The Champion's Legacy

Chapter 5: A Greengrass Interlude


Author's Note: A treat for the faithful readers of this series – a fresh update this week, because it's my birthday today! Yay – happy birthday to me! :)

Anyway, now that we've seen what Harry did, let's have a look at what Daphne was doing. Hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it.

Many thanks to Dorothea Greengrass for beta-reading this chapter.


Disclaimer: Recognisable portions in this chapter have been taken from the Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and the associated characters of the series, in my story.


Previously on "The Champion's Legacy"…

It was to this scene that Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, with the new guests in tow; as they entered the house and came into the vision of everyone else, more than a few jaws fell open.

For one, the new guests look startled at who their expected hosts were – especially the alleged mass murderer on the run from the Ministry for the last two years.

For another, Albus Dumbledore was shocked at the sight of Kreacher clutching the heavy locket, muttering quite audibly under his breath, 'Master Regulus' locket, Kreacher must destroy it, Kreacher will not allow the blood-traitors to take it from him…'

And finally, Harry's mouth literally fell open as he stared at the girl with blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes.

'Daphne?!'


'Time for dinner, Daphne!'

'Coming, Mum!'

Daphne shut the door of her wardrobe, looked herself over in the mirror one last time, then hurried downstairs to the dining room. Her parents were already there, and so was her sister, waiting for Dory, their house-elf, to finish serving them.

For a few minutes, there was no other sound except for the chink of cutlery against their plates, and the soft vibrations that came from the glasses of water being placed on the table after a sip. Daphne quite liked the silence – she had never warmed up to the loud and boisterous meals that were the hallmark at Hogwarts. She rather preferred the contemplative and peaceful quiet that came with having dinner with her family: it was one of the reasons why, while at Hogwarts, she usually had her meals by herself, or with Tracey, before the bulk of the school arrived.

And then, Dory popped in beside her father, looking anxious and worried.

'What is it, Dory?' asked her mother, Isabella, in a kind voice. 'What happened?'

'There be guests at the gate, Mistress,' squeaked the tiny elf, her eyes wide with worry. 'They be wanting to see Master right away.'

The silence up till then, which had been companionable, almost cheerful, was replaced by tension-filled stillness. Activity and movement paused almost at once on Dory's words, as slowly, everyone turned to look at Jonathan Greengrass, the head of the family.

Jonathan laid down his fork and knife near his plate, his face an inscrutable mask. He was never one to show his emotions too much, and even if he did so, it was always in private, and it was always because of a significant situation. Like the birth of Astoria, when her mother had had complications while she was in labour; or the death of his father, Cygnus Greengrass II, a formidable politician and a doting family man.

It seemed as though this occasion warranted it too: the mask fell away, to be replaced by a hard, cold look that Daphne had only once seen upon her father's visage. Three years ago, Lucius Malfoy was the recipient of the severe stare when he had tried to get her father to sign a marriage contract between House Greengrass and House Malfoy. Naturally, he had been unsuccessful, and was forced to leave while his pride was still intact.

If only looks could kill…Malfoy Senior certainly wouldn't have survived that meeting.

Nor would this evening's visitors, for that matter.

If only…

'Isabella, Daphne, Tori,' said Jonathan, his voice low and surprisingly steady, 'please return to your rooms.'

'Who are they, Father?' asked Astoria, but Jonathan shook his head.

'No one you should concern yourself with, Tori,' he said curtly, even as he stood up. Everyone else followed suit, their dinner – which was almost over in any case – all but forgotten. 'Please, do as I say.'

Daphne saw him exchange a look with her mother. Isabella gave a nod of understanding, then began to chivvy them to their bedrooms upstairs, while Jonathan headed towards the front door. The dining room wasn't too far from it, and soon enough, they heard the door open, then shut close with a soft click.

She looked up at her mother and was startled to see lines of worry etched across her beautiful face. For as long as Daphne could remember, Isabella never allowed her daughters to see her worry or anxiety over anything, choosing instead to project a strong and happy face to them. She had figured out the façade after a while – she had seen the mask slip in private several times – but this was the first time it had happened in public.

'What's wrong, Mum?' asked Astoria. She looked young and scared, a lot different from her usual tough exterior. Another quality that her younger sister had inherited from their mother.

Isabella schooled her face into a comforting expression, more for Astoria's benefit than anything else. 'Nothing, Tori dear. Your father…well, I just hope he's careful.'

To their astonishment, Astoria grinned. 'I don't think you need to worry about Father, Mum. I'd be more worried about those guests, to be honest.'

Isabella let out a shaky chuckle and steered Astoria to her room, with Daphne following behind them, staring at her sister with a mixture of shock and awe.

Remind me never to get on Astoria's wrong side.


The atmosphere inside Greengrass Manor was decidedly edgy in the few days following the unexpected visit by those 'guests'. Jonathan Greengrass had not said anything to his daughters about the discussion he had had, but Daphne could see it in his face: the slight line of worry, the anxious furrow of his brow. She prided herself on the ability to read people's emotions – it was a diktat that one had to abide by while in Slytherin House – and her father was no different, despite his usual closed-off personality.

She had, in any case, caught snippets of her parents' conversation on the subject, two days later, while passing her father's study on her way to her room. Jonathan spent a lot of time in his study, either reading some obscure, ancient books, meeting visitors, or reading up on his potential visitors. 'Know thy friend and enemy,' he always told Daphne – and she made sure to heed his advice, especially while at school.

The heavy panelled door to the study was usually shut during these times, but today, it had been left slightly ajar. As she passed it, she heard the words 'Death Eaters', causing her to stop in her tracks and stare at the study. Were those the 'guests' who had turned up two nights ago? What had they wanted that had caused her parents to display such anxiety in public – a rare action in the best of times?

Most importantly for her: ought she to go and find out?

She took a step towards the study, then stopped, her foot slightly in the air, ready to take the next pace. Her ears strained for another sound behind her, but it was all quiet. Astoria was in her room, doing her homework – for a change, thought Daphne. There was no one else at home, save the house-elves, who were bound to be in the kitchen, preparing their dinner.

Another step, and memories of her last attempts at stalking and eavesdropping on a conversation flooded her mind. A slight blush stained her cheeks as she realised the common factor in both cases: Harry Potter. Both times, he had been a target of her spying activities last year: once with Ludo Bagman before the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and then in Hogsmeade, when she followed him, Ron, and Hermione to the outskirts of the village, only for them to meet a dog they called Sirius.

Focus, Daphne…

It was remarkable how easily distracted she could get over the mention of the Gryffindor boy; more interestingly, how much her inner voice sounded like Harry himself.

They had barely exchanged a handful of words in person during their last school year, and had written to each other this summer for a grand total of five times each. As much as she could read a person's emotions and thoughts with a look, Daphne had to partially concede defeat when it came to Harry: despite knowing how his mind worked, he had more secrets than an average Potions Master, zealously guarding his information lest he be tricked into revealing recipes and selling priceless ingredients.

But the letters…now those were a delight. Daphne couldn't help but smile as she recalled the words they had exchanged with each other. Like a soothing balm to cracked skin, Harry was able to make her laugh, feel exasperated, think pensively, and smile fondly in just one letter. Not that he was great shakes at writing, but the effect was there nevertheless.

And she welcomed it with open arms. Finally, here was someone, apart from her friends, who appreciated her for who she was, rather than how she looked. Someone who knew the perils and trials of being famous for something you had no control over; someone who could look at her, and look through her, to her very soul.

How they got to this stage – from awkward, stolen glances and waves, to full-fledged, normal conversations through letters – she wasn't quite sure. Daphne supposed it was the lack of pressure from conforming to their House images, along with a desire to interact and connect with each other. She knew Harry was feeling very lonely right now, and she couldn't blame him for it – she would have felt the same way if she was stuck in the Muggle world.

Would they continue with this once they met in school, or on the train? Or would they revert to their previous awkwardness and restrictions in personal interactions? She hoped it would be the former – she didn't think she would be able to restrain herself from openly talking to him. Nor would the other members of her House do anything to jeopardise what she had with Harry – she was adamant on that, too.

C'mon Daphne…focus, now…

The inner voice of Harry was chuckling silently. Daphne huffed at it, mentally berating herself for getting distracted – again – then tip-toed silently to stand just outside the study, making sure that she couldn't be seen. She didn't need to see her parents, anyway; she knew them well enough to imagine their body language and reactions.

'Did they want anything else, Jonathan?' her mum was asking.

'Nothing else. They were, like I said, quite insistent on their main demand,' her father replied.

'I'm just glad they didn't curse you when you refused.'

'They wouldn't dare to do that in my own house, Izzy,' said Jonathan. 'Firstly, the wards wouldn't let them, and secondly, it would have been a public mess. A random, unprovoked attack by Lucius Malfoy and others on the House of Greengrass? No…Lucius is too smart and slippery for that.'

Daphne almost slipped in surprise. Lucius Malfoy was the guest, along with a few friends? What on earth could they have wanted with her father? What would Death Eaters want with their family?

Her father had refused – what? To join the ranks? To help them get funds, or other items of interest?

'I still don't understand why they would come to us now, all of a sudden,' her mother said. Daphne could imagine her mother's face, with a furrowed brow, thinking over her statement. 'Especially after your father refused Abraxas the first time, all those years ago.'

'I'm as puzzled as you are, Izzy,' said Jonathan. A slight creak told Daphne he was seated on his chair behind his study desk; she was ready to wager five Galleons that he would have his hands in front of him, fingertips touching and forming a sort of steeple. 'The Dark Lord would not want his return to be made public so soon.'

'Did he say so, then? Did he actually take his master's name?'

There was a pause, then, 'Not exactly, no. He just said he needed my help, and would return next week to give me more details.'

'Not much of a sharing person, is he?'

'No, that he is not.'

Silence fell again. Then, Isabella said, 'Do you believe it, then? Do you think he's back?'

'Yes,' said Jonathan, so quickly in response that Daphne almost jumped. 'I see no reason to believe otherwise, even if the evidence is circumstantial at best.'

'Dumbledore's word, then?'

'I wouldn't trust Cornelius Fudge with anything, Izzy. Not when Lucius has him so firmly entrenched in his pocket.' There was a tone of disgust as Jonathan finished.

Silence. Then, 'What do we tell Daphne and Tori?'

It seemed like a difficult question for Jonathan to answer, as he took a long while before responding. 'Nothing for now. It is a one-off incident, there isn't a need for them to know anything.'

'But…' her mum hesitated. 'The Malfoy boy at Hogwarts, Jon…he's in Slytherin too, with the girls –'

'They should have nothing to fear, Izzy,' said Jonathan firmly. 'Daphne can take care of herself quite well, and Astoria is more than a match for anyone. We raised our girls to be strong and independent – I see no reason why they should fear anybody.'

Daphne knew her father was proud of his two daughters, but this was the first time he had openly expressed it – even if it was only to his wife. Her heart warmed at the statement, and she fought the sudden desire to rush in and hug her father.

'Listen, Izzy,' her father continued; another creak told her that he had stood up, and was making his way across the room. 'I just don't want to worry them. Daphne will brood over it for ages, and Astoria is too temperamental for her own good.'

Daphne almost let out an involuntary chuckle at that – her father was right, after all. She tended to over-think and over-analyse anything and everything that happened to her – the pre-Yule Ball fiasco was a prime example. As for her sister…Daphne often wondered how she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor. She was so hot-headed, and tended to charge into a situation without thinking about the available options first.

Foolish bravery…with extraordinary ambition.

She shook her head, then quickly beat a hasty retreat to her room as she heard noises indicating that the discussion was over in the study. The conversation had given her a lot to think about, but she knew she had to do one thing first: write to Harry.


There was a return to normalcy in the Greengrass household over the next few days after 'the visit', as Daphne had termed it in her head. After breakfast with the family, her father headed out of the house for his own work. She had never understood what it was that he did – she recently figured it had something to do with politics, voting, and the Wizengamot. Jonathan Greengrass was a man who preferred to leave his work outside the house, or within the confines of his study, and rarely discussed it with his family.

Her mother, on the other hand, had no so qualms of sharing her work with her family. She was an independent magical researcher, and occupied a study of her own in the vast Manor for undertaking her projects. Her topics were spread across multiple fields: the occurrence of magical genes in Muggle-born children, the simultaneous use of two wands by the same caster, and even, at times, development and testing of new spells. Daphne had occasionally helped her mother in some of the research, and found it quite fascinating; so much so that, from a very young age, she had made up her mind to follow Isabella Greengrass' footsteps into independent research.

Daphne's summer routine was, by all standards, as normal as one could expect. Summer homework after breakfast, then lunch, followed by a little extra reading in her O.W.L. subjects, catching up with her correspondence, a stroll around the gardens surrounding the Manor, a little free time with her sister, dinner, and then DDT – Daphne's Diary Time. Weekends, however, often signalled a relaxation in the form of visits from Tracey and Blaise, or she Flooing to their homes. She didn't have any other friends whom she could spend time with – not that she minded, of course; she preferred the quiet solitude and standard routine over an unpredictable schedule.

Tracey came over to Greengrass Manor during the weekend after 'the visit', and after the usual exchange of pleasantries with Daphne's parents, she was immediately dragged up to Daphne's room, where Daphne wasted no time in telling her about the unexpected guests who had turned up at the Manor, and the overheard conversation of her parents.

Tracey let out a low whistle when Daphne finished.

'Wow,' she said softly. 'So…your parents believe Dumbledore then? And Potter, too?'

Daphne nodded.

'Wow,' said Tracey again.

'You've said that already,' Daphne pointed out.

'I know,' said Tracey. 'It's just…I didn't expect your family to come out with its allegiance this quickly.'

'I – wait, what?' asked Daphne, startled slightly at Tracey's statement. 'What do you mean, come out with our allegiance? We haven't said anything about it yet.'

'Well, yeah, I know, but you'll have to do it soon, one way or the other,' said Tracey with a shrug. 'I wouldn't put it past old Lucius Malfoy to come back again for another friendly visit, you know? And if your Dad turns him down again…' she trailed off.

Daphne sat back on her bed, contemplating the words of her best friend. She was right…in a way: if her father did refuse Malfoy one more time, the Dark Lord would know where their allegiance lay, and would either mark them down for something, or seek to eliminate them altogether…

Or would he?

'I don't think the Dark Lord would do it,' said Daphne.

'Do what?'

'He wouldn't do anything against us, even if we do say no to Malfoy when he comes. That's assuming he does show up, of course.'

'Please, Daph, that's a given,' said Tracey, waving her hands dismissively. 'Do you honestly believe Malfoy would accept no for an answer? Or even the Dark Lord, for that matter?'

'Alright, alright,' conceded Daphne. 'So he does show up, fine. So what if we say no?'

Tracey stared at her as though she'd grown an extra head. Daphne pointedly ignored it, and continued.

'Malfoy won't do anything on his own, not now that he's resumed his true employment with the Dark Lord. That gives us some measure of safety, not to mention the reaction of the wards against any attack on the Head of our family.'

'Yes…' said Tracey slowly.

'Plus, the Dark Lord wouldn't do anything to risk himself coming out into the open, would he? You heard the whispers in the common room last term – they all said Harry messed it up.'

Tracey nodded, acknowledging the truth in Daphne's words. The Slytherin common room had indeed been full of whispers and murmurs regarding the Dark Lord's return – how he had wanted it to be a secret, and how Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, had spoiled it by returning to Hogwarts alive.

'But still…' insisted Tracey, 'this is the Dark Lord we're talking about! The Dark Lord, for goodness sake!' Her voice had increased a notch in tone, as she became a little hysterical. 'Do you really expect to be able to avoid him forever?'

Daphne pursed her lips thoughtfully. No one could accuse her of being unintelligent, but this question of Tracey's had definitely stumped her. It was well known among the wizarding community that if the Dark Lord was after you, it was only a matter of time before he finally got to you. No one could survive coming up against him time and again…no one, except Harry Potter.

'No,' she admitted. 'I don't think we can, but then again…I don't think we need to.'

They fell silent for a while after that, not wishing to continue the discussion on this topic any further. After finishing a tasty and filling lunch, they returned to Daphne's room, whereupon Daphne asked something she'd been meaning to ask Tracey for a while.

'Have you heard from Iris? Or the boys?'

Tracey shook her head. 'None of them have reached out to me since term ended.'

'Oh,' said Daphne, a little surprised at that. 'Well, you're aware of the arrangement, right?'

'No…' said Tracey. 'What arrangement?'

Daphne stared at her.

'What arrangement, Daph?'

'B-but, I thought you knew!'

'Well, I don't, but I will, if you tell me what it is!'

'We're checking in on her every week. Well, she's checking in with Ron or Adrian at least, but I try writing to her whenever I can, you know? Just – just to keep her mind off…things.'

It was Tracey's turn to stare at Daphne, her eyes wide.

'How is it that you didn't know about this?'

'Well, no one told me, did they?!'

'I thought Blaise told you!'

'Blaise knows, too? Oh, that's great, just great…' and Tracey promptly got into an episode of constant muttering and grumbling that took a while to subside, even with Daphne alternately apologising and explaining.

'That's why I asked you about her. I met her last week, but I haven't heard from her since my last letter three days ago.'

Tracey shrugged, still looking slightly put out over the whole thing. Daphne ignored the dramatics – her best friend was likely to be like this for another ten minutes, before the whole thing would be glossed over and brushed under the carpet.

'Anyway, I've asked Harry if he's heard anything from Ron – he'll tell me if he has.'

Tracey's countenance brightened immediately. 'Still in touch with Harry, then?' She was sporting a wicked grin on her face that Daphne narrowed her eyes at. 'Are you dating then?'

'Don't you have any other business?'

'I'm in your house, aren't I? You already know the answer to that question.' She grinned more evilly, in Daphne's opinion. 'Now c'mon, spill!'

Daphne groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking out the window, hoping that she could ignore Tracey's existence and her determination to pursue this topic for the time being. It was a lost cause, obviously – no one could possibly ignore Tracey's existence, especially if they were in the same room; and as for her zeal to get to the bottom of things, it was unmatched by anyone at school. Unless physically impossible, Tracey was never one to back down from a challenge.

Daphne tried diverting her friend's attention away from the topic, but was unsuccessful, if Tracey's insistence was anything to go by. Finally, looking to stall it for as long as possible, she convinced her friend to join her for a walk in the gardens around Greengrass Manor.

The Greengrass estate was modestly expansive, but not large by any means. Most of it was dominated by the huge Manor that stood, impressively, in the middle of the property. Surrounding it were the grounds, upon which several species of flora were grown and cultivated by the dedicated gardening house-elves of the House: Mipsy and Tibby. They had planted a mixture of both Muggle and wizarding plants – sunflowers alongside dittany, agapanthuses circling a Wiggentree, rows of chrysanthemums adjacent to lines of Molys, and, for some reason yet unknown to Daphne, a Whomping Willow sapling.

Daphne and Tracey made sure to give the tiny Willow a large berth as they strolled across the grounds; in any case, they kept to the relative shade afforded by the large Manor, not wishing to expose themselves to the unusually intense sun. As it was, the summer's day was too hot, and they ended up returning inside within ten minutes, sweat dripping from their brows and down their necks.

'So…' began Tracey, after they had washed up and sequestered themselves in Daphne's room. 'You were going to tell me something.'

Daphne sighed, conceding defeat at last. 'No, we aren't dating.'

Tracey gave her a sympathetic look, mistaking her sigh for an expression of disappointment. 'It's alright, he'll come around. I suppose he'll ask you out this year.'

Daphne looked up at her. 'What makes you so sure of that?'

'Oh c'mon Daph, surely you aren't this blind!' exclaimed Tracey. 'The boy is completely taken with you – anyone with half a brain could see that from last year.'

Daphne bit her lip. She had noticed the covert stares and glances he'd manage to cop at her last year, even while she'd been doing the same. It had only increased after their dance at the Yule Ball – the intimate, amazing, wonderfully slow dance.

A dreamy expression came over Daphne's face, and Tracey sniggered. 'You've got it so bad! Tell me, has he said anything in his letters? Has he told you how much he means to you?'

The question seemed to snap Daphne out of her reverie, and she glared half-heartedly at Tracey. 'I'm not telling you that!'

'You're no fun,' said Tracey with a pout. 'I thought you would at least tell me, you know.' She gave an innocent smile. 'I mean, we have been friends for ages after all, we're practically family. And you've always shared everything with me, you know I'd do the same…'

Her smile grew wider as she spoke, and Daphne groaned. Another perfect example of Tracey's persistence, coupled with her unusually good skills at emotional blackmail.

'Alright, alright!' said Daphne finally. Tracey beamed as Daphne went across to her desk and pulled out a stack of letters from the top drawer. She rifled through them and handed a few over to Tracey, whose arm was outstretched, her expression eager. She'd already finished reading two of them by the time Daphne placed the rest back in the drawer and returned to sit across her on the bed.

'Oh, wow,' breathed Tracey as she read through Harry's more recent correspondences. '"I honestly don't know how I'm going to get past these six weeks without any letter or communication from you…I can't wait to see you…" she looked up at Daphne. 'You still doubt his feelings? These aren't the words used by friends, Daph!'

'I don't doubt his feelings,' replied Daphne, a bit nettled by the insinuation. 'I just…I'm not sure if he'd want to take it forward this year.'

Her voice hitched at the last word, and she hurriedly wiped her eyes free of the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She needed to get a grip on herself – she was a Slytherin! A daughter of the House of Greengrass! She couldn't afford to have an emotional break-down every time she thought about him.

It's so hard…

'Oh, Daph,' whispered Tracey sympathetically, wrapping her arms around the blonde in a tight hug. 'It's alright, don't worry. I'm sure he will want to do it, you see.'

Daphne drew back, her eyes still glistening slightly. 'But with the Dark Lord around?' she whispered.

'Even with the Dark Lord around,' said Tracey firmly. 'Just you wait – he's going to be so happy to see you on the train. You'd better make it worth it,' she added, with a hugely suggestive wink.

'Eurgh, Tracey, I didn't need those images in my head!' exclaimed Daphne, as Tracey collapsed backwards onto the bed, laughing loudly.


The one main positive out of Tracey's visit was that it had cheered up Daphne considerably. The auburn-haired girl had managed to reassure Daphne and address her insecurities regarding Harry and their potential relationship. It had the effect of Daphne having a blissful sleep that night, and entering the dining room for breakfast the next morning with a content grin on her face.

'Good morning all,' she said brightly as she took her seat at the table. Dory immediately hurried over with a tray and began serving her porridge.

Astoria took one look at her sister and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'You're too happy this morning.'

Daphne nodded. 'I slept well.'

'That's good to hear,' said Isabella, a soft smile on her face. 'Didn't you sleep well, Tori?'

'Clearly not as well as Daphne did, if her bliss is any indication,' said Astoria. 'What did you do?'

'Me? I did nothing,' said Daphne. 'I'm just glad that I could sleep well. It's a good thing, you know.'

Jonathan Greengrass was scanning the Daily Prophet as his two daughters bantered back and forth.

'Anything of note, Jon?' asked Isabella.

'Nothing,' he replied shortly. 'Thank you, Dory,' he added kindly, as the diminutive elf reached up to take his plate away. 'No change yet.'

Isabella nodded. Thankfully, her girls were still talking about Daphne's unusual expression of contentment, and had missed the exchange.

A small crash came from the kitchen. Isabella left the table to investigate – it was likely that Dory had dropped a few pots and pans in her eagerness to carry more than she could manage. When she returned to the dining room, however, she was sporting an unusually serious – bordering on worry – expression.

'Jon,' she said. Her voice quivered slightly, and in an instant, the room became silent; Daphne, Astoria, and Jonathan turned to look at her.

'What is it, Izzy?'

'They've come again, Jon.'

Jonathan stood up so fast his chair was almost knocked backwards. He stared at his wife, as though searching her face for a confirmation of any other facts – or perhaps to check if it was a colossal joke – but he found none. He nodded grimly.

'Very well,' he said. 'Please return to your rooms. I will meet with them.'

'I shall join you,' said Isabella, but Jonathan shook his head.

'No,' he said curtly, but firmly. 'Please stay with the girls.'

Isabella looked like she wanted to protest, but nodded anyway, and hurriedly ushered Daphne and Astoria out of the dining room and towards their rooms.

'Are these the same people, Mum?' asked Astoria, as they made their way up the stairs to the first floor.

'I don't know, Tori,' replied Isabella. They reached the landing, and she steered the girls to one of the many spare, but fully furnished bedrooms on the floor.

'Why are we –' started Astoria, but Daphne gave her a quick look and shook her head. Astoria got the hint at once and closed her mouth.

They waited in silence, with a myriad of emotions coursing through each of them. Daphne, who had been utterly content and peaceful earlier that morning, now felt tense and worried. She cast a concerned look at her mother, who was staring out the window onto the open grounds of the Greengrass estate. A quick mental calibration of their location told Daphne that the window faced south-west, and there was therefore no way to see what was going on at the gate on the east side of the property; but it wasn't for the lack of trying. Daphne had never studied the wards around her home, but she figured there would be some sort of indication from them if something happened.

Then again, hadn't her father said that the wards would respond if there was an attack on the current Head of House Greengrass within the boundaries of the property? He should be safe, then, shouldn't he? But what if they managed to force him to step beyond the gate? Would he still be protected?

The sensations of relief and worry kept alternating within her for another ten minutes. The stillness of the house was unnerving – it made her jumpy and uncertain of whatever she heard or saw. Was that Dory moving about in the kitchen, or someone climbing the stairs to the first floor? What was that noise – the front door slamming? Did a branch creak from a rare breeze outside, or –

The door suddenly opened, making them all jump in shock. In the frame stood Jonathan; he looked as well as ever, but his eyes were alert and deadly serious – a look that Daphne had never seen on her father.

'Dad, what happened?' asked Astoria. 'Who were those people?'

To their surprise, Jonathan did not respond to Astoria's questions – he normally always did, even if it was an awkward, private one, and he had to tell her so. This time, he simply ignored her, choosing instead to focus on his wife.

'Where did you want to go for a holiday?' he asked, so suddenly that they all started again.

Isabella stared at him, caught off-guard by the abrupt question. 'Sorry, what?'

'You told me you wanted to go on a holiday, didn't you? Where do you want to go?'

Daphne looked at Astoria, who looked just as bewildered by this question as she felt, then turned to her mother. She frowned as she watched her closely – there seemed to be a sudden glint of understanding in her eyes, even though her whole visage gave the impression of an astonished and confused person.

'Well…' her mother began.

She's good. She's really, really good.

'Well,' said Isabella again, 'how about Lyon? We could stay at the family chateau while we're there, the girls will love it. You need a break from work, anyway – it'll be good to get some fresh air.'

Astoria looked completely at sea, but Daphne understood. The sudden discussion about a holiday that year had surely been brought about by the second Death Eater visit to their house in five days. Had they increased their demands? Intensified their threats and warnings? Either way, they were going on a holiday – finally! Her mother had wanted one ever since the end of second year, but then the escape of Sirius Black had forced them to postpone it. Then last summer had been the Quidditch World Cup, and the security fiasco that followed it. With the return of the Dark Lord this time, Daphne had figured her father wouldn't even consider leaving the house, but this visit seemed to have changed his mind.

She wasn't complaining, however, especially since her father readily agreed to her mother's suggestion about going to Lyon. She had never been anywhere south of Paris – they had visited the French capital when she was a little girl, before Hogwarts – so she was rather looking forward to it.

They were to leave the next day, so Daphne hurried off to her room to pack. Thankfully, she had finished with most of her schoolwork, and didn't need to carry all of her textbooks and notes. She spent the afternoon arranging her clothes and other items into a large suitcase, and was just finishing up when her mother entered the room.

'Are you finished, dear?'

'Nearly, Mother,' said Daphne, pulling out a few more dresses from her wardrobe and placing them neatly in her suitcase. 'I just need to get Archibald in his cage tomorrow, once he returns tonight.'

'Yes, well, about that…' her mother suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. 'Your father and I have decided that it's best if we leave our owls here, instead of taking them to Lyon.'

Daphne gaped at her mother. 'B-but why? I need to write letters to my friends, I can't spend the entire summer without Tracey or Blaise to talk to!'

She had conveniently left out the fact that she was writing to Harry as well – her mother had no knowledge of that. In any case, she hadn't lied to her mother: Archibald was the easiest and safest way to communicate with her friends.

'I realise that, Daphne, but I'm sure you understand the situation we are in,' said her mother gently. 'It would be too risky if we took them and sent letters from there, wouldn't it?'

'Yes, but…' Daphne looked around the room, hoping for some inspiration for a counter-argument against this rather valid point. She found nothing, however; the logic was sound, and made absolute sense, given the circumstances. This was no holiday; it was, instead, a step towards saving their skins. No point in staying here in England like sitting ducks for the Death Eaters to target quite easily.

She sighed, extracting her second favourite pair of jeans from the wardrobe and placing it on the chair near her dresser. Isabella didn't say anything, but smiled softly. She leaned forward, planted a soft kiss on the top of Daphne's head, and left the room.

Daphne stared after her mother, resentment mixed with disappointment growing inside her. She was now looking forward to the holiday with a lot less enthusiasm and vigour than she had had before her mother's entrance. No owls for the next six weeks – how was she going to manage? She doubted if the holiday chateau had a working Floo connection; even if it did, her father was sure to bar them from actually visiting anyone, and she had no idea how she was to send any letters or messages through it.

The fates must be laughing at me right now.

But Mother was right, she thought to herself, as she finished her packing and shut her suitcase with a soft snap. Regular owls from a particular place would defeat the purpose that they were trying to achieve by going on this holiday. Plus, the travelling distance would probably make for stale news in letters – a one way trip for Archibald could take a minimum of three days. And then there was his distinctive plumage – nearly everyone in Hogwarts knew that he was her owl, and surely everyone knew who she was, too.

But no contact for six weeks…no Tracey or Blaise for six weeks…

No Harry…

Oh dear, Harry…

The letter had been difficult, not to mention painful. She knew he had come to rely on her for support and comfort, and on some level, she was doing the same with him. It felt horrible having to tell him she was going off on holiday, while he was stuck with his relatives (whom, from his letters, she could make out were not very nice people), and that she couldn't speak to him for six weeks.

I don't think I can send anything to you until we're back in Britain.

A tear drop fell from her eyes onto the parchment, and her hand shook slightly. Had she fallen for him this much, this quickly? Was she sure of her feelings for him? Could she be certain that this wasn't a teenage romance borne out of a wishful fantasy, but true feelings of attraction and – dare she say it – love?

Getting a grip over herself and her feelings took a while, but she finally managed it, and finished writing the letter. She rolled up the parchment, just as Archibald came swooping in to her room, landing lightly on the head of her bed.

'Hey Archie,' said Daphne. 'Come over here, I've got some letters to deliver.'

Archibald hooted, glided across to her desk, and stuck out his leg without preamble. Just as he did so, however, she heard two low hoots; looking up, she spotted two barn owls perched on her window-sill, jostling for space and being the first one to deliver their notes to her.

Finally, they're here.

She took the messages from both owls, and a smile grew on her face as she read through them. Archibald watched with interest as she re-tied the messages onto the owls' legs, unfurled the parchment she had just rolled up, hastily scribbled something at the bottom, then rolled it up and tied it to his own leg.

'To Harry, please,' she said, loud enough for even the barn owls to hear her. 'And as for you,' she added to Archibald, 'stay until you get a reply, okay?'

Archibald gave a very dignified hoot, and took off into the evening, his feathers illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. Behind him, the two, more common barn owls followed, hooting indignantly at having been left behind without so much as a heads-up.

Daphne sighed softly, before she headed out of the room for dinner, one last thought on her mind.

I'll miss you, Harry. Stay safe.


Situated at the confluence of the rivers Rhone and Saone in the south-east of France, the city of Lyon is a bustling metropolis, commanding a status as the third-largest city in France. It is spread over a narrow peninsula between the two rivers and on their opposite banks, with the former expanding as the heart of the business district of the city. Known for its silk factories and printing presses, Lyon's development can be easily traced through history, with its characteristic highs during the Renaissance, and uneasy lows at the time of the French Revolution of the eighteenth century. Now, however, it is steadily establishing itself with a diverse economy of textiles, chemicals, architecture, and gastronomy, while also playing host to the headquarters of the international criminal police organisation, Interpol.

The city of Lyon – as known as Muggles.

From a wizarding perspective, however, Lyon houses the largest community of magic users in France. With its strategic location in the central region of France, the city's oldest train station, Gare de Lyon-Perrache, serves as the origin for the commute to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic – not unlike King's Cross Station in London for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Indeed, it is said that the French Ministry was inspired by the initiatives of Ottaline Gambol and Evangeline Orpington, British Ministers for Magic at the time, to introduce the train as the mode of transport for students, and then to build a magically concealed platform and entrance, right at the heart of the station in the city.

While Paris had been proposed – quite strongly, in certain cases, by the most snootiest of French noblemen – the suggestion was eventually shot down by the more practical members of the French Ministry. As such, hundreds of students, numbering even more than their counterparts in Britain, descend upon the old train station located in the second arrondissement of Lyon, trunks and animal cages in tow. Rather fortunately for the French Ministry, the start of the school term is conveniently on the day when the passenger traffic is less – the Muggle holiday of Assumption Day, which falls on the fifteenth of August every year.

Lyon is also home to the largest wizarding settlement in Western Europe: twice the size of Diagon Alley, and five times that of Hogsmeade. Ruelle Vertique runs in a direct vertical line in parallel to the northern course of the river Saone, on its western banks. No one is quite sure which came first, but the entrance to Ruelle Vertique is also hidden behind a wizarding establishment: La Fleur Epanouie, or The Blooming Flower – not unlike The Leaky Cauldron concealing the gateway to Diagon Alley in London. The story behind its name is lost to time, but it has been run by members of the same family – generation after generation – since its inception.

Unlike their Muggle counterparts, the wizarding society of Lyon has experienced tremendous prosperity over time: from its humble beginnings as a small alley with a few shops, Ruelle Vertique now houses the largest branch of the wizarding bank, Gringotts, along with several high-profile wizarding brands and stores. Indeed, Zonko's Joke Shop has its second largest branch in Europe on the alley, after the one in Stuttgart, Germany. Ruelle Vertique is also known for its wide selection of food and drink – it has seen many a magical traveller and tourist wander through the street, sampling several exotic or local food items, or settling into one of the several wizarding pubs for a pint of the local wizarding brew.

Normally, Daphne would have loved all of it.

Now, however, she hated it.

It wasn't the stay that bothered her; nor was it the choice of city. She knew if she had turned up here in very different circumstances, she would have been awestruck at the beauty of the city; would have marvelled at the sight of Ruelle Vertique and its collection of items; would even have admired the Muggle architecture, even if she couldn't see the point in some of the sculptures and designs. The sheer effort and imagination involved in putting them all together would have impressed her all the same.

Except…this felt like a sentence. Like they were being made prisoners – in paradise. They were forced to move into another home for six weeks, just to save their own skins. A natural instinct, of course – one that was entirely expected from a Slytherin family – but never had it felt so…unhappy, or unwelcome.

Her parents were putting up a brave front: Daphne had to give them enough credit for that. Her father insisted on spending more time with the family, something which he rarely managed to do back in England. Her mother still found time for both family and work – Lyon's rich wizarding history and culture was a gold mine for her research pursuits, while also serving as ideal places to visit at times. And while Daphne knew Astoria had a shrewd idea about this entire 'holiday' front they were putting up, she played along quite well, essaying the role of the good, yet annoying at times, little sister of the family.

For her part, for the first time in her life, Daphne hoped for a return to England from a holiday earlier than usual. Her daily routine, so often an anchor for her, was thrown for a loop with this trip; the fact that she didn't enjoy what she usually would have on holiday also played a major factor in her overall dislike. She missed her home, her owl, her friends…

Harry…

She found herself thinking about the green-eyed Gryffindor a lot more often, now that she had a lot of free time to herself. Invariably, her thoughts about him would end with the same, unnerving question: was it worth it? Was he worth it?

Tracey would have laughed herself silly, and Blaise would probably have given her an amused, yet dubious look, at the direction of her thoughts, but it was the truth. Daphne had never felt this way about anyone else before, and she knew, just knew, that she would never feel like this about anyone else, ever. It seemed far-fetched, unimaginable, and yet…

And at this point, Daphne would bury her face in her hands, silently curse the world for making feelings so difficult to comprehend, and force herself to think about something other than Harry Potter.

This happened too often for Daphne's liking and comfort; unfortunately, it made sure that the days passed extremely slowly in Lyon. Despite being out of the chateau and in the city most of the time, time seemed to crawl along for her, to the point that she developed a tic of checking her watch every so often – something which Astoria noticed.

'What's got into you?' whispered Astoria one evening, two weeks into their stay, as they strode through Ruelle Vertique.

'What?' snapped Daphne, a little too quickly, dropping her left arm to her side. She had been checking the time again.

'You've been doing that so often these days,' said Astoria.

'Doing what?'

Astoria rolled her eyes. 'I'm not blind or dumb, Daph,' she said. 'Why are you so eager to get back every day?'

Daphne didn't answer, pretending instead to peer at a set of fashionable robes on display at a shop window. Astoria glared at her, huffed, and hurried forward to join their parents a few shops down the road.

Daphne sighed inwardly, annoyed with her sister, but more so with herself. She usually prided herself on being in control of her emotions and their outward display – but here, she was behaving like a typical Gryffindor, with her heart on her sleeve. Where was her Slytherin guile and mannerism? Why wasn't she able to focus and compartmentalise her own emotions and feelings?

Channel you anger…hadn't she given that advice to Harry himself? Wasn't that what she needed to do, too? Channel her emotions: control them, rein them in, rather than display them for the world to see?

What's wrong with displaying them to the world?

Not right now!

But that's irrelevant – you hardly do that anyway. Why not do it more often?

She sighed again, tired of the constant mental conflict that cropped up too often for her liking. She needed a distraction – a real, tangible distraction: something that would take her mind off Harry, even if it was for just a bit.

In hindsight, she felt she should have been careful of what she wished for.


If there was one thing Daphne was thankful to Lyon for, it was the innumerable hiding places afforded by Ruelle Vertique.

She crouched down low behind a pair of large empty crates – no doubt having contained a shipment from the French wineries in the south, going by the scent – and cautiously peered around the edge. The tiny narrow alley where she had darted into just a few moments ago was, mercifully, empty. Her mind, however, was filled with the same question.

How did they find us?

She would have recognised the weedy looking man anywhere. Theodore Nott Senior – father of her classmate, Theodore Nott – had a distinctive look which he had passed down to his son. Even their facial expressions were similar: the smirk, the slight curl of the lips, and the sneer on his face. Even though Daphne spent most of her time ignoring the little prick, you were bound to notice some things, especially after four years of sharing the same common room and attending the same classes.

Slowly, her wand in her hand, she pulled herself out from behind the crates and padded to the opening of the alley – the only way in or out of the cul-de-sac. The sun shone brightly overhead, its light glinting off the gleaming windows of the shops along Ruelle Vertique, causing a slight glare whenever Daphne shifted her position. The reflection in the glass was still clear, however: she could see the backs of her parents and Astoria a little further ahead, nonchalantly browsing through a selection of dragon-hide handbags.

As quietly and normally as she could project herself to be, Daphne stepped out onto Ruelle Vertique, turned right, and walked towards her parents and sister. Her heels clicked against the cobbled street as she strode up to her father and tapped his arm softly.

'Yes, that's very nice – yes?' Jonathan turned to her. The smile on his face froze slightly at her serious expression. 'Are you alright, Daphne?'

'Can we go home, Father?' asked Daphne softly. Her eyes darted around their surroundings, trying to make sure they weren't being watched. 'I'm a little tired today, I wanted to rest.'

She widened her eyes slightly, desperately hoping that her father wouldn't ask her too many questions, and would accept her story without explanations – for now.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed, and for a split second, Daphne froze. Was he going to ask her something? Would it all be for nought?

But then, another second later, he nodded. Relief washed over her as her father turned to her mother and said, 'Daphne is a little tired. I think we should go home.'

If Isabella was confused at the sudden announcement, she did not show it; on the contrary, she gave a curt nod, took hold of Astoria's hand, and turned on the spot, vanishing with a small 'pop'. A moment later, Daphne grabbed her father's hand, and allowed him to Side-Apparate her back to their chateau.

'What is it, Daphne?' he asked, as soon as they reappeared in the living room. A couple of house-elves scurried in from the adjacent kitchen and took their cloaks away.

'Death Eaters, Father,' she replied, her eyes fixed upon his face. Behind her, she heard her mother draw in a shaky breath, and Astoria said, 'What?!'

'Are you sure?' her father asked, ignoring the other two ladies.

'Very. I recognised Theodore Nott Senior – his son looks exactly like him.'

Jonathan nodded grimly. 'Yes, I thought I spotted him, too, but I couldn't be sure…' he trailed off.

'How did they find us, Jon?' asked her mother, her voice shaking slightly.

He shook his head. 'I don't know, Liz. But Lyon doesn't seem to be a safe place anymore, if they're able to track us until here as well.'

'Do you think we should go back, then?'

Her father did not respond immediately; Daphne recognised his expression as the one he sported while doing some very quick, and very deep thinking. He was staring out the long windows of their chateau, which overlooked the expansive grounds of the estate, on the outskirts of the main city. His forehead was slightly creased, and his jaw seemed quite set and firm.

A minute later, he turned back to them. 'We will depart from here at seven tomorrow morning,' he said, and headed towards his room.

It didn't take too long for them to pack their things, and they were able to retire relatively early that night. The adrenaline shock from the sudden appearance of the Death Eater had worn off, making Daphne realise that she was, in fact, pretty tired. She had wanted to ask her parents about their plans, but exhaustion had won over her, and she was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

Their departure the next morning was, by all standards, quite unremarkable. They were able to Disapparate from the chateau by seven o'clock, but their destination was not what Daphne had expected.

'Munich?' she asked, as soon as she looked around – she recognised the buildings in the distance from certain photographs Tracey had shown her before. 'Why are we in Munich?'

Her father did not respond; he seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Presumably it didn't, for he then gestured them to enter a nearby café.

As they ate their breakfast, she noticed her father constantly glancing out the large window of the café onto the street. She couldn't help it at times, and followed his lead – but it looked as normal as any Muggle street would have looked like in the morning.

Jonathan ushered them out as soon as they were done, leading them to a nearby alley. He took Daphne's hand once again, and with a crack, they Disapparated.

The pattern continued that day: her father led them around some of the most popular cities in Europe, an alert expression on his face whenever he arrived at a new place. They ended up visiting Budapest, Milan, Prague, Athens, Barcelona, and even Gibraltar, before, finally…

Crack!

They were back in London: Daphne realised it from the weather and the all-too familiar smell of the Thames, even before she had even opened her eyes. Next second, however, she was forced to open them, almost stumbling over as her father, still holding her hand, led them along the bank of the river.

'What's he doing, Mum?' came Astoria's question, in a small voice. If her mother had responded, Daphne wasn't paying attention to it – she had stopped at the top of a flight of stairs which her father was currently descending. A sign above the stairs flashed the words – 'The Underground'.

Muggle transportation? You've got to be joking…

'Come, Daphne!' her father called from below. She had no time to argue, let alone question, his choice: she forced herself to follow her mother and Astoria down the stairs, through the ticket barriers (by somehow using a small coin her father had bought from a nearby counter), and onto the bustling, crowded platform.

The journey was uncomfortable; which, in hindsight, felt like an understatement. The Hogwarts Express was, up till then, the only experience she'd ever had with train travel – compared to this, that was certainly a luxury ride. Daphne didn't have the faintest idea why everyone seemed to be in a hurry, and why they were so keen to squash into each other just to get inside the carriage. This train was very fast, and it kept swerving left and right, causing her to bump awkwardly into a lot of people. She ended up standing between two extremely tall people after a few stops, and it was with great difficulty that she was able to spot her father getting off the train, and follow him onto the platform.

Without speaking to each other, they hurried up the stairs, past another set of ticket barriers (which swallowed their coins when they were inserted into the slot provided), and out onto the open street –

– only to be greeted by Professor Albus Dumbledore and Professor Minerva McGonagall.

'Good evening,' greeted Dumbledore, his robes of deep plum billowing slightly in the breeze as he strode up to shake hands with her father. 'I trust your journey went well?'

Beside them, Daphne saw Professor McGonagall wave her wand in a complicated manner; next moment, she felt as though they were enclosed in a dome-shaped bubble, blocking out the noise from the passing Muggles. Indeed, the bubble seemed to be more than a simple Silencing Charm, for the Muggles appeared to not notice the gathering of two oddly dressed people and a family of four right outside a London Underground station named 'Archway'.

'Tiring, but yes, we were able to make it back safely,' her father replied. 'Thank you for your help, Albus.'

'Not at all, Jonathan,' said Dumbledore kindly. 'A pleasure to meet you again, Mrs Greengrass,' he continued, addressing her mother with a gentle smile. 'And you too, Miss Daphne and Miss Astoria Greengrass.'

Daphne and Astoria could only nod silently as their mother exchanged pleasantries with the Hogwarts Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. The astonishment of running into these two in what seemed to be the heart of London still hadn't worn off yet.

'We cannot linger, Albus,' said Professor McGonagall sharply.

'Quite right,' said Professor Dumbledore, consulting his watch. Daphne glimpsed its face just before he pocketed it – there were no numbers, but only planets. 'The signal should be given any time now.'

Right on cue, as though someone had heard him speak, Daphne saw a shower of green sparks illuminate the darkening sky to their right.

'Very well,' said Professor Dumbledore calmly, as though this was the most normal occurrence, 'if you would take our arms, please. And Minerva,' he added, 'if you would let Molly know –'

Professor McGonagall nodded, and waved her wand once more. A silver cat burst out of the end of it – a cat with distinct markings around its eyes; it landed lightly upon the pavement near their feet, before sprinting off in the direction of the sparks.

Daphne took hold of Professor Dumbledore's outstretched right arm, while her father took his left. Beside them, her mother and Astoria had taken Professor McGonagall's arms.

'Excellent. On three, then,' said Professor Dumbledore. 'One…two…three.'

The world twisted and turned around Daphne as the Professors Side-Along Apparated them; the next moment, they had arrived in a small square in a rather unwelcoming neighbourhood. The houses looked quite dilapidated and ugly – grime coated their windows, and piles of rubbish stood unattended outside the front steps.

Daphne had no time to take the rest of the area in, however; within seconds, they had crossed the street to stand outside the nearest row of houses; next second, Professor Dumbledore handed them a handwritten note for them to read and memorise.

As the house came into view, Daphne felt a sudden sense of foreboding mixed with thrill, and inexplicably, joy. Something big was about to happen – something huge, and momentous.

And as they entered the house into a scene of chaos, and as she looked around at their hosts for the summer, her eyes landed upon the boy she had so desperately wanted to meet in person – and his mouth fell open.

'Daphne?!'


To be continued…