A/N: I write my A/Ns straight from the Doc Manager, so unfortunately I'm not rewriting what I had before. But the gist was that Ginny will be featured, reviews are cool, and Dorothea Greengrass writes good ff.
A drop of blood was dripping down Harry's forehead. The first time he'd gone through this, he hadn't even noticed it in the rush of combat. Now, it was a sensation he was all too familiar with.
He looked left, expecting to find Ron untangling himself from the ropes. There he was, looking as young as ever, confirming what he'd already known to be true. On his right side was Pettigrew's corpse, but Harry had learned to avoid setting his eyes on it. Getting angry didn't help; he'd just have to stay calm and go along with the ride.
"C'mon, Harry, we gotta go! Hermione's up there, and who knows what the bastards have done to her?" Ron's voice pounded in Harry's eardrum, every syllable ringing his head. Before Harry could reply, he was already upstairs, facing Bellatrix Lestrange. His glasses fogged up from the heat of the room, but he didn't need to see in order to brace himself for the impact he knew was coming.
"I've got Potter! I've got the son of a bitch!" After all these years, he still hated that voice. He dared to look up and was met with the face of Draco Malfoy, too photorealistic to be true. Every bead of sweat on the ferrety face showed Harry's reflection, in which even Harry was taken aback at how calm he was about what he was about to do.
In one smooth motion, he flipped Malfoy and grabbed the wands in his assailant's hand as a loud crash filled the other side of the room.
Harry couldn't help but close his eyes, dreading what was coming next. After what felt like an eternity, he felt the salty breeze of the ocean on his back, and he opened them again. He could feel the roughness of the shovel on his hand as splinters dug into his skin, but the overwhelming sense of sadness and pain made his exhaustion feel irrelevant.
He'd come this far, but he knew he would mess it up here. He always did. Breathing heavily, he risked a glance left to see the lifeless body of Dobby, and, before he could stop it, the tears began to form in the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Dobby," he said, knowing that his friend couldn't hear him. "You always tried to look out for me, but I couldn't do the same for you. I'm so, so sorry." The tears clouded his vision now and he knew he was a mess, but he continued in his slurred words, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'M SO—"
Harry woke up in a pool of his own sweat. He took a second to gather his breath before picking up his wand to start his record player on some Eagles. Over the past few years, he'd been forced into a hobby of listening to music. He was never the biggest fan of music, but it helped fill the silence when he needed it to; it was only when he discovered Muggle bands that he began to enjoy it for its own sake. Wizards were cool and all, but their taste in music was nothing short of nonexistent.
Muttering, "Accio glasses," Harry put his glasses on and looked up at his clock. 4:21 am. He sighed, sorely needing more sleep but knowing he wasn't going to get any at the moment. Reluctantly, he got up and stretched, deciding to take a quick jog, when the thought occurred to him that maybe he should contact Healer Stevens.
Waving his wand, he sent a quick patronus to St. Mungos. "I'm up early this morning. Any chance you're free to see me before work starts?"
He was just about to leave the house when a misty sparrow flew onto his shoulder. "Come in anytime before 6." He groaned, but he knew it was for the best.
It had been Hermione who was the first one to suggest seeing a mind healer. But then again, it had been Hermione who was the first to even notice anything was wrong.
The nightmares were constant, and Harry could deal with them. After all, he'd been a victim of nightmares for essentially his entire life. It was when he started getting visions during the day that he began to feel the need to fix his problem.
It was a while before anyone noticed. To everyone else—to even himself—he was still the same Harry Potter, a lighthearted but charismatic twenty-something that the Wizarding World knew and loved. He still went to the Hog's Head every Friday with Ron and Neville, he still visited Teddy as much as he could, and he was still the perfect boyfriend to Ginny.
At work, though, the subtle changes began to come. While Harry was always serious about his work, he began to treat every mission as if his life depended on it. He would still crack jokes and act as if nothing was different, but he often spent sleepless nights planning out every single course of action for every single mission.
He also began to treat his seniors with a degree of respect that was previously, well, missing. Harry was polite and humble—it was in his nature—but he was never the type to suck up to his superiors if it contradicted his thoughts. All of that began to change, and Harry picked up the skill of politicking with ease, leading to his meteoric rise up the Auror ranks.
It was because Hermione spent so much time with him at work that she was the first one to notice the changes; if she saw any need of force for her cases as a worker in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she sought out Harry's team. So perhaps, it shouldn't have been a surprise to Harry when she pulled him aside after work one day.
"You need to tell me what's going on," she tested the waters.
"Hello to you too, Hermione. I have no idea what you're talking about, but I certainly hope nothing too serious is going on," Harry said with a lighthearted chuckle. Inside, his thoughts were racing, but he'd mastered the Dumbledorean art of hiding his true emotions behind a harmless smile in the past few months.
"Oh, don't act as if you don't know. You've been acting differently at work. Even now, you're avoiding my question; the Harry I know wouldn't do that."
Damn. She was good. "I've just decided that I have my sights set on some ambitious goals, and I'm doing all I can to work towards them." It wasn't a lie. "By the way, nice work on those hippogriffs last week, I never got to—"
"Harry."
"—congratulate you on it. You've got to be in the running for Junior Director now? What, it's probably just you and—"
"HARRY." Hermione was almost yelling now, and Harry couldn't help but notice the look of genuine worry in her eyes. "Will you just tell me what's going on? If you don't want to say, that's fine, I was just thinking maybe we could work through it together. But I do want to know if there's something I should be concerned about. Something we should be concerned about."
At Hermione's look, Harry couldn't help but relent. She and Teddy were probably the only two people in the world who could get him to do anything, and he knew he should tell someone what he was going through.
So he told her. But not everything.
He was only willing to reveal the nightmares; they were simultaneously normal and concerning enough that she wouldn't be too worried about him, but also wouldn't suspect that he wasn't telling the truth. He couldn't risk telling anyone about the visions, lest they get concerned about his ability to carry out what he was supposed to. He did, however, come clean about his new motivations: he wanted to rise up the ranks of Wizarding Britain to do what he couldn't last time. By creating a society without a risk of another war, he'd finally be able to protect everyone, to do Sirius proud.
The look that Hermione had given him was one that he remembered for years. It was an odd mixture of proudness and resignation that lingered on his face for just a second, before she spoke to him about the healer that she was seeing.
"I really wish you hadn't kept this to yourself the whole time. You realize you're not the only one with fucked-up memories from the war, right?" She paused, a bitter smile briefly crossing her face, before she continued, "Ron and I have had our share of nightmares too. I know Ginny has her fair share, and I'm willing to bet that Neville and Luna go through them. You should really check out St. Mungos, Healer Stevens has done wonders for me and Ron."
In hindsight, that was the first time he'd really realized that Ginny and himself weren't going to work out. Ron and Hermione were open with each other and the problems that they went through. Harry had known about Ginny's nightmares, but it had never crossed his mind that he should talk to her about his own. He was too afraid to tell Ginny anything that might ruin their perfect relationship; with Ginny, he felt like he had to be the perfect boyfriend.
But those old memories weren't for now, as Harry found himself in front of Healer Stevens' door. Knocking softly, he heard the grandfatherly voice of William welcome him in.
"Hello, William, I hope I'm not bothering you at this time," he greeted.
"Of course not, Harry, you know how early I start my day."
Harry liked Healer Stevens. He was the type of person who spoke exactly what he thought, which Harry found out as soon as they'd met.
The first time he'd walked into this office, Healer Stevens had welcomed him in the same grandfatherly tone, "Welcome, Mr. Potter. Your friends Hermione and Ron told me you'd be coming around soon." He looked up, before laughing out loud. "Oh come on, cut the bullshit out."
"Excuse me?" Harry had replied, a little more indignantly than he cared to show.
"You have this look on your face that screams to me you just want me to fix your problem and get the hell out of your life. I'm sorry to say, that's not how mind healing works. If we're gonna do this, you need to stop being a little angsty baby and actually open up."
Since that eventful first meeting, Harry's relationship with his mind healer had gone to great lengths. He could tell why Hermione and Ron both respected the man; he carried a great deal of wisdom and insight into the way people worked, yet also didn't take himself too seriously. He'd kept his promise of confidentiality with the utmost sanctity, and Harry truly appreciated all he'd done.
He was the person closest to knowing the truth about what Harry went through, though Harry still couldn't bear to tell anyone everything. William knew about the daytime visions—just not about how frequent they could get.
Harry sat down, and William asked, "The nightmares get you again?"
"Yeah. Always gets worse this time of the year."
"Which one was it this time?" Harry's nightmares consisted of the same five memories. Running through Hogwarts during the Battle of Hogwarts, seeing Hedwig die on his way to the Burrow, witnessing Sirius' death at the Department of Mysteries, finding out about all those who'd died after the Battle of Hogwarts, and—
"Burying Dobby."
"And it played out exactly the same? No differences?"
"Same as it always does, as far as I can tell."
"Alright, sit tight while I run some basic diagnostic charms over you," Stevens hummed. Harry did as he was asked, and a short moment later the older man spoke again. "Your vitals are fine, and it seems like your mind is functioning normally."
"As always," Harry sighed. "Do we really have to do this every time? It's been three years and I've never had my nightmares affect my physical health."
"It feels like you ask that every time. For the millionth time, you never know when something could change. It's crucial to have someone steadily monitor you. With that being said, how many visions did you have since your last visit—ones that weren't nightmares?"
Harry shook his head, saying, "I'm telling you, the visions are extremely rare. I've gotten, what, five since I've been seeing you? Seven, ever?" It was a blatant lie that he was sure William saw right through, but one he'd maintained for the past few years.
"Lay off my ass, Harry, I'm just checking. You know, with the time of year and all." William never pushed him on something he didn't want to share. It was one of the reasons Harry was so fond of the man. On his fifth visit, his healer suggested Legilimency Therapy, and Harry refused; there was probably no way that he would ever agree to completely lower his Occlumency shields. To Harry's surprise, the man agreed, telling Harry to just let him know when he felt like he was ready. It had been three years, and William had never once asked again, despite the fact that it might aid the treatment greatly.
"How's the job? Any new developments on the Welsh smugglers?" William asked, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.
"I'm not even going to ask you how you know about that. You know I'm not allowed to say anything until the case is completely closed," Harry smiled.
"What if I told you it was crucial for your treatment?"
"Quit your bullshit, old dog. I've been coming to you for three years and I don't feel like you've treated me for anything." That rang a little too close to the truth, but Harry knew that his friend would know it to be a joke. Besides, he didn't honestly believe anyone could cure him at this point. William's sessions consisted of basic diagnostics and a good old chat about whatever topic came to mind, but they were a part of Harry's life that he truly appreciated. After all these years, it was nice to finally have a permanent older, wiser presence in his life that he could spill his problems to. It was therapeutic in its own right.
"Well, I'd love to stay and humor your sorry ass, but I have actual work to get to this morning. Next time you want an appointment, try to contact me a little earlier, would you?" Stevens clapped his back, and Harry got up.
"You can pretend like you're busy all you want, but I know you love seeing me." Harry grinned, before getting a little serious. "Thanks, William. I'll see you for our regular next week?"
"Nice seeing you. And, lest I forget, I know you're not telling me everything; that's fine, I don't ever want you to feel like you have to do anything in this office, but consider telling someone the whole truth. It's the only way you'll ever heal, kid."
It was the same exact statement with which William ended every one of his appointments with. Over the past three years, Harry had heard it over a hundred times. Every single time, he'd brushed it off as the rehearsed line his lovable healer said for the sake of saying it.
For some reason, the words hit a little closer to Harry's heart this time.
Harry apparated into a sparse street in Hogsmeade, where the April chill was still heavy in the air. He walked into the Hog's Head, taking off his charmed coat and waving his wand to send it to the coat room. "Pete, get me a Dragon's Claw, will you?" He yelled out, right before he was nearly tacked to the ground by his friends.
"Mate, it's 9:30. Late as always, huh?" called out the voice of Ron Weasley, his best friend of eighteen years.
"What can I say, Ron, Mr. Big Savior Man is just too busy to hang out with peasants like us!" That was Neville Longbottom, whom Harry and Ron had formed a close friendship with during their time in the Auror Corps together.
"Oh shut up you cheeky bastards. It's not like you don't know how sporadically busy it gets in the office. Or maybe you two cowards have been out of it for too long?" Ron had spent three years with him in the Corps before retiring to run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George. Neville lasted five before hanging up his robes last year and taking up the Herbology post at Hogwarts.
"Shut up unless you want me to jinx your ass; then we'll really see what I've forgotten. Anyways, what's this I'm hearing about then," poked Ron, both figuratively and quite literally.
"Eh? Just some work that came up last minute. It's been hard enough getting the Irish Ministry to cooperate, and now their sending us—"
Neville cut him off. "Not to be rude or anything, but no one wants to hear about the boring shit you're doing at work. I think what Ron was asking about was what we all want to know. Daphne Greengrass."
Harry was completely shocked, though the only indication of that was a raised eyebrow. "How in Merlin's name do you two know about that?" He hadn't told anyone, and he was pretty sure from his judgement of Daphne that she wasn't the type to blab about being his date either.
"I didn't know anything until about half an hour ago," Ron answered, "it was Planty here who told me everything."
"Which turns out to be not a lot, at least almost nothing that's been confirmed." Neville added, "Gran was at dinner with the Fawleys last night and apparently it's been the news among the pureblood circles that you and Greengrass are going to the Ministry Ball."
"So, mate, is it true?" Ron asked, almost a little too eagerly.
"It… is," Harry slowly confirmed, to which he saw Neville hand over a Galleon to Ron. "You idiots bet on this? What the hell?"
"I said there was no way it'd be true. Besides the fact that old purebloods with nothing to do tend to make up rumors, it's Daphne Greengrass," Neville answered, as if saying her name explained everything.
"I don't get why you're freaking out so much. I've brought plenty of other witches as my date to plenty of other events," Harry had to stop himself from giving a Hermione-trademarked eye roll.
"Mate. Mate, you don't understand," Ron shook his head, before turning to Neville. "He doesn't fucking understand! It's Daphne FUCKING Greengrass!"
Neville turned to Harry, only a bit more serious than their ginger friend, who was still shaking his head and muttering. "C'mon Harry. Not only are the Greengrasses in single digit ranks of the wealthiest families in all of Britain, Daphne's never been seen with a guy courting her. This is huge, even if you don't factor in the fact that she's, well, literally the most attractive witch in Wizarding Britain."
"It's Daphne FUCKING Greengrass, mate!" Ron added, if it could be said that his comment added anything.
"Okay, okay. I get your point, and I have to admit that I knew people were going to be interested when it got out. My question now is, how'd it get out? Daphne didn't really seem like the type to be calling up The Daily Prophet about it."
"I'm not 100% sure, Harry," Neville qualified, before continuing, "but from what I've heard, the rumors started when Astoria—Daphne's younger sister—and Malfoy were out on a date."
Harry was a little irked at the girl, but then again, he didn't tolerate people who spread rumors about him well, "Should've known something was wrong with Astoria the moment she started dating Malfoy. Aren't they engaged now?"
"Yeah, I think they're getting married in the summer—"
"Daphne FUCKING Greengrass! My mate's going on a date with Daphne FUCKING Greengrass!" interrupted Ron, quite unhelpfully.
"Ron, can you fucking piss off? Aren't you supposed to be married? You know it still counts even if she kept her last name, right?" Neville laughed.
"I can still appreciate the beauty of a woman of that caliber, and I can definitely appreciate the fact that my best friend is shagging her!" Before Harry could correct him, Ron turned to him, pleading, "Mate, you've got to tell me that this isn't a one time thing. You're doing something more than just having a cutesy little dance with her at the Ball, right?"
Harry sighed, "I mean, I'm picking her up at 6 that night so we can have dinner beforehand, but only because she asked me. Something about bad Ministry food and being fashionably late. I don't imagine there'll be much more, though."
"Well, that's a start," Neville whistled. "Where are you taking her?"
"Club Seven."
Ron had barely calmed down when he looked at Harry incredulously. "CLUB SEVEN? You're going to CLUB SEVEN for your first date?"
"I mean, why not?" Harry shrugged. "She's a rich and entitled heiress, and I'm trying to get on her best side. Might as well start at the top to make sure I'm not embarrassing myself." Club Seven was the most prestigious restaurant in Magical London, named so because it only sat seven tables a night.
"Well, I salute you," Ron said, before he looked as if something had struck him. He turned to Neville with the eagerness of a puppy, saying, "wait, you haven't told him the best part about the rumors yet!"
"Yeah, because you couldn't shut up and kept interrupting us, you prat."
"What's the best part?" asked Harry, not even trying to hide his curiosity.
Neville grinned from ear to ear. "Not that I would believe everything I hear from the Fawleys, but apparently Astoria said something VERY interesting. I'm not even sure if I would take it semi-seriously."
Ron, groaning with frustration, said, "just spit it out, Plant Man."
"Apparently Daphne didn't exactly sit Astoria down to tell her about your date." Neville paused, clearly enjoying the suspense. "Quoting Gran, who was quoting Marianne Fawley who was apparently quoting Astoria, "my sister was trying to hide it, but her constant freaking out didn't do much help—I swear I could hear her picking out her dress in her room from the dining hall!"
"See! If anything, she's interested. You have to admit, that's at least a good start," Ron exclaimed.
"I dunno Ron. I feel like you're overreacting a little bit here." Despite his words, Harry couldn't help the grin that came across his face.
Ron didn't let Harry's smile slip past him, barking out, "Well, that settles it. To Daphne Greengrass!"
As Neville repeated the toast with enthusiasm, Harry raised his glass in false resignation.
To Daphne Greengrass, indeed.
Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, making sure his dress robes weren't crinkled for the eighth time despite his confidence in his charms. He didn't think that he was a bad-looking wizard, but he knew he would need to look flawless for his brief visit at Greengrass Manor. Over the past few years, he'd learned that these sorts of meetings meant a lot to pureblood families, and he really didn't want to mess up a potential allyship with the Greengrasses.
It hadn't been a good day. He'd surprisingly gotten through the night without nightmares, but every moment of silence that lasted for longer than a moment threatened to send his consciousness to the depths of his visions. He was very, very, tired, nursing a headache, and blasting some Styx with the help of a Silencing Charm.
Harry's watch rang. His wand holster was still visible and his hair was as untamed as always, but the time was 5:59, and it would have to do. He threw some Floo Powder in his fireplace—out of place in his modern condo—and said, "Greengrass Manor," stepping through with the confidence of a Head Auror.
It was common knowledge that the Greengrasses were wealthy, but Harry was nevertheless impressed by the ornate room he walked into. It seemed that they'd created a separate room just to welcome guests coming in through the Floo, with large marble pillars holding up a dazzling ceiling and chandeliers dangling at the just perfect angle to reflect the light that came in through the full-length windows.
As he admired the regal sofa set facing him, however, he noticed something was off. Narrowing his eyes, he carefully drew his wand and casted a Revelio, and the whole room came crashing apart.
Where there had previously been thin air, Lord and Lady Greengrass were seated, clearly trying to hide their surprise. To his credit, Damien recovered quickly, smiling as he gave Harry a short but customary greeting. "Lord Potter, my wife and I welcome you to Greengrass Manor."
"I thank you for your hospitality in allowing me into your home. It is an honor to be your guest," Harry politely replied, bowing before he put a little more steel into his voice. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, I would like to know what you were intending by pulling that act of trickery."
"They're but basic security charms, meant to undo the effects of Polyjuice and the like. Our apologies if it startled you, we haven't had a new visitor Floo to the house in ages." When Lady Greengrass spoke, she did so with the poise and grace befitting of a queen.
"Had you waited for five more seconds, you would've seen the barrier naturally fall; though, it is quite impressive that you were able to dispel the Disillusionment Charm with a single Revelio." Lord Greengrass said, an expression of intrigue set upon his face. "The charms are woven into wardstones of the finest quality, from the Germans if you're familiar?"
The test had already begun.
"Of course. I commend you for staying vigilant, and especially for using Werden wardstones—everyone knows that they're functionally unmatched," Harry paused to put on a look of humble embarrassment, an expression he'd rehearsed to the point of perfection. "But where are my manners. I formally greet you, Lord Greengrass," he stepped in front of Damien to bow and shake his hand, "Lady Greengrass," he moved right, once again bowing then putting his lips to her knuckles.
Damien waved his hand. "We're flattered at your pleasantries, Lord Potter, but I urge you to address me as Damien. After all, if we are to be business partners, we should treat each other as equals."
"And call me Ophelia."
"Well, if both of you insist, I must make the request that you call me Harry. I must say, I was thoroughly impressed with both the proposal itself and the way your daughter presented it, though," Harry glanced at his watch purely for show, "I'm afraid that we must leave any further discussions about this matter until later."
"Of course, we're not the Greengrasses you're here for tonight." Lord Greengrass spoke in a harmlessly conversational tone, but his eyes turned quite serious. "Before I send you off to your outing, though, would you do me a favor and satisfy a piece of curiosity I've been holding on to?"
"Go ahead."
"Your courting of Daphne tonight… It wouldn't, by any chance, have to do with the terms of agreement for the business deal?" Damien's eyes were completely cold now, and Harry could almost feel a chill down his spine when he looked into them.
"With all due respect, I would never treat spending time with your daughter as something that one could assign a material figure to be dealt." Harry smiled. "Tonight is a social outing, purely stemming from my personal wishes. The contract is the contract. I assure you, the two are completely separate from each other."
Damien immediately softened his expression, back to the complete embodiment of controlled joviality. "I assumed as such, especially for a man of your standing. Well then, I wish you two an enjoyable night. You'll find my daughter in the foyer to your right."
While Lord Greengrass was seemingly lighthearted and casual, especially for a pureblood family head, Harry knew most of that demeanor had been built from his business experience. His stark shift in attitude when implying foul play in the way tonight's date transpired reminded Harry that Damien was an extremely dangerous and cunning person.
As he turned to leave, the soft voice of Ophelia called him back. "Just one more thing, Harry. You're aware that this will be Daphne's first public outing with a man courting her?"
Harry gave a silent nod.
"Good. I'm sure you're also aware, then, how much of an impact on the public eye tonight's events could make. I may be speaking out of place here, but I hope you remind yourself of that throughout the night." For a split second, her grey eyes flashed a dangerous silver. "For the sake of both my daughter and yourself, I implore you to stay careful with every single action you take."
"I understand." He did. "Damien, Ophelia, thank you for inviting me into your home; it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Hopefully I'll see you at the Ministry Ball later tonight."
Harry stepped out of the waiting room, deep in thought. Apparently, it was two extremely dangerous and cunning people Harry needed to worry about. He mulled over the brief interaction he'd had, deciding that it was still a victory overall.
A delicate hello brought him back to reality, and Harry was slapped in the face with the beauty of Daphne Greengrass staring at him.
"What a pleasure. Miss Greengrass, you look absolutely stunning." Harry said, and though the words themselves were overwhelmingly snotty, he said exactly what he was thinking.
"The pleasure is all mine, Auror Potter—or should I call you Lord Potter?"
"If you're fine with me being blunt, I think we should do away with the titles?" Harry tried. "This isn't Auror Potter discussing potion ingredients with Heiress Greengrass, this is just Harry taking Daphne out to a nice dinner."
"I understand, but—"
"Please, Daphne?"
"Alright." At hearing her name being said so casually, Daphne's face twitched slightly. Harry's Auror training helped him catch the subtle movement, though he didn't know what it meant.
"Alright, who?"
"Alright… Harry."
She still said his name as if it was a fragile ornament to be handled, but Harry decided that it would have to do for now. At least the banter was fun.
"See, we're already making progress," he smiled as they reached the front door of the Greengrasses' residence. "I'll be Side-Alonging you to our dinner spot, if that's okay?"
"I'll need to Apparate us beyond the Manor's wards first."
"Go for it." With that, Harry grabbed onto his date's arm, being whisked away magically, not yet knowing just how far he would be getting whisked away to or how magical it would turn out to be.
"I have to say, Harry, that you seem to have some taste," Daphne commented, taking a dainty bite of her salad.
"What makes you say that—other than the fact that you're my choice of date, of course," Harry gave a small smirk to show his comments were in good humor.
"Don't be playing innocent. Club Seven for the first date is hard to beat." She showed no difference on the outside, but it was hard for a Head Auror to not take note of the ever so slight tremble in her voice.
Harry had a hard time believing that he was truly having dinner with Daphne Greengrass—not only because of his luck in being Daphne's date for the night, but because the woman in front of him wasn't quite the same woman he'd seen in his office a few days ago. No, his date was more like someone playing a very good imitation of her: correct in the content of her speech and attitude, but just slightly too stiff and slightly too nervous.
Well, he could do something about the stiffness. Perhaps poke a little fun at her. "I heard an interesting story the other day."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, it was something about… let me see… a pureblood heiress freaking out about her date with the Head Auror?" he grinned, perhaps a little too cheekily.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." She spoke a little too quickly to be telling the truth. "I would be very careful of rumors, especially if they seem to originate from my sister."
He raised an eyebrow. "I said nothing about Astoria. I'm wondering how you got to that conclusion."
"Shut up, you prat. Unless you're two-timing me, I think it was very clear who you were talking about." Daphne fell silent, a tinge of pink coloring her pale cheeks.
Harry let the silence hang for a little bit. "You didn't deny it."
"That's ridiculous. Tell me, can you really see me—as you put it—freaking out?" she seemed to search for the right words to say.
He couldn't. But then again, he also couldn't really see Daphne as being even slightly nervous about anything before tonight. "I dunno Daphne. If I'm being perfectly frank, I don't think we've ever been close enough for me to make that call."
"It's a wonder how one could be schoolmates with another for seven years and not share a single word with them. Our silly House prejudices are but a childish blindfold."
"Wisely put," Harry mused, before giving a good-natured laugh. "Well, that, and you were always the most quiet kid in our year."
Daphne smiled back at him, though something about it seemed forced. "That I was. Shy and quiet…" She fell into a thoughtful silence, and Harry realized he must've touched a personal nerve.
"Well, if I do say so myself, I could go for a drink. You think the Ministry's gonna care if we show up a bit tipsy?"
"Harry, we're drinking wine right now."
"Wine doesn't count. Right now, I could go for something a lot stronger." He looked down, smiling. "Besides, it feels like I've done most of the drinking."
Her lips pursed. "I'll skip on the hard liquor tonight. But feel free to go for it, as long as you can still maintain yourself."
"Worried for me?"
"Worried that you'll make a fool out of yourself and embarrass me."
"Aren't I already doing that?" he laughed, calling the waiter over to ask for a glass of Ogden's.
"Surprisingly, you've managed to be acceptable so far." It was meant to sound like sarcasm, but Harry knew that at least some part of her comment was genuine.
"The great Daphne Greengrass has bestowed a rating of acceptable onto myself, I am truly honored," joked Harry, before taking a sip of his newly brought drink. "So, not a big fan of alcohol?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You barely drank at my office the other day. You're barely drinking now, and it's wine sitting in front of you."
"You… could say that."
He poked a little bit more fun at her. "How'd you ever become a businesswoman of your caliber without getting wasted with your clients?"
To his surprise, her reply was a lot more serious than he expected. "Well, that's the thing. I don't drink because I have a reputation to keep. My body doesn't handle alcohol well, and I couldn't risk acting like a fool in front of important people. I—" For a second, Harry saw that she was completely vulnerable. Her eyes, normally a piercing blue, were now softly reflecting every swirling feeling Daphne was having, and he thought he might lose himself in the sheer amount of emotion in them. "I didn't think you would notice so quickly. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone, it's something I try to keep secret for the sake of the company."
"Of course," replied Harry meekly, "thank you for telling me that. I'm sorry if I was being intrusive." He meant it.
"Your turn." Just like that, the brilliant ocean of pure emotion was once again curtained with a look of indifference, though a small light of nervousness still managed to seep through.
"What?"
"Harry, I just told you a deeply personal secret. I think I deserve to know something a little serious about you." She quickly added, "of course, I wouldn't ask anything classified about your work. I'm just—doing as you asked. Trying to get to know your date better seems like a thing most people do on nice dinners."
Harry smiled. Daphne was truly a businesswoman at heart, and she'd somehow backed him up into a deal that he was clearly getting the short end of. "Okay. You can ask me one thing you want. I promise to be as honest as I can."
"I want to know about your life before coming to Hogwarts."
Harry looked at her, incredulously, then laughed. "Really?"
"What?" she asked, clearly a bit embarrassed at his reaction. "I grew up reading Harry Potter books. Is it true that you really trained with the Shaolin Monks? I always thought that was why you were so good at Defence."
"No, it's just," Harry paused, growing more solemn. He took a long moment, staring at his braised lamb, before he spoke again. "It's just, I wish any of those things were remotely true."
He took a long sip of his drink.
"I was raised by my Muggle aunt and uncle, who disliked magic. Didn't believe in it."
Daphne gave a small gasp.
"They weren't—they weren't necessarily the nicest people. I didn't even know I was a wizard until my 11th birthday. Hagrid came knocking on my door to tell me about the Wizarding World, took me to Diagon Alley for the first time and all of it felt like a dream." He grew silent again, until finally settling on something to say. "My childhood was—it was just extremely normal. My aunt and uncle still loved me very much, they just couldn't deal with the fact that I was magical. They loved me, they just sometimes didn't show it as much."
Harry sat there, thinking about how he wished that even the sentence he'd ended on was true, until Daphne's soft voice gently interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. You don't have to apologize, it's not your fault."
"No. I'm still sorry. It doesn't matter whose fault it was or it wasn't. I just—I'm just sorry." Her barrier was completely withdrawn again, and Harry saw all the things she hadn't been able to put into words etched clearly into the expression on the face. She was telling him sorry to express her sorrow, to apologize for asking, to apologize for all the times she'd assumed things about Harry's upbringing.
Harry smiled, whispering, "it's okay. But thank you."
The rest of the dinner was spent talking about things of little importance again, but Harry was pleased with how the meal had gone. He chalked up two little victories in his mental blackboard for that night, before realizing something odd: his headache, which had been constantly nagging at him throughout the entire day, had disappeared sometime in the middle of his conversation with Daphne.
To Daphne Greengrass, indeed.
Eventually, Harry's watch buzzed to let him know it was 7:59, and he gave Daphne a smile. "If you want to be sufficiently fashionably late, now wouldn't be a bad time to leave."
"Indeed. Thank you for the dinner, Harry. It was really nice," commented Daphne.
"I'm glad you had a good time, and I'm glad I could be the one to provide it." Pulling out a water bottle from the inside of his enlarged pocket, he said, "this is our Portkey, set to leave in less than a minute. It'll help us get past security."
"And allow us to make a better entrance, at least one that's less expected"
Harry nodded, and seeing Daphne grab on to the other end of the bottle, said, "alright then. If you're ready, in three, two, one..." A light flashed, and they were away.
Over his adult life, Harry had gotten more used to Portkey travel; at least, he would be standing up when he reached the destination. Still, it took him a few moments to readjust himself and find his balance after arriving.
When he finally looked up, he saw his date staring back at him with cool eyes.
"Thank you, Lord Potter," she said, grabbing the hand he reached out with a practiced delicacy. This was no longer the Daphne he'd been having dinner with earlier. No, the differences were subtle, but Harry knew that this was the Heiress Greengrass who'd visited him in his office.
When they walked into the ballroom, even more eyes turned at him than usual. If he hadn't been sure that people knew about him and Daphne before, he was sure now.
He sighed, leaning into his right side and whispering so only Daphne could hear. "What do you say to mingling as a couple for, say, fifteen minutes, then going off and conducting our businesses?" Ministry Balls were social events first and foremost, and Harry knew that they both had things to do, people to see, and connections to maintain.
"That sounds wonderful, Lord Potter. I daresay we should start with the table with Zabini and Wilkins, and see where our paths take us?" Daphne smiled up at him, though it was one of her fake smiles that annoyed him. "I must say, however, that I'd like to be your first dance of the evening, if I've earned that privilege?"
"I'll see you at the dance floor for the first slow song we hear, then."
The evening had gone smoothly. Harry saw Ron and Hermione on several occasions, as well as Neville on the arm of Hannah Abbott, but he knew he was here for more business matters and they were as well. By the time the night was drawing to a close, he'd been able to talk to most of the people he'd wanted to, though he was still yet to have a conversation with Melinda Bobbins. He saw her standing in a corner and started towards her, though he stopped when he realized she was accompanied by Daphne. It seemed his date had thought the same thing he did.
Daphne had given him the first dance of the night, and a few more after that, though the dancing wasn't anything special. He was with her to talk to Professor Slughorn, apparently thrilled about the idea of them dating, as well as in giving a quick greeting to her parents. Otherwise, though, they'd stayed pretty separate throughout the night, each going through their personal checklist of duties to tend to.
When Wilkins, the Ministry's PR head, finally stepped to the front podium, Harry expected him to announce that the Ball was formally over. He started with a long speech commending the Ministry's efforts in rebuilding society after the war, during which Daphne found her way back to Harry's side. However, instead of ending his speech after a customary moment of recognition for Harry, Wilkins announced something else. "Tonight, we have a special, secret event to commemorate the seven-year anniversary of the fall of You-Know-Who. Head Auror, if you could please step to the front, and if everyone could follow Auror Potter and myself?"
Harry had no idea what was going on, but he did as he was asked to, Daphne on his arm.
"The Second Wizarding War was truly a catastrophe, taking over…" As the booming voice of Wilkins led the group through the Ministry, Harry suddenly became very aware of where they were headed to.
"No, no, oh Merlin please, no…" Harry muttered his breath.
He became reminded of a very dark, very cold room.
"Lord Potter? Are you okay?" Daphne softly called out.
It was one of the factors that had given him second thoughts about working at the Ministry: he'd be so close to the room. He'd managed to avoid it as much as possible, but there was no way out now.
"..and here, tonight, we close the circle. Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you to the Hall of Prophecies, a central room in our Department of Mysteries and the location of the first battle of the Second Wizarding War. Seven years after the end, we will close the chapter of the Second Wizarding War, right here where it started," boomed Wilkins, who was met with cheers from his attentive audience.
Harry heard none of it.
Every joint and muscle began to ache, and he was back in the Department of Mysteries as a fifteen-year old.
Unlike his other visions, this one didn't entail a course of actions. Harry would just stand there, hopelessly watching, as his godfather was hit by a curse and knocked into the Veil. Then he'd be forced to watch it again. And again. And again. Over the thousands of times this memory had replayed over the years, Harry tried everything he could think of to save Sirius. But just as he was on that fateful night, Harry was powerless to stop the inevitable consequence: Sirius would get hit by a curse, and Sirius always fell into the Veil.
For a while, Harry had tried just looking away or closing his eyes. But his countless reliving of the memory had given Harry a piece of knowledge he hadn't had before. As Sirius fell backwards into the Veil, he looked over at Harry, mouthing "Harry, I lo—"
And then he was gone.
Death is sudden, death is unexpected, and death is inglorious. Death had been cruel enough to not even grant Sirius Black one last parting message to his godson. Harry wasn't even sure if Sirius had been intending to say "I love you." But Harry couldn't deal with the idea of his godfather's last goodbye falling to a person who wasn't even looking at him, the idea that Sirius' last memory would be his godson looking away.
So he looked. Through the sensation of his heart being torn apart and stomped on, Harry forced himself to look into his godfather's eyes. For a short while everything would be still; and then, everything would play again.
Harry watched Sirius fall into the Veil for what felt like the hundredth time, when a voice entered his head. "Harry? Harry, are you okay?" The voice was soft and feminine and oddly familiar.
"Harry, I need to know if you can hear me." Slowly, Harry nodded. Sirius fell into the Veil.
He heard a sigh of relief at his ear, and slowly he became more aware of his surroundings. He still was still seeing Sirius, but he felt that he was holding tightly onto someone's arm. Sirius fell into the Veil. The warmth of human contact gave him a little bit of comfort—the Department of Mysteries was so cold.
"Wilkins asked you if you wanted to give a speech, but Lord Longbottom stepped up on your behalf and said you probably didn't want to be bothered right now," said the voice. Sirius fell into the Veil. The words were too much for him to process, and Harry felt himself exerting a tighter grip on his companion's arm.
Sirius fell into the Veil. "You were just standing there for so long, staring as if you'd seen a ghost." Harry felt his legs tremble. Sirius fell into the Veil. "Are you okay? You're shaking a lot." Sirius fell into the Veil. He felt the arm he was holding onto slip away, but before he could panic—Sirius fell into the Veil—he felt arms around his shoulders turning him around. Sirius fell into the Veil. "Harry? Can you nod your—oh!"
Harry fell into the arms that had been holding him up and instinctively wrapped his own around the delicate figure he was breaking down into. Sirius fell into the Veil. A sensation of warmness coursed through Harry's body, making its way into the deepest corners of his mind. Sirius fell into the Veil. Sirius fell into the Veil, Harry forced his eyes shut, and he slowly lifted his head up from the shoulder it'd been resting on to find himself staring into the shocked face of one Daphne Greengrass.
He was still in the Department of Mysteries, but Harry knew it wasn't the one haunting his senses. Everything—who he was, where he was standing, what he was doing—came back to him at once, as Daphne's now angry words finally registered in his brain.
"—act of public indecency, Lord Potter, with so many eyes watching us. Have you no thought or care about the—"
Harry interrupted her, going into autopilot. "I'm sorry, Heiress Greengrass. I don't know what got into my head, but I had a bit of a lapse in judgement just now."
"It's fine, I guess, I was just a bit shocked at the suddenness and—"
"I'll do you no further inconvenience for the night. Your presence this evening was very much appreciated, and you were truly, truly a wonderful date. Again, I'm very sorry about the ordeal I put you through tonight, and I'll be contacting you about how I can compensate you for the troubles I've caused."
Harry pushed his way past the dancing patrons, and made his silent exit towards the entrance of the Ministry of Magic.
"Wait! Lord Potter—wait!" Daphne had followed him outside, apparently running in her heels to do so if her lack of breath was any indication.
Harry kept walking, pushing down on his emotions.
"Please don't go! Please at least stay and explain what happened," Daphne called out, desperation in her voice. "Please, Harry?" she added with a small whisper.
Harry stopped. Daphne's voice was delicate, the same way it was when it brought him out of his vision. He wanted to turn around, so badly—but he was scared. He knew that this was no longer Heiress Greengrass speaking to him, it was Daphne; and so, he knew without looking that Daphne's eyes would be those orbs with waves of emotions crashing back and forth, reflecting the unfiltered reality of what she felt. He was scared of what emotions he might see if he turned around, but he was absolutely fucking terrified that he would tell her everything once he looked into her eyes.
So despite the volcano of eruptions that threatened to explode with every pounding heartbeat, Harry calmly started walking. Of everything in his head that he wanted to say to her, "Goodnight, Daphne. I'm sorry," was all that he voiced aloud.
Harry found it hard to sleep that night, and his visions had nothing to do with it.