A/N: Well, here we are, chapter 6. I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the story until now. It means a great deal to me. I would also like to send a shout-out to everyone following this story.

Chapter 6: Burn

Dudley Dursley was not having a good day. Honestly, his cousin had just killed a man (well almost), his mother was smothering him and his school had decided to allow his tormentor back. All in all, he deemed it the worst day of his life, and that including him growing a pig's tail and being trapped in a snake cage.

Now his house was being trampled upon by wizards who were looking for said cousin. His mother gave nothing away, but it wasn't as though she could either. Harry had seen to that. Dudley rather preferred it that way.

He kept his expression blank, and looked around what he thought was curiously, as one would do when there was an array of strangers traipsing through your house.

He saw two men having s hushed argument and shooting glances at him. No one had asked him any questions, so he guessed that was they were arguing about: who gets to question him.

One sighed, shook his head in a very annoyed fashion and strode towards him. Dudley was insulted – was it that much of a bother to simply speak to him? Wizards, or at least these ones, were awfully racist. Was racist the right word? Ah well, the wizards thought they were better than the wizards, the damn idiots. Dudley was fooling them and they didn't even pick up on it.

"Good morning," The man spoke to him, and Dudley saw his flaming red hair, "My name is Percy Weasley," Weasley! That was the name Harry mentioned, "And I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Shoot," Dudley said, keeping his expression neutral.

"When was the last time you saw Harry Potter?" He asked, his nose buried behind a notebook and a feather-pen-thing at the ready.

"Yesterday morning," Dudley kept his answers as short as he possibly could, otherwise he would give something away. He was supposed to be pretending to be a total idiot, after all.

"Was he with anyone?" Percy asked next after scribbling his answer down, "And if he was, do you know who it was?" His voice was controlled, Dudley noted, as if he wanted to say more but didn't dare. Percy Weasley's eyes shot to his comrade behind the two of them.

"Some girl named Daphne," Dudley answered, "She was pretty too." Percy Wealsey blushed a bit at that, and Dudley fought to keep from laughing.

"Anything else you can remember?" Percy asked. Was that all the questions that Percy Weasley had for him? He had to do something, to tell this person where Harry was.

"Are you really a Weasley?" Dudley asked, lowering his voice and keeping his expression the same. Percy Weasley looked up from his notepad, his eyes drawn into slits.

"Yes I am. Why is that important?" Percy Weasley asked, his feather-pen writing again.

"I know where Harry is," Dudley said, and Percy's eyes widened but he kept writing, "But you cannot tell any of the others."

"Why would you tell me?" Percy asked next.

"Harry said to tell a Weasley, he seems to trust you," Dudley's shoulders lifted a fraction, "And I'm his Secret Keeper."

"He's under the Fidelius?" Percy started his sentence loud but forced himself to quiet down, "What did he do?"

Dudley just drew his shoulders up. He didn't feel like explaining. Not at that moment, anyways.

"He chose a muggle as a Secret Keeper?" Percy said softly, "That's genius. Didn't he warn you about one Percy Weasley? A traitor to his own family?"

"No, I think he trusts all of you," Dudley answered, "Plus, you'll have Harry to answer to if you betray him – and he scares me a little," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"I realise that. If you would?" Percy said politely, and Dudley gave him the needed address.

Percy Weasley nodded behind his notepad, before offering the teenage boy a smile, "Well, it's quite clear that you know almost nothing. Thank you for your time, Mr Dursley."

"Before you go…" Dudley grabbed a hold of Percy Weasley's arm, the way Harry had shown him, hooking his thumb and pinkie around the other man's wrist, they nearly closed too (Percy Weasley had a very tiny wrist) and the remaining three fingers pointing down Percy's wrist.

This action, Harry told him, would make the wizard in question bound to a vow of silence. Whenever the wizard then tried to say something about what he'd bound with, his tongue would stick to his teeth and his eye would close. It wouldn't last forever, of course, but a week of having to peer at anyone with one eye was more than enough. A muggle could also perform this on a wizard, if it was the wizard being sworn to secrecy.

Percy Weasley quickly covered the act with his notebook, realising what was about to aspire.

"You are not to tell anyone but another Weasley of this," Dudley said lowly, and Percy Weasley nodded. His eyes were wide and Dudley found it almost funny. A warm feeling shot from the teenager's thumb to his pinkie and he released. He didn't dare release earlier, because that would be even more disastrous than the curse he was heaping on the wizard's shoulders.

Magic was fascinating, wasn't it? Despite what his parents tried to drill into his head.

"I'll come to see you," Percy Weasley muttered, his pen out again, "Don't tell anyone else, is that clear? Don't tell Harry yet either."

Dudley nodded, stuffed his hands into his jean pockets before he slouched off to his bedroom, like a stuck-up muggle probably would. He just hoped he hadn't figuratively shot his cousin in the foot.

. . .

Remus Lupin wasn't a very busy man, as some would assume. He had next to no form of income and had been relieved when he learned that his friend, Sirius Black, had left him a substantial amount to live off, accompanied with a letter.

Dear Moony

Heaven alone knows how long it's been since I'd written this letter, but it's just after I got out of that shithole named Azkaban. Don't kill me for saying this, Moony, but I blame Dumbledore. He could've made sure that I got a trial. I know the evidence against me was staggering, but still, the old fart could've tried.

Anyways, why I wrote this? I am probably dead (and I hope I went away with pride, not by falling over a brick or something). Harry needs you, Moony. You've always been more level-headed than the rest of us, haven't you? Be there for him, no matter what. I don't care if he killed the great Merlin himself – be there for him or I will take my bones and haunt you.

I also know how exceptionally hard it is for a werewolf to get a respectable job, so I left you a little gift. You and Harry are the only ones in my will, I'm afraid, and I know how you hate charity. Well, not the important type of charity, but this type. But I'm dead now anyways, so you can't force me to take it back and Harry won't take it either.

Lastly… thank you for everything, Moony, it's been a blast.

Padfoot

Lupin did hate charity, but a lifetime of struggling had left him hopeless. He wasn't a savage beast, for goodness' sake! He could function normally for a long time. Discrimination was an evil that had to be booted out of society, or werewolves had to become the norm.

He sighed as a patronus flew into his bedroom; it was a phoenix and requested him to meet with Dumbledore immediately.

He gathered his cloak around him, left the small and shabby house he called home, and spun on the spot, disappearing with a loud crack.

He arrived outside the Hogwarts gates, which opened to admit him. Dumbledore was already waiting for him, thank goodness; he didn't fancy the long trek up to the castle.

"Remus, my friend, how are you?" Dumbledore said warmly, his blue eyes having the familiar twinkle.

"I'm doing well, Albus, and yourself?" He asked politely. He wasn't a fan of the man before him, at least not at the moment. Harry had been through a lot, and it seemed as though Dumbledore was just piling on.

"I'm quite well, but I'm afraid Harry isn't." Dumbledore said, and Lupin's ears turned to the headmaster. Dumbledore looked awful, now that he thought about it, he had bags under his eyes and his smile was a tad forced.

"Tell me." Lupin demanded, not caring if the man thought him rude or not. He had stopped and his hands had curled into fists by his side.

"Spell fire was seen last night near Harry's muggle dwelling. The aurors went to look at it, but all they found was a dark stain on the tar road near the house. His aunt hadn't heard anything from him since he went out to lunch, and his cousin was no help at all." Dumbledore explained, and Lupin whitened. What if something had happened to Harry? What if the dark stain they found was Harry's blood staining the tar? What if the only request his best friend had made… what if he'd failed Sirius?

"Have you any idea where he could've gone?" Lupin asked next, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He was absolutely terrified for Harry.

"I thought he would go to Grimmauld Place, but the Fidelius Charm on it has been replaced. I can't be certain if Harry did it or if Bellatrix somehow got her hands on the place." Dumbledore frowned, putting his hands behind his back. Lupin's own forehead creased into a frown.

"You don't believe the aurors, do you? You don't think they did enough?" Lupin guessed. Dumbledore might have caused Sirius' death, however indirectly, and Lupin knew he was sceptical of following Dumbledore, but that didn't mean he would stop. Sirius, despite being thrown into Azkaban for thirteen years, still placed his trust in Dumbledore, and Lupin would too. James and Lily would follow him too, Lupin was certain.

After all, Dumbledore was a remarkable man, extremely powerful and always fun to invite to a party. He just needed to be set straight, but there would be time for that later.

"You know me so well, Remus. Yes, I don't think they did enough. I would like you to go and take a look too, if you don't mind. Harry trusts you more than he trusts me, Remus, and I know your trust me had withered as well… I cannot blame you for this, and I will not."

Lupin didn't reply; he didn't know what to say. He had to admit that Harry would trust him more, though why he had no idea.

"Will you look for him?" Dumbledore broke into his thoughts, and Lupin nodded. He requested the address before turning heel. Then he swung around violently.

"Albus… you said there was spell fire… wouldn't that have triggered the Trace?" He asked, the thought just occurring to him. Harry lived in an entirely muggle dwelling, after all.

"I was wondering when you'd catch on," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again, and Lupin had to smile, the old man loved games and letting people prove themselves.

"Indeed, the Trace was not triggered. This makes me wonder if Harry was already gone, or if he somehow had the Trace removed," he continued.

"Albus, you and I both know that even if Harry hadn't been at his home, the Ministry would still have blamed him. Albus, is it possible for the Trace to be removed?" He asked, pulling his cloak sleeve up to his shoulder, it kept slipping.

"There is, but the methods aren't what could be considered legal," Dumbledore said, his grey eyebrows knitted in worry, "I'm still severely worried about him. He might be hurt, or he might have been kidnapped. Please, Remus."

Lupin nodded, bade the headmaster farewell and exited the Hogwarts perimeters before disappearing with another loud crack.

He appeared in Privet Drive, luckily no one saw him; memory charms had never been his strong point. He scanned the area – he quite liked it. It was ordinary and working class, something Lupin longed for. A place where he could just fit in and not be judged for something that wasn't his fault.

He saw a shiny, black number four decorating a fence and headed towards the house. The small gate didn't creak and the garden was extremely neat, everything kept in their specific places, not allowed to wander over to the area of another.

He lifted a hand and knocked on the door with what he considered to be a polite knock. The door opened to a tall, blonde boy.

"Hello, can I help you?" The boy asked courteously. Was this Harry's cousin? He could see a small amount of family resemblance in the shape of their eyes, but not much more. Harry had a raven head of hair, whilst this boy had a mop of droopy blonde hair that severely needed a cut (and perhaps a wash).

"My name is Remus Lupin, I'm a friend of Harry's…"

The boy held up a hand as a show for him to stop before stepping outside and closing the door behind him, "Look, I already told you people that I don't know where Harry is, so stop bothering us!" He said hotly.

Lupin lifted his hands into the air in a defensive gesture, "Hold on, son, I'm not coming to prosecute anyone. I'm just worried about Harry; I just want certainty that he is safe."

The boy frowned, his forehead creasing into small wrinkles, before he asked, "What was in the chamber?"

Lupin stared. Was the boy talking about the Chamber of Secrets? He had heard that story from Dumbledore and Sirius, Sirius' account holding a lot more action and sound effects. He took a guess and replied with the words 'a basilisk'.

The boy's shoulders seemed to relax at the answer, "Harry's fine."

"And you are sure that you don't know where he is?" Lupin asked again, suddenly a lot more relaxed than he'd been ever since he'd left Hogwarts. If he had failed Sirius again – he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"I'm sure." The boy answered, but Lupin could see through the lie, because the boy was smiling the tiniest bit.

"And I would like to know if you saw anything last night?" Lupin asked, a smile forming on his own lips.

"I'm sure." The boy answered again. Lupin grinned again – Harry was hiding, and mostly from the Ministry and from Dumbledore. He wished Harry would trust him, though, but he would send Harry a letter anyways. He just hoped his former student would receive it.

"If another wizards comes ringing, don't give yourself away. How did you bypass the Ministry wizards?" Lupin asked curiously.

"I pretended to be an idiot and pushed everyone away from my mum," Dudley replied with a shrug, "Some wizards are really stupid – they don't think we can take of ourselves. And when I saw you… you remind me a bit of Harry, and I know he trusts you. He told me about you and how he learned a lot from you. I still don't know where he is though."

"That's fine, son, just send him my regards. Have a good day, son." Remus Lupin offered the teenager another warm smile before departing.

He returned to Dumbledore, built up his mental defences, and told the aged headmaster that he didn't know or see anything, that he didn't know where Harry was and what exactly had happened.

Remus had rarely seen Dumbledore get angry; there was the time Sirius and James made it rain pumpkin juice in the Great Hall and Dumbledore had been beyond ticked off. It had resulted in classes being cancelled for the day – on an exam day.

But what he was seeing now… it was beyond anything he'd ever seen. Dumbledore was unimpressed and confused at the same time.

Secretly he knew that both James and Sirius would be proud of the boy.

. . .

Harry was awake. He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake, or what woke him, but here he was, and there was someone in his arms. It would have been nice to think that whoever was in his arms smelt like a bush of overgrown flowers, but in fact they smelled like sweat and something similar to metal.

Something was tickling his nose, but not to such an extent that it made him want to sneeze. It was hair most likely.

Wait… there was hair? That sounded dangerous.

Harry became aware of something heavy in his arms and something very soft too. It was not like an animal, but something rather female.

It was Daphne. She was holding on to his arm, her fingers tenderly draped around his bicep, her back to him, but their knees were bent together. He almost chuckled when he realised they were spooning. So, this was what it felt like to spoon. He quite liked it.

Harry was jerked from the couch before he could savour the moment entirely, his foot being pulled by some unknown entity. Harry let out a yelp, his hand grabbed the first thing he felt, which just happened to be Daphne's shirt.

Harry's ankle was released just as he hit the cold, tiled floor – odd, he recalled a carpet there. Harry's hands flew to his head, and then he spotted the guilty party as two hairy ears flopped into sight.

"Kreacher!" Harry yelled, and he was vaguely aware of Daphne mumbling in her tired state.

"Has Master Harry come to claim ownership?" Kreacher asked, letting go of Harry's ankle, "And Kreacher is sorry, Kreacher didn't meant to scare master," The elf seemed dirtier than Harry remembered, the hair growing out of his ears were longer with a yellow clutter in it and the rag he wore was desperately in need of a wash.

"Master Harry?" Harry asked, surprised. He hadn't given much thought to what would happen to the elf now that Sirius was dead, and felt a tiny guilty tingle because of it. He should have thought of the elf.

"Yes, Master Sirius gave most of the Black fortune to Master Harry. That is also Kreacher, but master must claim Kreacher first." The deep baritone of the elf reverberated through the room, and Harry couldn't help but think that it was in stark contrast to how Dobby sounded.

"And how do I do that?" Harry asked, not missing the 'most' in the elf's sentence, but decided that the sooner he got control of Kreacher the better. He didn't want to lose control of Kreacher and risk what had happened the previous year to repeat itself.

"Give him an order," Daphne mumbled, and Harry looked around at her, noting how utterly adorable she sounded, "It's truly as simple as that."

"Kreacher… go wash your ears." Harry said half-heartedly, lifting his one hand into the air in an unsure gesture. Kreacher bowed and left the room, presumably to wash. Harry looked around at Daphne, who promptly turned a dashing shade of red.

"Morning," She squeaked, and Harry smiled a bit.

"Morning Daphne," He climbed on top of the couch again. He was very well aware that she had slept in his arms, and his memory flooded back in one instant: the torture they had inflicted on Oscar Greengrass, the usage of the Unforgivable curses, the breakdown…

He had never felt so hopeless, not even the night he considered taking his own life, but he had remained strong and true to himself – he had his Gryffindor pride back, that was for sure. Something had brought him back to earth and with a huge tug too.

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, until Kreacher came back and announced proudly that he had cleaned his ears and that Harry was his master.

"Kreacher, before you make us some breakfast, would you please explain what you meant by Sirius leaving me most of the Black estate?" Harry asked, "Who else?"

"The werewolf, Remus Lupin, was who Master Sirius left the others to. Kreacher liked him, but Kreacher never said so, but Kreacher did." The deep voice was rambling, and Harry was confused. Why was he not insulting them two of them?

But Harry soaked up the new information too: Sirius had left some of his estate to Lupin. He didn't have a problem with that at all, because he thought Lupin needed it more than he did. Lupin wasn't a bad guy either, was he?

Kreacher disappeared to make the breakfast Harry had ordered him to do. The pair simply continued to sit in silence, until Harry decided to break the ice.

"So… you snuggled up to me." He said, and he saw a blush rise up her face again. He loved the way she blushed.

"You held me." She said softly, her gaze fixated on her hands.

"Are we going to skate around what happened?" He asked next, deciding to abandon whatever tactful thing he was trying to do. "Or are we going to do the adult thing and discuss it?"

Daphne sighed, "We should discuss it, Harry, but… not right now," She volunteered before Harry could ask anything, "Not now, Harry, please?"

Harry put an arm around her shoulders and gave her shoulders a small squeeze, "Not a problem, Daphne, we have the entire summer left." She dipped her head into the crook of his neck as a type of hug.

There was a loud crack next to them that caused both of them to jump.

"Sorry, Master, Kreacher wanted to deliver this." Kreacher held out a box of tissues to her, before disappearing again. He looked around at his houseguest and saw that tears were falling from her eyes.

Harry frowned at the spot where the elf had just disappeared from, but took a tissue from the box and tenderly wiped the tears off her cheeks. She laughed a bit at this.

"Harry, I am capable of drying my own tears," She laughed again, though it ended up as a choking sound.

"I know, but someone has to keep you strong." He said before he could stop himself, and he thought for a moment about those words. That was what had happened the previous night too… he had been on the verge of breaking down, but when he'd seen her… he just brought himself back from the depths of the despair…

Daphne shot up suddenly, holding her hand out to help him up. He allowed himself to be pulled up.

"Come on, Potter, you owe me some breakfast." She said, and he nodded, leading her to the kitchen. Kreacher had just scooped eggs and bacon into surprisingly clean plates, which already had toast and tomato slices waiting.

Harry wanted to ask where the produce had come from and if they were still good to eat, but his stomach rumbled.

"Into the washroom, Master Harry and Miss Daphne, before breakfast," The elf said, barring their entrance into the kitchen, and they did as they were told. Hell hath no fury like an elf scorned.

Harry found one of the many bathrooms the house had. He hadn't really paid attention to Grimmauld Place the previous year, and only now he realised that it was huge. He counted at least five bedrooms and two bathrooms on the first landing, and there were at least three more elsewhere. He wondered what four people needed to do with so many bloody bedrooms, unless they each had a different bedroom for every season.

At least the bathroom was tidy, he noticed as he peeled his shirt and pants off – the clothes were dry and sticky, stepping into the shower. He just stood under the hot water, watching the blood swirl into the drain. He had used two of the Unforgivable curses, tortured and killed a man. Even if Daphne had delivered the final blow, it didn't matter, it was mostly him.

He also made a mental note to ask Daphne to teach him those spells; he couldn't always rely on Expelliarmus when he was in a pickle.

He had no idea how long he was in the shower, but he made sure to scrub all of the dirt and blood and grime from his skin.

Daphne was already done and seated at the table. She had her blonde hair swept into a ponytail; the points were still dripping with water. She looked a lot cleaner, and her smile was real this time. He sat down next to her and was immediately served breakfast.

Once their breakfasts were finished, which is to say it was mostly pushed around their plates and switched places with the bacon. Harry managed to eat a few strips of bacon and an egg, whilst Daphne ate a slice of tomato and half an egg.

"You look better now," Harry said, "All cleaned up and without blood, if you know what I mean."

"I must say, Mr Potter, you do too. I wonder what Bishop did with the body?" She wondered aloud, tapping her chin with the back of her spoon.

"Probably what you told him to," Harry shrugged, "By the way, what did you tell him to do with the body?"

"I told him to dump it in front of the family estate with a note. You remember I told you that it was my mother's birthday?" He nodded in response, "Well, I asked him to put a note on his body saying 'Happy Birthday'."

Harry stared at her for a moment, "That's genius. Very mean, but genius. Daphne, I know that you had something against your father, but against your mother too?"

Daphne nodded, "She wasn't a very good mother." He saw her flinch and decided to abandon the topic until she opened up to him. Kreacher appeared again and took their half-eaten breakfasts away, but he didn't say anything. Harry was thankful for that. And he couldn't understand why the bloody elf was being so nice? Normally he mumbled about the family he served being noble and now they have been betrayed, or simply pitying himself, but here he was being friendly and helpful. Harry hadn't heard him complain even once.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said, "Would you mind getting rooms ready for us please?" He asked kindly. The elf was taken aback slightly at Harry's kind tone.

"Rooms?" Daphne asked nervously, and Harry could tell that she had spoken without thought, because her cheeks were on fire again.

"Uh, would you like to share a room?" Harry asked uncomfortably. He wasn't against it, but it could complicate their already complicated relationship.

"Yes. I mean, we don't have to sleep in the same bed, but… b-but I would like it if… you, y-you know, if you w-were… if you were a-around to… t-to protect m-me." She finished, her entire face was a lovely rose colour, and Harry felt too bad about it to say no.

"Fine, then please get a room ready for us?" He asked the elf, "And another one for my cousin."

"Master Harry cannot bring a muggle into the noble House of Black," Kreacher said, "My mistress would not like it! It is betraying Kreacher's family!"

"Kreacher… am I not your family now?" Harry asked carefully, "Am I not the family you serve now?"

"Master Harry is right, but Kreacher cannot betray the Black family, sir," Kreacher replied, "And Kreacher does not like muggles."

"Kreacher, Dudley is my family. When he is here, you will tolerate him." Harry said in the kindest yet most commanding voice he could.

"Yes, Master." Kreacher nodded his head, his hairy ears flopping almost playfully, before he disappeared again.

Harry pulled a hand through his hair and felt that his hair needed a proper wash, and made a mental note to send his newly acquired house elf to get some shampoo.

At least he knew Dudley had kept his word and hadn't told anyone where they were; otherwise he was sure someone would've shown up.

. . .

Dudley was unimpressed. He was still waiting for the expected arrival of Percy Weasley, and he wanted to send a letter to Harry, but he had seen the same person at least four times now, always when he went out and always at a safe distance. What the hell? Was he being watched?

He guessed it made sense. In a way he was also glad that Percy Weasley hadn't arrived for the second time yet, because Harry needed at least a week to get back to his senses.

He saw Percy Weasley exactly six days after he first met the older ginger, and it was while he was lounging in a nice little café near his house.

He saw Percy enter the café, and waved to him. It was an awkward wave, one of those waves you might give someone after meeting them once or if you recently had a row. Percy stopped beside his table.

"Mind if I join you?" Percy asked, and Dudley shook his head. Percy sat down in front of him, putting a suitcase on the floor, and took off his glasses to clean them, "We're being watched. I said I was going to see if you're hiding something, so in about twenty minutes I want you to storm out of here."

Dudley nodded, and Percy returned his glasses, "So, where is Harry?"

. . .

The boy who lived jumped to his feet when he heard the familiar tumble of a troll foot umbrella stand as it hit the floor. He drew his wand and motioned for Daphne to be quiet as he made his way to the front door. He stood around the corner and kept his wand aloft.

"Harry?" A voice whispered into the darkness, "Harry?" That was called a bit louder, another voice. Harry stepped out from his hiding spot.

"Hemione?" He asked, uncertainly.

"And Ron? If you are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, you have to prove it." He said, his voice commanding.

"My name is Hermione Granger, I am the smartest witch of our age. I helped your godfather escape on a hippogriff and we used to call him Snuffles." Hermione answered immediately, before presumably pinching Ron in the side, because a squeak was heard in the darkness.

"A number of people could have told me that. Something only you would know."

"I told you in first year after beating the giant chess set that there are more important things than books and cleverness..." she said, slightly embarrassed.

"Good enough" Harry said as he turned to his other best friend.

"Your turn Ron." Harry heard Hermione whisper.

"I am Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter is my best mate, and I hope that I am his as well, I am excellent at Chess and I like to eat. But you know all that… you once told me to fight spiders who tried to make me tap dance."

"Did I hear that right?" Daphne asked from behind Harry, her voice heavy with laughter, "You dreamt of tap dancing spiders?"

"Who is that?" Hermione's voice echoed through the darkness to them, "Harry, who is with you?"

"I'm not convinced," Harry called again.

He heard a frustrated sigh and a foot stomping the hardwood floors, "I gave you a kiss on the cheek at the end of fourth year, I gave you a diary that told you to dot your i's, I gave you something to put your hand in when Umbridge made you write with that awful blood quill…" Hermione trailed off, and Harry was impressed – he hadn't forgotten about the kiss she'd planted on his cheek, it was one of the first kisses a girl gave him, after all.

"Come to the kitchen, guys," Harry said, having lowered his wand, "Kreacher's just about to make breakfast." Harry turned around and headed back towards the kitchen, his hand reaching out and gripping Daphne's.

"Kreacher?" Ron asked as he arrived in the kitchen. He had grown even taller, if that was possible, and his hair needed a trim. Harry was surprised that Mrs Weasley had allowed it to grow that long in the first place. Hermione's hair was tied in a braid that splayed down her back, but some strands of hair still managed to escape.

"Master Harry, must Kreacher make breakfast for the mudblood and bloodtraitor too?" Kreacher's deep baritone came from somewhere near Harry's knees. Harry looked up at his friends and smiled carefully, but they were too busy looking at the pretty blonde behind him.

"Please, and refrain from that language," Harry said, and then: "Ron, Hermione – you know Daphne from school."

"Uh, hello," Hermione said, offering Daphne her hand. Daphne looked at Harry, who nodded with a smile, and she accepted her hand.

"Hello, Granger," Daphne said, uncertain. Ron took a deep breath before offering her his hand. Silence dawned in the room, even the fire that had been crackling in the fireplace courtesy of Kreacher seemed to have gone quiet.

"Hi," Ron uttered, and Daphne took his hand. Eggs, bacon and toast appeared on the newly cleaned and dusted kitchen table.

"Now that all the awkwardness is out of the way, please sit," Harry said, and he was suddenly exhausted, he became aware that his back hurt and thought he must've slept in a bad way, "Kreacher worked hard on this breakfast."

"Is it edible?" Ron asked, poking a hard-boiled egg with his fork, before Hermione shoved an elbow in his side.

"Kreacher won't disobey Harry," Daphne said, "He's too nice. And that's a good thing."

Hermione dropped her fork and looked at Daphne, "You think it's good to be nice to house elves?" Hermione was incredibly excited, Harry could tell, and he almost laughed as Ron's head hit the table with a groan.

"Not Spew, Hermione," Ron said, his eyes begging Daphne to not encourage her.

"It's S.P.E.W., Ron, not Spew!" Hermione said, "Honestly, and I haven't mentioned it all summer! Come on, Ron, don't be so mean!"

"What Spew?" Daphne asked, and Ron groaned even louder, putting a piece of bacon into his mouth.

Harry tuned out as the girls started to talk about S.P.E.W., he knew Hermione's speech backwards and didn't feel the need to hear it again. He made eye-contact with Ron, whose expression turned into a frown and a shift of his eye to Daphne.

Harry translated it as What's the deal with her? Harry shrugged, but he would have to tell Ron about exactly what happened later. He thought he owed it to his friend. Ron stuck to his guns and to Harry's side the previous year when the wizarding world turned on him. Even if they had had a fight in their fourth year, if the previous year showed him anything, it was that Ron would stick to him.

Harry had no idea how it happened, but the next thing he knew was that Daphne had become the fourth member of Spew and he was alone in Sirius' old room with Hermione.

. . .

"He started when I turned seven. I never knew it was wrong, he… touched me, Harry. That's basically it – he touched me. Mostly in ways I did not appreciate, but he still abused me, Harry. Sometimes… sometimes he slapped me…. And hard too… and I was so sick of it… so so sick of it. I couldn't take it… and then… then he wanted me to marry Blaise… just… just…" Her voice broke, and tears started to stream down her cheeks again, and Harry put an arm around her shoulders and drew her in to him.

"It's okay. You don't need to tell me." He said quietly, rocking back and forth, and Daphne covered her face with her hands.

"No, Harry, I do… you saved me from him. You saved me, Harry, and… I just wanted to punish him." She pushed her face into is shoulder, and he enfolded her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," He whispered into her, "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm sorry he was so horrible."

"And the worst of all, Harry, is that my mother knew. She knew! And she did nothing!" Daphne's voice had risen into an octave that was broken by large heaves of breath. Harry just held onto her, not knowing what else to do.

"I want her to suffer, Harry," Daphne said, "I want her to feel as used as I did."

"We will." He whispered into her hair. And it was a promise he intended to keep.