In which a family falls apart and another falls together.
IV. 2002 – 2005
Astoria is painting Daphne's nails one evening in the summer of 2002 when, suddenly, Daphne's hand clenches dramatically, Daphne huffs angrily, and Astoria misses her nail and paints Daphne's knuckle instead.
"Holy—what's going on?" Astoria says. "You were fine just a second ago."
"That was before I saw him," Daphne mutters, forcing her hand to relax. Astoria pulls out her wand to spell the paint away.
"Saw who?" Astoria says. She looks over her shoulder and sees her husband. "You've got an issue with Draco?"
"Not him, Harry!" She whispers.
"What did Harry do?" Astoria asks.
"That's the problem," Daphne says. "He's not doing anything."
Astoria understands immediately. "Oh—want me to talk to Draco about it?"
"Merlin—no, he's not discrete at all," Daphne says.
"Men don't understand discrete," Astoria says.
"Whatever," Daphne dismisses. "I've been obvious with how much I like Harry—we spend so much time together, you know. We're always paired up when we do things, all four of us, right? But he's been entirely oblivious. He's not interested in me, so I've been trying to get over him but the problem shows up bloody everywhere because he's best friends with your husband, and he's friends with you and with me! Tori, set me up with someone, please!"
Astoria looks at Daphne sceptically. "I'm pretty sure Harry would be interested if you just told him you were," she says.
Daphne shakes her head. "Yeah, probably—that would be too easy, though. If he's not interested though, it'd be awkward and I really don't want to wreck our friendship over something like that because then family reunions would get super awkward because you know how Harry gets invited over to every single thing nowadays because Mum and Dad have practically adopted him."
"It is very strange," Astoria admits, "how much Dad likes Harry. But I guess I can understand your hesitation. Just let me ask Draco—he's not going to tell Harry anything, I promise you—if he's interested. If not—I'll set you up with someone you don't know."
"Thank you," Daphne says, looking relieved. Astoria nods dismissively as she casts a spell to finish off Daphne's nails.
"There," she says. "You're all done, and looking lovely."
"Who's looking lovely?" Draco asks. Harry is behind him.
"Daphne," Astoria says. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Draco looks at Daphne and nods. "Yeah, but you look better," he says.
"You have to say that, sweetie," Astoria says. "Harry, isn't Daphne looking lovely?"
Harry sits down, looking confused. "Yes? Is this some sort of test?"
"See!" Astoria says brightly to Daphne. "There you go—problem solved."
"Oh, shove off. No it's not," Daphne says to Astoria. "But thank you, Draco, Harry."
Harry shrugs as Draco waves a dismissive hand and then begins to tell a story about how they met their first competitor today at the job site.
"They're calling themselves Archie's Arches," Draco laughs. "How pathetic is that?"
"It's nice alliteration," Astoria comments in an attempt to be positive.
"It's bad news, is what it is," Harry says. "Competition means that we're going to have to start increasing our speed or they're going to attract everyone off our commission waiting list. We're building too slowly."
"How on earth are we supposed to speed up though?" Draco asks. "We're going as fast as we can already."
"We'll have to try experimenting," Harry says. "It'll take more time in the beginning, but we'll make it up in the end."
"Damn," Draco says. "It's hard enough as it is. Do we really need to use the spell at every step? Maybe just once at the end—do you think that will work?"
Harry pauses before agreeing. "You might be right. Let's try that out with the next house we're on, okay?"
"Sounds good," Draco says before turning to his wife and sister-in-law. "But enough about work—how were your days?"
"They were fine," Astoria says. "We painted our nails."
"You're making it sound like that's all we did when that's not true at all," Daphne says.
"Oh, really? Do tell," Harry says smiling.
"We read the newspaper—" Daphne begins.
Harry's laughter brings her to a stop. "What's so funny?" She asks.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just—reading the newspaper is a noteworthy addition?" Harry asks.
Draco laughs as well. "You do have to admit, Daphne, it does look bad."
Daphne sighs. "Tomorrow. We'll do something tomorrow. It's a holiday today, you know. You weren't supposed to be working."
"We weren't working," Harry says.
"We were making things out of rocks and sticks," Draco says, "like manly men."
It is Daphne's turn to laugh—"Were you trying to build the shed again?"
Harry confidently answers in the positive.
"We're trying to use primitive methods. No magic, no tools—just our hands," Draco says.
"It's a lot harder than it looks?" Harry offers.
"It's a shed—it's just a roofed place. You literally just have to make some form of shanty," Astoria says.
"We wanted it to be fancy," Harry admits. "With stucco and bricks—like some of the ruins I saw in Africa."
"That requires a kiln, though, we learned," Draco adds.
"Which requires fire," Harry continues.
"Which we don't know how to make without magic," Draco finishes.
Astoria and Daphne look at each other and burst out into more laughter. "You spent all day trying to figure out how to make fire?"
"Yes," Harry says.
"We didn't figure it out," Draco says.
"We've decided we'll stick with magic," Harry concludes.
Later that week, Harry and Draco try to use the Living Stone spell only at the completion of the house build, and they are pleased to see that it was successful. It is weaker than the homes where they use the spell repeatedly, but it is still strong enough for Draco to notice, which is all Harry needs to consider it a wild success.
The two of them go out for drinks that evening to celebrate. "Astoria asked me something weird, the other day," Draco says.
"Yeah?" Harry asks.
"It was confusing—but I think she wants to know if you like Daphne," he says.
"I like Daphne," Harry says. "She's nice."
"Yeah, that's what I told her," Draco says. "She was frustrated with that response. Not sure what else she wanted. Your favourite socks or something? I'd tell you to ask her, but I promised I wouldn't tell you."
"Oops?" Harry laughs. "Did she really think we keep secrets from each other?"
"I guess? I mean, I did from other people—but I tell you everything," Draco says. "You just understand things."
Harry smiles into his glass and hums his agreement.
"I think she wants you to date her," Draco says several minutes later, breaking the silence.
"That right?" Harry asks.
Draco nods as he takes a swig of his drink. "I can't see it, personally. She's like... your sister, if I'm seeing it right."
Harry nods. "I like her—and I feel bad that she's interested in me, but I don't like her in that way. To be honest, though, I'm honestly not sure if I even can like anybody. I haven't fancied a girl since the whole horcrux thing," he admits as he gestures wildly to his head.
"Don't tell yourself shite like that," Draco says, looking hard at Harry. "You're perfectly normal. It's fine not to be interested in a girl that way. Are you interested in blokes, then?"
Harry considers this, then shrugs. "Not sure. I haven't really thought about it, so I guess not."
"Could be some weird suppression thing from your crazy relatives," Draco says.
Harry shakes his head. "The only things they didn't like were magical," he says. "So no—no childhood suppression, I'm pretty sure."
"That's fine," Draco says, "I guess you just haven't met the right person yet."
Harry fiddles with his glass. "Yeah, I'm not worried. They'll turn up."
When Draco goes home that night and tells Astoria that Harry doesn't want a romantic relationship with Daphne, Astoria sighs. "Now I have to find someone decent to set her up with," she laments.
She sets her up on a date with a friend named Louis Therrien. Their date goes well, but Daphne tells Astoria that they won't be seeing each other again, that Louis introduced her to someone new, and that she really likes this new person.
A few weeks later, Daphne tells Astoria that she's now officially dating the person Louis introduced her to are now dating. Astoria says that they have to meet him and invites them over—but every time, something comes up, and their plans fall through.
It is several months into 2003 when they finally get meet Daphne's partner. It is the first time Harry had been the one to officially extend the invitation. It is the first positive response anyone has received from him—and it is when they learn his name is Wesley Myers. Perhaps it is because Harry decided to send the invite through an owl, but he cares little about why it was accepted—more about the fact that it finally was. He is curious about this Wesley Myers. When Harry has seen Daphne, she carefully avoids all conversation about the man, insisting that she wants him to be able to introduce himself. They think this is odd, but Daphne has been happy—and they are happy Daphne is happy.
Astoria and Draco arrive well before the dinner is to start in order to help prepare. They make their best meals—they want to impress this elusive Wesley Myers. Draco jokes with Harry before Wesley arrives that "Wesley's name is dangerously close to Weasley", and so he feels that he "mustn't like the bloke on principle."
Harry shoves Draco's shoulder and tells him he's being a fool, that he's probably nice, and they should be supportive of Daphne. Daphne is happier than they've ever seen her—which is true. Draco laughs and says that Harry should speak with a fake accent—which makes Harry snort because his impressions are thoroughly atrocious.
When Wesley Myers arrives with Daphne, Harry shakes his hand and welcomes him to his home. Wesley does an awkward "my God—you really are Harry Potter, it wasn't a joke" dance for a few minutes which makes Harry extremely uncomfortable before Wesley finally realises Harry is a normal person.
Dinner proceeds as expected. Their first questions are about his work—why has he been so hard to meet? They find that Wesley works for the Ministry, to both Harry's and Draco's silent disdain. Wesley says his work is largely insignificant, but he's very busy. He continues that he's not sure why he's doing what he's doing and that he wants out of the Ministry—unless the Ministry can change. He's willing to work on anything new and upcoming. He wants something revolutionary and ground-breaking to happen.
They realise quickly that Wesley is speaking only to Harry. He ignores everyone else at the table—including Daphne. It is disturbing—and what it really sounds like is that Wesley is trying to overthrow the government—or replace the government, with Harry as its leader or king or something. His radicalism is almost frightening. Harry looks at Draco. Draco is also looking aghast, and when he makes eye contact with Harry, both silently agree that this man is not welcome in their company. They don't understand if they're seeing a version of Wesley Daphne doesn't know—but looking at Daphne, she seems completely composed; as if this is typical behaviour and not unusual at all. She even sometimes seems supportive.
Harry tries steer the conversation elsewhere (whenever Draco and Astoria try, they are ignored)—to foods, literature, theatre, art—but no matter his efforts, Wesley ricochets back to his desire for a new society with talented heroes at the helm building something new out of the ashes of filth. Harry can tell Draco is starting to lose his temper because every time Wesley says filth he looks straight at Draco—and this is starting to irritate Harry as well. Daphne is even nodding her head in agreement and Harry can't understand what is going on, and so the next time Wesley starts to mention this same refrain, Harry interrupts him.
"Sorry, but I'm not sure what you're trying to do here. If you're trying to impress me because I'm famous, it's not working," Harry says, fishing blindly for something to get the man to stop.
This leaves Wesley stammering and Daphne stiffens from her chair on the other side of the table. "Harry! For Merlin's sake—why did you say that?" she says. She's very uncomfortable. She clearly didn't expect Wesley to be called out for this behaviour.
"He's clearly trying to tell me he hates the way the world is and wants me to change it, isn't that right, Wesley?" Harry asks calmly. "Of the ashes of filth?"
Wesley prevents Daphne from presumably agreeing by placing a hand on her arm patronisingly. "What's wrong with that? Don't you hate the way the world is?"
Harry raises his hands in a show of peace, refusing to raise his voice. "Honestly, I don't. The world is much better than it was when Voldemort was around. I think we've made incredible progress. I'm sorry if I offended you, but I'm just saying what I thought. If that wasn't your intention, please, correct me. But you kept bringing the conversation back to your desire to overthrow the government, when I was moving on to other topics, so I felt it was best to address what I thought the issue was," he says. His voice is steady. He impresses himself with how calm he feels here—this man does not matter to him. He does not care what Wesley thinks of him.
Wesley takes a sip of his drink. "Your conversation choices are dull and uninspiring," he says boldly. "I wanted to know what you really thought. I want you to know that there are real people who support the idea of a new movement to create real change in the world; to change the government from the inside out. We need you as our figurehead."
"So was that was this was?" Harry asks. "You come here, not in an attempt to get to know your girlfriend's family, but to try and recruit me for a revolution?"
Wesley has the audacity to shrug. "Yes? I thought you would be an advocate for change. To be frank, I didn't realise you were weak—a fool who just lollygags out here with scum because you believe in their redemption."
"Just who are you calling scum?" Harry asks, his voice deadly. He doesn't care what Wesley thinks of himself—but he'll be damned before he lets his friends get disparaged.
"Them," Wesley says, gesturing. "That Death Eater and his wife—once bad, always bad."
Draco inhales sharply, tightening his grip on his fork and knife while Astoria drops her own with a clatter. Daphne looks horrified.
"That's Daphne's sister and brother-in-law. Her family," Harry says slowly. "They are good people. People I love and respect."
Wesley laughs. "Really, Harry? You really think that? Are you sure you're not under a spell—Daphne come on, babe; you agreed with me about this—"
"You agree with him?" Astoria says weakly. "You think we're scum?"
"No, no," Daphne protests. "That's not what I think—"
"Don't lie, Daphne," Wesley says softly, tenderly. It is sickening. "Just say what you need to here and then we can go back home."
"Wesley, please," Daphne says quietly. "Not now."
Wesley sighs. "Alright," he says. He turns to face Harry one last time. "I'm giving you an opportunity. You're wasting your life away not doing anything worthwhile. Daphne told me you're just playing out here building things—but you need to actually make a stand and change our world for the better. You are blind if you don't know that you have a responsibility to this country that you are not fulfilling."
Harry pounds his fist on the table and stands abruptly. "Get out," he says coldly. "You don't get to waltz into my house to insult me, my friends, and my choices."
Wesley exhales heavily. "If that's the way it has to be," he says dramatically. "Just know we will always take you, Harry, if you change your mind, but this is the last time we will extend the invitation. You are redeemable. Your so-called friends however," he trails off suggestively. He tosses his napkin down on the table. "By the way, your food was horrible," he adds while pushing his chair back with a wretched screech. "I suggest a house elf. We actually are allowed one. I think it's best we cut ties with this family, Daphne. We don't want the scum to spread, don't you agree, love?"
Daphne looks at Wesley helplessly, then makes desperate eye contact with Astoria who shakes her head sadly and says quietly—miserably, "I've always loved you, Daph."
Daphne hesitates, making eye contact with Draco and Harry in turn—but Draco's eyes are empty, and Harry's are closed off. Then she stands, and then she turns to Wesley's waiting, outstretched hand.
"We love you, Daphne," Draco calls out quietly, before they leave the room. Daphne turns her head—she's crying, tears streaming down her face hideously; she's sniffing and it's ugly and raw—but she doesn't let go. She follows Wesley.
And so Harry watches as Daphne walks out of their lives.
The three remaining sit there silently, unable to fully comprehend what just happened, long into to the night, long after the food went cold.
It is Harry who moves first. He guides Astoria and Draco to his guest room. He tells them to stay as long as they need. He goes downstairs. He vanishes the dishware, the silverware—everything on the table. He's crying at this point—his sister. His sister—and so he vanishes the entire table.
It is late, but he knows he should try and contact Daphne's parents, to let them know what happened—that Astoria and Draco have been essentially cut off from Daphne.
Harry floos to their house. To his massive surprise, Lane Greengrass is awake in his study. He takes one look at Harry and grasps the severity of the situation immediately.
"What's gone wrong?" he asks. "Should I get Talia?"
Harry nods and is given a hanky for his nose while Lane goes upstairs. They also have a cottage Harry built—Harry insisted after becoming good friends with the couple; it was a surprise gift they received when they returned from holiday. They were thrilled, overwhelmed, but it made Draco and Harry both happy to have done something for the two kind parental figures in their life.
"Harry? What are you doing here so late?" Talia asks after Lane returns with her in tow. She walks up to Harry and gives him a hug.
"We just saw Daphne," Harry says after they sit.
"How is she?" Lane asks. "We haven't seen her in some time. This mysterious boyfriend is taking up all her time."
Talia agrees. "It is unusual for her. Usually she's happy to introduce us to them. Of course, we were slightly disappointed when we found out the two of you weren't dating, but we understand that you can't force what isn't there."
Harry closes his eyes for a second to prepare himself before speaking. "We met her boyfriend. His name is Wesley Myers—and," Harry pauses, trying to search for the right word to use.
"And?" Talia prompts.
"Merlin—I don't know how to say this. He's—he's horrible?" Harry says in a questioning tone. "He only came over to our dinner because I was hosting it. He wanted me to join him in overthrowing the government and become the leader of his new radical monarchy or something—and when I told him that I wasn't impressed he called me weak and that I had a continuing obligation to Britain I wasn't fulfilling. He hates Draco, and hates Astoria by association. Says that there's no redemption for 'his sort' and that they're the filth of society. Apparently Daphne's different from them despite being related to them," Harry continues before pausing. "She was defending him when I argued with him—and then, when he left and said he wouldn't be back—she went with him."
Lane and Talia listen with their typical attentiveness. When Harry finishes his recounting, Talia takes a deep breath. "So—so Daphne is lost?"
"I guess you could say that," Harry says. "When she left it was with the assumption that they were cutting ties with her family."
Lane looks at the ceiling. "Does she believe this man? What did she look like when he was talking?"
"Sometimes supportive, I suppose. But not at all like it was unusual," Harry says. "She was shocked when I called him out."
"Oh, our poor baby girl," Talia says. Her facial expressions would be humorous in any other instance, but Harry knows they are merely the efforts she is taking not to break down. "How did Astoria take the news?"
"Poorly," Harry says. "The only thing she said to Daphne was that she loved her. Right now, she's in my guest room with Draco."
They are interrupted—an inauspiciously timed owl arrives and taps on the sitting room window. Lane stands to retrieve it, and then pronounces what they had expected, "Daphne."
Harry lets Lane and Talia read the letter. He assumes the contents are not promising when their faces drop. Lane unexpectedly is the one to cry first. "I never would have believed this would happen," Lane says. "Astoria and Daphne were so close."
"Thank you, Harry, for the warning. This would have been devastating to receive without forewarning," Talia says. She hands Harry the letter so he can read.
The letter sounds nothing like Daphne. It is appallingly formal; she tells her parents that for the sake of her reputation and the sake of her ambitions in life she will stop communicating with any members of the Greengrass family starting promptly after the departure of this note. It is a cold letter—and Harry would never have believed it was from Daphne if not for her signature which Harry knows is nigh impossible to duplicate since he has tried several times with Draco.
"We've lost a daughter tonight," Lane murmurs quietly.
"And we've lost a sister," Harry agrees.
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Time passes, as it usually does, in sudden sprints and sprawling slogs.
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It is 2004 when Harry receives a commission from one Ronald Weasley to reconstruct the Burrow. Harry is amused—but sends him the required confidentiality agreement. When it returns unsigned, Harry shrugs and moves on with his life. This happens sometimes—people don't want to sign something when they don't know who is on the other side. He can respect that. They ask if the company will still do the commission, but they decline politely.
Astoria never quite recovered from Daphne's departure, but Daphne was true to her note to her parents and never did communicate with them again. They discover Daphne married Wesley Myers in late 2003 through a newspaper announcement. Astoria sends a gift—and it is returned unopened. Astoria cries for several days.
Draco, meanwhile, is doing well. He wants to start a family with Astoria, and Harry finds it hilarious that his best friend is so fascinated with children. Astoria, though, is not in any mental state suitable for having children. Draco understands this, so he lets Harry know about how much he wants kids instead of Astoria.
Living Stone Architecture is doing well—their waiting list has been dramatically reduced due to the change in their technique, and they are still outperforming their competitors (Archie's Arches, Magnificent Manors, Lavish Lofts—Harry truly does not understand the wizarding world's fascinating with alliteration) by a dramatic margin.
Several weeks after the returned Burrow contract, Harry cannot avoid Ron and Hermione for much longer before they become overly suspicious—this usually takes about a three month period and then he meets with them for about an hour. Afterwards, he goes straight to Draco and they get drunk and bemoan the state of their lives. It is a comfortable pattern, and Harry expects this event will be no different. Harry has become somewhat of an expert in avoiding prying questions into his life.
When Harry meets Ron and Hermione at their flat (he wonders why they are not meeting at the Burrow, but knows he cannot ask this question without revealing his association with Living Stone), he is prepared for another boring interaction with his once-close friends.
He is let in by Winky again and sets about preparing the three of them their preferred cups of tea. For some reason, he is always at their house before they are. He doesn't understand this pattern—but it's constant. He always arrives first.
As expected, they tumble through the front door and are happy to see him. "Harry!" Hermione says.
"Hi, Hermione," Harry says. He gives her and Ron hugs in turn.
"How've you been?" she asks, taking the tea Harry offers her.
"Busy," Harry says. "Swamped with work."
Hermione nods enthusiastically and takes a sip of her tea. This is typical. Harry is about to return the question when, breaking their ritual, Ron looks at Harry sceptically. "You know, Harry," he says. "Isn't it odd that we haven't ever run into each other at the Ministry? Considering you work there?"
Harry looks at Ron in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"
"You work at the Ministry," Ron says. "It's not exactly a small space. You've been there for what—three years now? Why haven't we seen each other there before?"
Hermione sets down her tea hesitantly. This is not their usual pattern of pretending their relationship is perfectly normal.
"Well, you see," Harry says, grasping for something to say.
"No," Hermione adds. "Ron's right. It is peculiar, Harry. We haven't even heard anyone say anything about you working there, or at least I haven't. No one can keep secrets for that long—it's like you don't even exist there."
"Why are you mentioning this now?" Harry asks.
Ron shifts uncomfortably. "Well, I went looking for you, the other day. And then someone told me that you actually—that you have never worked at the Ministry. So that means you've lied to us for the past three years."
Apparently, Ron has not told Hermione this information. She is shocked. "What? Ron, when did you do this?"
"A few days ago," Ron says quietly.
Hermione whips back to Harry. She's furious. "Harry Potter—is this true?"
Harry considers his words carefully. "I have never lied to you," he says.
"Yes, you did—you told us you worked at the Ministry!" Ron says angrily.
"No, I never told you that," Harry interrupts. "That was something you came up with on your own. I never corrected you because that was something that you wanted to believe about me."
Hermione shakes her head in disbelief. "You let us think a lie for over three years?"
Harry twists his lips. "You never actually asked me, you know. You just assumed. And it made you happy to think I worked there," he says. "So I never bothered to correct."
Ron is clenching and unclenching his fists. "Harry, you absolute berk—you can't just do this to people. What happened to you? You're not the same kid we used to know—"
"You're right, I'm not. I grew up," Harry says calmly—he knows that getting angry with them will not help anything. "And that's not a bad thing. The only problem here is that you two haven't bothered to figure out who I grew up into. I'm not a schoolkid anymore."
Hermione and Ron sit across from Harry. They are silent. Ron's eyes are disbelieving, while Hermione's body almost visibly aches with regret.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione says after a long pause. "We've been cruel to you. We... we never listened, did we?"
Harry shakes his head slowly. "No, you haven't"
"What can we do?" she says. Ron is still silent. He's not sure if he should still be angry with Harry for his lie of omission or himself for apparently ignoring Harry's words.
Harry shakes his head, shrugs, raises his hands in confusion, then gives up. "I'm not sure. I mean, you've hurt me. It's been hard, your closest childhood friends completely steamrolling you every time you come together. Ignoring what you have to say, pressing their own idea of you onto who you are—it's unbearable."
"Harry," Hermione says. "Can you—can we try again?"
Harry sighs. "I guess? I mean, you two are important to me. That's why I've kept coming here, despite it all."
"Let's start over—can we? Right now—right now, no lies, no assumptions," Hermione begs. "Just honesty."
Harry smiles half-heartedly. "We can try, Hermione."
It is awkward. They avoid talking about Harry—they talk about Ron's work and then Hermione's work and then, inevitably, the conversation turns to Harry.
"So, where do you actually work?"
Harry sighs. "I'm an architect."
Ron brightens. "Architecture is really fascinating! We're actually trying to rebuild the Burrow—it collapsed about half a year ago. Mum and Dad are giving it to us. We've been looking at companies," he says. "We tried to use Living Stone—you know them?" Harry nods, somewhat amused. "Yeah, they're supposed to be the best, but they wanted us to sign a privacy contract, of all things."
Hermione nods. "We didn't really want to have to do that, though. When we asked if they would do it without it, they declined."
Harry nods. He understands—signing contracts without knowing the other person can be unnerving. But that contract is the only thing protecting his company and his privacy.
"Yeah," Ron continues. "The owner really must be a horrible person, because who on earth wants to hide who they are if they're just an architect? And then to refuse when we ask them if they'll do it without the contract—I mean, we're good people! We can keep a secret!"
Harry shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
"I mean, our application had our names on it—if you can't trust us, who can you trust?" Ron says belligerently. "They're probably criminals, the whole lot of them. You don't happen to know them, do you?"
"Well," Harry says. "If I ever see the owner, I'll be sure and let them know how you feel."
Ron takes this as a supportive comment. "Yeah, tell him I'll make his life miserable!"
"Ron, that's not polite!" Hermione says. "You can't just say that to a stranger."
"But Harry knows the guy!" Ron says. "He's not a stranger! And besides—you can tell us who he is, can you?" When Harry shakes his head in the negative, Ron sighs. "Oh, you signed that contract? Not a smart idea, mate. Those people are crooks over there. I should get the aurors to investigate them."
Harry tries to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. "I wouldn't bother—I'm sure they're good people, just private."
Ron scoffs. "I doubt that," he says. "It's fishy, is what it is. We should have never bothered with them in the first place."
Harry sighs. "Well, just get Archie's Arches to do the building instead. LSA won't budge on the privacy agreement," he suggests. "But Archie's is the second best."
"Well, we want to use your company, now that we know you do architecture," Hermione says. "Which one is it?"
Harry shakes his head. "I don't work for friends," he lies. "Competitors will accuse me of nepotism."
They seem disappointed but take this explanation as true. It is a lie. Harry looks at his watch—pretends to be shocked, then leaves, claiming he's late for an appointment. He walks out of their apartment, and he walks out of their lives.
When he tells Draco what Ron and Hermione think of their business that evening, and that he's not going to be meeting up with them anymore. Draco snorts. "Good riddance," he says. "You were miserable every time you had tea with them."
Harry knows this is true, but it doesn't stop the empty feeling inside him. "I told them to use Archie's," he confesses.
Draco laughs uproariously. "You didn't! They're the worst! Whatever they're building will collapse in two or three years!"
Harry nods. He's starting to laugh himself. "Well—they insulted me straight to my face, and told me I was a crook that needed investigation from the aurors. Ron wanted me to tell the owner that he will 'make his life miserable' so I figured, what the hell, I'll make yours miserable in return."
Draco snickers into his glass. "Merlin, Harry. You've got a mean streak a mile wide," he says.
Harry smiles. "Sometimes it's nice to use it," he admits. "I'm thinking of taking a holiday back to India. Do you and Astoria want to come with? I want to invite you to meet my second family."
Draco only takes a few seconds to consider this idea before responding, "A trip to India? I'm going to get skin cancer, you know," he says. "But we'll be happy to come with you."
Astoria and Draco accompany Harry to India for their annual the end-of-year holiday. They invite Lane and Talia, but they declined politely. Harry tells Draco and Astoria that they're going to be staying with Ahmed and his twin Navdeep.
"Ahmed taught me everything I know about architecture," Harry explains to Draco. Draco perks up. "Amala and Priya live nearby, Astoria. I think you will really like them," he says to Astoria. She's looking better these days.
Priya and Amala are there to pick them up from the magical sector. They greet Harry excitedly, chattering in Hindi and they give hugs all around. Their English has improved since Harry has last seen them, so when Harry introduces them to Astoria and Draco, they are able to carry out full conversations with his them.
Priya and Amala are instantly fond of Astoria and latch onto her with delight. Astoria blushes but enjoys their attention. "You must meet Vijaya," Priya says. "She married Rafiq—" (at this moment, Harry interrupts with his surprise in Hindi, to which Amala and Priya also respond in Hindi with how little they all saw it coming) "—and I think you will like her very much."
When they arrive at Ahmed and Navdeep's house, Amala surprises Harry again by coming inside with them while Priya parts ways. When Harry asks her, she says that Navdeep and her finally got together, to which Harry congratulates her. Draco and Astoria are bemused by how enthusiastic Harry is about these conversations he is having in Hindi, but are ultimately pleased for him.
Harry realises he has been ignoring Draco and Astoria, so he switches to English to include them. Ahmed and Draco get along well, while Amala entertains Astoria by talking about her nieces and nephews. Harry smiles. He is happy his family is getting along so well with each other.
The merging of these two separate halves of himself—it thrills him. He runs his hand through his hair and grins goofily at Draco who smiles back. He sits beside Draco and Ahmed to listen in on their conversation.
"Advait!" Ahmed says brightly. "I'm telling Draco about the business—I should have never left you go!"
Harry laughs. "Well, you can't have me back. My feelings have been permanently injured," he jokes. Ahmed grins.
"Draco is lucky to have you as a mentor," Ahmed says. He turns to Draco. "This guy probably says I taught him everything but I only taught him a few things. He taught me the rest. Advait was making stuff up on the third day that no one had ever seen before. I kept him for that long because I wanted to see what else he was going to do!"
Harry shakes his head in embarrassment. "That's not true, Ahmed!"
Ahmed shushes Harry and continues to talk, "It's true—he's a prodigy. We've missed our little brother. When he left, we didn't realise just how much you had been doing! Our production slowed down so much I thought everyone was sleeping!"
Draco laughs. "Harry is special," he says.
"Who?" Ahmed looks confused for a second, then remembers belatedly when Draco looks baffled. "Oh—oh okay, my bad—I forgot."
Draco looks regretful. "Sorry for breaking your cover, Harry," he says. "I didn't know you went by your second name here."
Harry laughs, "No—Draco you're fine. They named me Advait. I never came up with it on my own."
Draco looks somewhat surprised. "Really?"
Ahmed nods. "We told him he needed an Indian name," he says. "Whose idea was it, in the end?"
Harry thinks about this for a while, before shaking his head. "I think it was the girls. I don't remember if it was just one of them."
"But we all liked it right away. It just fit," Ahmed says. "So Harry became Advait and we've called him that ever since. And you use the name elsewhere too?" Ahmed smiles, "When you're trying to have cover?"
Harry raises his hands in the air. "I can't help it—I'm famous!" he says and then they both laugh. Draco joins in after a second, too surprised to laugh when he realises that Ahmed doesn't actually know that Harry really is famous.
And what a breath of fresh air that is, Draco thinks. No wonder Harry loves it out here.
The time they spend with Harry's friends passes quickly, and soon it is time for them to return to England. They part with hugs—and tears on Harry's end. Harry speaks in rapid Hindi and promises he will visit soon, and that less time will pass before he does. In a year, he promises. I'll visit in a year, he says. Ahmed and Amala see them as far as they can before they take their portkey and vanish, leaving India behind.
It is spring in 2005 when Harry needs to run out to the grocers. Astoria and Draco are going out, and Harry is feeling like using his kitchen for something fancier than what he has on hand. He apparates a safe distance away, and then walks into the Tesco. He deciding between two different wines for dinner that evening when someone pipes up from behind him.
"The white is better," she says. Harry turns around and thanks the stranger.
"Don't mind me," she says. "I stood exactly where you are only two weeks past and decided to get both. I liked the white so much I'm back for more. Threw the red straight out."
Harry smiles, raises his now chosen bottle, thanks the stranger, and starts to head his way out of the aisle.
Harry continues to run into the stranger several times throughout the store—it's almost amusing. "Are we making the same meal?" Harry asks finally after he bumps into her in the produce section searching for sprouts.
"It's that or you're stalking me," she says cheerily.
"Well, you approached me first," Harry points out while smiling. "I'm making pad thai."
She smiles. "Me as well."
"Just for yourself or others?" Harry asks.
"Just me," she says. "I'm a fan of cooking. Are you fetching the ingredients for someone?"
Harry shakes his head. "Oh no, none of my friends can cook to save their lives. But this is just for me tonight."
"You too?" she says.
"I know, what a shame," he says. "Identical meals for two lonely people tonight. We probably ought to cook together, don't you think? Save some money and enjoy ourselves a bit more?"
She smiles. "I think I might like that, stranger. It might be nice to actually know your name, though, before we go running off somewhere."
"Harry Potter, at your service," he says.
"Lizzy Kinnaird, at yours," she replies. "It's very nice to meet you, Harry."
"And you as well, Lizzy," Harry says. "I live a bit out of town, are you nearby? I don't want you to think I'm going to kidnap you or anything so you can decide where we'll go."
Lizzy looks grateful at this notion. "You seem like a decent enough bloke, I reckon. I'll take my chances," she says boldly. "I've never gone out with someone from a store before."
"Neither have I," Harry agrees. "This will be a first."
"Well, go put all of your things away then. I'll get the rest of our things and why don't you meet me at the exit?" Lizzy says.
Lizzy and Harry walk into the carpark where Lizzy loads her food into the trunk of her vehicle. "It's my mum's," she explains as they get inside. "She's on holiday in France, so I've been driving it far too much."
"Well, serves your mum right. Does she live around here too?" Harry asks.
"She's about twenty minutes south of here," Lizzy says. "Far enough away that I don't ever have to see her if I don't want to, but not too far away in an emergency."
"The perfect distance, then," Harry summarises. Lizzy agrees.
"What about you then? I haven't seen you around town before. Are you local?" Lizzy asks.
Harry gestures in a so-so manner. "Technically, yes? I'm remote, so rarely I come into town, but I reckon I'm only ten or fifteen minutes east of here—I've never actually counted."
"You must be by Loch Awe then?" Lizzy says. "It's lovely over there."
Harry nods. "I've a lake-view, actually," he says.
Lizzy sighs. "Why are we going to my flat then? We should be going to yours!"
Harry makes a half-laugh sound. "Well, the funny thing is—I don't have a drive up to the house."
Lizzy looks at Harry in bewilderment. "But you said it was a ten minute trip!"
Harry shrugs. "I've never counted, since I've never driven it."
"How did they build it then?" Lizzy asks. "No road nearby, or anything?"
Harry shakes his head. "It really is remote."
Harry had forgotten that his living arrangements were certainly strange to a non-magical—no carport, no driveway; no road access or anything.
"You have electric and water though, right?"
"Oh, yes—yes, I've got water and light and all that," Harry says, skirting the truth.
"Well, that's a relief. If we're ever going to do this again," Lizzy says without even realising it, "you will need to put in a road or else I won't be able to find your home. I'm horrible with maps and compasses and it sounds like that's the only way you find your way around. I've no idea how you do it."
Harry smiles. He is quickly becoming fond of Lizzy.
They pull into a garage and Harry helps Lizzy bring the parcels into a small. "It's not much," she prefaces, "but it's home."
"It's brilliant," Harry says. "Shall we get started right away then?"
Lizzy nods. "I'm famished," she says. "But let's start on the wine."
They cook together, and flirt. Harry is thoroughly enjoying himself. By the time they've finished making the pad thai, they have drunk half of the bottle and are tipsy.
The food is delicious, and the wine is excellent, just as Lizzy says.
"Oh, this was so much fun," Lizzy says as they finish their portions. "I like you, Harry Potter. We should do this again."
"We could always make dessert?" Harry says, smiling. Lizzy looks at the clock, deems the time acceptable, and agrees.
"Dessert sounds wonderful," Lizzy says. "I've ingredients for brownies, if you'd like?"
"It does," Harry says. They talk more about who they are while making the brownies. Lizzy learns Harry is almost 25; that he is an orphan, but his best friend's in-laws act as parents; she learns Harry speaks Hindi, that he went to a boarding school in Scotland named Hogwarts of all things; she learns Harry owns his own architecture firm, that he built his house himself, that he has what he considers a 'second family' in India he travels to visit yearly. Harry learns that Lizzy is the second of three children; she has an older sister who lives in France, and a younger brother who is still in school—since it is holiday for her brother's school, her parents and younger brother are visiting her sister in France; Lizzy is a nurse and works at the local clinic; she is almost 26 and she loves traveling; she does not speak Hindi and does not seriously believe there is a boarding school in Scotland named Hogwarts of all things. She is not magical, and Harry is smitten.
The brownies are prepared, so they set the kitchen timer and go wait on the couch. Lizzy refills their wine glasses as they go.
"I'll work on getting a drive set up to my house," Harry says. "I want you to come see it. You should try out my kitchen."
"Oh—the way you say that, I'm already jealous," Lizzy says. "Do you have more counterspace than me? Please tell me you don't."
"I have much more counterspace than you," Harry says. Lizzy wails dramatically.
"I must see your home! Get a road built this week," Lizzy says.
"I'll try," Harry says. "Next week—maybe even this weekend, my place?"
Lizzy nods. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time," she confesses. "I had honestly thought that I was just going to be miserable here. The past couple months had been truly awful—lonely, and cold. I was driving myself crazy." She sets her glass down on the floor and curls her feet under herself.
"I can understand feeling like you're going crazy," Harry says.
"Really? You seem so calm and collected—I mean, you own a business and you're not even 25. When have you ever felt like you were falling apart?" Lizzy says.
"It was right after I finished school, actually," Harry's mind goes wild—how on earth is he supposed to explain all of this to someone who doesn't know and who he can't tell? He resigns himself to just telling the bare minimum. "All of my school friends were pressuring me to go into government or law enforcement, and I really didn't have a very good experience with either of those as a kid—not that I was bad, but just some messed up stuff happened with my godfather being wrongfully imprisoned and the government never putting him on trial—"
"Oh my god, seriously?" Lizzy says. "That's wildly illegal—how on earth did that not become major news?"
"They hushed it up, I guess. Do you remember, back in '93 when there was that mass murderer going around, Sirius Black? I think it was on the telly?"
Lizzy thinks hard about this. "Yes? Vaguely—it sounds familiar? Let me look it up—" she goes to get up from her spot but Harry reaches out and grabs her hand.
"Don't worry about it, it's not that important—I'm just saying that it was on the news. Sirius Black was my godfather; the bad press was all that got out, none of the good," Harry says, guiding her back to the sofa. She sits down much closer to Harry now, who does not let go of her hand.
"Anyways, I didn't know what to do with my life. My godfather died—" (Oh, God, I'm so sorry.) "—and my aunt and uncle were never supportive of me, and with all of my friends pressuring me to become something I didn't want to be, I felt like I was going crazy," Harry says, looking at Lizzy.
"What did you do?" Lizzy says as she threads her fingers through Harry's.
"Well—to be perfectly honest, I left the country," Harry laughs. "I didn't really know what I wanted to be, so I took a year off and spent the money my godfather left me and toured the world."
"What on earth?" Lizzy says, smiling. "That's absurd—I can't do that."
"I know, I know," he says. "It was a pretty unique situation—but it did help me figure out I wanted to be an architect and so when I came back I started my own business and my best friend joined me about a year later. The point of this story," Harry emphasizes by clenching the hand that is holding Lizzy's, "is that no matter how bad it gets, it will get better."
"Your motivational speeches could use a bit of work," Lizzy says, "but it did help, thank you."
"And besides—you've got me now. You don't have to feel so alone anymore," Harry says.
"Do I really?" Lizzy says. "How do I know you're not just going to walk out my door and forget me?"
"You're pretty unforgettable," Harry says. "But this could help."
Harry leans forward and reaches out with the hand that's not holding Lizzy's and pulls her face gently towards his and kisses her softly.
"Is this okay?" he breathes. She answers by wrapping an arm around Harry's back and kissing him in return. She pulls him over her, and he's careful not to put any of his weight on her body by propping himself up by his arms and knees. They kiss, softly at first, but quickly growing in intensity. Lizzy's hands roam over Harry's back, sliding underneath his shirt and playing with the waistband of his trousers.
It is clear she wants to move faster, but the taste of alcohol is strong in their mouths, so Harry carefully unwinds himself from her when he hears the sound of the beeping oven and whispers quietly, "We can't burn the place down."
She acquiesces, and Harry gets up and goes to remove the brownies from the oven and places them on the drying rack. Lizzy follows Harry to the kitchen and smiles at him.
"When will I see you again?" she asks.
Harry smiles. "As soon as you want to. I'm self-employed."
Lizzy grins. "Would tomorrow be far too presumptuous? I know there's the whole awkward wait a couple days thing—but I don't want to play any games."
Harry sighs in relief. "Good, because I have no idea how to play them anyways. Tomorrow then? I will not have a road to my house ready by then, so we will have to be here."
"That's fine. I get off work around five—so will seven be okay?" Lizzy says.
"Seven sounds great. I'll even write it down," Harry says.
"Write it down for me, too. I think I drank too much," she bemoans. Harry writes an additional note on a piece of paper Dinner with Harry at 7 and leaves it on her counter.
"Oh—add your telephone number, will you? In case I need to ring you," she says.
"Ah, that's another awkward part about where I live. No telephones," he says.
"My God, how do you survive?" she asks.
"A lot of planning in advance and praying people don't forget?" Harry asks. He's also going to have to make his house suitable for non-magicals; he hadn't considered the potentially incriminating artifacts he has laying around.
"Well—I will just expect you to show up tomorrow then at 7, rain or shine," Lizzy says.
"Rain or shine," Harry agrees. "Thank you for having me tonight."
Lizzy smiles. "Thank you for not kidnapping me."
Harry laughs softly before giving Lizzy a hug. He gives her one final, slow kiss before they break away and part for the night.
When Harry goes to bed that evening, he's feeling happier than he has in a very long time.
The next few evenings follow the same pattern that the first night did. They talk for hours while cooking delicious food and have stopped making dessert and instead kiss until it is time to part. Harry is falling hard for Lizzy, and he thinks it is a mutual attraction.
While he spends his evenings with Lizzy, he is working to construct a driveway to his home. He declares that this is a family emergency, and tells Draco they cannot work on any of their scheduled work until this is settled.
When he told Draco about this plan, Draco looked at him as if he was insane. "Why on earth do you need a road to your house? You don't even have a car!"
"Well, you're right," he says. "But this girl I'm dating does, and I want to invite her over."
Draco sighs. "You're making me do all of this for you—for a girl? She's a Muggle, isn't she," he says.
"She is, but she's fantastic," Harry says. Draco sighs again, but agrees. They surreptitiously went to the nearest road and measured the size of a lane to model their own after.
They're walking through the area to try and find a relatively even grade upon which to construct a dirt road for a car to travel on. It takes them the better part of a week until they finally lay out the final plans for what it will looks like. Harry is pleased with the end result and, based on his minimal road construction research, knows that the both road's grade and width are both completely appropriate. The fact that it also happens to meander through some of the most beautiful part of his property is secondary.
Harry lets Draco go home for when he casts the spells. This portion of the process only takes as much times as it does to walk the drive from the home to the house. Harry decides to cast an additional spell on the drive that conceals it unless you are looking for it. This way, only those he invites will be able to stumble upon his private drive.
It is Sunday by the time the road is completed, but inconveniently, it takes Harry another week before he can conclude that his house is completely non-magical-proof: there is no evidence of magic anywhere in the house from the top to the bottom (except, of course, in the magically concealed places where he crammed every last magical item he had). He goes over to Lizzy's that night, as he has every night since that first day, and tells her that his drive has been completed.
"Wow," Lizzy says. "That was remarkably fast. Only two weeks? You didn't get special treatment because you're the boss?"
Harry laughs. "Well," he says, "I did convince my friend that this was an emergency, and he did agree."
"Did he not realise you didn't have a road either?"
"I'm not sure if he did," Harry admits. "But once he did know, we fixed it. How about we go to mine tonight?"
Lizzy smiles, and agrees. Harry joins Lizzy in her car and directs her to his private drive. He is wildly nervous for this—the first test drive of his first road construction, but it is perfect. The views are pleasant, and the road isn't as long as it felt when he was walking it. When they turn the final corner and Lizzy sees Harry's house, she gasps.
"Harry, this is spectacular. You designed this?" Lizzy says.
Harry nods, slightly embarrassed. "I did," he says.
"It's incredible. Absolutely incredible," she says and then parks the car.
"Would you like a tour?" he offers. She agrees immediately.
"Start with the outside, please. I need to see everything," she says.
The driveway snakes to the back of the house where there is no view of the lake—the western front of the house is facing the lake. So when Harry takes Lizzy around the front, she gasps and grabs onto Harry's hand. "Harry—this looks like it's out of a storybook," she says. "I can't believe you actually live here. I feel like we're in a movie."
Harry smiles. "No movie—it's real life—come on, have a look at the front of the house."
They turn to look at the front of the house, where Lizzy is impressed thoroughly. Harry leads her inside, where she also can't believe her eyes.
"Did you have someone design the inside—no, no. Don't tell me you did this yourself!" Lizzy exclaims.
"I did," Harry says, spreading his hands in a mock apology. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, God, you must have hated my house," Lizzy says. "I'm so embarrassed about it now."
"Don't be," Harry says, touching her arm. "You should have seen what I was living in before this. It was horrendous."
Harry doesn't mention that this previous home was a tent as he guides her through the rest of the house. He avoids the kitchen in order to present it last, and shows her the upstairs.
"Two guest bedrooms, and the master suite is down there," he says. Harry points down the hallway toward his bedroom, and then turns to walk downstairs but then Lizzy stops him.
"I want to see your room," she says. Harry is slightly surprised—he hasn't seen Lizzy's room in the time he has been dating her—but nods and then shows her his room.
It's a room with warm neutral colours, and to Lizzy's surprise, has the least amount of personalisation inside. Even the guest bedrooms seemed to have some personal items inside of it. This room seems to have been stripped bare.
"This looks... odd, compared to the rest of the house," Lizzy says. "Are you redecorating?"
Harry seems uncomfortable—he doesn't want to tell her about magic yet, but he clearly did not make his room seem lived in after he removed all of the magical items. Harry internally hits himself for not thinking about this.
"Yes," he says, grateful for Lizzy's granted escape. "Everything's in storage."
Lizzy nods. She still seems somewhat suspicious of the strangely bare room, but then turns back down the hallway, visibly brightens and says, "I am going to your kitchen now—no more torture!"
Harry smiles and follows her toward the kitchen. She knows where it is, because Harry was obviously avoiding the room, going out of his way to steer her elsewhere.
He is proud of his kitchen. He has spent many hours in here, drinking with Draco, talking and eating with Draco and Astoria. He hosts all of his gatherings in his kitchen instead of the more formal rooms because of the amount of space and airiness of the room. It's probably his favourite room in the house, after his bedroom when it is arranged normally. Then again—he loves every space in his home. The warm of the magic he has cast here sings to him in every corner. He wonders how it makes Lizzy feel.
Lizzy is also appreciative of the kitchen. She runs her hand down the counter and smiles. "Oh, I can see myself cook in here," she says, but then sighs. "Honestly, I don't think I want to cook today. I'm all cooked out."
"I might agree with you on that," Harry says. "I've eaten more food this past week than I have probably all year. It's going to completely wreck my figure."
Lizzy laughs. "Unlikely," she says. "I think you could eat three times as much and never gain any weight."
Harry shudders. "I think I'm too scared to try," he says. "And I like the outdoors too much. I like to wander this area so that probably helps."
"Especially considering you've been apparently walking to my house and back every day this week?" Lizzy says incredulously. "That was at least seven kilos—how long did that take you?"
Harry shrugs. "Not long. I walk a lot," he says.
"You're crazy," she says, smiling. "I kind of like it."
Harry laughs. "I hope so!"
They decide to eat toast for dinner—laughing about it while they lay back on Harry's sofa and admire the colours the sunset casts on the mountains and hills they can see out the panoramic windows in front of them.
"I feel like I'm in some kind of fairy tale out here," Lizzy says quietly after some time. They're tangled up in each other, peacefully enjoying each other's presence. Lizzy's hair smells faintly like pomegranates, Harry notes as he hums in agreement.
"No neighbours, no noise—it's so peaceful. This whole house feels so different than anything I've ever felt before—do you know what I'm talking about? It's like the rest of the world doesn't exist right here. Why is that?"
Harry presses a kiss to her hair. "I know. It's why I love it here, why I never bothered to build a road to it. I liked the serenity it offers," he murmurs quietly.
"I think I get it now," she says. "You seemed so odd—no television, no phones—but out here? You don't need it. This home is incredible, Harry."
Harry smiles and thanks her.
They listen to their heartbeats. The magic of his house, Harry feels, has never felt so complete before today. It is dancing all over his skin and it feels like hopes and promises and dreams. It feels whole—like it had been missing something before. And it had—it had been missing Lizzy.
"How often do boats come right in front of the house in the lake?" Lizzy asks.
Harry has actually cast a spell that encourages non-magicals to avoid the area, but he cannot say this. "Most are here for the fishing," he says. "The lake's famous for its brown trout and salmon that bring people from all over."
"Yeah?" Lizzy asks.
Harry nods, wrapping an arm around her. "There's an old Gaelic myth that Loch Awe was made by the Cailleach. Cailleach nan Cruachan, they used to call her," he says. It is getting darker—the sun fully set—and so Harry nonverbally casts a spell to light some candles to brighten the room. He gets a blanket for the two of them, and starts a fire. It is comfortable, cosy, and warm.
"Tell me her story," Lizzy says when Harry returns. Harry climbs behind her in order to hold her in his arms, covers them with the blanket and begins to talk.
"Cailleach was the queen of winter," he begins. "She brings winter every year by washing her plaid which causes a great storm to occur. The next three days she spends washing her plaid until it is pure white, and snow covers the land. But one of her duties was to maintain the well of spring water on the top of Ben Cruachan. She was supposed to let the water flow during the day, and then cap the well during the night. She was very careful to fulfil her duty. There were many people who lived beneath Ben Cruachan who depended on this water.
"She tended to herds of deer when she didn't need to cover or uncover the well. She cared for the mountains and her hammer would shape the hills. She was a powerful warrior whose staff could freeze the very ground. She would fight off Spring when it tried to come too early, but she loved the people who lived on the earth and she cared for their lives—and she was sorrowful that her presence made them suffer for the cold. This is why she always surrendered to Spring in the end, even though she was the better and stronger fighter.
"But one day, she fought Spring more vigorously than she needed to, and Cailleach still needed to guide the herds of deer herds to their new grazing grounds. The day was drawing quickly to a close—but Cailleach was so focused on guiding her animals to their homes that she forgot to cap the well. When she remembered her duty it was almost dawn. She ran back to Ben Cruachan, but to her horror, she saw that the water—unhindered and uncapped all night—had burst its bounds and ran down from the highlands to break through the Pass at Brander. The water had flooded the entire valley below her—and all of the people who lived there, all of their children and grandchildren, and all of their cattle and sheep—all of them had drowned. Loch Awe had formed. Cailleach wept with horror at her mistake and negligence of her duty. She cast her staff under the base of a holly tree and turned to stone. To this day, she sits high above the Pass at Brander. Rumours say that at the base of Loch Awe, you can find the ruins of the old village that Cailleach destroyed."
Harry finishes his story. "I can't help but feel bad for Cailleach," Lizzy says.
"Really?" Harry says, curious. "How come?"
"I know that she's supposed to be the villain in this story—she tries to prevent spring, and she didn't fulfil her duty and destroyed all of the villagers that depended on her—but I don't think anyone ever told her the consequences of a mistake," Lizzy says. "She didn't know what would happen."
"Shouldn't having been told what to do been enough?" Harry asks.
"No," Lizzy says after a pause. "What if nothing had happened, and Cailleach found out that her duty was really meaningless? She might have expected, after so many years and years of doing the same job with minor variations in time, with no major differences happening that she could see, that nothing catastrophic would happen if she neglected the well for a single night."
"So what if she had been told the consequences?" Harry says. "Would she be guilty then?"
Lizzy pauses. "Maybe? Then she knows that she needs to do this because it's a life-or-death situation."
"But what if she can't trust the person who tells her do to this—say maybe Spring told her that it would cause major destruction if she neglected her duty—wouldn't that make her more likely to not follow through? Or if the penalty of the failure to fulfil the duty is actually a lie meant to intimidate?" Harry asks.
"Oh, those are hard," Lizzy says. "Let me think."
Harry waits for a moment before Lizzy speaks again. "I think that who tells you what the consequences are matters a great deal. If it had been Spring—I think Cailleach would have purposefully ignored the duty because it clearly mattered to her. But if it was a villager? Cailleach might have followed even more exactly than she would have without any consequences," she says. "But that last part—if the penalty is a lie—I have no idea. How would you know that? Could you risk it? What if they weren't lying?"
"But what if it's someone you trust and they are lying to you?" Harry asks. "If a villager asks Cailleach to do this in order to occupy her time so that she doesn't fight Spring—that's not with the intention she is told. That's a lie—that's manipulation."
"You're right. But—do the potential benefits outweigh the costs? I think that's what matters here, maybe?"
"The ends justify the means?" Harry asks.
"Oh, but I'm not sure," Lizzy says, "because that's simply not true. You can prevent climate change by killing every single human alive, but that's not justifiable."
"Would you sacrifice a teenager to destroy the leader of a terrorist organisation?" Harry asks.
This makes Lizzy pause—the vulnerability in Harry's voice here is different than anything she has heard from him before. She turns around to look Harry in the face.
"Why do you ask?" Lizzy asks quietly.
"Would you do it?" Harry asks. "I trust you—your opinions. Would you do it? Is it the right thing to do? You could save thousands of lives if you just destroy a single kid's."
His voice is wobbling—and Lizzy can't believe it but she thinks she almost sees tears and then she instantly understands—somehow, somehow, this is personal to Harry. That this question is essential to why he lives out here, in the middle of nowhere, off the grid. That this question is vital to who he is as a human being and that she needs to answer it completely honestly and that if she lies—she has no future with him. That she will vanish from his life as easily as she entered it.
"Harry," she starts, and then adjusts her arms so she can hold his face—his desperately honest face—and she smiles so weakly that it's hardly even there. "Everyone in this world matters. No one person is better or worse than anyone else. We are all equal in importance, no matter what other people will tell us. You matter just as much as the Queen does—just as much as the PM—just as much as that single kid whose life was destroyed—even just as much as a leader of terrorist organisation. Your worth is priceless. So, no—I don't think it's the right thing to do. You can't do that to children. You can't do that to anyone who doesn't have informed consent and doesn't know the entire situation of what is going on. A child should never be put in that sort of situation. A parent should never make that decision for a child; a guardian can't make that decision for a child. Only the child can when the child is an adult. A child can be taught to say that they can understand, that they want to participate—but that may not be what they really think because they never had the chance to actually learn what they think. They don't even know who they are and they still need to figure that—"
And Harry is kissing her—Harry is kissing her and his face is wet—tears?—and then Harry is on top of her and then she is begging for more and Harry picks her up and carries her to the awkwardly empty room that she doesn't understand but maybe she will more—and then he asks gently for consent which she gives because she needs this now—and then they make love.
They make love, and Harry kisses her, and Lizzy kisses him, and they fall asleep breathlessly, their limbs tangled, their hair a mess, and the house—oh, the house—it is singing.