A/N: Harry Potter is the property of JKR. Thank you to all my loyal readers; I really appreciate and value your feedback and support of this story, as well as my other works.

I do have a new story that I published on Wednesday. "Two Wrongs" for the hp_unfaithful community's website. Be warned: it's M for language, very mature situations (namely some rough sex), and it's Draco/Daphne, Draco/Astoria, and for all you loyal "7th Year From Hell" fans, Daphne/Michael. I would love for all of you to check it out and let me know what you think.


Chapter 34: Tragedy Strikes

"Wait."

(Wait?)

Ginny had never hated a word so much.

Sure, there was a war raging outside of the stony walls of the Scottish castle. But she wasn't ready for this news. She wasn't prepared to hear about her father's life and how it might be—

(No.)

Her evening leading up to this fateful moment had been rather uneventful.

Ginny had been sitting in the common room with Neville and the other D.A. Gryffindors, discussing ways in which they could continue with their late-night incursions to put up more pro-Harry, anti-Ministry graffiti all over the school. Specifically, making sure that the identities of the students in the D.A. would stay concealed and that the source of the pamphlets that they had been distributing remained confidential.

Suddenly, she was s struck by inspiration. After all, living at number twelve, Grimmauld Place for a year had provided her with some first-hand experience with Concealment Charms.

She snapped her fingers. "Oh of course!"

"Of course what?"

"Neville, we can do a Fidelius Charm."

He stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Isn't that a freakishly complicated spell?" Seamus, Lavender and Parvati nodded in agreement.

"Er, yes it is."

"And aren't we at a distinct disadvantage not having Hermione here?" Lavender said; her eyebrow quirked as she spoke.

"Maybe. Look, Hermione's one of my best friends, and she is brilliant. But aren't we forgetting that we have a whole arsenal of Ravenclaws, not to mention you, and Parvati and Anthony. Neville, you're in Advanced Charms too, are you not?"

Neville blushed, but he nodded "Advanced Charms are one thing; insanely complex Concealment Charms are another."

Ginny grinned. "I think if we put our minds together, and make decent use of the library, we can figure it out."

The Gryffindors looked at each other sceptically. After a few moments, Neville shrugged. "Well, let's bring it up at the next meeting—"

"Miss Weasley?"

Professor McGonagall's voice cut through her memory; she was no longer in the Gryffindor common room, but she was back sitting on the tartan-covered couch in front of her professor's fireplace. Sniffling, she wiped at her wet cheeks. "Yes, Professor?"

"Would you like some tea while we wait?"

Her body sagged. There was that horrible word again.

Wait.

Wait for the end of the war, wait for Hermione and Harry and Ron to return, wait for a Weasley to die—

Her breath rattled. "N-no. I'm fine."

McGonagall nodded, setting the steaming teapot down on the table next to a tray of biscuits. "Once again, I'm sorry that all of you have to wait. Hopefully, we'll hear something before this evening's over."

A light shone brightly in the office. All heads snapped around to look at the source. Gracefully, gleaming as if a beam of moonlight, a corporeal Patronus in the form of a lynx landed in the middle of the room. Ginny and Daphne leaned forward, clutching each other's hands. They looked at each other and whispered, "Shacklebolt." Michael, Terry, Anthony stared at the image with curiosity and awe.

The lynx opened its mouth. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice boomed from it.

"Arthur Weasley and the Corners are doing fine. Fifteen have gone to sleep. We'll have more information soon."

And the Patronus ran back into the air and disappeared.

"Oh!" Ginny and Daphne both fell into each other as the Ravenclaw wizards all embraced and smacked Michael on the back.

"He's all right, Ginny," Daphne said with a shaky, but happy, voice into Ginny's shoulder. "Arthur's all right!"

The girls released each other, and Daphne went over to hug Michael. The young couple embraced, overcome with emotion. It was an innocent clinch, but what struck Ginny was the way Michael stroked her hair, the way Daphne's hands seemed to grasp his jumper, drawing him as close as possible to her, the way both of them buried themselves in the other person. They seemed to forget that others were in the room, watching them.

Ginny smiled, feeling happy that they had each other, feeling sad that she couldn't share the moment with her family.

Or with Harry.

Just to their left, Ginny could hear McGonagall and Flitwick discuss the message.

"Fifteen casualties? Thirty refugees of the sixty at that safe-house were supposed to be transferred, Minerva. That's half! Half of the refugees that were to leave England tonight."

"I know. I'm waiting to hear from Argus. Perhaps he knows something."

Flitwick rubbed his eyes; he was clearly tired and worn down with the emotional upheavals of the evening. "Merlin, help us!"

Ginny tried to ignore it, to focus instead on her father's life and Michael's parents, all of which had been spared. Thankfully, both Anthony and Terry came over with big smiles on their faces.

"Hey Ginny, I'm happy your family's all right." Anthony said, smiling.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yours and Michael's," Terry added, relieved. "I can't even imagine what it would've happened if . . . ." Terry shivered and spun around, grinning broadly at his other friend. "Oi, Mike! When we get back to our dormitory, how 'bout we break open the—" He threw his head back, making a drinking gesture with his right hand. Michael laughed and held his thumb up.

"Mister Boot! Must I remind you that your teachers are standing right here?"

The room dissolved into laughter as Terry looked at McGonagall awkwardly. "Er, I could always share it," he squeaked, flashing her what he thought was a charming grin.

It didn't work. The Transfiguration professor stared at him, her face reddening, her lips pressing together in disapproving fashion.

Flitwick, however, had different ideas.

"Dobby!"

There was a loud pop inside the office. Dobby stood before the Charms professor, giving him a salute.

"Dobby is here sir! Ready to serve the kind Professor Flitwick."

"Dobby, there is a small barrel of twenty-year-old oak-matured mead sitting in my office, with some goblets in a cabinet. Would you be so kind as to retrieve them for us?"

"Yes! Kreacher can help Dobby, too!"

"Thank you, good house-elf."

With a nod and another pop, Dobby Disapparated.

"Filius, you're not thinking about serving our students mead?"

"I am, Minerva." He held a finger up in the air. "I will go on record and say that the best remedy for frayed nerves is one glass of Goblin Special oak-matured mead. This is nothing more than a medicinal remedy! Not only for them, but for us as well. Besides, they are of age."

McGonagall barely had any time to respond when Dobby returned, a small barrel floating in front of him. Kreacher was just behind, Levitating goblets. Flitwick was already jiggling the spigot and filling up goblets, floating them around the room.

Terry grinned and elbowed Michael and Anthony as they took their glasses. "We've got the best Head of House ever!"

"Watch it, Mister Boot! I can still Transfigure your drink into mud!"

McGonagall's comment made Terry splutter into his goblet as he took a sip.

Flitwick finished distributing the drinks around the room, hesitantly offering McGonagall her own goblet. "Minerva, would you care for some? Or, if you have any objections—"

She flashed him a stern look — before taking the cup into her hands. The Ravenclaws smirked.

"I saw that, boys." McGonagall's face softened and she raised her glass into the air, in a toast. "To your families, Miss Weasley, Miss Greengrass, and Mister Corner." A smile finally appeared on her face. "To all of you families. May they stay safe and protected through these dark times."

"Cheers!" Everyone clinked their goblets together.

"Wonderful toast, Minerva!" Flitwick gave her a bow before taking a sip.

"Thank you Fili—" she hiccupped and blushed, pressing her fingers against her mouth. "Oh my! I wasn't expecting that."

"The true beauty of Goblin mead. Very inconspicuous at first, but then — POW! It sneaks up on you. Much like a goblin, actually." Flitwick said with a smile.

Terry had already finished his, and was sneaking back towards the barrel for more, whistling with mock nonchalance.

"Be very careful with that mead, Terrance. It can get you when you least expect it!"

Michael snickered under his breath. "Flitwick's never seen Terry down half a bottle of dragon rum in less than half-an-hour."

Ginny snorted. "Got the tolerance of a horse, does he?"

"More like a Norwegian Ridgeback!"

Daphne and Ginny both laughed and took more sips from their cups. Ginny looked over at Daphne, who smiled back at her. Her face fell; she realized this was probably the first time in quite a while that she had found herself in such close physical proximity to Daphne ever since that blasted raid.

She really needed to get over this. Luna and Daphne had already talked. Daphne was back doing things with the D.A. Holding grudges, especially now when everything was so unpredictable, was stupid.

After all, anything could happen in the blink of an eye.

"Hey Daphne, um," Ginny said, her head shaking a little bit, "I know I've been really distant lately. And, well, erm . . ."

Daphne sniggered. "You don't have to apologize to me."

"No, I do."

The Slytherin shrugged in an awkward manner. "Well it really should be me apologizing for torturing one of your best friends," she mumbled.

Ginny sighed. "Daphne, I should've known better. You were forced to do that to Luna. Really, we should be angry with Snape."

"Bastard."

"I'd go with giant fart, but sure. Bastard works fine." The two girls laughed.

Her mirth receded, and Ginny wiped her eyes. "Luna said she had forgiven you and you two both talked about it."

"You felt loyal to her, Ginny. I understand." Daphne nudged her with her elbow. "Can I suggest something?"

"What?"

"From now on," Daphne said, smiling but serious, "we talk. If something goes wrong, or anything like that happens again, I won't run away before talking to you first and you won't get angry without talking to me first. Deal?"

She held out her hand for Ginny to shake. She grinned and shook her hand. "Deal."

As if on cue, the fireplace roared to life with a bright blue flame.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked.

McGonagall hurried over to attend to the hearth, Flitwick just behind her. "Kingsley Shacklebolt and his brother, Hermes, managed to create a Floo network outside the normal Ministry system. They started this two years ago, while the Ministry was obstructing our efforts to fight You-Know-Who. We only use it for emergencies and for encrypted parchments."

"Ah, Hermes was a fine student! One of the finest I ever had in my classes. He managed to parlay his talents in Charms and Transfiguration into a high-level position in the Department of Communications." Flitwick added, his tone wistful. "Such a brilliant mind!"

McGonagall peered at the blue Floo flames. "The connection will stay open for only a few minutes before the Ministry is alerted to its presence. But it does well for quick communications."

A note peeked out of the fire. McGonagall reached in to grab the parchment. The flames receded back into a normal fire as she unrolled it. She waved her wand and muttered an indecipherable incantation.

To their right, Ginny overheard Anthony Goldstein whistle under her breath. "Wow! That's an ancient encryption spell if I've ever heard one."

"How the hell do you know that?"

Anthony stared at Terry. "Because, you git, I stayed awake during the unit on Ancient Egypt in Binns' class. Anyways, don't you, Mister 'I've-Got-A-Brain-For-Dead-Languages' recognize Ancient Egyptian?"

Terry simply stuck his tongue out at him. Michael nudged his friend in the stomach.

"Would you two pipe down? This could be bad news."

The students turned to look at McGonagall and Flitwick as they decoded the parchment. Ginny held her breath; if there were other casualties from the fight, that note might contain their names.

And what if it was someone they knew? Dean, Colin, Dennis . . . they were all on the run. What if they had been at that safe-house? What if one of her brothers, or her mother, had been injured tonight. What if—

Ginny heard a soft rattling sound. She looked up and saw the parchment trembling slightly in McGonagall's hands. The colour fell away from the professor's face; in an instant, she seemed far older than her years.

McGonagall let out a gasp, which turned into a sob. Flitwick put his hand over hers.

"Minerva, I'm so sorry—"

She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth and disappeared around the corner of her office.

"Professor, what happened?" Ginny sat on the edge of the couch, unable to move.

"Pr-Professor McGonagall," Flitwick began, his voice breaking, "has a godson, Argus Dearborn. His father, Caradoc, was a soldier who fought with us during the First War; h-he was presumed dead when his body went missing and was never found.

"Argus is," Flitwick caught himself, "was an Auror. He was one of the few that Kingsley Shacklebolt recommended personally to join the Order." He looked down at the paper again. "He switched places with your father, Miss Weasley, because Argus and Kingsley both wanted an experienced Auror helping with the first round of evacuations." He blinked and swallowed. "Argus was killed tonight in battle."

Ginny fell silent. She felt numb, guilty. They had been rejoicing no more than five minutes ago because Arthur Weasley and Michael's mum and dad were all right. It was as if no one else had been harmed. Now? Now there were actual casualties, ones with names and faces, and McGonagall had lost a loved one, a godson that she must have cared for after his father died.

Flitwick seemed to read her mind. "Oh my dear, don't feel bad for feeling happy that your father is all right."

"B-but how can I not?" Ginny felt her eyes water. "Even though we're celebrating, it doesn't matter because people are dying, and the war's still going on—"

"Miss Weasley, your father is all right, so we should be celebrating." He put a hand on the top of her head, giving her a comforting pat. "You'll find that even in the darkest moments, that if you keep this moment in your heart—"

He was unable to continue because the Floo erupted bright blue again.

Another roll of parchment fluttered out of the fireplace.

(Oh no. What if there have been more deaths?)

Ginny's stomach lurched.

(Please say there are no more bodies. Please say there are no more bodies. Please say there are no more bodies . . . . )

She hadn't realized she had been holding Daphne's hand until she felt her sweaty palm against the Slytherin's. Flitwick waved his wand exactly as McGonagall had, and he began to read the parchment. Ginny watched him, studying his face for any reaction, good or bad.

"No!"

Flitwick's face paled in shock. His hand came up over his trembling mouth, pushing against his face as tears welled up in his eyes.

After a moment, he seemed to realize that there were others in the room watching him. He walked towards them; Ginny could feel all of them tensing simultaneously as he got closer.

Flitwick swallowed and then he started speaking, but he aimed his words towards the three Ravenclaw boys.

"The evacuation of one safe-house was supposed to take place today for one-half of the refugees that were staying there. Michael, your parents were supposed to go today but your mother is being treated for a medical emergency that would've made travel impossible."

Instantly, the blood drained from Michael's face. He looked as white as a sheet. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine, but she couldn't travel at the moment. So, your mother and father gave their spot away."

Here, Flitwick stopped talking. He flexed his jaw.

"Mister Boot," he said, turning towards Michael's best friend.

"Yeah?"

"They switched with your family."

An intolerable silence blanketed the room. Ginny's breath stopped in her throat. She thought there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't have the same reaction to the news as she did.

It was Terry who broke the endless quiet.

"What? I-I don't get . . . but they're all right? Right?"

Flitwick's eyes fell back to the parchment, completely at a loss of what to say.

"Right? Professor?!"

Michael and Anthony both reached over to Terry but he shrugged them off violently; he was focused solely on Flitwick and the parchment.

"T-Terrance," the Charms instructor said with a shaky voice, "I'm so sorry."

Terry growled and snatched the parchment away from Flitwick. Turning his back away from the others, he read it in silence. The others watched him, not daring to breathe or speak or move.

Ginny and Daphne watched as his shoulders began to quiver. He flipped the parchment many times over, staring at it as if it wasn't real. There were grunting sounds coming from him, but no words came out.

Michael and Anthony slowly got up off the couch and walked towards him. Michael was the first to reach Terry. He put his hands on his shoulders, to let him know that he was there for him.

But when he touched him, Terry exploded.

"GET OFF ME!"

"Terry!" Michael raised his hands. He spoke to Terry, but his voice shook with emotion. "Mate, it's m-me. I'm here. So's Tony."

"We're not leaving your side." Anthony said.

Terry bared his teeth and pointed his finger violently in Michael's face, crumpling the parchment in his hand. "You. You st-still have a mum and a dad." He was shaking and breathing in huge gasps. "YOUR MUM AND DAD ARE ALIVE AND MINE ARE FUCKING DEAD!!"

"Oh Merlin! Terry, I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry mate—"

And Terry punched him.

Michael fell backwards and into the coffee table. It smashed into pieces. Daphne, Ginny and Flitwick ran over as Michael winced in pain and cupped his bleeding nose. Ginny could see that he was struggling to not get angry with his friend. However, he took only one look at Terry and his face clouded with sadness.

"Terry! Don't mate! T-talk to us, man." Anthony extended his arms out in front of him, in case Terry decided to take another swing. "We're h-here for you, Terry. We want to help you. Just let us—"

"Fuck off!" Terry sobbed. "FUCK OFF!" Tears rolled down his face. "FUCK!"

He started kicking and punching the walls and screaming and breathing and heaving in gasps.

"FUCKING BASTARDS!! FUCK THEM! I HATE THEM ALL! I'LL KILL THEM LIKE THEY KILLED THEM!! FUCK THEM!! I FUCKING HATE THEM—"

"STUPEFY!"

The Stunner hit Terry immediately and the Ravenclaw fell to the ground. All heads turned as a red-eyed McGonagall emerged from the back. She looked at Flitwick.

"Filius? Is it true?"

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had been in and answered McGonagall. "Terry's parents and Michael's parents switched spots in the refugee evacuation today. We didn't know about it until just a few minutes ago."

McGonagall stared at him with horrified shock. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry for Stunning him, but oh! The poor boy." She pointed her wand at him and uttered, her voice breaking, "Levicorpus."

Terry's unconscious form floated past the other students and fell onto the now empty couch. McGonagall used her wand to pull a tartan blanket over him.

Flitwick threw a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace. "Hospital Wing!"

Eddie Carmichael emerged from the flames with a very professional demeanour. "Professor Flitwick, is there something wrong?"

"Mister Carmichael, we need assistance here."

Eddie nodded, and ducked out of the fireplace for a few moments. He came back and stepped through, carrying a leather bag with him. "What's happened?"

His eyes scanned the room, from Michael's rapidly bruising face, to the shattered coffee table, to Terry Boot lying unconscious on the couch with two bloodied hands. And the grim faces among them.

"What's going on?" Eddie asked anxiously. He laid his bag down and tended to Michael and Terry's injuries as Flitwick and McGonagall told him of the events of the last hour.


The trek back to Gryffindor Tower was agonizing.

Ginny had to stop several times to lean against the cold stone, pressing her head against it in a feeble attempt to stop crying.

"Oh, my dear . . . you look a sight!" The Fat Lady said as soon as Ginny approached her portrait.

"Pure-blood." Her voice was flat and monotone.

The portrait swung open, and Ginny found herself immediately surrounded by the Gryffindor members of Dumbledore's Army.

"Ginny! Oh no . . ."

"Are you all right? Here. Sit down. The fire's going—"

"Ginny, is there anything we can do?" Neville asked. He sat to her right, Seamus and Lavender next to him. Parvati sat to her left.

She stared at the fireplace for what must have been one minute past forever.

Neville looked at the others. "D-did something happen to your family? Ginny . . . we're here—"

"Terry lost his mum and dad."

Ginny continued to stare at the fireplace, barely aware that she had said anything. A horrible, gaping silence befell the small group.

"Terry?"

She turned to her left. Parvati's voice hung in the air. She looked at Ginny with huge, tear-filled eyes, her mouth moving soundlessly.

Ginny could only nod slowly until she regained her voice. "Terry's. Not mine. Not Michael's. Terry."

Neville and Seamus sat still, stunned. Lavender grasped her face with her hand, trying to control her sobbing. Ginny, however, continued to look at Parvati. She was shaking; finally, she could no longer stop the tears from falling. They streamed down her cheeks.

"N-no." Parvati's eyes fluttered and her chin shook as she continued to cry. "Padma," she whispered quietly, as she reached into her pocket for her Galleon. "She'd know something. She's in Ravenclaw."

Ginny touched her arm, drawing her brown eyes to her green ones. "Parvati, he had to be Stunned. He's was in such a rage. I don't think that he's going to be in any state to see anybody."

"But how?" Parvati turned her wet face back towards her. "We thought that . . . it's good that you're family's all right, a-and Michael's too. But Terry's . . ." she said weakly.

Ginny recounted the story for her House-mates. She felt full the weight that had been sitting in her stomach like a heavy leaden stone. It had batted around in her guts the second McGonagall entered the common room with her sombre face and she had to hold back a wave of nausea when she heard McGonagall say her father's name.

That he might've been attacked—

(Again.)

It had been the worst feeling of déjà vu for Ginny, to sit in yet another professor's office, waiting to hear whether she still had a father.

And she did. She did and it was wonderful to find that out. But it had been at the cost of McGonagall's godson. And at the cost of Terry's family.

How? How could this evening have ended like this? She was tired; her body and mind had run through a marathon of human emotions in just a few hours. This was war, after all. That meant one life spared, but another life lost.

Her voice trailed off and she sat among the other Gryffindors, watching them as they cried and comforted each other. They stayed up through the night, talking when they needed to talk, sitting in silence when no words would come.


It was startling the way things could change in a matter of minutes. One second, she was laughing at Michael and Anthony.

(And Terry.)

The next second, everything was different. The world felt cold, grey, and unfriendly. Death Eaters had attacked and people had died. Loved ones close to her friends were no longer breathing. They were no longer walking or talking or writing letters to their sons.

They were just gone.

A few days following the raid, Daphne decided she needed to see Michael. She hadn't spoken to him since McGonagall's office. She didn't know how Terry was doing, as several professors had somehow managed to keep him away from classes for almost a full week. They had made sure that Snape and the Carrows couldn't get to him.

From what little she had been able to glean from Anthony, Terry was suffering in silence, but the brunt of his anger was directed, unfortunately, towards his best friend.

"So Mike's been using the Room of Requirement to give Terry some space."

"Ah. That's where he's been hiding." Daphne walked next to him, pretending to monitor Anthony's late night patrolling. "He hasn't been responding to my messages." She regarded him with a serious expression "Do you think Michael and Terry can get through this? You three're best mates."

He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up on his face with a sigh. "There's never been a time since we started here that Mike, Terry and I haven't been together. But now? Everything's out of control. And he blames Mike and his family for what happened to his."

"Merlin!" Daphne rolled her eyes upwards, staring at the ceiling. She was at a loss of what to say. "War's hell, innit?"

"You'll get no argument from me."

"Should I try to talk to Michael?"

Anthony gave her a smile, although it was tinged with sadness. "He'd like that, Daphne. Knowing Mike, he wants to seem like he's handling everything okay, but he's not. I know he blames himself because Terry's blaming him. Terry doesn't really, but it's easier for him to be angry at Mike and . . . bollocks! It's all so fucked up. Eddie and Pomfrey have tried to help, but they're not Emotional Healers. They're really not qualified to deal with the psychological stuff."

"They're all we have right now though."

"Well, Mike has you." His smiled brightened a little bit. "If you can get away from the crap you have to do here, please go see him."

And so she did. Daphne watched as the door to the Room of Requirement appeared before her. Her face fell, wondering in what state Michael would be when she saw him.

"Michael?" she asked, shutting the door behind her. "Anthony told me how to get in and — oh!" Daphne gaped at the Room as she set her book bag on the floor. He had managed to turn it into a smaller version of the Ravenclaw common room, circular in shape and covered in dark blue fabric. Blue and bronze hangings adorned the walls, and as she looked at the carpet, swirling galaxies resembling the patterns she had noticed in Michael's dormitory glided beneath her feet. The space was big enough for about three people.

She felt a pang in her heart as she spied Michael, his back towards the door. He was hunched over facing a fire, breathing in long sighs.

He looked so alone and sad, Daphne could feel his melancholy saturate the room.

She walked over to him, her heart breaking when she finally got a good look at him. He was staring at the fireplace, his elbows propped on his knees, his head resting in his hands. Without taking his eyes off the fireplace, he patted the spot next to him. His lower lip was pushed out and his eyes drooped downwards.

Daphne sat down. "You've redecorated in here? It's cosy."

She smiled at him, although it faltered as he continued to stare at the fire.

"Michael?"

"He hates me."

"No he doesn't." She scooted closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's probably feeling a whole mess of different things. Anger definitely. But once he gets past it—"

"What if he doesn't, Daphne?" Michael twisted his head around, looking at her with desperate, miserable eyes. "What if, from this point forward, all he sees whenever he looks at me is the reason he lost his family?" His chin shook. "Terry's been my brother for the past seven years. Him, Tony and I — we're best mates! Tony and I both should be helping him get through this, cheering him up. But I'm just making things worse."

His head fell back into his hands. Daphne sat silently, her hand patting his back, thinking of a million things she could say to try to make him feel better.

None of them felt right.

"We were supposed to stay with Tony's parents over Christmas. B-but I can't go now. Terry should go. He can't stay here. It wouldn't be healthy for him to stay here, not with those bastards at the school. He needs his family. I've got mine. They're all right. But he doesn't . . ."

Daphne let him speak uninterrupted. He was staring at the fire; she could tell he wasn't talking to her necessarily, but he needed to get things off of his chest.

"I miss him and Tony so much. He probably hates me too."

"No. Anthony told me to see you. He's worried about you, and he feels guilty that he can't be here more and keep you company. Don't think that you've lost them, Michael. Neither of them hate you. Hey." She touched his cheek with her hand. He finally looked at her. "It'll take time. It's only been a week, right?

He sat up — but just as abruptly, he fell back into the cushions of the couch. Daphne extended her arm around his shoulders and he curled his body towards her, wrapping her up in an embrace.

He laid his head next to hers, and gently kissed her neck. "How long can you stay?"

"A little while."

He nestled into her more, squeezing her tightly, but warmly. She responded by hugging him completely.

They remained together in their clinch as the fire continued to cast shadows on the wall.

"What d'you want?" She ran her fingers through his soft, shaggy hair.

"This. Just this." Michael brought his head up. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead brought his lips to hers. The kiss deepened, slowly building with intensity, until their tongues locked together in a way that went beyond mere snogging.

There was no thought behind it. It was just pure impulse.

For a split second, Daphne wanted to pause and pull away. Doing anything right now with Michael in the state that he had been in seemed wrong. It felt like she was taking advantage of him.

But at that moment, all Daphne could feel was Michael's hands tugging at her clothes, desperate to get what he wanted. It alarmed her that the more they kissed, the more anxious she became to help him; whatever would help him find solace, she would do.

If her body could make him feel better, then so be it.

They ripped their jumpers off, and continued to kiss, their heads swirling left and right, hands clinging to their shirts. Michael fumbled with the buttons on her top, practically tearing them off when he couldn't undo them because his hands shook far too much. Daphne had already finished his. She yanked it off of his slender body and pulled his undershirt free from his trousers. She began pulling it up over his head.

Michael moved from her mouth to her neck as he undid her oxford, letting it fall away from her body. He stopped kissing her skin just long enough for her to remove his shirt so she could throw it to the floor. Flushed and panting, the teenagers paused, but only for a second before smashing their faces together.

His hands were no stranger to her chest, and he grabbed her, but this time, there was an urgency and unfamiliar force to his touch. He zealously squeezed her through her bra and she yelped. He apologized, but it was muffled as his lips were still on her neck.

"S'all right. Keep going," she panted.

Michael made for the clasp of her bra. He continued to kiss her forcefully, both teenagers growing more and more frustrated at his inability to undo her bra.

Suddenly, Michael stiffened. He broke apart their kiss. They looked at each other, their sweaty foreheads pressed together.

Michael let his hands drop away from her undergarment. He sighed. "Dammit," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Um . . . s'okay." She sounded shaky and awkward. "I was fine with it."

"Bloody hell, Daphne." He pulled her shirt back up over her shoulders. "I don't want . . . our first time . . ." He huffed as he failed to find the right words to say what he needed to say. "This shouldn't be how we do it. Not because of — dammit!"

She felt herself blushing. "Y-yeah you're right. . . I, er, probably should've stopped you."

"You should've? I shouldn't have even started!"

She stared at him, amazed that he was covering her back up and buttoning her shirt. He reached for her jumper and gave it back to her.

(I feel so respected.)

She giggled.

"What?" He was about to put his own jumper back on.

"I'm amazed that I actually managed to find a bloke who's just . . ."

"Just what?"

"Who's just so blasted chivalrous."

Michael stared at her for a few seconds, and promptly burst into laughter. "Chivalrous? Me?"

Daphne's hand flew in the air. "Raise your hand if you just said 'No' to a shag and are conscientiously making sure your girl is properly dressed?"

He chuckled. "We'll keep this to ourselves." He drew his chest up and puffed out his face. "I do have a reputation to maintain."

Daphne smacked him playfully. She gave him a thoughtful smile. "I didn't want our first time to be like that either."

He smiled back, but more contemplative than before. "You don't have to leave, right? I did like the holding stuff we were doing before."

She didn't respond. Instead, she kissed his cheek and pushed him down, so he laid lengthwise across the couch. She reclined on top of him, her head resting on his chest.

Michael hummed. "Okay, yeah. This is nice." He wrapped his arms back around her and gave her a squeeze. "This I can do all night."

"Oh, Corner," Daphne sighed. "You're such a girl." She giggled as he swatted her.

After a few minutes of peaceful quiet, she lifted her head up. "I think Terry'll come around. You two're like brothers, and he'll realize that he needs you, probably quicker than you think."

Michael stared at her, a grin spreading on his face.

"What?"

He held out his hand. "Hi, my name's Michael Corner. I wanted to meet this sparkling ray of sunshine lying on top of me. And I also wanted to ask where exactly did you stash my girlfriend? She's small, snarky, and quite the little Slytherin."

She laughed and slapped his chest. "Stop it."

"Sexy, though. And she snogs like a dream."

She shot him a glare — and a pursed lip grin.

"I think I've been a good influence on you, Daphne."

She closed her eyes and hummed in contentment as he kissed the top of her head.