A/N

This chapter got the most critique. Reading it again now, three years after publishing it, I have to admit that the critique was partially correct. I hope this revised Harry (and Daphne/Hermione) is now more IC than before.

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Second Service

The Burrow – 26th of August, midmorning

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Rather gently, Harry put Hermione's trunk down near the chimney. In a few minutes they would use it for their travel to Pinegrew Manor. He had never liked the experience of floo-ing very much but it was the fastest variant and certainly to be preferred to sidelong apparating. With his belongings, apart from a small bundle, still over there, he had offered Hermione to help her with her baggage. Knowing her it was no wonder that there had been enough trash in her room to resemble a house move.

Sorry, not trash but precious and useful bits of learning and education, Harry sniggered, imitating Hermione's voice in his mind. The books alone filled two small crates and even with levitating charms on them he had no idea how she hoped to get them to Hogwarts. Or how she imagined placing them in the room she would share with Lavender and Parvati.

Molly was working in the kitchen, the twins and Ginny in the garden, officially to de-gnome it. This left him alone in the living room for a few minutes, and allowed him to collect his thoughts.

The first two days after the nightly battle had been hellish. It had needed a few hours for the shock to settle in but then the reaction had only been stronger. Perhaps he should be used to this kind of danger through his former adventures, but he hoped that it was a good sign not to be too apathetic. He could have died that night. Hermione could have died. Dozens of people had been wounded on both sides. He felt sympathy for the poor Muggle family that had been caught in the battle and undergone a terrible experience. Arthur had told them that those Muggles had been obliviated later. Perhaps that had been for the best.

He had felt so helpless in that fight. After years of fights against Draco and his groupies, after several dangerous adventures and surviving them, he perhaps had too much trust in his own abilities and those of Hermione. She was the brightest-witch-of-her-generation and he was the-boy-who-lived, the seeker with the lightning reflexes. They should have been able to win. But in reality they had barely been able to survive long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

The cavalry. After a week of pondering he was further away from identifying their rescuer than ever. A hand wearing a wand, something glittering. That image didn't leave his mind. But was it an old, gnarled hand or a young one, masculine or feminine? Had the glittering been a wrist watch – being a proof for the rescuer being a Muggleborn – or a bangle? Harry wished he could call back that picture and stop it like a real film, zoom onto that hand to see all details. Their rescuer had been walking – no: running – in front of him but he wasn't able to remember how large he had been. Larger than Hermione perhaps, but larger than himself, than Ron? A slender frame and the motions of …

Harry groaned. It was hopeless.

From above he heard Hermione starting to come down the stairs. One of her baggage items would be Crookshanks' cage. Harry hoped that Crookshanks would be able to get along with Balou. Hermione's orange-furred monster was very obstinate from time to time. His presence had been the reason that he couldn't ask Hermione to care for his tomcat. She wouldn't have been allowed to own two cats and so he had spoken with Ginny. To his surprise – but apparently not to Hermione's – she seemed to be quite eager to help him. They would meet in the train and from then on she would care for Harry's newest friend.

With a bump Hermione reached the floor, her face invisible behind the book crates and the cage until she set them down. Relieved, Harry noticed that she didn't look very tense. Bill, the only Weasley knowing about the nightly fight, had spent some hours with both of them and spoken about the experience. He certainly had his share of awful experiences and was able to understand their thoughts and emotions. Even Hermione's admission that she felt pity for the Deatheater who lost his hand hadn't caused confusion or disgust on Bill's part, but relaxed comprehension.

Hermione – she would need a lot more bad experiences to reach a state of mind of being able to cast Reducto spells against a human being. Harry hoped that this would never happen to her.

"I'm ready, let's go." Hermione grinned, apparently trying to appear relaxed and happy. Harry smiled back, taking part in her small game. "Let's go."

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Pinegrew Manor

"Hello Hermione, welcome to Pinegrew Manor;" Roxanne seemed a bit tense as she offered Hermione her hand, her eyes wandering towards Harry. She had sent an owl to him with a letter a week ago and knew from his answer that he had been alright so far; and Hermione too. But there still had been the question of his emotional and mental welfare. He seemed alright now, and the Mistress of Pinegrew Manor allowed herself to relax and her pressed smile to soften.

"I'm happy to be here, Lady Greengrass," Hermione responded, quite naturally switching to her most polite behavior. In moments like this, Harry remembered that her upbringing had been quite different to his own, that she hadn't been hidden in her room every time guests were around, and that her parents had introduced her to a proper ladylike behavior – even if Hermione most often presented a quite different appearance.

"Please, call me Roxanne. I've heard so much about you; it seems to me that I'd know you for years." The words were a bit overstated but sounded to be meant seriously.

"Roxanne," Hermione nodded with a small and cautious smile. Harry studied the floor for a moment to hide his grin. Perhaps Hermione just remembered occurrences in the past with students – mostly girls – trying to get her friendship only in the hope to use her for Harry's sympathy. He didn't expect the same line of thought from Roxanne but at least she seemed quite eager to make a good impression on his best friend. Would she be able to behave the same around Ron? He doubted it. Sometimes it was quite hard work to be polite around Ron and his stupid, irate and prejudiced behavior. Ron was a good mate, had been the whole time, but certainly not an easy friend to have.

"Ciddy will help you with your baggage. Hermione has the room beside yours, Harry. It is not very large but I thought you would like to have a room on the same floor. Make yourselves at home. We'll meet for lunch in an hour, if that's okay with you."

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"This is …"

Hermione had stored her baggage away with Ciddy's help, freed Crookshanks from his cage – he had looked a bit indignant and went straight under the bed to have his peace – and hurried into Harry's room. Instantly she had noticed the drawing of her. On purpose Harry hadn't mentioned it, hoped to see her reaction and he wasn't disappointed. Gaping and at a loss of words, Hermione stared at it. After some moments of moving her lips soundlessly she looked around, went to the dressing-table – Harry had tried to give it a more masculine touch covering it with all kind of folderol and Quidditch equipment – and fetched the mirror.

Seconds later, she compared her mirror image with the painting, her fingers trailing the lines of her face. "Beautiful," she announced at last.

"Yes, you are," Harry agreed quite seriously but totally meant in a completely unromantic way as the lack of blushing proved.

"Git," Hermione reacted, her punch not hitting his arm because of his fast dodging. "Be a man and allow me to punish you appropriately."

"No," Harry whined, "I bruise …"

"… easily," a third voice a concluded. Daphne had entered the room quietly and now glared at Harry. "You should try your own lines from time to time and not loan from books." Her face – to Harry's surprise – shortly softened as she looked at Hermione, before it hardened again with her eyes on his face.

She's more acceptable of a Muggleborn in her home than to my presence. Either she really has much less prejudices than her Slytherin comrades or I'm much worse than I thought.

"Not everyone can have a wit as quick and sharp as you ladies," Harry responded, trying to present a relaxation he didn't feel around her. "Hello, Daphne."

"So you're back," she snarled. "How wonderful."

She hadn't been very nice the days before he left but this level of hate was new. He had spoken with Hermione about the pros and cons of living here. Hermione, being Hermione, even wrote a list. While Roxanne and Agatha were clear plus points of such an arrangement, and Cyrus the most important fault and danger, it had been Daphne who opened more questions than she did give answers.

Irrespective of your decision, Harry, I'll stay at your side. As long as I'm allowed to be your friend I'll endure every family you'll choose. Her words had been a bit melodramatic and his reaction a bit whiny. However, he was thankful to have her at his side. Especially because he expected far more problems about this with his best mate Ron.

He had delayed his decision, wanted to speak with Roxanne about her knowledge in regards to the nightly attack, and with Daphne about her feelings towards him – and the Weasleys. The discussion about Fred he would delay for a few days, hoping for their relation to improve a bit until then. There wasn't only hate in her voice, but something else. Desperation, he would think, grief, concern – a weird mix of emotions he didn't quite understand at the moment. Girls are very weird, he thought.

For a moment he was distracted by the entrance of a small furball he had eagerly awaited to see again. Ignoring the tension in the room, the black-white tomcat – his tail held high and ears playing around – jumped on the sideboard besides the bed and stared at Harry with a look of reproach.

"He missed you," Daphne explained, her voice surprisingly soft for a short moment. To cover this moment of weakness the girl asked Hermione, her face now again an expressionless mask: "And you're alright? Quidditch finals and the time with the Weasley rode out well?"

A bit surprised by the sudden question Hermione still nodded: "Yes, all was well. I hadn't been injured …" She faltered, looked shortly at Harry before she continued: "I'm alright."

"Good," Daphne sighed, glancing sideways at Harry again who was fondling his tomcat and tried – badly – to appear as though he wasn't listening. "At least this time following Harry didn't land you in the infirmary."

"It is not Harry who's endangering me," Hermione growled back after a few seconds of stunned silence. This was so unfair. She knew how often Harry blamed himself for every bad thing that happened to her. More than once she had to convince him that it hadn't been his fault. And this time she had been quite sure that not Harry but she had been the target of the attack – for whatever reason. A hasty glance told her that Harry's face had paled, that his thoughts were running in just the same direction of 'his fault' again. "Stop it, Harry. It was not your fault," she emphasized every single word.

Harry gulped, looked up and glared at Daphne. "Do you think I like the idea of Hermione getting hurt? She's my best friend. She's like my sister."

Daphne seemed unimpressed by the growling and coldly remarked: "Still it is endangering her to be around you. Every year since you have been at Hogwarts something bad happened, Harry. To those around you, you mean danger and double that for your friends. Around you people fight, get hurt or killed."

"Stop that right now," Hermione yelled in hot fury. "It had been my decision since the beginning. Harry is my friend. It isn't his fault that there are morons running around and dreaming of a better time with Muggle-blood flowing freely through the streets." She looked at Daphne with disgust. "Do you really want to defend those morons and put the blame on Harry?" For a moment both girls looked like they wanted to start an ugly catfight. Harry stepped between the girls and grabbed a hand of each one.

"How dare you. After all what mother did for him." Daphne fumed, glaring at Hermione, but there was a small crack in her emotional shield, a deep fear and care visible in her eyes. Standing this close to her Harry couldn't deny it. He had been right about her. Something deeply troubled Daphne, Harry noticed, she's deathly afraid. This realization stopped him from following his urge to allow his anger to answer now.

The hand twitching to hit Hermione, the hand he was holding fast now … the small, slender hand … something glittering … something he had seen a week ago and again an hour ago on another wrist. "Your mother," he whispered, his words causing Daphne to pale. "It was your mother in the forest."

For a moment Hermione's face showed only confusion but then she grasped Harry's meaning. She grabbed Daphne's arms and tried to lock eyes with her, but the Slytherin girl stared to the ground. "Your mother protected us, saved our lives a week ago. Is Harry right?"

Hermione had to let her go as Daphne's legs gave away and she slumped onto the ground. Only seconds later Harry was sitting on his bed, taking a seat before he followed Daphne's example. He didn't really react to the small furry head that started to rub his side, trying to comfort him. I have been so blind, Harry thought. Who else could it have been? She warned me, she watched over me and then she defended me. She risked her life to rescue Hermione.

Daphne looked so small and frail at this moment. Forgetting his former anger, Harry simply allowed his protective emotions to rule and put his arms around the trembling girl.

Daphne's voice was shaking as she explained: "I knew that your presence would endanger her, I knew it from the start. You would only mean trouble, that we had to endure the hateful remarks of your Gryffindor friends and my own housemates, and you would endanger Mum's health and life. And now, after only a single month you proved how right I had been about you." She sighed and battled a hiccup without success before she was able to go on, the small stains on the carpet below her face telling Hermione how Daphne's face would look now. "Hermione is right. It is not your fault. But that changes nothing. Being near you, caring for you means playing with fire."

Harry leaned forward and started to answer, Hermione's hand on his arm stopping him. He looked at his friend, his mind working furiously. Hermione shook her head, her eyes telling 'give her some time'. Harry was still fuming, but he trusted his friend. He curtly nodded and kept his mouth shut – for now.

As Daphne raised her face now, her eyes were red and puffy. That she not even tried to hide her tears told him how agitated she had to be at this moment. "Can't you understand that I'm terrified, terrified that something terrible happens to my mother? She could have been killed. She could have been forced to kill to protect you. I saw her afterwards; I had to soothe her and wait with her for father's return, fearing that it was him she defended you against." Harry gulped, Hermione paled. Yes, it had been quite possible that Cyrus Greengrass had been there, been one of the Deatheaters and their helpers, perhaps even one of the attackers. He was a friend of Lucius Malfoy after all and they had no doubt that Draco's bastard of a father had been one of the culprits.

"Yes, he had been there – had been one of those gits trying to belittle the Ministry. But he wasn't the one who tried to kill you. Are you pleased, Harry? That you had been right about us bastard Slytherins you hate so much?" Her voice was so bitter now. It was all there, not only the grief and concern but also her firm opinion that he would share the opinion of his friends about the 'bad snakes'; that he would be happy to see his prejudices proven. And only two months ago she would have been right. Only two months ago he would have – perhaps hesitantly – accepted Ron's prejudices about the evil Slytherins.

"I don't hate you," Harry whispered, stunned by her emotional outburst, but she ignored him.

"Cyrus is a dunderhead and his reasoning about blood purity is an affront to logic and reasoning. But he is still my father, Harry. He has been my mother's husband for fifteen years. I don't want to see my mother being forced to choose between you and him, I don't want to see her break down should she be forced to kill him to protect you, only because Lucius 'dunderhead' Malfoy hates you and convinces him to something even more stupid than usual."

Harry nearly giggled as she used the word dunderhead, a word he had heard too often from Snape. But a look into her eyes told him to behave better. He hadn't thought about that, hadn't thought about the dilemma of Roxanne. Somehow he assumed that, if Roxanne and Daphne really didn't share Cyrus political view, that there wouldn't be any feelings that could be hurt. He had, quite wrongly, assumed that Roxanne would be able to fight her husband without remorse. Living together for such a long time – being forced to or not – certainly changed a person.

Harry felt quite bad in this moment. He hadn't been better than Ron in his assumption about the loveless snakes.

"Someone lost his wand hand, Harry. I don't know who it had been and my mother either. But we'll know very soon. A wound like that can't simply be healed. It will be visible, a reminder of that battle to the wearer, how he had lost the fight and his hand. He will hate you all the more, Harry, his wish to kill you increasing. And he will seek revenge. Mum's life will be endangered should anyone learn about her part in that fight."

Daphne's voice died down. "She could have stayed with me that night, stayed secure. But she wanted to take care and went after you. I wished …"

That she had stayed. That you had died, Harry complemented inwardly, but Daphne stayed silent. "I don't want you to die, Harry, and Hermione neither," she whispered nearly unhearable to his surprise. "But my mother is more important to me. My mother and my sister are the most important people in my life, Harry. I really can't lose them."

The rustling of clothes startled her and she stood up as she saw her mother entering the room. Roxanne glided at her daughter's side and embraced her, her eyes lying on Harry. "Cyrus had been there under one of those masks. He isn't a Deatheater, yet, but near enough to Lucius to follow his stupid plans sometimes. But he hadn't been the attacker and Lucius either. He does not even know about the attack, it hadn't been part of the plan. Mad as they are, they had only uproar in their mind, not death. We'll have to wait who'll show up – short of a hand." Gently Roxanne kissed her daughter's forehead, before she continued to hug and sway her softly. "You know that we have to help him, Daphne. Without friends like Hermione, without a family he won't survive, not with his propensity for the dramatic."

Daphne sighed and whispered into her mother's breast: "Yes, he is a little drama queen."

"Hey," Harry complained and glared in Hermione's direction as his friend dared to giggle. With a smile Hermione took a seat at his side and put her arm around his shoulders comfortingly.

"Sorry, Harry, she's right about that. You're a little drama queen sometimes with a strong world-savior-complex."

"Am not" Harry pouted but apparently not even Balou believed him. The blasted tomcat seemed to grin. But a tomcat wasn't able to grin, Harry decided.

Roxanne smiled softly. "I wanted to fetch you for lunch."

While Harry and Hermione moved to follow her to the small dining room, Daphne excused herself and went to her room. While they waited for her return, Harry more than once started to say something. Should he simply thank her? Should he tell her not to endanger herself again? Daphne had been right: To be near him meant to be in constant danger. Too often something happened around him and someone landed in the infirmary. He wasn't willing to add another person to the list of possible targets.

Someone kicked his shin. Startled Harry looked up and saw Hermione's glare. "Don't you dare to reject her because of your hero-complex," she growled. Roxanne tried to ignore that conversation and played with her silverware. "You won't reject my help or Ron's. And Roxanne is a grown up woman. She's certainly old enough to make her own decisions regarding you. If you want to reject her offer, please don't do that because you want to protect her." Roxanne bestowed Hermione a small thankful smile as the door opened.

"Here," Daphne announced on her return and put a small, well-used book and a notebook on the table near Hermione's plate. "I think you could use this, both of you. I'll speak with Grandma. Certainly she'll be willing to give you some lessons in Occlumency. You know about Mum's part in the fight, a knowledge that could endanger her. Both of you know other things as well that have to stay secret."

Harry took the note book: How to defend your mind – an introduction into Occlumency. "We have only told Bill Weasley about the fight, and even he knows nothing about Roxanne's part in it."

"And this is meant to appease me? Because you're so well educated at hiding and controlling your emotions … you … you Gryffindor?" Daphne sank onto her seat, hiding her face behind her hands. "Sorry," she whispered. "I'm doing it again. I'm … really trying but..."

His temper flaring Harry started to response in anger, only to stop as he noticed the girl's crumpling confidence and her agitation. As an olive branch he offered: "we'll read the book and speak with your grandma." A small smile appeared on his face: "someone told me that I'm really bad at lying, perhaps I can get better at that as well." There was a tiny smile on her face as she looked up, thankful for his promise.

"I agree with the Occlumency training," Roxanne interjected calmly. "Both of you could use it well. Perhaps it will teach you a little more control of your emotions." Both teenagers looked rightly ashamed. "And while Daphne could use with a bit more politeness in the future," Roxanne growled at her daughter, "with more asking and explaining instead of growling and insulting" Daphne withered under her mother's glare "she's right about the importance of hiding your secrets … our secrets."

Harry nodded and after a while Daphne did as well, still pouting a bit despite her mother's glare. Roxanne made an urging gesture, repeating it as Daphne rolled her eyes. The girl sighed, made a little curtsy and asked – far too sweet to be honest: "Please, Harry, would you be so kind and allow my Grandma to teach you the basics of Occlumency? It would be useful for you and so nice of you. Please, Harry, please, with sugar sprinkles on top and chocolate sauce to add." Roxanne rolled her eyes and Hermione was struggling very hard not to burst with laughter.

Harry stared at Daphne, his mind and heart battling about how to react. Occlumency would be helpful in the future and Daphne was right about the danger of his knowledge. Still, after he little temper tantrum he had at least to pretend…

"I would love to learn this," Hermione's soft voice broke the uneasy silence and stopped the glaring contest. For a moment Harry looked at his friend, his small smile showing his thankfulness. With Hermione agreeing he could follow her example without being the one who relented in this discussion.

"That settles the case," Daphne declared before Harry had a chance to react, and went to her seat, starting instantly with loading her plate with the dishes.

"Hey, and what about me and my opinion?" Harry frowned, making a last try to at least appear grumpy but his face betrayed his urge to laugh about this weird 'proposal'.

Without looking up Daphne responded with her sugary voice: "No one is interested in your opinion, Harry. You're a boy. Boys aren't meant to think, but only to look nice, hand out presents and follow our lead." Without her little smile it would have been insulting, without the smile and the honest relief he saw in her eyes. She really cared for her mother and was thankful for his willingness; this was obvious for him now.

As Harry looked around he saw similar smirks and rolling eyes on the faces of Roxanne and Hermione. "I'm doomed," he groaned. At least Daphne wasn't able to hide her smile completely. As Hermione sniggered Harry leaned down to feed the silently listening and watching tomcat with a piece of sausage: "We boys must stick together, Balou. We against the Harpies of Horror."

A purring tomcat, a potato thrown at his head, someone sniggering – outnumbered by the girls, the next days promised to be arduous.

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A/N

Now at last Harry knows the reason. Daphne fears for her mother's life, simple as that. And don't forget: she's a Slytherin for a reason and survival instinct is one of the main Slytherin attributes. Daphne is not a Gryffindor. From now on their relationship should improve. Next chapter: more reactions from those around.