Some slower chapters are on their way, so I'm sorry for that. Or not.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 34
"What?" Daphne asked upon noticing a somewhat blank look on Harry's face. They'd spent the past hour at the edge of the grove, fully using all the wonders nature had to offer at this time of the year, until Tipsy materialized next to them, informing the two teenagers that Lord Greengrass wished to speak to both of them. "Don't worry. I doubt my father has anything malicious in mind. At least not towards you or me."
"It's not that," Harry countered, shaking his head. "Your House Elf – Tipsy, right?" Daphne nodded in confirmation. "I mean, I've seen a House Elf before, but she looks… different, I guess."
"What's so different about her?"
"Everything," he replied after a few seconds of thinking, scratching the back of his head in confusion. "The way she walks, talks, or even looks at your family," he explained. "I know that Malfoys shouldn't be anything to go by, but I just thought that all House Elves looked and acted like Dobby or Kreacher," he added.
"And how would you know the Malfoys' House Elf?" Daphne queried, furrowing her eyebrows.
"Long story. I'll tell you later, I promise," Harry answered as they were approaching the Greengrass Manor. "But why does your family even keep a House Elf? I thought it was essentially slavery."
"You thought that, or has that idea popped into your mind because of whatever nonsense Granger was going on about this last school year?" Daphne countered. "Because if yes, then both she and you need some proper education in that aspect," she continued upon noticing Harry's furrowed eyebrows and that he was about to say something. "I'll tell you all I know about the House Elves, and, in return, you'll tell me how you know Malfoys' Elf that has been missing for the past two years."
Seeing as they were already at the Manor's door, Harry only nodded his head. A year earlier, he would have jumped to Hermione's defense at a moment's notice, no matter the circumstances. A lot has changed over the course of that year, though. He pulled open the door and stepped aside, allowing Daphne to go inside first. He swore he saw a ghost of a smile on her lips, feeling his own curling up slightly.
The first thing Harry became aware of upon entering the Manor was Sirius' arms, wrapped tightly around him. Unlike the hug they shared only an hour or so earlier, this one was much stronger, desperate even. It seemed as if his godfather wanted to cover him entirely – shield him from the world.
"I'm sorry I haven't done anything earlier," Sirius mumbled into his shoulder, tightening his embrace for a split second. "I should have tried harder to be there for you."
Harry only nodded his head, immediately realizing what the older man was talking about. His throat tightened painfully as his mind was forced to go through everything that happened two weeks earlier. He nodded again, not finding the strength to say anything. The lump in his throat wouldn't allow him to speak either.
"You wanted to speak to me, Father?" Daphne asked politely, although coldly, entering his study. A frown appeared on Cyrus' face, though he did his best to erase it as quickly as possible. The mask she carefully crafted – the one he secretly cherished since he was aware it was there because of him – was on his eldest daughter's face again. And once again, it was directed at him, as had been the case for the past year. Cyrus' chest tightened as he recalled Daphne's reaction to Potter's appearance earlier that day. Where was that mask when she saw the boy she'd known properly for only a few months?
"Yes," he said, clearing his throat. The mistakes he'd made were already being reversed. Perhaps, if luck was on his side, he wouldn't be forced to see that blank expression on his daughter's face ever again in the safety of their home. And perhaps, she wouldn't be calling him 'Father' anymore. "Please, sit, Daphne," Cyrus spoke softly, gesturing at the chair as he continued rummaging in his drawer. The soft creaking of wood informed him that Daphne obeyed his request.
"Have you watched Potter's memory?"
"Yes," Cyrus sighed, straightening himself as he finally found what he was looking for. A single piece of parchment was in his hands, and he desired nothing more than to burn it to ashes, but he had to wait a little bit longer. His Heir was sitting in his study with him – it was time to get back his daughter. "And I owe you an apology, Daphne," he added before she could say anything.
His daughter closed her mouth, staring silently at his eyes. Cyrus felt something tugging at his heart as he noticed the small flicker of hope cross Daphne's face. Her smirk dropped slightly, and her pupils dilated for the briefest of moments. He felt the same flicker of hope igniting in his own chest as Daphne's impassive mask cracked for a split second.
"I didn't want to believe in Mr. Potter's claims," he continued. "And I still don't want to believe in them. But that," he gestured at the Pensieve. "Is something that can't be debunked. I'm sorry it took me a stranger's memory to believe in what you had told me, Daphne. And I'm sorry for putting you and the rest of our family in danger so recklessly."
That flicker of hope in his chest grew bigger and bigger like fire. He watched with satisfaction as his daughter's expression changed ever so slightly with every word he spoke. His hope fed on every quiver of her lips, every uncontrolled movement of her eyes, and every crease on her forehead that she wasn't even aware of, like fire fed on dry wood.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, calling Daphne's attention to the piece of parchment he was holding. She shook her head. "This is the rough draft of the contract Malfoy and I have written down," Cyrus explained simply. Incendio, he thought, focusing on the parchment in his hands. The fire consumed the document before Daphne even managed to utter a single sound in response. Both Greengrasses watched with satisfaction as the piece of parchment started turning into ash, slowly falling to the floor. Cyrus dropped it before the fire managed to reach his fingers, allowing the flames to freely consume the document. "Any obligations you might have had towards that wretched family are-"
He was interrupted mid-sentence by Daphne nearly jumping out of the chair and crashing into him. Cyrus' surprise lasted only a second before he wrapped his eldest daughter in the first hug in almost a year. A quiet sniffle broke the silence, though he wasn't sure if it was her or him who made that sound. Maybe both? Cyrus didn't know, and he honestly couldn't care less about that at that moment.
"Thank you," Daphne muttered; her voice was muffled by his clothes and arms, but Cyrus still managed to hear those words. He took in a deep breath, savoring the moment.
"I don't deserve your gratitude, Daphne," he countered softly, tightening his hold around her. He smiled briefly, feeling her do the same. "I should have listened to you earlier. And I'm not sure if I can ever atone for that. I'm sorry for putting you in this situation."
"You've said it yourself a few days ago – no one is perfect. At least you've listened to reason before it was too late, Dad," Daphne replied. Cyrus' chest tightened again, though not in a painful way. Hearing her call him 'dad' again seemed to lift an enormous weight from his shoulders. Reluctantly, he allowed Daphne to leave his embrace. He smiled softly, brushing a strand of her hair and tugging it behind her ear.
"If young Malfoy, or anyone for that matter, treats you disrespectfully while you're at Hogwarts and acts as if they have any claim over you, you have my full permission to defend yourself however you deem necessary," he said. "Although, I ask you to refrain from causing any permanent damage. It will be easier for you to avoid consequences that way. What you've done to Mr. Flint in your Third Year should be adequate enough," Cyrus added after a moment of hesitation.
"I wasn't aware you'd heard about that," Daphne muttered, looking anywhere but at her father; her cheeks were red, and she tried to hide her face behind the curtain of her hair. Cyrus chuckled quietly.
"His father approached me about that incident some time ago," he revealed to her. "He mumbled some nonsense on how I should teach you some respect. I might not have gotten all the details from him, but I believe you had proper reasons to act as you have?" Cyrus asked, raising his eyebrows. "Good," he commented after receiving a nod from Daphne. "If those reasons happen again, feel free to defend yourself however you deem necessary," he repeated. "You can be sure no consequences will await you here. At least not if your actions are properly justified."
"I will remember that, Dad," Daphne replied.
"You can go now, Daphne," Cyrus announced. "Please, tell Mr. Potter to come here; I'd like to talk to him about a few things."
Daphne turned around to leave his study. Warmth spread through Cyrus' chest as he didn't see the same cold stiffness in her back that has been accompanying his daughter for a year. Her back was still perfectly straight, though it was much more natural at that moment rather than forced. Similar to him, it seemed as if a great weight had been removed from Daphne's shoulders. And that weight was currently lying at his feet, turned into ashes.
"Thank you again, Dad," Daphne whispered softly just as she was about to leave the room. Cyrus looked up just in time to see her lips curling up slightly in a tiny yet genuine smile. He returned the gesture immediately; his daughter was back.
The door closed behind her with a soft click. The runes Cyrus had inscribed into his study prevented any sound from escaping the small room, but he could still clearly hear what was happening in the rest of the Manor. He heard Daphne calling for Potter, informing him of his request. Cyrus collapsed into his chair, massaging his temples. His reconciliation with Daphne was like a balm for his aching heart, but it didn't solve all his problems. For Merlin knew what time already, his eyes traveled to the Pensieve. The memory inside illuminated the area above it, resulting in a spectacular light show being played on the ceiling. Magic truly was something wonderful, even for someone who was used to it since the day he was born.
If only the memory was just as pleasant for the eyes as the light show it provided. With a flick of his wand, Cyrus levitated the lid over the Pensieve, though he still allowed the device to float freely next to his desk. When more pressing matters were settled, he would view the memory again.
"Come in, Mr. Potter," Cyrus called out before the teenager's knuckles even touched the door. The wards reacted immediately, allowing the command to be heard on the other side, and unlocking the entrance. With another flick of his wand, Cyrus banished the remnants of Daphne's contract from the floor.
Lord Greengrass' eyes zeroed in on Harry the moment he entered his study. In the last hour, his perception of the boy changed drastically. He still looked just as shy and unsure of himself as when he saw him in the courtroom, or later when he talked to him in the corridor, even though, at least in Cyrus' opinion, he had every reason not to be. The rumors of his exploits at Hogwarts were loud enough to travel all the way down to England, after all. And with the Daily Prophet covering the events of the Tournament, even though they tended to write rubbish most of the time, it was impossible to perceive Harry as an average teenager. Cyrus had little to no doubts that others in his place would act as if everyone should worship the very ground they stepped on; Malfoy's son's face appeared briefly in his mind.
And yet, there he was – a boy so shy he barely looked at anything other than his feet. The Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest Triwizard Champion in the Tournament's history, talented in magic that was far beyond the reach of many people twice or even thrice his age, and it looked as if he considered it to be nothing special. Cyrus' respect towards the boy grew immensely in that short few seconds during which he walked to his desk. Humbleness was an extremely rare virtue to find in those days.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," Cyrus spoke gently, gesturing at the chair next to the floating Pensieve.
"Please, call me 'Harry,' sir," he countered, sitting down. "'Mr. Potter' makes me feel like I'm being lectured at school. I love Hogwarts, but I like to rest a bit from it during summer."
Cyrus raised his eyebrow slightly. There it was again – 'sir.' Even Tracey and Blaise – Daphne's closest friends – referred to him as 'Lord Greengrass.' Cyrus didn't consider himself a vain man, but those were the customs he, and the rest of their society, had been raised in. And yet, the boy in front of him seemed to ignore them altogether, if he was even aware of their existence. Even though, once he reached maturity, he would hold the same social position as him. If not higher. One thing at a time, Cyrus told himself.
"Very well then, Harry," Cyrus replied with a soft smile. "If you like, you can call me 'Cyrus.'" He had never expected to say those words to anyone other than his wife or in-laws. "I must admit I was impressed with what I'd seen when the Dementors attacked you. Of course, I already knew of your capabilities, but the Prophet failed to take a picture of your Patronus during the First Task. It was quite a sight, to be honest. Not to mention incredibly advanced since its aura managed to survive even in your memory."
There it was again – the same humbleness Cyrus spotted earlier. Harry's cheeks reddened slightly, and a nervous smile tugged at his lips as he briefly looked down at his feet. "Thank you, sir." And still, even with his permission to do otherwise, he treated him with enough respect to recognize him as someone older than him. Even though the boy was a carbon copy of his father, except for the eyes, it was Lily sitting in front of him, not James.
"My apologies for doubting your truthfulness, Harry. It's not that I didn't believe in your capabilities, but, as was said today, the Dementors are bound to Azkaban by the Ministry. Hearing you claim they were so far from their home was quite suspicious, to be honest."
A frown appeared on the teenager's face. "Why didn't you ask me then to show this memory in the court, sir?" Harry asked. "It would have been easier that way."
"It would have been," Cyrus agreed, sighing heavily. "But, unfortunately, it was made impossible roughly two weeks ago. Early in the morning, on the day of your return from Hogwarts, a vote was passed in the Wizengamot that forbids using an underaged Witch's or Wizard's memories as testimony in the court. Using Veritaserum on them has been banned as well, for various bullshit reasons," he explained. Cyrus' tongue seemed to burn; he never cursed. However, he couldn't find a better word to describe his thoughts. "And now, I have no doubts that it was because of the second memory you've given me," he added, gesturing at the closed Pensieve.
"But that's rubbish!" Harry exclaimed. "The Minister heard Crouch's son's confession – he knows Voldemort is back!" Cyrus suppressed a flinch upon hearing the Dark Lord's name. Crouch's son? He thought, shaking his head after a second or two. One thing at a time, he reminded himself.
"Perhaps, but the Minister doesn't hold sole leadership over our society. Not to mention that gold can be quite efficient in persuading many people."
"Malfoy," Harry stated immediately.
"Most likely," Cyrus agreed. "If your memory of what happened after the Third Task was presented in the court, many people who now sit in the Wizengamot would be targeted, including Lucius Malfoy. And with this law passed, it can't be used as evidence. Luckily for us, Harry, someone in the Ministry has already realized the mistake the Wizengamot had made, and asked me to work on reversing it. It will take time, but if the Unspeakables' research into Veritaserum undermines the law's reasoning, it can be revoked." Cyrus smiled briefly. "I think we should be grateful that whoever came up with that vote didn't have the insight to separate it for Veritaserum and Pensieve memories. Even if only the smallest reason of the rule can be undermined, the entire rule needs to be taken down and examined again."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand how that can help."
"Neither Veritaserum nor memories are foolproof," Cyrus explained carefully. "Forcing the truth out of someone makes that person reveal only what they consider to be the truth. For example, if someone tricked you into seeing something that wasn't there, you would still claim you have seen it. And memories can be tampered with. However, those two things combined can hardly be questioned if they point to the same thing. In most cases, at least. Unfortunately, it will take us a few months at least to properly examine Veritaserum. You can be sure, Harry, that I don't intend to allow those people I've seen in your memory to walk freely."
"Sirius never received a trial," Harry said after a moment of thinking about the older man's words. "If that law gets taken down, and I can testify in the court, could you make sure he gets one?"
"I'd like nothing more for the help he and Lupin provided my family with," Cyrus sighed. "But I'm afraid your memories and testimony under Veritaserum wouldn't be enough to guarantee his freedom."
"Why not? You've said-"
"I know," Cyrus interrupted him. "And I've said they work in most cases. First of all, Black is ordered to be handed to the Dementors as soon as the Aurors catch him. He was sent to Azkaban for life because of murdering Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles and serving You-Know-Who. I know that all of this is rubbish," he added quickly, raising his hand to stop Harry from saying anything. "But those accusations still stand. For Black to be brought in front of the court, he would have to present indisputable proof that at least one of those accusations is wrong. Now, those twelve Muggles have been dead for the past fourteen years, so there's nothing he can do about that. Regarding his allegiance with the Dark Lord, it would be hard to convince anyone that he's innocent of that simply because of his Family's past. However, there is one thing that can prove his innocence."
"Wormtail," Harry deduced quickly. His eyes widened excitedly at the prospect, and a smile formed on his lips when Cyrus nodded in confirmation.
"Yes."
"I can give you all the memories I have of that man," Harry said quickly, leaning forward in his chair. "I've heard his confession with my own ears, and-"
"And it wouldn't be enough," Cyrus interrupted him again, sighing heavily again. "Even with the law taken down, your memories wouldn't be enough. I've said earlier today that Blacks are known for their affinity with the Mind Arts – all it would take to dismiss your testimony is just a single person to question it. Frankly, you have no physical proof that you have indeed met Peter Pettigrew. I've attended Hogwarts with your parents, Harry. I've seen Peter almost every day for seven years and I hardly recognized him in your memory. I doubt anyone in the court would recognize him, except for those other people I've seen in the graveyard," he added, glaring daggers at the Pensieve. "The only hope for using Pettigrew to guarantee your godfather's freedom is to bring him in front of the court and have him testify, under Veritaserum, of course, that he truly is who you believe him to be."
Harry deflated visibly at that, sinking back into the armchair.
"I'm sorry," Cyrus said after a few minutes of silence. "But, unfortunately, that's how it is right now. Believe me, Harry. I'd like nothing more than to repay both Black and Lupin for their aid, but if they truly want to be free, it needs to be done legitimately. Their exoneration must happen in accordance with our laws, not against them. Otherwise, they'll never be free."
"Can't you testify in their favor?" Harry asked weakly, hoping to find something, anything, that would help clear Sirius' name. And, by extension, Remus'. "They hid your family fourteen years ago. It must be worth something."
"Again, there is no physical evidence of that, and, more importantly, no witnesses, except for me, my wife, Black, and Lupin. Someone could simply state that Black altered our memories of the past – again, his Family's reputation would work against him. However, I think that those circumstances won't exist in the foreseeable future," Cyrus added, causing Harry to raise his head sharply. "Do you know why I've asked for your memories of what happened after the Third Task, Harry?"
"I have some idea," he nodded his head.
"Those people you've seen in the graveyard," Cyrus began, sighing heavily once again. "Are, or rather were, close to me and my family. Daphne has told me what you had told her about those events and the names you heard that night. I'm sure you can understand why it set me on edge." He took in a deep breath before continuing. "I have to be honest with you, Harry. I didn't believe it when you said that You-Know-Who is back. Quite frankly, I still don't want to believe it. Don't get your wand in a twist," Cyrus added, stopping Harry from retorting to that. "My desires don't change the fact that I do believe it now. I'm quite certain that every sane person in Britain would share my thoughts in this regard."
"Except for the Death Eaters."
"I've said sane person, Harry. I wouldn't call that anyone who follows You-Know-Who. Anyway, when my daughter gave me the list of the names you've heard, I couldn't just leave it at that. At first, I believed her words were caused by her… personal reasons," Cyrus said, biting his tongue before he could reveal too much. Family matters didn't concern outsiders. "But still, it made me think. The woman you've met today – Madam Bones – was kind enough to provide me with the files of the Death Eaters' cases from fourteen years ago," he continued, pointing at the pile that Tipsy returned to his desk; luckily, Harry didn't seem to notice his small slip-up. Cyrus sighed heavily again, glaring at the neatly arranged folders. "Many of those people avoided justice over a decade ago, and I have little to no doubt that they were the ones you've seen in that graveyard."
"But I can't prove it," Harry deadpanned.
"No, you can't," Cyrus confirmed. "At least, not yet. I've already explained that vote to you, but there is another matter at hand here – no one can be brought into the courtroom again for the same transgression if no new evidence shows up. Now, I had informed Madam Bones about the suspiciously brief descriptions of the Death Eaters' trials, and she has promised to look into that. If she shares my concerns, which I'm sure she does, she will want to question these people again. And if it is revealed that some things haven't been done properly fourteen years ago, it might create an opportunity for Black to get his trial." He pursed his lips, scrutinizing the boy's face. "Many of those Death Eaters have children at Hogwarts – your age, older or younger – and they know you've seen them, Harry. They know you've survived what you weren't supposed to survive, and they know your testimony can send them to Azkaban for life. And if they're still the same people they were over a dozen years ago, then I can assure you they will do anything to prevent you from testifying against them."
Gears turning in Harry's mind were almost visible to the naked eye. "Do you think one of them sent those Dementors my way, sir? You know, to deal with me?"
"Possibly," Cyrus nodded his head. "Though I'm not sure of this. The vote, however, was obviously passed to prevent you from testifying – I have no doubts about that. Still, I believe that the attack was meant to silence you." Harry gulped loudly at that, though he tried to mask it. "And, since it didn't work, I wouldn't be surprised if it happened again. If your life isn't targeted, then your mind will be. Altering one's memories is difficult but not impossible," Cyrus continued, looking at the Pensieve again. "If the Death Eaters manage to capture you and don't want to draw too much attention to themselves, they will try to make you forget what you had seen that night, Harry. The memory you've given me is priceless right now – both to them and those who wish to live in peace – and it needs to be guarded. If you allow me, I'd like to keep it in here, so that, when the opportunity presents itself, it can be used to serve justice."
"You want to use it in court," Harry more stated than asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at the man on the other side of the desk.
"Yes," Cyrus replied, pulling out his pipe and a package of tobacco; he filled the wooden device with the dried leaves.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea, sir," he countered. "Don't get me wrong – I want to see those people sent to Azkaban as well, but I don't want anyone else to see what happened that night."
"Why is that?" Cyrus asked, igniting his pipe. Harry's eyes flashed for a split second before he mumbled a response. "Could you repeat that a little louder, Harry?" he pleaded.
"Because I was weak!" he hissed through gritted teeth, looking down shamefully.
Cyrus blinked a few times. It was a rare occurrence for him to be rendered speechless, but it was the case at that moment. For a few solid seconds, Lord Greengrass managed only to stare at the boy in front of him, taking a puff once in a while. Not boy – man, he corrected himself as Harry coughed a few times when the smoke reached his face. Cyrus blew the next cloud of smoke at the floor.
"Weak?" he asked in disbelief, leaning forward in his chair. Harry only pursed his lips, still looking stubbornly at his knees. "I have yet to meet someone who would manage to stand their ground against You-Know-Who and thirty Death Eaters at once – and live to tell the tale."
"I had help," Harry countered immediately.
"In escaping, perhaps," Cyrus agreed, nodding his head. "But I haven't seen anyone helping you fight against You-Know-Who's three Unforgivable Curses. I haven't seen anyone helping you best the Death Eater chasing you, nor summoning your wand when you were disarmed. I know weakness when I see one, Harry, and what I've seen in your memories is anything but it. So, why do you think you were weak?"
"I could have saved Cedric if I was better," he mumbled, not lifting his gaze for even a split second.
"You were bound and disarmed when that boy was killed, Harry," Cyrus reminded him, making sure to keep his tone as gentle as possible. "There was nothing you could have done for him."
"There's always something," Harry disagreed, muttering again.
"No," Cyrus countered, shaking his head. "Sometimes, certain things are just beyond our control."
Harry snorted at that; a smile, devoid of any humor, stretched his lips. "But he was at that graveyard because of me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind," Harry replied, shaking his head.
"There is nothing in that memory that you should be ashamed of, Harry," Cyrus continued after a moment of silence. The boy still stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, though. Once again, he leaned forward in his chair. "If anything, you should be proud of yourself. You've shown bravery and skills that many Witches and Wizards much older than you could only dream of. So, I hope you will change your mind about that memory. As I've said, it will take months for that law to be taken down, so please, think carefully about your decision. There's no need to rush it now."
"And what will happen to my memory?" Harry asked, for the first time looking at the Pensieve. His chest moved rapidly as if the closed lid didn't block the memory from replaying in front of him.
"I will keep it here in hopes that you will change your mind when the time comes," Cyrus answered. "If that's any consolation, Harry, I promise I won't show it to anyone without your consent." Harry nodded his head, chewing at his bottom lip.
"Do you really think I will be attacked again, sir?" he asked, finally looking at Cyrus.
"It is a possibility. Although, I hope I'm wrong about this. Still, worse things happened the last time." Cyrus barely resisted the urge to slap his forehead as he recalled what he had said earlier. "Please, forgive me for what I've said about your memory, Harry. I didn't want it to come out as if I only valued your memory and not your life. You live with your Muggle relatives, is that correct?" he asked, wanting to make sure he remembered that detail correctly.
"Yes."
Cyrus pursed his lips, forcing his mind to work at a supersonic speed. Of course, his word was law in the Greengrass Manor, but that didn't mean his wife didn't have anything to say in the decisions he made. Still, she agreed that their Family would stand with the man in front of him.
"You were attacked in the Muggle world a few days ago – hiding from our society will not guarantee your safety," he said, breaking the momentary silence. "If you like, you can stay in my house as my guest for as long as you desire," Cyrus offered, earning himself a wide-eyed stare from Harry. "I am aware that living with a bunch of Slytherins isn't an ideal outcome for a Gryffindor," he continued with a quiet chuckle. "But I hope that House rivalries can be forgotten during summer."
For the first time since entering his study, Harry smiled genuinely, even if just a little. "I've spent quite some time with the Slytherins this school year, sir. It won't be a problem. Can I ask you something, sir?" Cyrus nodded his head in silent consent. "You've ignited your pipe wandlessly and silently," Harry said, looking at the wooden device in Cyrus' hand. "Would you teach me that? Wandless magic, that is," he clarified.
Cyrus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "From what I've seen in your memory, you already know wandless magic, Harry," he commented.
"You didn't break your fingers when you were doing it, sir," Harry countered. "I know that Voldemort will come for me again, and if I'm disarmed again, I don't want to harm myself additionally. I need to be prepared for when it happens."
"I admit I'm torn between being impressed and terrified by your reasoning, Harry," Cyrus commented after a few seconds. "I'm not sure if wandless magic can be taught the way you're used to from Hogwarts, but I promise you I will do my best to share what I have learned throughout the years."
If you don't like long Author's Notes, you can skip them. Quick rambling about the one thing that seems to irritate you guys the most since I have no idea how to explain it in the story – Daphne's cold shoulder towards Harry. Many of you said that it's basically the same thing Ron and Hermione have done, and I agree – to some extent. Without the context, sure it's the exact same thing, but let's take a closer look at both cases:
First, how long has his friendship with R&Hr lasted? Harry was friends with R&Hr for 3 YEARS, and no one can say it was a regular friendship that all of us experience – how many of you can say that you were in life-or-death situations at the age of 11, 12, or 13 with no one but your peers at your side? Perhaps, there are some readers out there who can relate to that, but the closest I was to death at that age was when I ran on the street without looking and almost got hit by a car. In comparison, there weren't such events that Harry and Daphne have experienced together (at least prior to Daphne's silent treatment). Of course, you can argue that the First Task happened – okay, but Daphne wasn't an active participant in that. She helped Harry (somewhat) prepare himself for the Task, but that's it. She didn't face the dragon with him, nor did she risk anything.
Second, how long his friendship with Daphne lasted before her silent treatment? 2 MONTHS. And, at least in my humble opinion, it wasn't nearly as strong as his relationship with R&Hr. As I've said – no life or death situations that create the strongest bonds. I think it was more natural or regular friendship – they bonded over somewhat normal school matters, like studying together and attending a school ball together. Stopping Voldemort from getting Philosopher's Stone, fighting a Basilisk, and defending an innocent man from a horde of Dementors aren't normal school matters.
So yeah, while her silent treatment might have hurt Harry and reminded him of what R&Hr have done, it wasn't exactly the same thing, in my opinion. You can argue with that, of course, but that won't change the way I see it. That's why it was easier for Harry to forgive Daphne, not because he is a 'doormat.' And as for Harry being 'BDSM submissive' one thing or another for accepting Daphne's 'insults' or things like that, I don't think that describes it correctly. Let's not forget that Harry knows what bullying looks like (the Dursleys, Malfoy, etc.), and Daphne's behavior (again, in my opinion) isn't nearly anything like that. And why does he enjoy it? From my point of view, Harry was somewhat desperate at the beginning of this story. His world got turned upside down, and having someone to talk to, gave him some sort of comfort. Over those few weeks they've got to know each other, he's simply grown used to Daphne's behavior (even if you consider it toxic), because of the safety the mere presence of the other person guarantees. A drowning man will clutch at a straw, as they say. I don't know about you guys, but I have quite a few friendships in which we sometimes throw such hurtful insults at each other that an outsider might think we hate each other. However, we know that none of us mean it, and none of us gets offended.
And how does our favorite couple reconcile? Over a situation of life or death, at least to some extent (the Second Task). Their bond grows stronger over another such situation (the aftermath of the Third Task in Moody's Office). I've said in the beginning that my main goal is to describe the evolution of Harry's and Daphne's relationship from complete strangers, to acquaintances, to friends and finally to lovers. I admit, I didn't expect it to take this long, and the slowburn starts irritating me as well, but I plan to see it through to the end the way I've envisioned it. If you don't enjoy such a development – I don't force you to read.
One last thing regarding 'bashing,' because we seem to have two different definitions of this word. The way I understand bashing is a cruel, public belittling of a specific person, with numerous insults, that I've read multiple times on this site, that involves the victim running away in tears, being laughed at, or mocked by the entire school. That's why I believe I haven't included any bashing in my story. As I said a few chapters ago, my characters WILL make mistakes and WILL be called out on them. So yeah, that's my understanding of 'bashing.'
Sorry for the long monologue, but I needed to get it off my chest. I promise I won't go back to those things anymore, and I'll do my best to keep the Author's Notes as short as possible in the future.
