Chapter Ten: Short, simple, perfect.
No decision is made in a vacuum. For example, the day Sirius Black escaped from prison was motivated by Pettigrew's appearance in the Daily Prophet but the time of day he chose to leave, the fact he was able to escape and the series of events that followed were the result of multiple factors outside of the aforementioned escapee's control.
So, when he was faced with his godson's plea for more information about the Order, what else could he do other than find it for him? He'd be damned if he was going to sit back and blithely watch Harry stumble through a war he wasn't in any way ready for. But Sirius, being Sirius, chose confrontation over clandestine research. He had raged at Dumbledore and demanded that he speak to Harry, that he gave him the courtesy of explaining what was happening. Dumbledore had calmly, but forcefully, refused. Which meant that Sirius was forced to choose between the Order and Harry - or he would've been had Harry not botched Dumbledore's plans entirely.
It hadn't been obvious at first that Harry rejecting Dumbledore's offer of Occlumency tutelage thanks to Daphne's parents already mentioning that they would teach him, would have such severe consequences. The fact Snape had ambushed Harry with the request and left like a bat with its arse on fire when Harry shot him down. It had been worth it just for that.
The result, Sirius would reflect upon later, was something he would never have seen coming.
oOo
"He cannot be shown the truth."
"If we do not reveal this to Harry now, Severus, I fear we may lose our only hope of defeating Voldemort."
"You said yourself, he is too young."
"And he has faced far worse than this within his short life." Neither man mentioned that Dumbledore himself was largely to blame for these events unfolding. The Tournament, the Chamber, even Quirrel - all were well within the man's ability to control and yet.
"Why now? Why not when he arrived here or last year when the Dark Lord returned?"
"Because Amelia will provide access Cornelius never would have. And, I fear, because Harry is losing faith in our ability to support him. I cannot imagine that even three months ago he would have turned down our offer to help protect his mind from Voldemort in favour of support from the Greengrasses."
How Dumbledore had ever allowed him to spend so much time with that wretched family, Snape couldn't be sure. Perhaps he had hoped to give the boy a life, as he was so fond of saying. Yet, here it was backfiring in his face.
"Then you are as blind to their power over him as you are to this: The boy is not ready to hear the prophecy, nor should he be informed of the Dark Lord's method of survival."
"And yet it is imperative that we do not lose Harry's trust."
"He is not a pawn for you to use as you see fit." Snape snapped, unable to stop himself. After all, wasn't that how the Dark Lord had seen Lily? Dimly and without instant recognition, he felt his nails digging into his skin.
"Is that sentiment, Severus?"
"It is an observation." Must the Headmaster always insist on over-sentimentality? "This is precisely the method of thinking which has resulted in your current predicament. The boy wanders from your grasp and your intent is to manipulate him."
"My intent is to give him what he asked for."
"Information he is not yet ready for."
"I wonder, Severus, if Harry were to know of your concern for him, do you think he would believe it?"
His voice came out deathly quiet, but unlike his students, Dumbledore did not quail under Snape's gaze. "How I treat the boy is none of your concern."
"He has already created a group designed to operate outside of your instruction. While it is commendable that he values his studies, it demonstrates a certain lack of -"
"He is an arrogant fool!"
"He is not James, Severus. You would do well to remember that."
Snape knew that what he said next was a mistake, was unfair, but he didn't care. It was about time Dumbledore understood the pain he would so casually inflict on others. "As would you to remember the sins of your past, Headmaster."
Dumbledore's wizened face tightened, the only sign that he had even heard Snape. When he did finally speak, his voice was measured and calm. "I am well aware of the mistakes I have made."
"Then might I suggest you act like it before we all pay the price."
oOo
If Harry was confused when Mad-Eye Moody thumped his way into his room and demanded he get dressed, then he was downright baffled when the aged ex-Auror yanked him into the fireplace of Grimmauld Place and sent him sprawling into the Atrium. He was greeted by a small collection of what he later learned were Hit Wizards and Witches, who curtly told him that he was to follow them. When he tried to argue, Moody appeared behind him and shoved him gruffly into their path.
"What's happening?"
"Not now, boy." Moody hissed. "Dumbledore's orders."
That did little to make him feel better as he was half-led, half-shoved into one of the lifts. People were staring at him. Entire crowds of Ministry employees happily stopped to whisper and memos aplenty were shot around the Atrium as if they were a flock of sentient birds looking for the nearest exit.
They rode the lift down in complete silence, although several of the Hit Witches and Wizards sent him curious sideways glances. It seemed they knew just as much about this as he did, which was oddly reassuring. Wishing he'd grabbed a pair of jeans that weren't threatening to cut off the circulation around his waist, Harry tried to think. It was pretty hard to do when he was sailing into the belly of the Ministry with no clue why he was there.
C'mon. Think, Potter. What's changed? Sirius had begun telling him more about the Order, about Remus' trips with the werewolves, about Voldemort's efforts to recruit the older families and the fact that, rather unsurprisingly, several Order members wanted to try and recruit Daphne's parents. Mrs Weasley was against it and so too were Sirius and Lupin, but the others were apparently pushing quite hard to speak to them. Apparently, he had no idea why Dumbledore wasn't talking to him but suspected that it had something to do with the weapon.
The weapon.
It had to be, didn't it?
Harry's suspicions were confirmed as they clanked to a stop and the cool voice from the grill above him said, "Department of Mysteries." The cool thrill of excitement that he'd felt in his dreams rushed back to him. He was here. Finally. Moody didn't need to push him this time, he almost sprang from the lift, eager to see the long corridor. The sound of his feet echoing against the floor, the brief warmth of torches as he passed and the musty stench of sealed air layered on top of the vision he was so used to seeing. The hairs on his neck stood on end and he had to stop himself from hurrying too quickly and forced his legs to be leisurely. Calm.
The calm vanished as he saw who waited for them at the end of the corridor. Stood by the large door was the recognisable form of Dumbledore, for only Dumbledore would stride around the Ministry in magenta robes, and next to him was the Minister of Magic herself.
Minister Bones was an imposing figure, the exact opposite of Fudge who had always greeted Harry with a smarmy grin and an overly-friendly demeanour. The new Minister regarded him coolly through her monocle, dark eyes watching him carefully as he edged towards them. Grey hairs that hadn't been there when he'd last seen her photograph in the Prophet were intertwined with brown at her temples.
"Mister Potter," she boomed, her voice echoing around the basement corridor. "Thank you for joining us at such short notice."
"No problem," Harry said a little cautiously, unsure what else to say. He'd never met anyone with such a presence. Even the gang of Ministry-appointed security behind him seemed to stand a little straighter. It resonated off her. From the straight back to the severe stare, she was the embodiment of ordered confidence. Harry could almost see Daphne rolling her eyes and slouching toward the Minister, he almost smiled.
When he reached them, the Minister turned her gaze on the assembled Ministry employees.
"You may go and before you protest, Hopkins, I was an Auror before you could even walk. I will be fine unless you think I can be overpowered by a fifteen-year-old boy. No? Good. Tell Rufus that I shan't be long."
A little unfair, but Harry conceded she had a point. The Hit Squad eventually agreed and were led away, presumably by the aforementioned Hopkins.
"If you are wasting my time, Albus, I shall not be as understanding as Cornelius." Her voice was firm and Harry was surprised to see Dumbledore bow his head gently without saying a word. "Very well. Mister Potter. You are here as an invited guest of the Ministry. Anything you see beyond this point is considered to be under the Ministerial Secrets and Magical Protection Act of 1645, unless you are explicitly told otherwise by an Unspeakable or myself. Should you breach this act, you can and will be prosecuted with a maximum sentence of twelve years in Azkaban, do I make myself clear?"
"Amelia -"
"Minister Bones," she corrected, "and before you say another word, Albus, might I remind you that you have kept your fair share of secrets from the Ministry. Chief among them, You-Know-Who's plot to ransack this place." Left unsaid was the very real threat that Dumbledore himself could be facing time in Azkaban. "Now, Mister Potter?"
He hesitated only for a second, he had to know. "Yes, that's fine."
"Sign this, please." Harry was presented with a small scroll and a green quill. The feathers burst to life after Harry signed the document, twisting around his forearm and then sinking through the fabric of his jacket and, if the sudden stabbing pain was anything to go by, into his skin. They watched him, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of Minister Bones' mouth raise slightly as Harry's face remained blank. It didn't take a genius to realise what those feathers would do should he inform anyone of secrets he wasn't allowed to divulge.
"Thank you. Now, if you will follow me."
He was led through a host of rooms that ranged from the bizarre to the truly weird. Time turners aplenty, an eerie archway and were they brains? Eventually, they came out into a cathedral-like room, with tall ceilings that appeared to go on forever. Torches sat in sconces at regular intervals, light flickering and flickering off thousands of blue orbs. Housed on hundreds of shelves that ran the length of the room, the orbs almost seemed to whisper to him as he walked past. He went to reach for one, more out of curiosity than anything else, but changed his mind and shrugged.
"What are these things?" Harry asked instead. He tried to look at the orbs again, but his gaze seemed to slide off them. It was as though he were looking at something entirely uninteresting as if his brain simply didn't want to look at them. As they passed another row he went to reach out again, but no, he should keep up.
"They're prophecies," Minister Bones told him. "Seers who have been given the gift of sight may, from time to time, predict the future. When these predictions take place, an orb is created that houses the prophecy."
"Only those about whom the prophecies are made can lift them from the shelves," Dumbledore said, speaking for the first time since they had entered the Department of Mysteries. "It is why you cannot reach for them. They are shielded by a rather peculiar type of magic. You can want the prophecy, and truly wish to take it from the shelves, but at first, you will simply change your mind. The magic is there to protect you from the consequences."
"So what happens if I did take one?"
"You descend into a pit of unimaginable madness."
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and Dumbledore chuckled. There really should be some sort of a sign. "And what's this got to do with a weapon?"
"Information is the greatest weapon of them all," Dumbledore said simply, "and this is the information we cannot allow Tom to discover." Tom. It made him seem almost normal. But Tom was the boy who had floated from the diary and tried to kill Ginny. No. Even then he was a monster. "It is vital that he never hears this prophecy, Harry."
"There's a prophecy about Voldemort?"
"About both of you." Minister Bones' voice wasn't harsh as it had been, there was a warmth there. Susan had often said her 'Auntie' was nice, but it was only then that Harry saw it. She had stopped in front of one of the many blue orbs, but unlike the others, Harry felt his gaze stay on one just below her shoulder. His eyes scanned the small label that detailed his name. What was within this orb? What was so important that Mr Weasley had to - He stopped that thought dead. He didn't want to think about the snake.
"You want me to take it." It wasn't a question. The Minister and the Headmaster shared the most fleeting of looks, but it was enough to tell Harry they did not agree.
"I believe you should, Mister Potter and that it should be destroyed. As neither I nor anyone else in these halls can take it from the shelves, I must ask that you do so."
"I want to hear what it says. It's about me, isn't it? And if Voldemort shouldn't know about it, wouldn't it be better if I did?"
Minister Bones arched an eyebrow but did not stop him. If anything, she looked impressed.
"Not many people find joy in knowing their own future, Harry." It was Dumbledore's voice that betrayed him, it was thick with emotion and so far beyond its normal calm banality. When Harry's eyes flicked back to the sign he saw the clue that he'd so eagerly missed.
"You know what it says?" That settled it.
"I do. And, for what it is worth Harry, I wished to tell you when the time was right. Alas, that time arrived far earlier than I wished it to." For the first time, he looked at Harry. Not just near him or past his shoulder, but truly at him. Instead of feeling the snake rear up inside him, as he had last time, Harry was instead struck by just how old Dumbledore looked. "I realise I should have brought you here sooner. I do not seek your forgiveness, merely your understanding."
"For what?"
"An old man's foolishness and my desire to protect you from the horrors that are to come."
"I'll always find trouble, Professor. Surely it's better to know where it's coming from for once?"
And in a way. It was. But in so many more it wasn't. The prophecy sounded in his mind once the Unspeakables explained how to use the orb. He listened once. Twice. Then smashed the damn ball before anyone could stop him. The Minister's face was blank, although she conceded that he could divulge the details of the prophecy to whomever he needed to should he: "wish to seek appropriate guidance." He did.
The fireplace erupted and Harry half-stepped, half-fell onto the carpet that he'd been reliably informed was two hundred years old. A firm hand wrapped around his waist before he could collapse onto it. Dumbledore. A small bell sounded and Harry knew from experience that it was tripped whenever guests called who weren't expected. The way the candlelight eerily shimmered in the doorframe revealed the wards weren't a story.
"Tori, will you get that?" Matthias Greengrass called from one of the many rooms inside the manor.
"You get it!"
"Astoria."
"Father."
"I'm busy."
"So am I."
"She's not," Daphne called betraying her sister and laughing, likely at the sheer look of disgust from Astoria. "Ow!"
"Girls."
"Ugh. Fine. Fine. I'll go. You lot are the worst." There was the sound of bad-tempered stomping, muttering and a few chosen swear words that Astoria Greengrass may not have employed had she known she was in earshot of the Hogwarts Headmaster, who was cheerily examining the paintings in the second Living Room, which was where the public floo network sent people.
"Oh," Astoria said when she rounded the corner into the room and saw Harry, who along the way had sunk into one of the chairs, and Dumbledore. Then so everyone else in the house could hear, she practically shouted, "Hey, Harry!"
"Harry?" Daphne asked.
"Harry's here?" Matthias echoed, almost as excitedly.
"And he has a guest," Astoria continued, arching an eyebrow at Dumbledore who nodded. "The Headmaster."
There was a loud squelch, followed by an unidentifiable scream, and before long they were joined by Matthias and almost half a second later Daphne. The Greengrass patriarch was clad in what looked like his muddiest robes, gardening gloves and goggles that he'd pulled up onto his thinning hair. Daphne meanwhile was no such figure of chaos and gardening mayhem with her dark red jumper and tartan skirt. The necklace she'd got for Christmas hung from her neck and Harry noticed the small flecks of paint on her cheek and hands. Despite the roiling confusion and panic that was his mind, he couldn't help but feel as if the storm quietened just a little as he saw her.
Matthias drew his wand and tapped the doorframe. The shimmering light faded and the Greengrasses entered the room. Daphne was next to him within an instant, he didn't even need to say anything for her to know something was wrong. Her fingers intertwined with her, her thumb rubbing the top of his hand. The great dam inside him that kept him from screaming in the Ministry was now straining with cracks.
"Professor Dumbledore, forgive me, we weren't expecting guests."
"That is quite alright. I simply wished to deliver Harry here after our trip to the Ministry." Eye narrowed, Matthias nodded. "And, if I may trouble you for a moment of your time, I wish to speak with you privately."
"Of course." It may not be obvious to Dumbledore, but there was a coldness in Matthias' voice that never normally tainted it. He looked down at himself and then forced a smile on his face. "I should get changed. Right. Yes. Erm, Tori, would you show the Headmaster to my office, please?"
Astoria gave her father a small salute and the three of them left the room with little conflict, which given that Astoria was playing the role of dutiful daughter and chaperone was surprising. She was, however, happily chatting to Dumbledore about the Black Kneazles before they'd even managed to get out of earshot, which had to be a new record.
"Is there any particular reason you and Dumbledore decided to pop by? Or is it just because we're so truly wonderful you couldn't bear to be apart from us?" When Harry's face didn't crack, she frowned. "Sorry. Just, you know, I - not important. What's wrong?"
And so he told her. Told her about the prophecy, about the night Snape had overheard the first half and that it had been this that had got his parents killed. He told her about his fate to battle Voldemort until one of them died, and that Voldemort had somehow protected himself against death and still couldn't die. The word 'Horcrux' had, surprisingly, been unknown to her. She didn't stop him, just listened, even when he faltered and cracked, she waited.
"So," he summarised, "I've got to kill him. Or he kills me. And that's pretty much impossible right now."
"But not forever, you've destroyed one already, Harry. And, let's face it, you were never going to run away from him, were you?"
"But you could." It was the only thought he'd had when he'd heard the prophecy. He'd not feared for his own life, he'd nearly lost it so many times he was beyond facing his own mortality. But Daphne's? He couldn't let her pay that price, no matter what.
"Not funny." He hadn't reckoned for that. Her voice was cold, her eyes even harsher, the kind of look she saved for Malfoy. But he wasn't going to back down just because of a glare.
"I'm serious." Why did no one listen? First Hermione and Ron and now Daphne. Why couldn't they realise that being even near him was dangerous? "You could get hurt."
"I could get mauled by a Hippogriff or strangled by Goyle or drown in my own pool."
"Why would Goyle strangle you?"
"My point is," Daphne continued waspishly, ignoring his question, "there's risks everywhere."
"But that's not the same." Why couldn't she see he was just trying to protect her? If he was honest with himself, if he was truly honest, it wasn't selfless. Everyone always said that's what he was. He wasn't. He wanted to keep her safe because he couldn't bear the idea of a world without Daphne in it.
"No, and why's that? Because this time I have a choice? But the mighty Harry Potter's going to take that from me. Is that it?"
Harry gaped. "That's not - you know, I'm not -"
"No, you're not," she conceded but that didn't make it sting any less. "Sorry. But you're being a right Gryffindor, you know that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry shot back more cutting than he'd intended.
"All noble and honourable and, you know, you!" Sighing, Daphne tried to steady herself, her jaw set and her fists clenched. Then, slowly, she let a breath escape her and her body began to uncoil. "Yes, I could get hurt, I've always known that. Amazingly, I'm not a total idiot. Besides, the last I checked so could you and that's not stopping you."
"There's a -"
"You'd have fought him anyway, so don't give me that crap," Daphne snapped hotly, the flash of anger returning to her. "You're fighting him, so am I. End of."
"But -
"Start another sentence with 'but' and I'll detach something from you. We're in this together, Harry. I mean, d'you really think you could stop me? Stop any of us. Mum, dad, Tori, Trace, Ron, Hermione, we all care about you, you pillock. So, pull your head out of your arse and listen, because I'm only telling you this once. I. Am. Not. Leaving. None of us are."
He almost stiffened at her hand on his face, but let her pull his eyes to hers. They were the first thing he'd loved about her. Any words of resistance he'd prepared crumbled as she locked her gaze with his. There was no fighting it, even if he wanted to. She was never going to listen.
"And even if we wanted to, even if we did leave, it doesn't matter. Voldemort's not exactly fond of blood traitors or muggleborns, we'd all be on his hit list at some point. Now? Well, now we just get to hit back."
"I don't want you to die." The words broke his heart. Even saying them made it somehow real. Flashes of holding Cedric's lifeless corpse surged up from a part of him he hoped he'd long since locked away.
Gently she kissed his forehead before pressing her own against his. She'd once told him she didn't joke about everything, only the things that truly mattered to her. If that was the case, he'd racked up a sizeable mountain of love and affection. "I don't want you gone either. So, we'll work on this together. You're going to be that one that survives, Harry. I promise."
"You can't know that."
"I know you, that's enough for me." She pulled him close, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he buried his face into her shoulder. Pain blossomed in his nose and cheeks as his glasses failed to find room, but he ignored it. It was safe. A small moment at the epicentre of the storm. The sinking feeling that had been gnawing at his stomach seemed to die in her embrace.
When they finally pulled apart, he managed to force himself to ask. "Now who's being cheesy?"
"You tell anyone and I'll hex you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mhmm, I've got this great Defence teacher, you know, he's been giving me tips."
"How foolish of him."
"Disgraceful," Daphne smirked. "You going to be okay?"
"No idea."
"Good, I'd be worried if you said yes."
He laughed, hollow at first but somehow humour found purchase. "You really don't want to leave?"
"No." Simple. Short. Perfect. That was Daphne. He let himself sag further into the sofa. Had he always had a headache? Was her heart really beating that fast? It was as though his senses had been locked in a traffic jam and had somehow found a bypass all at once. He let himself collapse into her and only moved when the sound of footsteps alerted them to Dumbledore's return.
But when Harry turned to face him, he was instead greeted by Dumbledore and Matthias. Neither man appeared happy with the course of their conversation. Matthias's cheeks were flushed and his normally kind eyes were flashing with the type of fury that Harry had only just seen in his daughter's. Protective, fierce and unwavering. Dumbledore's lips were pursed and when he tried to smile at the sight of Harry and Daphne, it did not reach his normally twinkling eyes.
"Thank you again for your time," Dumbledore said, directing this at Matthias, who nodded so stiffly he may as well have been a statue. "Harry, my apologies, but there is much to attend to."
"He's fine, by the way." Daphne snapped, her trademark mouth once again getting the better of her. It reminded him of her cutting attack on Fudge, he'd been grateful for her then too.
"Daphne." Pent-up anger filled Matthias's voice, but Dumbledore held up a hand gently.
"No, Miss Greengrass is right. It has been a long day for us all. Harry, are you alright?"
"Fine." It wasn't exactly true, but he wasn't as overwhelmingly crippled by fear as he had been earlier either. "It's okay. I'm fine."
"Then I shall be in touch. Good day to you all."
When he had disappeared in a wall of emerald flame, Daphne and Harry turned to her father. He was practically shaking.
"What was that about?"
"I really don't like that Headmaster of yours very much," Matthias answered eventually. He let out a great sigh, rubbing her forehead as he began to pace the room. It was like watching one of Dudley's old toy soldiers. His arms and legs jerked up and down without Matthias really thinking about it, as if he was so swept up by his thoughts that he couldn't walk normally. "But first things first, are you really okay, Harry?"
"Yeah."
"Good. That's good." It was as if he was reassuring himself more than any of the other occupants of the room. He rubbed his beard, smoothing out his moustache and then down to his chin. "We're here for you, son. Remember that."
"Dad?"
"Right, yes, sorry. Dumbledore. Well, he wanted to let me know vaguely what happened. He wouldn't tell me everything but I know enough to know you're not getting out of danger any time soon, Harry. That said, he then got about trying to recruit us into that God-awful Order of his." Contempt caught his words quicker than a flame would on dry wood. "Not that I said yes. Honestly, we should be working together not splintering off into stupid little factions. He didn't take too kindly to that, let me tell you."
"What'd he do?" Daphne asked.
"Nodded and acted all serene and calm," Matthias said. "Told me should I reconsider that I should contact him at once."
"Right bust up, really, you should write to the Prophet."
"Men like Dumbledore don't scream and shout, Daph. Amelia's not happy about any of this and I can see why. Riddle's out there and what're we doing? Fighting to see who's got the biggest wand. I know they're not perfect and there's certainly more leaks than I'd like but…" He sighed, throwing himself down into the only empty chair. "What about you, Harry? What do you make of him?"
"Me?"
"Yes. You know him better than any of us."
Did he? Harry had always thought he could trust the Headmaster, but he didn't know him. Surely Matthias or even Amelia Bones knew him better? They'd been on the Wizengamot together, they'd been there during the first war, but the look Matthias fixed him with told him the answer to that question was a fat 'no'.
"He's doing what he thinks is best," Harry answered. "I think he's really trying his best. And he cares." Daphne's eyebrows tightened for the briefest of moments. "Really. I don't think he meant to keep me in the dark, not really. I mean, he did, but he wanted me to have this. You guys. Ron. Hermione. Everything. How was I ever meant to have any of that if I'd known I was gonna have to -" He faltered, the thought still made his stomach clench.
"And the Order's trying. I think they're so used to the Ministry hushing stuff up that they're scared."
"Like what?" One particular man jumped immediately to Harry's mind. He hesitated, it wasn't that he didn't trust Matthias, but Daphne's reaction in the Hospital Wing had been the reminder he'd needed that people still thought Sirius was a nutter. "You don't have to tell me."
"No, it's not - It's just, you do trust me, don't you?"
"Way I see it, Harry, you're family now. If I've got to trust anyone, I'd say you're pretty high on the list."
Harry swallowed, fighting the tsunami of feelings he was far too tired and emotionally exhausted to unpack. "You remember when I first visited, you mentioned my dad and Sirius Black? Well, Sirius never betrayed my parents. He didn't kill those muggles or Peter Pettigrew."
"Then who did?" Matthias was calm, but his frown gave away his suspicion.
"Peter Pettigrew. He was my parents' Secret Keeper, he's the one that told Voldemort how to find them and when Sirius cornered him, he blew up those muggles and cut off his finger. He's an animagus. That's why they never found his body. Sirius didn't get a trial, so he couldn't explain."
"They needed someone to blame," Daphne continued, taking Harry's hand gently. "It's true, dad. I've met him. Last year, after the maze."
"And he didn't try to kill you?"
"Not even once."
"That was nice of him."
"I thought so."
"And what's Black, I mean, Sirius, got to do with the Order? He's a member, right?" Harry nodded. "Well, that explains some of the secrecy at least. Pretty hard to be taken seriously, no pun intended." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Thank you for telling me this, Harry. If it's alright with you, I'd like to discuss it with Aurora?"
"Sure."
"Thank you. We've got a lot to think about. For now, I suggest you two do, you know, stuff." He smiled, trying to force his face to look like its normal self. "We're here if you need us, Harry."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He dragged himself to his feet. "Right, my plants aren't going to plant themselves." And with that, the head of the Greengrass family left the room, leaving Harry alone with Daphne. Her gaze was on the fireplace as she chewed slowly at her bottom lip.
"You okay?"
"Pretty sure I should be asking you that."
"I'm fine." It was reflex at this point. She glowered at him.
"It's okay not to be, you know."
He sagged slightly. "Okay. I'm not fine." How could he be? How was he going to be okay? Voldemort was not only his future but he was magically alive. There were these Horcrux things, a prophecy that said he could die and an entire life that he was on the precipice of losing. How was any of that ever going to be okay?
"What can I do?"
"Honestly?" She nodded. "I have no idea."
"Well, let's start coming up with one together. Dad's not lying, we are here, Harry. You don't have to talk to me, not if you don't want to. We can just exist for a bit and when you're ready, I'll always listen. I can't promise I'll have any good advice, but I can try."
"You're the best."
"I know," Daphne smirked, throwing out an arm so he could rest his head on her shoulder. Which he did. It was like a shield being held up before the barrage of his consciousness. For the briefest moment, the infinite futures that seemed to lay before him quietened their hateful whispers.
He just hoped when he was ready to face them that Daphne would be too.