – as some of the Order members had put it when they patted them on the back for their 'good work' – when they, themselves, were safe and sound.
Harry's mum had adamantly refused to even entertain the notion that Harry could go out there and actually fight, on the ground, with the Order, insisting he was far too young and inexperienced to do so.
Harry was determined to prove her wrong and he'd spent as much of his free time as he could trying to hone in on the skills Mr. Black had told him could use some work. His footwork – Grace had caught him a couple of times, prancing around his bedroom – and his transfiguration – hence the stones – and his mastery of his own emotions, to use them to his advantage during the duel.
The last one, at least, he had a head start on, after all of the time he'd spent with Snape the year before.
Malachi, on the other hand – not into the idea of combat at all and anxious that his dad had decided he needed to be out with the rest of them – had thrown himself into working down in the Healing Unit with Julia most days, tending to the incoming wounded and playing card games and bringing food to those who were going to be fine but were still bedridden; keeping them company and making sure they were comfortable, not willing to relax, himself, until night fell and Harry, Ron and Hermione dragged him to the ballroom where the music was always in full swing and they'd write out their next radio script for the following afternoon, before joining in with the festivities.
"Well. It's almost Easter," Harry pointed out, optimistically.
Malachi looked at him with a frown, as he rolled up the old script parchment; "What's so good about Easter?"
He said it in a way that Harry couldn't help but remember the last two Easters and what complete disasters they both had been.
Grace and the Foundation.
Emma and the Trace.
Harry pushed those thoughts aside.
He was determined that this year would be different.
"Because Hogwarts quietens down at Easter, mind," Harry pointed out, hoping it was subtle enough not to give anything away, but not so subtle that Malachi wouldn't pick up on it, before he added; "And you-know, him, he has his followers go back and join him during that time."
Malachi looked confused for a second – not quite getting what Harry was on about – but it didn't take long for what Harry was implying to click.
Malachi eyes widened; "Wait…you think that – you think maybe Se-he might…"
Harry grinned, nodding, certain of it.
But, of course, neither of them could say out loud what Harry was implying, lest the give it away.
That Snape was Voldemort's right-hand man now.
His most trusted and true – as far as Voldemort was concerned – who fought on the side of the Order and, so, obviously the end of the war was getting closer.
At the next opportunity, which would surely arise when he was in his presence, once more, for the duration of the Easter break, he would do it.
Snape would take out Voldemort.
For if Snape couldn't do it, then there was no way that Harry could, regardless of whether or not a crazy prophecy said it would be so.
This was their chance.
Harry was sure that must be the whole reason Snape had killed Dumbledore. The reason Dumbledore had ordered his own death.
The old Headmaster would be willing to die for that.
To see Voldemort fall.
And, in ordering it, Dumbledore had seen to it that Snape would be able to be the first – the only person – close enough to finish him.
And there was no reason why he couldn't.
Harry knew that Snape was brilliant at duelling. At occlumency. At being a sneak.
He'd surely be able to slip him a potion or creep up behind him and– as he'd proven himself capable of at Christmas – cast a Killing Curse and end this, once and for all.
The war would be over.
And then, he could come home.
They could all go home.
Malachi smiled, as if reading his thoughts, and nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe," Malachi agreed, before he tucked the parchment he rolled up into his robes; "I've gotta go, Julia's by herself down there. I'll see you tonight, alright."
"Yeah, see you then," Harry said, as Malachi left.
Harry waited for just a moment – a little surge of optimism gripping him for a second, delighted that Malachi seemed to think Harry's conclusion was as obvious as it was – before he glanced at the timepiece on the wall, noticing it was only minutes to three now.
He hesitated for only a second, before he hurried from the room, over to the Research Centre, to the Potions Workshop.
Not even bothering to lie to himself, that he wasn't going just because when they'd announced it, the first thing that had come to his mind was Snape.
"What about that interview we did – you remember – Bruno Truewinkle; he's the first person who indicated that Voldemort might have been able to make a living being a horcrux, rather than just the objects you were hunting," Lily said, having been waiting for him in his office, as Regulus shrugged out of his cloak, just back from his time out on the field with Bill Weasley and Sturgis Podmore.
"I remember," Regulus hung it up on the rack by the door, before he indicated with a nod in the direction of the cupboard - wordlessly lifting the wards upon it - as he approached his desk; "Everything I've got on horcruxes is in there, in the boxes. Just take anything you need."
He touched his wand to the tip of his finger, drawing blood and pressing it to the top of the wooden box that had glowed, immediately, upon his arrival.
He pulled out the parchment inside, as Lily headed to the cupboard, skimming the new information Severus had sought to provide them with, quickly; the muggle communities, the legislation and the Wizarding families that they could expect Voldemort to target next, in order of likely prioritization.
The door opened without a knock and Mad-Eye came into the room, followed by Dora, rolls of parchment clutched in his hands.
"How'd it go?" Regulus turned to face them.
"Better than we expected it would," Dora said, with a small smile, her hair no longer the vivid pink that he was used to – now a darker shade of purple, though that was definitely a reassuring sight, compared to the mousy brown it had turned for the two weeks following Ted's death – and she nodded at his desk; "Got more for us?"
"Yes. Too many more –" Regulus handed the parchment over to Mad-Eye to look at, " – We've barely managed to scrape the surface of the last mission, and with Voldemort ordering the mass slaughtering of house-elves, we can't be sending them out there to gather in the food and supplies anymore. We're going to have to do runs for them ourselves but, even then – even with multiplication spells of the stores we've currently got – with the numbers of people we've got in here, it's only a matter of months – if we're lucky – before we're going to start running short."
"Cut down on the potion sizes –"
"It's just two meals a day as it is, Alastor," Regulus shook his head, "People are going to bed hungry every night and we've got kids in here."
"We'll expand the farmstead. Your Foundation staff have been working it?"
"Yes; they're harvesting what they can now and multiplying as much as they can of it; but there's only so many duplications they can make before they stop resembling what they've come from in any sort of nutritional value."
"They'll do. Fresh stuff for the kids. The rest of it for us."
"With us running out of food, it's only a matter of time before people start getting restless," Lily piped up, from where she was still standing at the now-open cupboard; "Most of them have been locked up in here for close to twelve weeks, now, while we've been moving in and out, going stir crazy."
"Well, they're welcome to get up off their arses and join us, if they're so inclined," Mad-Eye said, while Tonks fought a smile.
"Boredom, hunger and purposelessness is a breeding ground for violence, Alastor," Lily said, raising an eyebrow at him.
"You know what else is an incentive for that, hm?"
Mad-Eye handed over the rolls of parchment he'd been carrying, Regulus unrolling them to take a look once he did.
Three reward posters for Voldemort's top-listed Undesirables.
Regulus Black. Harry Potter. Malachi Black.
"No more distinction between the three of you now, what with the radio broadcast being such a hit," Mad-Eye said, as if that were something to rejoice about, "A hundred thousand galleons for each of the three of you."
Regulus rolled them back up, tossing them onto his desk.
"Probably time you got Security Personnel shadowing the three of you while you're in here, Uncle Reg," Dora suggested, with a look of obvious concern, and went on, holding up a hand before Regulus said anything; "Obviously it's not gonna look good – and, sure, people might get offended – but a hundred thousand galleons. Someone's bound to think twice about that."
Regulus considered it before he nodded, meeting Lily's eyes.
"The boys already have assigned guards on them; mostly they keep their distance, but I'll have them take up a more visible post. Should be enough to deter any thoughts about it," he shot Lily a grin, "Better prepare yourself for some protests."
Lily chuckled, nodding.
"Kingsley back in yet?" Dora asked.
Regulus shook his head, "The last I heard he was held up with what happened to the muggles that were killed down near the Forest of Dean."
"Got a message in from him on our way back here," Mad-Eye said, "He got a lead on one of the families we've been trying to get a trail on; old buddy of yours, Elijah Greengrass."
Regulus frowned, "Oh. Did he –" he and Lily shared a look, " – has he found them? Are they alright?"
"His girls, far as I know, yeah –"
Lily's shoulders dropped slightly in obvious relief.
" – The man himself, not so much. Managed to hold off a couple of Death Eaters for a good few minutes before he fell, mind; not bad for a man who called himself a pacifist. Kingsley's bringing in his wife and daughters, now. Must've been held up on the way."
Regulus drew in a breath, glancing away, at the odd, unexpected little surge of regret felt.
"I'll get a house-elf to sort out new quarters for them."
"And add 'em to the dinner list."
Regulus nodded, before he shared a look with Lily, the relief in her eyes still there; that soon, the Greengrass girls – the eldest of whom their boys were so fond – would be here with them.
"Now, you are a very handsome young man," the old lady Malachi was tending to said, making him blush and stutter a bit in the spell Julia had taught him – the one that stitched up magical lacerations – and the lady chuckled, leaning back against the pillows behind her; "You must be Regulus Black's boy."
Malachi nodded, "Yeah. That's me."
"The spitting image of your uncle, you are. Oh, my grandchildren have been listening to your show every afternoon while we've been underground. One of the few things they had to break up the monotony of the day."
"Are your grandchildren here?"
"Yes. Thanks to the wards set up by the resistance fighters, we had just enough warning to get them down to the basement to take cover, before the Death Eaters broke in."
"That's good. I mean, not that you were hurt, of course."
Malachi finished up healing the wound on her arm, handing over a damp flannel that she took with a grateful smile.
"I can order some soup for you, if you'd like."
"That would be lovely, Master Black."
"Just Malachi, Ma'am."
"And you may call me Madam McGowan."
He grinned and summoned a house-elf, to ask for the soup. The house-elf looked a bit hesitant at the request but, unable to say no, disappeared again with a pop before Malachi asked, tentatively.
"How is it out there?"
The old lady looked at him, carefully for a moment – long enough that Malachi knew she was considering whether or not to lie – before she said; "Let's just say that I am more than happy that my family and I have finally found ourselves behind the walls of your father's illustrious Aurelius Foundation."
Malachi nodded.
It was as close to telling him how dire it was as he was going to get.
The house-elf popped back up at his side, and Malachi quickly retrieved the tray – a much smaller bowl of soup, now, than it had been in the beginning, and two cuts from a baguette, rather than a full one – and he made sure Madam McGowan was comfortable and happy with the offering, before he made his way over to the preparation table where Julia was now measuring up potions.
"Alright, Kid?"
"Yeah, she's good. How about –"
He looked in the direction of the man Julia had been taking care of earlier, and she nodded, a warm enough smile that Malachi knew the outlook was good for him.
Malachi reached over for some of the smaller empty phials, carefully lifting the larger one with the blood replenishment potion and helping to measure them up.
He became lost in his own head for a little while – tried not to think about the fact his dad was out there again, today – instead thinking about the people who continued to suffer beyond the safety of the Foundation – Voldemort focusing all the attention not being directed to stamp down on the resistance to stamp down on the muggleborns and muggles – and he swallowed, a feeling of unease rising up within him, as he remembered the increased number of deaths he and Harry had had to report during their broadcast earlier that day.
He hoped that Harry was right.
That, maybe, at Easter – when Hogwarts broke for the holidays – Severus would be able to get close enough and finally put end to this once and for all.
Malachi was drawn from his thoughts, his eyes catching the movement of Julia's hand going to the very prominent bump of her stomach, almost unconsciously, while a little smile played on her lips as she continued to work.
"Is that the baby?" Malachi asked, immediately curious, while Julia met his eyes, "Is…can you feel 'em?"
Julia smiled and nodded, patting her stomach lightly.
"Yeah. Yeah, nothing gets 'em going better than me standing still or sleeping. Fancy that, huh?"
Malachi chuckled.
"Do you want to feel the kicks?"
Malachi looked at her, surprisedly at first, and then shyly; "Yeah?"
Julia nodded, smiling; "Yeah. Here – " she reached for his hand and placed it where she'd been touching up at the side of the bump, and Malachi waited, eagerly, eyes upon where his hand lay.
"Feel it?"
Malachi frowned, shaking his head, hand lightly upon her stomach.
Julia chuckled; "Didn't think so. Here –"
She pushed his hand in more firmly against her – way harder than he would have dared, wondering if it might actually hurt the baby or something, pressing as hard as that – but, those fears vanished immediately when he felt something like a tiny little punch against his hand.
Once. Twice.
Malachi's eyes widened. A slow smile coming to him in his amazement at what he had felt – his first touch of life from his baby brother or sister – as he met Julia's eyes.
She chuckled, smiling back at him affectionately, and ruffled his hair.
Malachi felt a rush of excitement and happiness come along on the heels of his amazement but, before he could say anything that might suitably express it – if there was anything that even could – the double doors to the Healing Unit burst open and Kingsley Shacklebolt hurried into the room.
"Healer Bradbury!"
Julia had hurried over before her name was fully spoken, Malachi on her heels as Mr. Shacklebolt laid the unconscious woman he held down onto the nearest bed.
"Hey, Kid, can you get me some more of those flannels?" Julia said, briskly pulling along the curtains that surrounded it with a flick of her wand.
It was swiftly pulled back aside just as Malachi made to go back through it, stopped by the person who pushed on in.
"Please, is my mum going to be okay?"
Malachi stared.
"Daphne?"
Daphne met his eyes, just looking at him in shock for a moment, as if she had no idea that she would possibly come across him here. And then she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
"Mac."
Malachi held her, relief washing over him, that she was finally here.
Harry hurried down the steps, his heart beating fast – not just due to the fact he was running – as he hastily made his way down to the Healing Unit.
He burst in through the double doors, gracelessly, eyes seeking his girlfriend, and he immediately saw her sitting on one of the chairs next to a bed with a sleeping woman upon it. Astoria Greengrass was lying down awake next to her – their mother Harry realized – and Malachi was sitting in the chair beside Daphne, they two of them talking quietly.
Daphne's eyes met his – brightening when they noticed him – and she got to her feet.
A surge of relief and happiness and something else rose up within him and Harry hurried towards her, closing the last bit of distance between them, and hugged her tight, burying his face into her neck.
"Daphne," his voice was barely even a murmur.
He had no idea what to say, words completely failing him – despite thinking of her every day ever since they'd been parted – and he closed his eyes, just losing himself in the feel of her and how perfectly she fit in his arms, and the familiar scent upon the scarf that he sometimes – embarrassingly – slept with next to his pillow now surrounding him, once more.
"Harry," he heard her voice waver a bit against his shoulder and he drew back, touching their foreheads to one another, keen to look into her deep blue eyes.
"It's okay," he whispered, "You're safe now."
Daphne bit her lip, eyes lowering, and Harry realized something was wrong.
But she never said anything, just leaned back in, silently asking him to hold her.
So, he did.
Drawing her close as he felt her silent tears start to fall.