Chapter Three: Stuck at Grimmauld Place

Every chancer with a dream appeared out of the woodwork, while Malfoy tried and failed to put several of his own candidates forward. He was having a much more difficult time bribing anyone, primarily because his funds were due to be locked off by Amelia Bones - who wanted to conduct further investigations into the Malfoys now that Fudge was all but gone and couldn't stop her from doing so. Daphne's father absconded as soon as he could, while Augusta Longbottom, Sebastian Abbott and Rolf Scamander all did the same. Eventually, two camps arose. The traditionalists and the new idealists.

Traditionalists called on Madam Edgecombe, a fussy woman who they finally managed to wear down and shove to the fore. She was pureblood, extremely conservative and just enough of a sheep that the ostracised older families could direct her with little trouble. Daphne's father called her a "weak-willed niffler of a woman".

The new idealists had only one candidate in mind.

"She's not happy."

"Be fair dad, she never looks happy," Astoria pointed out, spewing croissant crumbs across the counter. "Sorry."

"True enough, but now she's really, really not happy." He grimaced. "I'd better go calm her down - not that she'll listen to me." He sighed, pulling on his robes. "Wish me luck." They did so, and then again when he reappeared to search for his Ministry pass that he'd abandoned next to a pot plant.

Daphne didn't look up from her letter, partially because she was used to her father forgetting literally anything that wasn't on him and because she was reading her latest letter from Harry. It had been a couple of weeks since he'd gone to the mysterious headquarters. He'd said nothing in his letters, except that he couldn't tell her where it was - which logically meant it was under the fidelius charm. Thankfully he'd still been able to come to Greengrass Manor, admittedly less than before. It was different, more intense when they saw each other. Instead of an almost daily routine, it became a more special occasion. Which certainly had its benefits. But she'd be lying if she didn't say she missed him.

A fact she confessed to Tracey when her best friend returned from Crete after a holiday with her parents. The teasing was, as Daphne expected, unbearable, but she'd needed to tell someone. But Tracey at least understood, she'd barely seen Blaise thanks to his judgemental mother.

"Fat chance I'll actually see him before school now," Tracey had moaned. "Sour-faced bitch. Honestly, you'd think the way she goes on I was gutter trash or something. So mum married a muggle, so what? It's the twentieth century, not the twelfth. Miserable, ignorant, foul cockroach."

The insults didn't stop for almost an hour.

Blaise, in typical Blaise fashion, was far less perturbed than Tracey. He was infinitely calm, while Tracey lived in a perpetual state of ruffled.

At least, Daphne supposed, she actually got to see Harry. His letters were kind, caring and all the things that made her family love him. But that morning, was the first one where she got an actual invite to Headquarters.

Daph,

How are things? I know you said in your last letter you're dad's a bit stressed. Is everything okay?

Things are okay here. Not great, but Snuffles enjoys having me here. They've actually said you can come over, if you want to? Just let me know and we can get that sorted. Aside from that, nothing really has changed, just cleaning as normal. You should see this place, well I guess you will, but some of it's pretty grim.

I'll keep it short (as if it wasn't always short, bloody owl interception) but it'd be great to have you here!

Love you.

Harry

A few days later and none other than Arthur Weasley, his robes threadbare and his hair not far behind, appeared on their doorstep. Her father and Mr. Weasley had never really spoken, due to the fact that Weasley Sr. spent too much of his time tinkering with engines and fascinating at muggle contraptions to actually be taken seriously by the rest of the Ministry. Still, he looked nice enough. It couldn't be any worse than his wife. Daphne was still scarred by that experience.

"Hello," Mr. Weasley said cheerily, what was it with middle-aged dads being overly friendly? "You must be Daphne. Lovely to meet you, Harry's told us all about you. Ron too actually."

"All good things I hope," Daphne said before joining Mr. Weasley out on the driveway. She'd said goodbye to her mum when the door had rung, and her father was off trying to help Puddlemere United sign a new chaser from a team in Spain.

"Of course!" God, it was like dealing with her dad only without the Quidditch obsession. "Harry doesn't stop talking about you. I'm sure he's excited to have you over. Although, there's a few things I need to tell you before we, er, well." He fumbled in his robes pulling out a piece of grubby parchment and handing it to her. "Read that first." She did. From what Harry had said, it was a fairly grim old place by the sounds of it.

"What's the Order of the Phoenix?" Daphne asked, handing back the note.

"Ah, yes. I thought you'd ask that. Well, I'm a part of the Order. In fact, so's Molly - you've met Molly?"

"Briefly," Daphne thought it probably wasn't wise to tell her husband that she had come across like an unhinged jealous cow. That could be saved for dinner or dessert, maybe even drinks.

"Well," persisted Mr. Weasley, with the tone of someone who had done all of his public speaking at school and was incredibly out of practice. "The Order was created by Dumbledore. Last time. And with You-Know-Who being back, he thought we should reassemble, I suppose.

"There's not very many of us, but we're growing. Dumbledore's very keen on that. Headquarters is where we meet, talk about how things are going and so on. Recently, it's been all about the article. Very good work, by the way."

"It was my mother's idea," no sense taking credit for something she didn't do, "but thanks. I'll let her know you approve."

"It was commendable," Mr. Weasley carried on, "not everyone agrees, of course."

Where had she heard that before? Oh yeah, literally every second of existence. No-one would ever agree, because you were always someone's most detestable thought, their worst nightmare or even just plainly dislikeable. To others, well, you hope you're good enough to warrant their affection. The funny trick of the mind, Daphne had always found, was that it seemed impossible to consider the latter when the former was so easy to obsess over. Nowadays? Nowadays, she tried not to give a damn. Tried, of course, being the operative word.

"When do they?"

A wry smile pulled at his lips. "Very true. Now, where was I? Yes, the Order. We're based at Grimmauld Place, that's Sirius' house. We're doing our best, there's more to be done, naturally, but You-Know-Who's not going to have an easy time of it this time."

Daphne had a funny feeling that Mr. Weasley was pitching the Order to her. Look at us, look at how great we are, could you maybe mention that to your super-rich parents? There's a good girl. God, it made her wand to scream. Which, naturally, meant that she said that first thing that popped into her head.

"If this is about getting my parents to sign up, I want to go home."

Mr. Weasley had the decency to look affronted. "Your parents? Merlin's beard, no."

"Mr. Weasley, I'm fifteen, not a moron."

He sagged, stopped, and looked at her, chewing his lip as he did so. Finally he said, "I am not trying to sell the Order to them through you, Daphne. I promise you. Others might," he admitted, "but I won't be. It's their choice, just like it was mine."

"Good," Daphne nodded, leading the way and forcing Mr. Weasley to jog slightly to catch up. "What made you join?"

After all, the Weasleys popped out more children than anyone. When Voldemort, or Riddle or however she should think of him now, first showed up he'd have had an entire houseful depending on him. Her parents hadn't fought. How could he?

"My mother was killed," Mr. Weasley told her gravely. "She was like you, I suppose. Going against the grain as it were."

Cedrella Black, yes, everyone knew about her story. She was the kind of woman laughed about at pureblood parties for falling so far from grace that she married a Weasley. It had always fascinated Daphne that Ron, who before she had started dating Harry loathed Slytherins on sight, had a grandmother sorted into that very house.

"My family were one of the first to be targeted. Blood traitors, as you can imagine, aren't high on You-Know-Who's list of people to keep around. And we were rather outspoken back then. My father would always try to use his seat to change things, not that they ever did, but he tried. He made it out, when they burnt the house down. My mother, wasn't so fortunate."

There was an awkward pause, punctured only by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. "Dumbledore took us in. Great man, Dumbledore. Molly and I, we did what we could to try and repay that kindness. And, I suppose, I tried to make sure my mother didn't die for nothing."

"I'm sorry." It felt like the only thing she could say. What else was there to say?

"Not as sorry I am," Mr. Weasley said sadly. "Everyone has their reasons, to fight or not to. I don't think it's a sign of being good or otherwise." They crossed the boundary line and Mr. Weasley forced a smile onto his face, signaling to anyone with half a brain that the conversation was over. "Right, well, shall we be off?"

Daphne hated apparating. It was like falling from a broom, only confined and somehow a thousand times more nausea-inducing. One second they were in the outskirts of Bedford, the next a bustling London neighbourhood. Muggles, being muggles, didn't pay them any attention. Daphne forced herself not to throw up, swallowed hard and then looked up to see a house appearing between two ordinary terraces. Odd choice for the Black family home. She'd have thought they'd be well away from muggles, not squatting between them like an unwanted dog.

The inside was somehow worse than the street's facade. All of the pureblood houses Daphne had ever visited were airy, light and vast places - deliberately to give off the impression of wealth and grandeur. The Blacks had gone for a more, well, black approach. Candlelight cause flickering shadows to dance and skirt around her feet. Peeling wallpaper revealed rotting timber or stained walls. The instant smell of mustiness hit Daphne as the door closed behind her, enveloping her and never letting go. It was like walking into a mausoleum, not a house or a headquarters. Plucky rebels hung out in cool abandoned castles or hid in plain sight in muggle coffee shops or rented rooms above quaint pubs. This? This was a little bit of a letdown to say the least.

"Just through here," Mr. Weasley whispered, adding to the general sense of foreboding. "Try not to make any noise in the hall." He gestured to a set of moth-eaten curtains hanging across a painting, before leading Daphne through a small doorway and down a narrow flight of stairs, which led into a kitchen.

A long oak table took up the centre of the room, scattered across it were mugs and glasses - none of them seeming to match or be part of any kind of set. Cupboards lined the walls and a large dresser dominated one corner. As there was no natural light, a large fire roared and crackled, will candles bobbed and swam across the ceiling. At the table were Sirius, Harry, and Mrs. Weasley, who was glaring daggers at Sirius.

"Ah, you're all here," said Mr. Weasley, who seemingly chose to ignore the obvious discomfort of the entire room. "Wonderful. Daphne, if you could take a seat." She did so, more out of curiosity than anything else. Harry shot her an apologetic smile before Sirius spoke.

"Good to see you again.".

"You too," Daphne said, setting herself down beside Harry. "Where are the others?"

"Cleaning," Sirius told her darkly, "not everything in this house can be removed with magic. My dear old mother saw to that. So, they're making this place fit for human habitation." His tone alone made it clear that, if it were up to him, he'd destroy the old building and everything inside it. What little Daphne could surmise about his life, from her own escapades into pureblood society, told her the childhood of soon-to-be rebel Sirius Black could not have been a happy one.

"You can see them later," Mrs. Weasley fussed, still glowering at Sirius. "For now, we'd like to talk to you."

"About?" This couldn't be good.

"Harry tells us you've been spending a lot of time together." Like that was a crime. "And, well, we were worried that, if you wanted privacy while you were here…"

"They don't want you wandering off into muggle London without a guard," Sirius finished, sparing Mrs. Weasley from strangling herself in her own words. "Like Voldemort's going to be hiding in a phonebox."

"We all know what you think."

"That my godson should have some freedom," Sirius snapped back. "Yes. And the last I checked Dumbledore didn't look after him."

"We all care about Harry," Mr. Weasley added calmly, before his wife could erupt, Daphne could feel herself not being far behind, even if she did concede that Dumbledore had a point. Then again, where safer to hide Harry than muggle London? "The point is Sirius, that he needs to be protected."

"And has anyone thought to actually ask Harry what he thinks?" Sirius countered, before casting his gaze to Harry. "Well?" The barked question was frustrated, agitated, like a caged animal looking for someone to hurt for the bars keeping it in place.

"It's not worth risking it, is it?" Harry eventually conceded, his godfather crumpled. Daphne's heart selfishly joined his, if for the briefest moment. She didn't especially fancy walking around with a guard while on dates with Harry. It was stupid. Selfish. Moronic even. But she couldn't help it being there. "You're probably right, Sirius, especially now. It's just that if he does try something, surely it's better someone from the Order was there?"

"Fine," Sirius barked. "Alright."

They were then briefed on what they could and couldn't do, with some objections from both Sirius and Harry, while Daphne was sworn to secrecy about the Order. Like she'd tell anyone. She wasn't an idiot. It was blindingly obvious they wanted everything to be kept hush hush. So, with the warning ringing in their ears, Harry and Daphne - shadowed by Mr and Mrs. Weasley - left Grimmauld Place. They were given some muggle money by Sirius, who had managed to get some off a man referred to only as 'Dung' and Mr. Weasley returned home to fetch some muggle clothes - a golf jumper and jeans.

"Sorry about this," Harry muttered, as Mr. Weasley loudly exclaimed about a taxi behind them. No-one seemed interested in him, but then no-one seemed interested in anyone else at all. It was like they were completely invisible. It was comforting in an odd way.

"It's fine, at least they didn't rope us into cleaning the Drawing Room," she grimaced at the thought, "no offense, but that's not my idea of a fun summer. Speaking of, what do you want to do?"

"Drinks first, like coffee? Well, hot chocolate for you." Daphne loathed coffee and wasn't fully sold on tea, it was nice that he remembered. "Then, I dunno. Hyde Park? I've never really been around London."

"Sure," Daphne shrugged, "I'm happy with anything. What do muggles do anyway?"

"Cinema, theatre, tourist spots," Harry listed off, "we could go to the Tower."

"Now you're just saying words."

"It's a thing!"

"What's so interesting about a Tower?"

"I..." Harry faltered. "Erm, they locked people up there?"

"Sounds thrilling."

"Okay. Not that then. How about just coffee?"

Daphne wanted to bite back but the earnest expression on his face doused any sarcasm in her heart. "Just coffee sounds great."

They managed to find a small coffee shop that wasn't absolutely rammed with tourists holding huge cameras and sat at a small iron-wrought table, looking out onto the hustle and bustle of the street.

"How're the others?" Daphne asked, blowing on her hot chocolate to cool it down. Harry had gone for something called Fanta that he assured he was nice.

"Okay, I think? Ron and Hermione are a bit, off?"

"He finally told her he likes her then?"

"Didn't go too well," Harry said, "they were fine at the Burrow, but when he visited her it was…"

"Like a grindylow out of water," Daphne filled in, taking a sip of her drink and enjoying the warmth despite the heat of the day.

"Yeah. Then Hermione got a bit defensive, thinking he wasn't really trying. Well, you know what Ron's like. They got into a fight, then another, then they both said they'd rather just be friends."

"And how's that working out?"

"Sometimes it's okay," Harry admitted, "then, I might mention you or Fred'll mention Angelina and it gets a bit frosty like they remember all of sudden that they could've been like that."

"It doesn't always work out. Trace is the same with Blaise, or at least she could be. His mum doesn't approve of our darling half-blood, so we'll see how that goes when they get back."

"Sounds fun," Daphne hummed, she'd always worried for Tracey. Being half-blood was fine, most of the time, but if you tried to get into bed with the older families - especially given the givens with her muggle dad - it was a recipe for disaster. "Zabini's alright though?"

"He can be. A little obnoxious for my tastes, but Trace likes him. I think I'd kill him personally, but that's the beauty of friendships over love. A friend I can walk away from and shut the door if they're getting annoying."

"You saying I don't get annoying?"

"Now you're just putting words in my mouth, but on the whole, you're alright, I guess."

He nodded to himself. "I'll take alright."

"As well you should, do you know how few people I actually like?"

"It's got to be a solid five."

Daphne mentally counted who he could be thinking about and added, "my parents don't count."

"Okay, three then."

"See, you're already the top three without even trying, and Tori doesn't even really count 'cause I've got to like her." He rolled his eyes, before finishing his drink and asking if she wanted another. A moment's consideration led to a small nod, so he got up, gave her a small peck on the cheek and headed to the slightly snaking queue.

The day carried on in the same manner, they wandered around muggle shops, Harry using Sirius's money to buy her a LEGO pirate ship, and tagged alone on an open-top bus tour of London - Daphne telling Harry the magical tie-ins to the history of the place. Such as the fact that the palace had been built by two witches that 'friends' of William III or that the bell 'Big Ben' was so loud because it had been magically enhanced and was a gift from a French Wizarding family after the first one cracked in 1857.

As the bus neared their stop, she rested her head on his shoulder, her hand interlacing with his.

"Love you," she said quietly, the noise of London masking her words from everyone else. It was as though they were completely alone, hidden within the crowd.

"Love you too," the kiss on her head was gentle, the squeeze of her hand perfect. So much for being stuck at Grimmauld Place.