The Room of Requirement, as Daphne came to know it through Harry and his friends, brought a welcome respite to the pressures of Hogwarts. Having a place to 'come home to' every night gave Daphne the chance to catch her breath, to collect herself in preparation for another day.

It was also a fantastic place to snog.

"Harry-" she trailed off when he cupped her cheek in his hand, protests vanishing as he dipped his head to kiss her again. Before he could distract her further, though, she pulled away more insistently. "You've made a mess of my makeup."

"You look lovely from where I'm standing," he said in a rough, throaty voice, that made her want to forget their plans and spend the rest of the evening pressed against her vanity. Or any surface he chose to kiss her against, really.

"You're wearing more of my lipstick than I am," Daphne replied, using her fingers to try and wipe away the evidence of their brief interlude. "Now I'll need to re-apply it. You stand over there."

Harry ran a hand through his eternally messy hair, flashing her a quick grin and moving across the room to where she pointed. "You really do look stunning."

Checking her appearance in the mirror, she folded a tissue in half and pressed it to her lips to absorb any excess cosmetics. "And you look like you should have let me buy you a new outfit."

"What's wrong with this? I like it," he stated, checking out the red shirt and black slacks she'd bought him at the start of summer.

"You've got exactly one outfit that fits you, and I doubt this is the only party we'll be attending."

"I'm only going so I can meet this woman who knew my mum and Sirius."

"Yea, you've only said that a few dozen times," Daphne replied, rolling her eyes as she finished repairing her makeup. "It might be fun, though, and I'm certain Professor Slughorn will have more of these get-togethers."

Harry took her hand, and they left the Room of Requirement, starting the long trek to the dungeons from the seventh floor. "I can think of better things to do than be paraded around a bunch of gawkers. It's bad enough how he treats me in Potions."

"Maybe, but you have been brilliant this year. Grumble all you like, he's obviously brought out the best in you." Harry didn't reply to that, so she continued, "And like it or not, we'll be going to lots of parties like this once we're out of school. My family's rather wealthy, and you're famous. We'll be sought after as guests, and it wouldn't do to alienate the high society types."

His pace slowed, and she shot him a questioning glance over her shoulder. "Harry," she started with not a little exasperation. "Come on, we're already going to be late."

He tugged her to a halt, still holding onto her hand. "You, uh, you mean we'll go together? After Hogwarts?"

"Of course," she said, as if it were obvious. 'It was obvious, right?' "Is everything okay?"

A slow, brilliant smile lit his features. "Yea. Yea, it is."

Daphne returned his smile, albeit a little hesitantly, but Harry's previous reticence about the Slug Club appeared to have vanished. They arrived at their classroom fashionably late and were immediately pounced upon by their professor, shepherded from introduction to introduction.

While Slughorn ('Call me Horace, dear, this is a party!') showed them off like a pair of collector's items, Daphne catalogued the decor and environs. Breathtaking paintings by - she presumed - famous artists littered the walls, and there were moving photographs of Slughorn with various figures of considerable import and notoriety. There were hors'd'ouvres and fruity beverages (non-alcoholic, she discovered), though the adult guests held glasses of wine. A charmed gramophone played an upbeat, jaunty melody, and the room was well-populated in spite of what appeared to be a powerful Expansion Charm tripling the square footage.

After they'd made a complete circuit of the room, Cynthia Marble appeared as if by magic, and she and Harry found a quiet corner to tuck away in and talk, Harry's reward for politely tolerating Slughorn showing him off in such a way. Daphne made her way towards the refreshments while they spoke, having previously spotted some prosciutto-wrapped figs that looked divine.

The other students gave her a wide berth, whether out of dislike (the Slytherins) or distrust (everyone else), but that suited her. Hermione was present, but deeply focused on a conversation with an officious-looking man with a closely trimmed beard. Best to leave her be, Daphne decided, polishing off two figs. She was in the midst of an internal debate about whether her diet could afford her a third when a privacy charm muted the sounds of the party.

"Professor?"

"How are you enjoying the party, Miss Greengrass?"

Daphne took another fig and placed it on the small plate she held. Just to look at, not to eat. "It's lovely, sir, better than I imagined."

"Yes, I dare say we could all do with some frivolity in times such as these. It's always a joy to see my students, new and old alike, interact with each other." He sipped his wine, making a show of looking around the room. "It's not all for fun, though. Some of the connections made in this room might well cement careers, form professional associations that completely change the trajectory of a wizard or witch's life."

She nodded, taking a tiny bite of the small appetizer.

"The woman Mr. Zabini is speaking with, for example," Daphne looked in the direction he gestured towards, seeing her Housemate engaged in conversation with a middle-aged woman in a resplendent evening gown. "She is a couturier operating outside of Brussels, one that's even started competing with the Parisian brands. Securing Madam Zabini as a customer would be quite a boon."

"And what does Blaise get out of making her acquaintance?"

"I suspect, if all goes well, he'll be offered an internship after Hogwarts."

Daphne snorted. Zabini was sharp, no doubt, but she never took him for a willing or enthusiastic employee. "I can't really see him as a seamstress, sir, no offence."

"No?" Slughorn's chins jiggled as he cocked his head, seemingly pondering her scepticism. "I suspect he'd rather enjoy the clientele that come for fittings."

That she couldn't deny. He'd be right at home in a roomful of models. "Do you pair everyone off that comes to these meetings?"

"No, no, you make it all sound so sordid! I merely make an introduction, here and there, and let fate take care of the rest."

"I see. Is there someone here for me to meet?"

He chortled, then stood a little straighter, his prominent belly pushing out his robes. "Indeed there is. Me."

"Much as I've tried my best, I think Harry's the better option when it comes to potions brewing, sir, but I'm flattered."

"My dear, I'd have thought such a promising student would understand me better than that. Potions are not my trade; connections are. And you currently hold the most prized asset in that field."

"I'm not sure I understand," she said, despite his meaning being obvious. The privacy charm suddenly made a lot more sense.

"There's no need to be coy. I'm well aware this is likely the first and last soiree Mr. Potter will attend, and I had to cash in my most effective chip to get him to appear. He's not one to embrace his celebrity, is he?"

"No, he's not." Daphne felt decidedly uncomfortable, setting down her plate and the half-eaten fig. "I suppose this is where 'connections' come into play?"

"Indeed, indeed!" Slughorn looked across the room to where Harry was listening intently to his new acquaintance, expression torn between a hungry desire and forlorn longing. "An old student of mine, Eldred Worple, has a lucrative proposal for young Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, he's out of the country at the moment, and won't be returning for another two months."

"What sorts of proposals does Mr. Worple deal in?"

"Eldred is a writer, an author of some repute. In our last correspondence, he expressed interest in penning Harry's story, putting the ordeals and triumphs our young hero has endured to the printed page. I'm sure it's not news to you that such a book would be an instant bestseller."

"I don't think Harry has the time to spare for something like that, but you're welcome to ask him yourself."

"I most certainly will, of course. But a word of encouragement, here or there, from someone he's eager to impress would go a long way to helping him decide."

Her discomfort was rapidly transforming to disdain. "Professor, while you may traffic in connections, I don't. I'm not sure what possessed you to think I'd help you manipulate my boyfriend into helping you earn a mountain of gold-" at this, he made to protest, but she overrode him, "-don't bother denying it, sir. You wouldn't be so eager about this proposition if there weren't something in it for you."

Slughorn's genial smile turned decidedly calculating. "I must say, I'm surprised."

"If that's true, I don't know whether that says something about you, or about me that you expected any other response."

"I say I'm surprised, because you never asked what you might get from such an arrangement. Hardly a shining example of Slytherin House, are you?"

She couldn't hold back a derisive snort. "As impolite as it may be to say aloud, Professor, my family could buy and sell you and Worple without batting an eye."

"Yes, Cecil has proven to be masterful at handling international trade. But that doesn't mean there's nothing I can offer you."

"And you think you've got something up your sleeve to change my mind?" she asked, amused at his tactless attempt at negotiation.

"I do. You forget, I've had six weeks to observe you and Mr. Potter, although to be honest I hardly needed that much time." Slughorn paused, as though savouring the moment before his assumed victory. "You see, I've noticed a few things about you and your young paramour."

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that you desperately need something from him, and I'm not talking about teenage affection." Daphne narrowed her eyes, ready to respond with a biting retort, but he went on before she could. "It's all as clear as day. Your hesitation to disagree with him, the way you constantly seek his approval and to prove your usefulness. The way you quail at even the slightest hint of earning his disfavour. You need something from him, my dear, and you're terrified you won't get it."

"I- I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but inside Daphne felt a growing unease.

"I can help you. I've spent a half-century honing the skills you require. I can teach you how to manipulate him, to not only obtain what you seek, but to do so in a way that makes him believe it was his idea all along."

She didn't say anything. Partly out of her fear at the way Slughorn saw right through her, and partly out of the horrible desire to give in and go along with his scheme. Their new professor was indeed everything she'd guessed, that first time they met.

"Just something to think about, Miss Greengrass. Oh, look, here he comes," Slughorn said, bringing down the privacy charm with a subtle movement of his wand. Harry approached, a middle-aged witch in tow. "Big smiles, now. Hello, Harry!"

He was flushed, looking excited as he reached for Daphne's hand. "Hello, Professor. Daph, Cynthia wanted to talk to both of us for a bit."

Still discomfited from her encounter with Slughorn, she was slow to respond. "With me, too?"

"Of course!" Cynthia Marble said, not a strand of her well-coiffed hair falling out of place as she bobbed her head enthusiastically. "You should see his face when he talks about you. It's like James, chasing after Lily all over again. I'd love to hear your side of the story of how he finally won you over."

"I think it's more accurate to say she won me over," Harry said, laughter sparkling in his eyes.

"How delightfully unorthodox!" Cynthia said. "You must tell me all about it!"

"Oh-ho! I won't keep you a moment longer, Miss Greengrass," Slughorn said, beaming with pride - or some facsimile of it - at seeing another 'connection' come to fruition. "You three enjoy yourselves."

As Harry led her away, she couldn't help but throw a glance over her shoulder, seeing the portly Potions Professor raise his glass in salute.


"This is why Hogsmeade weekends should be scheduled earlier in the year," Ron muttered, staring out the window of the carriage. "Bet there'll be a bloody blizzard when we go in February, too."

"You should be grateful we get to go at all," Hermione said. "If you ask me, it's well worth waiting an extra two weeks for the Ministry to put additional security in place."

"That's not it at all," Luna chimed in. "The delay was on account of elements of the Rotfang Conspiracy wanting shorter daylight to appease the heliopaths."

Harry nodded along with Luna's words, but Daphne caught the flash of a grin on his face as leaned back to sling an arm over her shoulders. The first Hogsmeade visit of the year had been pushed back, from the first week of October to the third, and to all of their misfortune landed on a day when a torrential downpour was soaking northern Scotland.

"Honeyduke's, then the Three Broomsticks?" Ron asked in the ensuing silence that followed Luna's pronouncement.

"I want to go to the bookshop," Hermione said, and Luna eagerly nodded.

"Me too!"

"No doubt you two'll be canoodling in Madam Puddifoot's," Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Daphne replied. "I'm worried Harry might make a habit of walking out on his dates if I force him to take me to the tea shop."

Their eyes locked, both of them remembering his disastrous Valentine's outing with Chang. It felt like it happened ages ago; that was the first real inkling she'd had of the sort of man he was. She really was lucky.

"Are you going to kiss with your tongues now?" Luna's innocent question startled them both out of their impromptu staring contest.

"Please don't," Ron groaned. "It's bad enough seeing half the girls in the school sigh every time you walk past."

He wasn't exaggerating. Witch Weekly - courtesy of Cynthia Marble - had run a glowing feature on 'The Chosen One's Chosen' (a clunky title if ever there was one) two days after the Slug Club's first meeting. Many of the younger years were suitably impressed with her and Harry's 'star-crossed romance'.

"Good point, Ron, perhaps we ought to give them some privacy, to really get the whole Hogsmeade experience," Hermione said with some amusement. "Luna, want to come with us today?"

"Okay! But can we go to the Hogs Head? I haven't seen Mr. Dumbledore since the DA met there."

"That place is a dump," Ron grumbled, but then, in a louder voice said, "I guess we can. His butterbeer's cheaper."

The thestrals came to a halt, and they all raised the hoods on their cloaks. "See you later!"

"So, where to first?"

"Gladrags," Daphne said firmly. He made a face, but nodded and took her hand, leading her to Hogsmeade's only clothier.

A half-hour later, Harry looked ready to mutiny, groaning audibly when she held out another shirt for him to try on. "I refuse to believe there's a single piece of clothing here I haven't already tried on."

"Keep it up, and I'll have a dress for you to wear next!" she said with a smile, though it dimmed a little at her next words. "Are you sure you want to go to the next Slug Club meeting?"

"Yea, why not? Didn't you have fun?"

"I'm just a little surprised. You weren't looking forward to it before, and you've got quidditch and your lessons with the Headmaster…" She took back the shirt she'd just given him, replacing it on the rack. "Maybe we could skip a few of them and spend more time in the Room. Just the two of us."

"Oh." His face went slightly red, but he nodded enthusiastically. "Yea, you're right."

"Great!" Her cheeks felt warm, too. "Okay, I think you've got enough."

"Want to head to the Three Broomsticks?"

They fixed the clasps on their cloaks before heading out into the rain, his purchases shrunk down and safely in his pocket. "Can we go to Honeyduke's, then the post office? I want to send my sister some sweets."

"Why didn't she come to get them herself? She's, what, a Fourth Year now?"

Daphne stumbled, inadvertently stepping into an ankle-deep puddle of water on the street. "Um, yes, but she's not at school right now. She got sick, so she's at home."

Harry gave her a puzzled look. "Madam Pomfrey wasn't able to help?"

She cursed herself for initiating this line of conversation. Given Harry's upbringing, asking questions about her relationship with her family rarely came up organically, but she'd gone and practically gift-wrapped an invitation to a topic she'd rather leave alone. "My parents like to throw their gold around, so they hired private healers."

"Oh. But she's going to get better?"

"Yes. She's going to get better," Daphne said with certainty.

She was quiet while they purchased their sweets at the candy shop, and their conversation remained stilted while she affixed the package to an owl and paid the fee to send it off with a short note.

She had to snap out of this. Harry would only grow more suspicious if she didn't perk up, and Astoria definitely wasn't a topic she was ready to discuss with him. Not yet.

Daphne did her best to inject some false cheer into her voice. "Okay, I'm all set. Ready for some butterbeer?"

"I'm desperate for one!" he said, and they hurried through the crowded streets to the Three Broomsticks. Once they got inside, they hung up their cloaks and started walking through the inn, seeking out an open table.

Only, midway through their search, a familiar and unexpected voice called out his name.

"Fleur? What are you doing here?"

"'allo, 'arry!" Unlike everyone else who'd come out in this miserable weather, the veela didn't look at all bedraggled, instead appearing as if she'd stepped off of a model's runway to pop in for a drink. "I was hoping to speak with you."

"Right, well, that might be a problem. This place is packed to the rafters!"

"I secured a private room upstairs, so we will not be overheard."

Harry was suddenly alert. "Is something wrong? Is- did something happen?"

"Non, not what you are thinking. But I must speak with you alone." Fleur looked significantly at Daphne as she said that.

"What is this about? You can trust her."

"Please, I only need a few minutes of your time. If you still want to see her after that, I will not keep you."

'If?' That comment didn't go unnoticed by Harry, either, for he squeezed Daphne's hand tighter and stepped closer to Fleur. "Look, whatever you tell me, I'm going to tell her as soon as you leave. So let's just get right to it, shall we?"

"Very well. This way."

Daphne walked alongside Harry, ascending the stairs behind the veela. 'If the Weaselette is waiting upstairs, I swear I'm going to lose it!' she thought, furious at the intrusion to her date. Thankfully, there was no one else in the private room, merely a table and a waiting pot of tea.

"Okay, we're here." Harry took a seat, his body language screaming irritation and annoyance. "So let's hear it. What do you want?"

Fleur slid a folder of parchment across the table, pouring herself a cup of tea while Harry opened it up. Looking over his shoulder at what was inside, Daphne saw rows of numbers, what looked like… vaults and Galleons. Bank transfers, she slowly realised.

"What is this?"

"After Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned following the events at the Department of Mysteries, since he was a known Death Eater the Ministry began tracking his financial dealings." She tapped a series of five-hundred Galleon deposits, beginning in June. "This money, here, has been coming in steadily, from the Parkinson vault."

"So Pansy's family has been paying Malfoy's bills?"

"Non, this is unlikely." Fleur's level gaze settled on Daphne. "The Parkinsons would be hard-pressed to afford such a large sum once, much less multiple times. Isn't that true, Daphne?"

'Oh no' A twisting anxiety gripped her insides. "The-" she cleared her throat. "The Parkinsons aren't very well off, no."

Harry looked between her and Fleur. "So… someone is funneling gold to the Malfoys through the Parkinsons?"

"Yes, this is so. From there, the Malfoys have been spreading the gold to other suspected Death Eaters. Look here, 1,700 Galleons to Borgin and Burke's, a noted Dark Arts dealer in-"

"Knockturn Alley, I know." Harry gripped the parchment harder, straining the page in front of him. "I saw Malfoy there, while I was doing my school shopping. Where's Parkinson's gold coming from?"

"Vault 622. The Greengrass family vault." The triumph in Fleur's voice was unmistakable.

He slowly turned to her. "Daphne?" his voice was faint, hesitant. Disbelieving.

She felt like she'd been petrified. Denials sprang to her lips, but she couldn't force the words out. "Daphne?" he asked again. "Did- did you know about this?"

"I- my parents, they- I knew they'd given Pansy some gold, but-" she didn't know what to say, how to make this right.

"She didn't tell you, did she?" Fleur reached across the table, putting her hand on Harry's forearm. "Bill and I, and everyone at the Burrow are very worried. You-Know-Who will stop at nothing to get to you, you must realise that-"

"Would you- just shut up!" Daphne cried out, beyond furious at this bloody bitch trying to sabotage her relationship yet again. "This has nothing to do with you! I should call the aurors, you had no business snooping on my family's banking!"

Her anger may have been justified, but it was absolutely the wrong reaction to have, judging by Harry's expression. He pushed the folder away, like he couldn't bear to touch it any longer, then ran a hand over his face. "This- what am I supposed to do about this, Daphne?"

"Give me a chance to explain, please!" She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away before they could touch. "It's not what you think, my parents were- they didn't know what Pansy would do with it!"

"We got together in June," he said, the words hollow and distant. "When your parents started giving money to Death Eaters."

"You don't understand! They aren't Death Eaters, they just-" Tears welled up, blurring her vision. "They only wanted to keep me away from you. That's why they paid Pansy, to keep an eye on me. To stop me from spending time with you."

Whatever he was going to say next, she'd never know. Screams sounded from the street below, and Harry leapt out of his chair, running to the window. Whatever he saw that caused the terrified cries set him running out the door and down the stairs.

"How could you do this to me?" Daphne whispered, turning to the woman seated across from her. "To us?"

"It is better for both of you that he learns the truth now," Fleur said, standing up.

"This isn't the truth. And how could you possibly think it's better for me this way? If you had any idea what I've given up for him-"

"Enough!" Fleur's voice was as sharp as a blade. "Count yourself lucky whatever you planned to do to him did not succeed. Any hurt you cause him, I will pay back tenfold. This is the last warning I will give, Greengrass." And with that, she left the room.

Daphne, left alone with nothing but cooling tea and the evidence of her parents' guilt, shrank the documents down and staggered to the window on unsteady legs. A crowd had formed on the street, a large circle of students that aurors and the professors were trying to disperse.

A circle surrounding the bodies of two girls, the scarlet and gold trim on their scarves clearly visible from where she stood.


"Wake up."

Someone was shaking her, and Daphne groggily tried to snap from an exhausted sleep to alertness. "Wha- Harry!"

He was still in the clothes he'd worn to Hogsmeade, although they were rumpled and creased. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his colouring was grey and pale. Harry looked almost as distressed as when she'd last seen him, glaring daggers at her while the Ministry collected Katie and Leann's bodies to return to their families.

But he was here. He came for her.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. You were close with her, weren't you?" A single nod was the only reply she got. "I'm glad you came. I was afraid- I thought, with what happened in the Three Broomsticks…"

His face was carefully neutral, but she could see the way he was tightly coiled, rigidly suppressing his anger. "We need to talk."

Daphne squeezed the blanket in both hands, suppressing the urge to pull it tighter around herself. "I know."

"Are your parents Death Eaters?" She started to answer, but he quickly followed up before she could. "Even if they don't have a Dark Mark, do they support Voldemort?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so." Given what happened that day, the fact that one of his friends had died, Daphne tried to expand on that. "My family is very pureblood, and very rich. We run in the same circles as You-Know-Who's followers, do business with them, socialise with them. It's how it is in Britain, Harry; he wouldn't be so dangerous if the elites didn't back him."

"Is that a 'yes'?" he asked, words coming out in an almost-hiss.

"No, it's not. The Greengrasses only recently came back to Great Britain, when my father was a boy. For more than two hundred years, our family lived in Finland so he's not, uh, involved enough in this country to join a civil war. The truth is, I don't know exactly what my parents think of muggles and muggleborn, but I'm willing to guess you probably wouldn't approve. That doesn't mean they want You-Know-Who to win."

"Did you know what Malfoy was planning?"

She couldn't hold back a gasp. "Draco killed them?"

"Yes," Harry met her eyes unflinchingly. "The cursed necklace, the one they both touched, was in Borgin and Burke's when Draco met with Borgin. He did it."

"And- you think my family paid for it." Daphne looked down at her hands and took a slow, deep breath, as though bracing herself for an attack. "I swear, whatever you might think of them, my parents had no idea the money would go to Malfoy."

She chanced a glance at his face, easily reading the suspicion written all over him. "I know how it must look, but please, please think about this from my family's perspective. Pansy saw me help Weasley in Umbridge's office after you and Hermione left, and she confronted me about my feelings for you. She's the one who told my parents I went to your muggle relatives'. For that, I was grounded all summer and forbidden to speak to or mail you. Why do you think I needed Dobby to get letters to you? If we- if my family was trying to trap you, wouldn't it be easier to just owl you, rather than sneak around?"

A bit of the tension seemed to deflate from him, and she doggedly pressed on. "My mother, both my parents really, they're afraid for me. They think being associated with you, being with you is going to make me a target for You-Know-Who. And, because of Astoria, they…" she fell silent, wanting to tell him why her parents were willing to do anything to protect her, but worried about the timing, given what happened today. What if he thought she was only telling him about her sister's illness for his sympathy?

Thankfully ('or not?') Harry didn't pursue more information about Astoria. "What really happened, at the start of the term with Malfoy? I know you've been holding back. That's not an option anymore, not if we are- if-" he stumbled over the words, and Daphne almost sobbed in relief. 'If we're going to be together!' she mentally filled in the blanks, hope swelling inside her.

"He told me to keep you away from him, or he'd make things difficult. He said- he told me you specifically weren't under any threat."

For the first time since he'd woke her, Harry looked away, staring at the walls of her room, grief and misery flashing across his features. "Why'd you lie to me about that, then? When I asked- I mean, when I asked you, point-blank, if you thought he was doing something dangerous, you said yes. So why hide his actual threats? I might have- maybe I could have stopped it, saved Katie…"

Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes, fighting his emotion down. Daphne's fingers twitched, wanting to touch him, to comfort him so badly it was a practically a physical need. "I just don't understand you, Daphne. I'm trying, really trying to not think the worst, but I don't understand why you did this."

"You were still hiding the prophecy, and I thought I could handle it on my own. And… and I was scared," she finished, her voice dropping. "I'm always scared now. For you, for me, for my friends and my family. I might be a coward, but I'm not a traitor."

They sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, she couldn't hold back any longer, and slowly reached out to take his hand. This time, he didn't pull away.

"Hermione and I had a blow-out in the Tower. She doesn't believe Malfoy is behind Katie and Leann's murders."

"Did you tell the professors?"

He nodded. "McGonagall said he was in detention, never left the castle. But I know he's responsible somehow. I don't know what Hermione's problem is."

"Maybe it's easier to not believe someone you've shared classes with for six years is capable of killing two people." Harry shrugged. "Did you, um, did you tell her about what happened at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Of course, her and Ron. They're my best friends, I tell them everything."

"Oh."

Harry let go of her hand and stood up. "I think we're going to need to talk more about this, but not tonight. I don't think I can handle anything more right now."

"Don't go!" She surprised them both with that, but Daphne recovered faster than he did, lifting the blankets and shifting to one side of the bed. "Can you just… stay? Just for tonight?"

"Everyone is really upset in the Tower. I should be there for them."

His words, if they were written down, were valiant and commanding, but instead they came out grief-stricken and tormented. What must it have been like for the Gryffindors, after two of their Housemates died on the Hogsmeade streets? No surprise they'd look to the quidditch captain, to the Boy-Who-Lived, to the Chosen One to comfort and reassure them.

But who was there for him? "It's late, no one will notice if you're gone a little longer. Stay."

For a moment, Harry looked like he might ignore her and simply walk away. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed heavily, then he sat down on the edge of her bed and began unlacing his shoes. Pulling off his jumper next, he slid into her bed in his undershirt and trousers.

He lay down on his back, stiffer than the wooden frame of the bed they shared. Daphne scooted closer and put a hand on his chest. He felt like a solid mass of tensed muscle.

"Daphne, look, as far as you and I go, I don't know-"

"Shh. We can, tomorrow we can figure that out. Not tonight." She felt his heartbeat increase beneath her palm, then she tugged on his shoulder to pull him against her. He turned to her and buried his head against her chest and let out a soft, agonized whimper. "It's okay to hurt. I know, baby. I know."

Harry sobbed against her, clutching her so tightly she was sure she'd wear his handprints beneath her clothes tomorrow. Whispering soothing words, Daphne let him cry, running her hands through his hair and holding him.

Beneath her blankets, ensconced within a secret room in a magical castle, her world condensed down to the young man she held in her arms. No matter what happened in the morning, he needed her right now, and she needed to care for him.

That's what you do, she realised with a surprising amount of calm and acceptance, for the people you love.

A/N: Things are slowly starting to unravel for Daphne.

Once again, I chopped off part of the chapter to fold into the next one. Basically, Chapter 17 would have been like 18,000 words and had a RIDICULOUS amount of plot, so I think it's to the story's benefit that I've segmented it out, even though I know you all are probably frustrated at the pace. I'm trying to get to the climax as quickly as possible. It may seem like I'm still following canon, but trust me - shit's gonna get real in comparison to HBP's plot. We've just got to work our way up to it.

Nothing published since my last AMR update, but I've been working on the next chapter of Pity Those Without Love and an as-yet untitled Pathfinder:WOTR fic.

Once again, next chapter of this one will come as soon as I'm able. I might take a break from AMR once we hit the climax; this has never been my favorite story, and I've been putting most of my free time into it so... yea. Maybe another Straight Flush or my Mandy-fic chapter after the next AMR one.

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles