Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-three

Plunge In

"Daph-Den."

"What?" asked Harry, taking his usual post-floo stumble into what he thought must be Daphne's flat.

Harry expected they'd discuss where they wanted to go for something to eat, but Daphne had put the portfolio with her parchments in one of his hands then taken the other and put it under her own arm. She led him into the fireplace and dropped her floo powder.

"Sorry," she said. Daphne flopped onto a sofa, straightened her legs to their full length, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Harry studied Daphne's face. Her eyes were a little sparkly and her face had defined red splotches. She gave the impression, at rest, of being ready to jump out of her skin. Harry wondered if Daphne was about to cry.

"Daphne, what…did I?" Harry said, before he ran out of words, not to mention coherent thoughts.

"Oh, nothing," said Daphne. "Or, rather, it's something, but I'm not sure I can explain so anyone else can understand. Nothing to do with you. Our childhood, Astoria's and mine, was the stuff of fiction. My father was a sporting hero. Mother was a Grand Dame, to us little girls. She and the elves made the most perfect cookies for us. We served our friends tea and those cookies. Lots of days, Astoria and I had tea together, or with Mum, and she told us about balls and beautiful charms for this or that. Now, step by step, those layers of…of…STUFF…are being shaved off, one painful excision at a time. I had to buy my freedom, essentially, from my own father, whom I had believed was my champion. Then he got in deeper and deeper and tried to sell my sister, who has already found someone on her own, to a cad with family money. The whole thing is just, ah, ah, E-UGGGH! Mother is coming apart. She dug down and found the adult inside long enough to lay down the law for Father, but she's been drinking heavily for a long time. She won't get herself sober. Well, realistically, it's a bad bet, let's say."

"Okay," said Harry. "Change of subject: This is your place, I take it."

"Oh, yeah!" said Daphne. "You've never been here. I just had to get us someplace where I could break down in private, if that was what was going to happen. I assess the danger has passed. If you didn't notice, that was hard for me."

"I noticed you were completely on top of the business meeting. You had the facts, you made your points, you sold your remedy for the problem you were called in to resolve," Harry said. "Was it worth it?"

"YES!" said Daphne. "Do you really think it went that well?"

"Sure," said Harry. "You made the sale. You clinched the deal."

"I partnered up with Harry Potter," said Daphne. "You left that part out."

"Aw, shucks," said Harry. "You did all the work."

"Not relevant," said Daphne. "The point is we worked together. I don't mind saying I liked it. No one got mad or territorial. It was real teamwork, and fun, despite the seriousness of the problem."

"True," said Harry. His eyes locked on Daphne's. "I enjoyed it too."

Daphne looked back at Harry, taking her time studying his face.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat, or just take a shower and go to bed?" she asked.

"Ah," said Harry.

"Do you have to think about it?" asked Daphne. Harry felt like her eyes were drilling into his.

"Let's eat first," said Harry. "Do you have anything here? Should I send for Kreacher? Do you want to go out? Someplace?"

Daphne smiled a slight, knowing smile.

"Kreacher," she called out.

Kreacher popped into the flat and gave both Harry and Daphne his lowest bow.

"Kreacher is here, Healer Daphne," said the elf.

"Lord Harry is ready for his dinner, as we discussed, Kreacher," Daphne said.

Kreacher smiled a very broad smile.

"As you wish, Healer Daphne," he said, and snapped his fingers.

Daphne's flat had a small table that sat at the center of the combined kitchen-dining space. With the snap of Kreacher's fingers, the table gained a red and white checked table cloth, two sets of plates, cups, saucers, glasses and silverware, a bowl of spaghetti and red sauce, another with a tossed green salad, a basket full of thick slices of bread and a little plate with a block of yellowish cheese and a small grater.

Two lit candles in crested silver candlesticks stood in the center of the table. Daphne waved a hand and the lighting, all candles and oil lamps, dropped to a very restful, intimate level.

"Want to wash up? There's a powder room just there," Daphne said, pointing.

Harry stepped in and closed the door. When he came back out, Daphne stood behind one of the chairs, which Harry noticed had been pulled out, waiting for him.

"Please," Daphne said, laying her hand on the back of the chair.

"Thank-you," said Harry, sliding in and raising himself up slightly so Daphne could push the chair forward.

"That's really my job," he said.

"But you're my guest," answered Daphne.

Daphne had changed out of her work clothes while Harry was getting ready to eat. She wore a gown of some gorgeous fabric that looked to Harry like silk. Two narrow bands emerged from behind her neck, widened out and plunged down across her torso, covered her breasts in an 'X' and continued on to her waist. Daphne's back and shoulders were bare. The fabric followed her form so closely it might have been part of her. There was no ornamentation anywhere, and detail was confined to a single narrow band of the same fabric at the waist. Harry probably should have kept his mouth shut, or confined his comment to a 'Thank-you.'

"Crimson," he said. "You have taste."

Daphne took her time answering. She pulled out her own chair and got herself seated.

"You haven't seen me in emerald green," she said.

"Kreacher, could you work some magic and give us each some spaghetti?" Harry asked.

"Do you like a little cheese with yours?" asked Daphne.

"I would like some, thank-you," said Harry.

Daphne picked up the little block of cheese and the grater and built a mound on the plate.

"Kreacher," Daphne said, handing the plate over and nodding toward Harry.

Dinner commenced, salad, spaghetti with freshly-grated cheese and plenty of Italian bread. Conversation was sparse. Daphne kept an eye on Harry. Harry concentrated on the dinner Daphne had arranged, commenting now and then on how appreciative he was of the time and trouble Daphne and Kreacher had put into the arrangement. Each compliment earned Harry a little smile and nod toward his end of the table.

When he'd finished, Harry looked at Daphne.

"Your china is exquisite," he said.

The china, silver- and glassware were all enameled, engraved or stamped with the Black family crest, complete with the motto: 'Toujours Pur.'

"You deserve the best," Daphne said. "Kreacher was extraordinarily accommodating. Well, he took one look at my stuff and insisted."

"Deserve it or not, it looks like I've got it," Harry replied.

"Harry," said Daphne, a little note of frustration coming through. "Life is so short, even for wizards. Go ahead and enjoy it a little."

"So true," Harry said. "Kreacher? Healer Daphne and I will be taking dessert a little later. Can you clear? I'll summon you if we need you again."

"Of course, master," said Kreacher, clearing the table and disappearing everything with a snap. "Kreacher will be at #12 Grimmauld Place, awaiting your orders."

With that, Kreacher popped out of the flat, leaving Harry and Daphne alone. Harry crossed to Daphne's chair and held out his hand. Daphne laid hers across Harry's and let him assist her to her feet. Harry's left hand held Daphne's right, and his own right arm found its way around Daphne's bare back. She took in a little breath at the touch of Harry's hand.

"Did I pass?" Harry asked. "I grasped the fact that I was under observation."

They were so close he whispered.

"Uh-huh. Outstandings, all 'round," said Daphne. "Did I?"

"Of course," said Harry. "If anything, you exceeded Outstanding."

"That isn't a category," Daphne reminded him.

"But it should be, just for you," declared Harry.

The gap between them, that had been narrowing, now closed completely, as the two embraced, cheeks together. Harry breathed in through his nose, resolving to commit the scent of his lover, for he had no doubt that now he and Daphne were, to the deepest and most secure level of his memory. He wanted everything about her imprinted somewhere, permanently, so he could recall her at will, for as long as they lived. Beyond, if possible.

"Shall we?" Daphne asked.

Someone had to move or they would just stand next to her dining table all night, holding one another. Harry knew he need not answer verbally. He dropped Daphne's hand, leaving his arm around her waist, so she turned to fall in alongside, raising her arm to cross over his as they walked down the hall.

Harry left his jacket and trousers on a chair in the bedroom and took himself to the shower.

"That should help," he said as he exited Daphne's small bath.

Daphne lay in bed, covered by the sheet. Harry could see her form, somewhat, in the ambient nighttime light that filtered in through the rain and the bedroom curtains.

"Suit yourself," said Daphne. "Just so you know, you didn't smell at all bad out there. Not to me."

Harry lifted the sheet and slid in. Daphne rolled toward him.

"We still have to get to know one another," Harry said, finding a few of Daphne's vertebrae with his thumb. "Better," he added.

"I agree, but this really can't be put off any longer," Daphne said. "The tension is just too much. My tolerance is at an end. Used up."

"You're sure you want to go ahead?" Harry asked.

"YES, and we're well past the point of pinching things off," Daphne replied.

"I…," Harry began, then stopped.

Daphne looked at him.

"Finish your sentence, Harry Potter," Daphne demanded. She made it clear she wasn't negotiating.

"I feel it, too," he said. "I had no idea. Before, I mean. Merlin help us."

Something in Harry's appeal to Merlin melted Daphne's hard edge from a moment before.

"You needed to do your thinking before you took me to Potter Manor, Harry," said Daphne. Her hand found its way to his cheek. She caressed his forehead with her thumb, down the side, across his temple. She went slowly, ending at his chin, cupping it in her soft healer's hand.

Whispering now: "That is where it started, in earnest. You might have been immune to Cordelia, and me. Once we faced Dieter together…"

"Oh, I know, I know," Harry said. "I read Bathilda Bagshot's book. My great-grandmother recognized you the moment her drape was removed. Your aura."

Daphne giggled.

"Seems silly, doesn't it? That's how it starts," she said. "It doesn't make any difference if we do things out of sequence, as long as we get it all done in the end. You won't be able to stop with Bathilda, though. That little book is really an overview. She couldn't cover everything."

They weren't talking about their physical desire, although there was an abundance of that in play. Lying there together, under the sheet, Harry felt the power of his family magic pushing him to Daphne. She felt the Greengrass magic pushing her to Harry. The two might be compatible, and they might not.

The problem for wizarding types was the magical attraction was detached and separate from personalities and could be real at the same time the results of fusing them could be extremely disadvantageous for the individuals. Those situations had a stereotypical analog among the muggles—the mismatched pair whose physical attraction was mutual, strong and real, who might truly and passionately love one another, while at the same time they had a basic difference in personalities that made them irretrievably incompatible. Those matches had a very low success rate.

One reason the custom of arranged marriages had emerged among magical folk was the strength of the inner family magic that was largely out of the witch or wizard's control. Individuals could work on directing the magic which couldn't be completely subdued. Studying a few experts' published works, Bathilda Bagshot for one, could be useful. Wise magical parents introduced the subject matter early, carefully cultivated their childrens' trust, taught them a few charms and spells to enhance self-control. The best results, under the old culture, emerged from a joint effort by two families who sought to mold a compatible couple who could face the world's trials together. If they were eventually mad for one another that was an added bonus.

The two magical wars had disrupted those folkways.

By the time Harry lay down next to Daphne, their family magic had already done a good bit of mutual exploration. Harry had brought Daphne to his family seat. There she was privileged to watch as Potter Manor and Harry's ancestors and the Potter family magic combined to give Dieter Berg a bit of comeuppance. Dieter directly threatened Daphne. Harry and the assets centered in Potter Manor defended Daphne from the invader. The Greengrass family magic approved and got out of the way of the affection Daphne already felt for Harry. Dorea Black Potter noticed right away that Daphne's aura said she was a promising candidate for a vacant position in the family—the demanding job of Mistress of Potter Manor.

"We could have used some parental coaching," Harry said.

"Just our luck," said Daphne. "Everything was thrown over at the time."

She meant Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the Wizarding Wars.

"The old ways had their good points," Harry said. "I wonder if our parents would have picked us out and taken us through the traditional course?"

"Somehow, Harry, right at this moment, I do not want to think about discovering you and Potter magic any way other than just the way it happened."

That evening she also felt the responses coming from the seat of her deepest emotions. Since the moment they entered the flat and all through dinner her Greengrass magic had been feeling stronger and stronger stirrings of affection and attachment for Potter, Black, Peverell and Potter Manor.

Harry, for his part, had taken in a good gulp of Greengrass as well. Despite the earlier failure of their attempt at dating, some residual connection came alive enough so that Daphne sought out Harry when she needed counsel for her family problems. Daphne's approach got Harry's attention. He was careful to let her take the lead and to work in tandem with Daphne, quietly risking his own resources, doing the family a service that entailed no benefit for himself. Something showed him the way to begin establishing rapport with Cordelia on his initial visit.

Cyrus was a puzzle. Harry couldn't understand his managerial incompetence, nor the cold heart that saw Daphne and Astoria as assets, fungible things to cleave off from the family like slates from the mother slab, to be taken to market and sold alongside the baskets of potatoes and mussels. That aside, the Greengrass magic felt like home to Harry. Each step brought him closer to Daphne and he began opening up to welcome her family magic. Cordelia's cordiality and warm words stayed with him long after he'd left Greengrass Manor. He'd smelled rosemary, that most homely herb, as she walked him out.

Even so, those exchanges were tentative, the magical analog of the beginnings of a natural affinity for any two compatible personalities in the mundane world. Tonight, Harry and Daphne stood on the edge of a cliff, naked, holding hands. The breakers crashed below them. When they threw themselves off together, gravity would take them to the water. The surf would pull them under, the waves and currents would twist them, push them to and fro, roll them together like a pair of socks, eventually throwing them up onto the wet beach, panting, blinking, emptied out, naked and newborn, looking around for their mate.

If the magic worked, that is what they would be, come morning. The process would not be complete. Far from it. They would not yet be half their own magic, half the other. To reach that point would take months of work, building an alliance of two, and two families, against the cruelty of the world and the whims of Fate. Even so, once they stepped off the cliff, the only way back would be through an excruciating process of extrication. Most witches and wizards who completed that journey felt the magical amputation for the rest of their lives, if they survived.

'YES,' Daphne had said. 'And we're well past the point…'

It sounded so matter of fact, so logical, that Harry instantly agreed. He nodded his head in the dark, as if Daphne needed the visible reassurance of his concurrence with her position on the matter. Harry lowered his head and kissed Daphne on her lips. Daphne would have flown into that kiss if space had allowed. Still, she made the most of what there was, pressing herself into her lover as if she believed in the next few hours she could dissolve her physical self into him. The roar in their ears had been loud, but now it gained strength with each heartbeat. Potter magic met Greengrass, everywhere flesh touched flesh, from their mouths to their toes. The magic met, mixed, swirled, and began to fuse.

"We need to get some sleep," said a rueful-sounding Harry. "Sometime."

He rolled aside and reached to the nightstand for his watch.

"Anywhere you just have to be?" challenged Daphne.

"It's after three," answered Harry.

"Anywhere you just have to be, later this morning?" Daphne persisted.

Harry was cornered. He didn't have an actual job, the way Daphne did. He pondered a number of responses.

"Well, then…," Daphne said. She pulled herself closer and pressed her face against Harry's neck, reaching out with just the tip of her tongue. She found his earlobe. Her lips showed up to help her tongue.

"We do seem to like the same things," observed Harry.

"So-o-o-o lucky that way," Daphne whispered.

They did sleep, eventually, rising late, but well before noon. Daphne invited Harry to share a shower, which Harry was pleased to accept.

"That was fun," he said. "I hope you don't mind my saying so."

"It's supposed to be fun," said Daphne. "Serious, too, of course."

"Of course."

Daphne stood with her back against the tiles, reaching around Harry and scrubbing his back with a very substantial sponge.

"Rinse," she said, dropping the sponge and putting her hands on his chest.

"Oh," Harry said, surprise getting past his consciousness and into his tone.

"Breakfast?" asked Daphne.

"Oh. Absolutely. Absolutely," said Harry, confirming for the second time a common cliché regarding male priorities.

"Can I treat?" Harry asked as he began drying off. "Breakfast at Grimmauld Place? I need to thank Kreacher for that meal last night. You might want to take the Black magic in small bites, at least at first. A breakfast here, tea there."

"So considerate," said Daphne. "Grimmauld Place it is."

"How did you get Kreacher to do all the work?" asked Harry.

"Promise you won't punish him," said Daphne.

"I'm not going to punish him," Harry said. "I'd just like to know how you got him to conspire with you."

Daphne pulled out a dresser drawer and started picking out underthings, throwing her choices on her bed.

"I had a thought," she said. "Perhaps, if I wanted to do something for you, something special, I would be able to summon Kreacher. So, I held the thought about doing something nice for his boss, and asked Kreacher to come. It worked. If he can come over here to the flat, it isn't a lot more work for him to bring a delicious, but simple, spaghetti dinner, is it?"

Harry thought it over.

"So you communicated with Kreacher across town and he could apparate into your flat? Just like that? It's got some of the usual wards and protective charms?"

"Uh-huh," said Daphne. "Impressed?"

"Oh sure," Harry said. He crossed to the bedside table and retrieved his watch. "Things had gotten further along than I realized, that's all. I guess that shouldn't be a problem. Ready?"

When they got to #12 Grimmauld Place, Harry led the way through the house to the garden, complimenting Kreacher all the way.

"Healer Daphne was so impressed with your skill, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Healer Daphne is very kind," Kreacher said, blushing everywhere.

"Your efficiency was praised as well," Harry went on.

"Kreacher does try, master," said the elf.

"The garden looks very nice this morning," Harry said. "If you don't want all the sun, there's the dining room, and the kitchen."

"Either one," said Daphne. "I do think we're a bit late. The sun is a little too high out here."

Harry led the way back inside.

"Oh, here we are," Harry said. "I think we've found our venue."

They stood in the dining room. Daphne looked around at the indigo drapes with their dark gray liners, the jumble of Black-crested ceramic pieces on shelves here and there, and the long, black dining table. The brass candelabra that hung from the ceiling held lots of candles but was the heaviest, most cumbersome design Daphne thought she had ever seen.

"Any particular reason you chose this cheery place?" Daphne asked.

"The company," Harry said. "Kreacher!"

"Kreacher is here…" said the elf.

"Master Sirius and Master Regulus are here! That's wonderful, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Thank-you, Master Harry," said Kreacher. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Healer Daphne?" asked Harry.

"Why not?" said Daphne.

Once settled, Daphne asked again about Harry's decision.

"Right up there," said Harry, gesturing toward the portraits. "My godfather, Sirius Black, who left me this house and some other things when he made me his heir. Across the way, Sirius' brother, Regulus, an unsung hero of the late war. Gentlemen, this is Healer Daphne."

The figures in the portraits began to move, and speak, with lots of overlapping sentiments of the 'Pleased to meet you' variety.

Harry leaned over to whisper to Daphne: "The portraits are in their teens, so, we have to make allowances."

Daphne didn't speak, confining her reply to a wink.

"We can hear you, Harry, so exercise a little discretion," said Sirius.

"Okay, sure, we're dead, but even so," said Regulus. "That doesn't mean we don't have feelings."

"I just know there are some interesting stories about you guys," said Daphne. She looked at Regulus' portrait, then Sirius' beaming all the while.

"Oh, wait until…" Sirius began.

"Although, we don't have to do everything at once," Harry said, interrupting Sirius. "Healer Daphne and I are studying family magic and I already advised her to limit her exposure to ours, at least initially. I do have a question, though. Are there more portraits of you around? I plan to get busy on the old Potter place and I'd feel better if I had at least one of you out there. It might be important in a critical situation."

"There are, or, there's at least one of me, somewhere," said Regulus. "It's in a closet or an attic or under a drape, though, or something. I've checked it a couple of times and I can never see anything."

"You too?" asked Sirius. "Same here, Harry. I've got a portrait that must be stored away somewhere. There is another one at Potter Manor, though, in the room your dad slept in when your grandparents were alive. Second floor in the back, on the right-hand side of the hallway. It isn't under a drape, or it's a darn sheer one if it is, but I can't see much. The window curtains are closed and the room is always dim, no matter how bright it is outside."

"Well, that gives me a couple of things I can work on," Harry said. "I take it you aren't going to the office, Healer Daphne?"

"No office hours," she said. "I'm going to be at St. Mungo's from three to eleven. I think I will ask for an evening alone tonight. For some reason I'm already thinking about falling into bed and going right to sleep."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "I'm thinking I'll be here. Just floo-call if you need anything."

"Do you have a library here, or at the manor?" asked Daphne.

"Both," said Harry. "I can't vouch for the quality of the collection."

"If I may, I'd suggest you do something about that. Take a look and see what you've got, besides the Bagshot, on the theory of family magic," Daphne said. "How about your family grimoires? Have you ever gotten into them?"

"Barely more than leafing through," said Harry. "Some of it is excruciatingly slow-going."

"Understood," Daphne said. She took a sip of coffee.

"Mmm…Excellent coffee this morning, Kreacher," she called out, trying to project across the hall and down the few steps to the kitchen.

"Eventually we'll work our way through those," Daphne went on. "Unless we hit sections that bar one of us. Those are supposed to be very rare. Generally speaking, we need enough familiarity with both that we can spot problems before they become problems."

"We'll expect some timely comment if you see anything like that emerging, gentlemen," Harry said to Sirius' and Regulus' portraits.

"Oh, yes, certainly," they both began. They didn't lay it on too thick.

"I'm still learning," Harry explained. "The Black magic, it can be a little tricky. I know just enough to know that. The Potters were more straightforward. How are you feeling, by the way?"

He meant how was Daphne feeling, here in the London locus of the Black family and all its worldly and magical ties.

"Fine," said Daphne. "It was a little overwhelming when we first got here. It felt like Lord Black had brought me in and said, 'Here she is!' Then I underwent inspection. It felt a bit on the meticulous side, for an introductory visit. That's mostly past."

"You're buttering me up," Harry declared.

"Sure, so?" asked Daphne.