Familia alpha est or Roses are red …
It's such a peculiar quirk of reality that the smallest of things often have the biggest of impacts. Sometimes minuscule, microscopic, nigh-intangible things end up distorting space and time, ripping the fabric of history in twain, toppling kings and realms.
Friendship, family, love – a carelessly spoken words of comfort, a thoughtless touch, a kiss, things as ordinary, fleeting, and innocent as a nod or a short letter might easily gather momentum for days, months, or longer. If the flap of a butterfly's wings could grow into a storm, what purpose could trying to predict the future possibly serve?
Albus Dumbledore knew these things, knew of the irony of fate and its cruel machinations. The only thing one could do was to think deeply, choose one's words carefully, and reflect on one's actions.
It was precisely for this reason that the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had brooded over the cheap paper in his hands for the better part of his morning. And he didn't like what he saw, didn't like it one bit. Dramatically speaking, it was a very good photograph, he had to admit. The smoke, the subtle traces of blood on the ground, the cold hand visible underneath the rubble that left the reader wondering just whom it might belong to, the ravens circling above, and the stoic, darkly-handsome Auror in the centre. Even though Albus usually appreciated artistic instincts, he couldn't bring himself to like this one.
AZKABAN CONQUERED!
Deadly break-in unleashes Britain's damned
Head Auror: Dark witches or wizards responsible are 'highly organised, ruthless, and fully committed to their criminal agenda'
And on the next page ...
MINISTRY OF THE HELPLESS?
A report on the inability of our leaders and their guard-hounds, by Rita Skeeter
And Britain had done so well these past few decades …
'Do you have any idea, Albus?' asked Professor McGonagall shakily.
'A great many ideas, my dear Minerva, and every single one as unlikely as the next.'
'Let the Ministry buffoons deal with the media. If we were to take action, we should be focusing on the escapees,' said the Potions Master.
'What sort of people got away?' asked Minerva, glowering at her colleague.
'Criminals of all kinds and heritage,' said Albus. 'Those who were incarcerated for their acts during the war are, for better or worse, greatly diminished. Still, a great many of those who made their escape belong to pure-blood clans, war criminals or otherwise.'
'Ah, yes,' drawled Snape with malicious glee. 'This would be the push for "accountability and a fair, free life for everyone" our enlightened leaders propagate, I suppose?'
Dumbledore, fiddling with his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes. 'They were still convicted for crimes according to our laws.'
'But perhaps the magnitude of their penalties wasn't entirely appropriate in all cases?' suggested Snape delicately.
Dumbledore chose not to respond.
'We need to do something!' said Minerva, gripping the desk tightly. 'We should improve the castle's security. Maybe the Ministry can–'
'What we need,' said Dumbledore calmly, 'is to retain our composure.' He picked up a small letter bearing the seal of the Minister's office, his eyes flying over the contents once more. 'The con artists and other minor cases will sort themselves out. Those held for manslaughter have already either been caught or at the very least attracted the attention of Madame Bones. The problematic ones–'
'Will be those whom their families have harboured,' finished Snape.
'Or worse,' murmured Dumbledore, ignoring his teachers' inquisitive glances. Those that haven't been harboured by their families …
'Aren't you a little too optimistic, Albus? Just like …' began Minerva, but she stopped herself in time.
'Harry Black has nothing to do with this,' said Dumbledore firmly.
'They almost certainly were at the Ministry, for Merlin's sake,' said Minerva, sounding somewhat frustrated. 'I know young Mr Black is no killer, but don't you think you've crossed the line there …?'
For a second, Dumbledore didn't answer, pondering his words, keenly aware of Severus' intense stare. 'It is my strong belief that neither Mr Black nor Miss Davis was responsible for the tragedy that unfolded within the Ministry.'
'However can you be sure?!'
Dumbledore sighed. 'Because – frankly – while young Mr Black's Occlumency is incomprehensibly well developed for his age, Miss Davis' is merely outstanding.'
'You mean– You mean you had a look …?' The Transfiguration mistress was struggling with several conflicting emotions, finally settling for disapproval.
'I disagree.'
Surprised, Dumbledore turned his head in Snape's direction. 'Severus?'
'I beg your pardon, Headmaster, but you aren't teaching them on a regular basis. While I hate to admit that your assessment of Mr Black is probably spot on, Davis is easily as accomplished as most non-specialist Aurors I'm acquainted with. In a way, she's even beyond Mr Black; while her mind may not be as strong or organised, her defences are … malleable.'
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the ancient wood. 'Her mother works in the Department of Mysteries, doesn't she? It's not inconceivable that she received lessons in their particular style early on.'
'Maybe the alcohol weakened her defences?' suggested Minerva.
Snape licked his lips. 'Possibly …?' he said with an air of doubt about said possibility.
'Either way,' continued Dumbledore with a frown, 'I am not prepared to surrender students to the Ministry if they cannot be expected to receive fair treatment.'
Snape scoffed. 'As if Arcturus Black would allow his heir to remain in the hands of the Ministry.'
'Ah, but I am not talking primarily about Mr Black. I think the case is quite clear; only those who were present in the department know what happened there. Not cooperating with the Ministry is, alas, no capital offence. They have been punished fairly for being out of bounds. As for the rest – innocent until proven guilty. It behoves the Ministry to realise that Hogwarts is a school – not an extension of the Minister's office.'
'The notion that second years fought against hardened ICW Aurors is almost insulting,' added Snape with a disparaging wave of his hand. 'Whatever the brats did at the Ministry, it's clear that others are truly responsible for the events. And that Rose, at the very least, received orders to cover for them.'
'There is that, too,' agreed Dumbledore.
'Are you taking this seriously, Albus?! We'll be in terrible trouble if Rendall or the Minister ever get wind of this! Are you willing to gamble your headship on your insistence to forgive and forget?'
'We shall keep an eye on all of them, certainly,' conceded Dumbledore. 'But I will not judge children, especially those children, on their parentage.'
Minerva gave him a crooked, painful smile. 'You're entirely too soft. This is exactly why Frank is rolling over you in the Wizengamot, Albus.'
Dumbledore smiled back as if he'd received a great praise. 'Thank you, Minerva. But I'd rather take the back seat and keep an eye on all sides. You can expect me to take action once the situation demands it.'
Later, long after his teachers had vacated his office, Albus Dumbledore was still mulling over Minerva's words. Fawkes, his eyes drilling into the headmaster with a blazing intensity, was the only one to pay it any attention.
Dumbledore meant what he'd said. Intervention, or so he'd found, was only ever the last possible option. Twice, years and years ago, he'd made a different choice – and paid a terrible price in the long run.
He wouldn't make the same choice again so easily.
Memory Lane
Harry Black was floating on a current of dreams. His recent studies about lucid dreaming, he decided, were starting to pay off. Coolly he watched from above as his dream-copy struggled against his aunt's onslaught.
Bellatrix had insisted on resuming his training. Worse – she seemed to have got the silent approval of his grandfather. Harry had hoped that he'd find some respite in his sleep at least but alas …
'Focus!' shouted Bellatrix, her wild, untamed black hair fluttering loosely behind her.
Harry didn't move a muscle as he watched his memory-self struggle against the Imperius. He could see himself buckling under his aunt's spell, almost collapsing, but then – with an outburst of anger – he saw himself standing up, pushing back. The feedback of the broken connection caused Bellatrix to stagger. For a second, she looked enraged, but then her visage of madness cracked, and she smiled an impossibly wide smile at her nephew with those big, dark eyes of hers shining brightly.
'You did it!' she shrieked. 'You did it, and I didn't even hold back!'
Yes, he'd done it, Harry remembered, but all his muscles and joints were still burning. Bella's magic was oppressive, dark, and burning hot. And while the sensation of the Imperius Curse was not altogether uncomfortable, the moment he'd bested it, his entire body had felt as if he'd flown a couple hundred miles on an old Cleansweep.
That was three days ago, and even now – even in this dream – he could feel the white-hot pain in his back, the mild ache behind his temple.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as his exuberant aunt supported his dream equivalent, accompanying him out of the duelling room, leaving the door ajar, the room deserted, and the dreamer to his musings.
It was weird to watch his memories from afar. Despite the limited control he had over his conscious self, Harry could never quite shake the feeling that he wasn't entirely awake. No matter how ridiculous his dreams got, and the dreams of soon-to-be sixteen-year-olds did get ridiculous indeed, there was always the lingering doubt that he couldn't wake up even if he tried. And so he didn't try.
For a second, Harry's gaze wandered to a certain spot behind the leftmost pillar of the room. The marble was pristine again, no trace of blood or runes betraying its ghastly past – or Harry's. It was as if a page had been turned over in the mercilessly progressive book of history.
Bang!
Harry gave a tremendous start, his heart hammering in his chest. The door had slammed close – as if it had been the plaything of an intangible draft. Did this belong to the memory? But he had long left this room, and all that should remain was a static image.
Holding his breath, he stared at the heavy door.
Slowly, as if handled by an invisible force, the handle turned. Inch by inch, the gap between the door and the frame began to widen. Then, with terrible force, the door banged shut again, causing Harry to jump once more, his blood running cold.
What the …?!
Trying to stay calm, Harry focused, willing himself to leave his dream.
But nothing happened.
Once more, with chills creeping down his back, he watched the door slowly open. This time, it banged shut with such power that Harry stumbled back.
In his rising panic, Harry looked around. The pillars in the room had vanished at some point. There was no precious Italian marble on the floor. The ceiling lacked the incredible hand-drawn mural paintings. Harry didn't recognise his surroundings.
Out of nowhere, there was another thundering bang.
It was so loud, so threatening, that it took Harry a few seconds to realise that someone had knocked on the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
It sounded as if someone was hammering on the wood with the force of destiny. The door, too, now appeared gigantic, at least five times as big as it should have been.
Harry realised that he was standing on some sort of narrow plateau with more levels down in front of him, each – just like the Hanging Gardens – separated by a drop of at least five feet. Meaningless, funny pictures in wooden frames as big as himself hung on the white wall that stretched endlessly behind him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Suddenly, there was a voice above him. 'Are we expecting visitors, James?'
Harry heard a strange clicking noise from the door, and then, all hell broke loose. Screams, loud explosions, colourful lights; it all flickered in front of his eyes like a film. A bathroom painted white but dyed crimson, a group of people in long cloaks, a knife, screams, red water. Red rain. So much warm red water. It clung to the walls, to the floor, to the clothes, gathering in big pools on the cold tiles. It stank. Laughing, a high, shrill laugh. A crooning, ardent voice.
And then it all went out of control, the scenes grew frantic. His training session with Bellatrix, his talk with Amadina outside of Hogwarts, Regulus' death, Regulus' corpse, the indistinct voices of people he hated gathering in the ballroom. He felt as if they were all staring at him, a thousand featureless faces giggling, taunting, jeering in that thick, frenetic voice. The scenes twisted, flickered until it was the bathroom again.
'Filthy traitors!'
'… get what they deserved!'
'–t the boy, don't …'
'… prude philistines, the lot o–'
'–ey say blood will out. Let's have a look, shall we?'
Their voices and faces, so dangerous, so close by, flowed into one another, like colours mixing on a canvas. All the white, all the blue, and all the green was dyed a deep, fatal, warm red.
And then, with a scream, Harry awoke in his bed in Wales, drenched in sweat and completely out of breath.
Memory Lane
A few calming breaths and a lot of water later, Harry gazed into the large wall mirror hidden within his wardrobe, feeling the images of his dream slip from his consciousness. He had purple rings under his eyes, and a sweaty sheen clung to his skin. He felt weak, diminished, and – worst of all – humiliated. Humiliated by the effect a simple nightmare had on him. His hair, unruly even on the best of days, stood on end. If he hadn't been feeling so sick, he might have joked that he looked as if he'd messed with a bad Jolting Hex.
Still, it had been the first nightmare, the first night of anything less than a perfect rest since the beginning of summer. At the very least, the chances of some unholy eldritch monsters haunting his sleep were now … well … decidedly lower.
With a sigh, Harry scratched his head, looking at the scrawny reflection in the mirror. The last growth spurt, though that term might be a bit euphemistic, had left him looking only more delicate. If he wasn't careful, even Tracey might catch up to him yet … Already both Lestranges were taller – not to mention Draco, who had always been rangy, just like his father.
Harry took two consecutive cold showers, taking as much time as possible to dress and come back alive. Putting on his favourite cerulean robes, his eyes eventually came to rest on his bookshelf. More specifically, he gazed at a particularly battered book that looked like someone had chewed on a few of its pages: Dreams of Yonder Days. It was a silly little fairy-tale, but it was the first non-educational book Harry had ever been allowed. He was quite fond of it. More importantly, he had recently decided to entrust this book with another treasure of his …
Twenty minutes later, Arcturus Black raised an eyebrow as his heir, struggling to walk with the dignity that befitted his station, slowly sank into an empty chair. 'Good morning, Harry. Not a good night's rest, I gather?'
'Yes. I apologise for my late arrival, Grandfather. Good morning.'
The old man examined him from over his newspaper, his sharp pearlescent eyes darting between Harry's. 'It's quite all right, my son. Is Bellatrix overdoing it again?'
'No, nothing of the sort …'
'Master Harry should eat first! Master is getting thinner with every waning month!' complained Cranky, not too subtly shoving three croissants Harry's way.
It was only when Harry had finished what Cranky forced him to eat that he realised how tense his grandfather truly was. The customary rustling of pages was completely absent from their morning routine. It was as if the man was trying to burn a hole into the page with the intensity of his gaze alone. He didn't even look up when three dozen owls, some ruffling their feathers importantly, dropped a small heap of letters onto the table. It was very rare for the Blacks to receive more than two or three letters. Most of their contacts were, after all, trying their best to hide that connection.
It was only then that Harry actually had a look at what was written on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Azkaban Conquered!
The knife in his hand fell with a clang on his plate.
'Someone's broken into Azkaban?!' he shouted, jumping up from his seat.
'Yes.'
'And the prisoners …?'
'Most of them escaped.'
Harry's heart leapt. 'Sirius!' he yelled excitedly, craning his neck to look at the fireplace in the small dining room as if he expected the man to burst forth any instant.
'We shall see,' said Arcturus in a strangely neutral voice. 'While I'd obviously prefer Sirius to live his life outside of that … gaol, I hope I needn't remind you that he's not with the family.'
The smile on Harry's face turned sour. 'Nobody deserves to rot away in that dump,' he said, so strongly – apparently – that Arcturus decided to look up again.
After a while, the old man said, 'I quite agree.'
'Would you– I mean, if Sirius were to knock and ask …' Harry's words dangled helplessly in the air. He knew that Sirius' decision to publicly part with his family had left a lot of resentment and hurt behind.
Thankfully, his grandfather seemed to pick up on his meaning easily enough. 'If he were to knock on that door and ask for shelter, I wouldn't turn him away, Harry. But he hasn't done that – at least not yet. We do not even know if he's successfully escaped. It does not do well to dwell on whens and ifs.'
Reluctantly, Harry nodded, turning his gaze towards the picture on the front of the Prophet again. A ruggedly handsome Auror wearing some kind of mask to conceal parts of his face was sifting through some rubble, his lustrous dark hair sticky with sweat.
Suddenly, the fire exploded with green flames. For a second, Harry's wishes seemed to be coming true, but the figure that appeared in the fire wasn't at all that of his godfather. Instead, it was the familiar, prematurely wrinkled face of an impatient-looking woman in her early sixties. Even though the magic of the Floo should be entirely smokeless, a thick, biting haze rose from the woman. It smelled of cheap pipe tobacco.
'Are we alone?' the face demanded curtly.
'Harry is here,' said Arcturus casually, 'but you can speak your mind, Druella.'
'Good. I signed the letter of intent yesterday – in Wolfie's and some of his friends' presence. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be pushing for more concessions with this prison nonsense happening.'
'Of course,' said Arcturus without even looking up. 'They wouldn't expect any less, I'm sure.'
'I still think there's something between Selwyn and the anorexic old crone. You know they used to be intimately acquainted.'
'I should think so,' agreed Arcturus. 'But we'll proceed as discussed. Ophala insisted on doing it herself.'
'Well, she's got guts, I'll give her that,' grumbled Druella reluctantly.
Harry, his mind reeling, tried desperately to keep up. 'Has a date been fixed then?'
Both Druella and Arcturus shot him a glance.
'Yes,' answered Arcturus eventually. 'Tomorrow at noon. Ophala apparently spoke with her daughters yesterday.'
'Who else is involved?' asked Harry in a hushed voice.
'There will only be one other ceremonial witness, due to personal reasons. The rest of our family, except those that participated in our meeting, are to remain unaware.'
'It's still a risky move – foolish some might say,' opined Druella, overbold. Harry couldn't help admiring that she always spoke her mind, regardless of who her opposite was. That was also, he surmised, what made his grandfather place so much faith in her counsel. 'She was Regulus' wife! And you know how many bonders died in the past because dull-witted brats were involved …'
'While I agree that it's not quite up to the standards of some of our past initiations,' replied his even-minded grandfather, 'I feel it's necessary to drive a wedge between Selwyn and the Ministry. And wasn't it you and Bellatrix who accused me of being too lenient towards Selwyn, Druella?'
'If Selwyn somehow finds out that–'
This time, however, Arcturus cut her off. 'In that case, you have my promise that we'll deal with the Selwyns – conclusively.'
For a few seconds, there was only the sound of impatient puffing and burning tobacco.
'Fine,' said Druella Rosier, unceremoniously turning away from the fire after the lightest of bows towards Arcturus. 'Oh, and Harry?'
'Yes?'
'Try to stay out of trouble for one year at Hogwarts, Salazar's Blood! My grandniece is becoming unbearable. She told me that it's taking all her mental fortitude to refrain from rolling her eyes at you in the common room or the Great Hall. Frankly, I tire of her whining.'
'Er, I'll try,' Harry replied somewhat lamely.
'See that you do.'
And with a whoosh, the fire went out again. For a few seconds, Harry and Arcturus exchanged silent glances.
'I didn't know a date had been fixed,' said Harry, struggling to keep the accusatory undertone from his voice. 'And so soon!'
Arcturus nodded. 'The decision was made yesterday morning. Ophala herself pressed the issue. I hadn't had time to discuss it with you yet.'
'Does Tori know, too …?'
'You should know that Ophala made it a condition to be completely open with her daughters about the situation. Both Astoria and Daphne are not allowed their wands or to leave their house until it's all over – but they should have a general understanding, yes. I'm sure you're aware of what I mean.'
Hidden from view underneath the table, Harry clenched his fists. 'I'm not … entirely convinced this is right,' he admitted. 'Tori is fourteen! What if she doesn't manage?!'
'I understand, Harry, but this is for their well-being as well. You know best that Esme isn't fit to watch over her family. Her personal agenda blinds her to the needs of those she is bound by duty to protect and guide.'
Harry didn't reply. Still, his grandfather had always encouraged him to be open about his doubts … 'But aren't we using them, too? You allowed Esmerelle to publicly distance the Greengrasses from the Blacks so that Ophala's dealings with us would seem all the more unlikely.'
'I don't deny it,' said Arcturus, putting down the paper. 'But, Harry, I don't intend to sell off my own flesh and blood for a few coins of copper. If that is Daphne's and Astoria's wish, I will allow them to settle abroad and lead their lives as they choose to – with all the advantages of our connection and no responsibilities.'
'But you wish that they'll spy for you from within the Minister's or Selwyn's camp.'
Arcturus raised an eyebrow, and Harry, feeling as if he'd gone one step too far, just barely refrained from wincing. 'Observing Selwyn's actions will largely fall to the Rosiers. Dealing with the Minister, that is my understanding with Ophala, my son – and the other source you're aware of. Do you think I'm the kind of man to force girls your age to spy on our foes?'
'I– No, of course not … I apologise, Grandfather.' After a few seconds of embarrassment, he added, 'I don't think I can be entirely objective in this matter.'
Arcturus, to Harry's surprise, smiled. 'Nor did I expect you to be. Harry, we all have our responsibilities. And while family has to come first, you have your connection with the girls to think of. I'm not encouraging you to break it off – quite the contrary. One duty does not absolve you from another. In fact …'
Humming, lost in thought, Arcturus rummaged in the pile of letters on the table, extracting a rather shabby envelope, presenting it to Harry. Harry immediately recognised Daphne's handwriting, even though the letters looked shaky and uneven. The envelope was wavy, and droplets of what had undoubtedly been tears had made some parts of the address illegible.
With a gut-wrenching pang of guilt, he ripped the envelope open.
The letter only contained a few words:
'Please come! I don't want to be alone with this.'
His guts contracted uncomfortably, but Harry forced himself to look up again wearing a neutral expression.
Arcturus was still smiling gently his way. 'Go, Harry. We have responsibilities not only to our family but to our friends and loved ones also.'
With a bow towards his grandfather, Harry left the room. But on his mind was – treacherously – not only Daphne but Lucretia, too. And Harry couldn't help feeling that if he had duties towards Daphne and Tori, shouldn't Arcturus have felt responsible for his daughter as well …?
Memory Lane
'Sweetpea, please!' called Ophala Greengrass through the locked door again, her voice cracking. 'Please, let's talk. And you need to eat something!'
'Go away,' shouted Daphne, burying her head in the cushion.
'Daphne, I really only wan–'
'GO AWAY!'
From behind the door, Daphne heard her mother sigh with disappointment. She hadn't felt this miserable in years – not since her father had been murdered in their own home by the people she had naively believed to uphold peace and order.
Thinking about her father only caused the lump in her throat to hurt more painfully. It was so unreal how only yesterday she'd been enjoying a day in the sun with her best friend – and now this. Unable to suppress a sob, she punched her pillow.
She knew it was stupid. She knew she was being childish. She knew it was probably for the better. She knew her mother was honouring her father. She knew that Harry's entire family pretended that he was – due to legal reasons – one of her father's siblings. She knew they would never have accepted her at his side. She knew Harry probably thought of her as a sister. She knew all of that!
But it hurt all the same.
What were knowledge and reason in the face of desire and love? Even the faintest hope was preferable to the certainty of disillusionment, wasn't it?
She hit her pillow again.
Worst of all, she wasn't even allowed to speak about it to anyone but her own family – whom she just couldn't reveal the root of the distress to. The notion of confiding in Tori was almost laughable. She wasn't sure her younger sister had truly understood the extent of the decision their mother had made – or the dangers involved. And speaking of her mother … She just couldn't bear to see her right now.
Who she really wanted to talk to was Tracey, but her mother had made it painfully clear that she wasn't allowed to. Tracey usually managed to make her feel better. Despite or perhaps because of her clumsy, goofy, and not very ladylike nature, her best friend always managed to make her laugh.
Tracey and Harry were the people whom she felt comfortable confiding in. And now she wasn't allowed to talk to one while she was being torn from the other.
It was strange how she had absolute faith in both of them considering how contrasting they were. Tracey, as a rule of thumb, never shut up, whereas Harry had to be encouraged to interact with others.
She still vividly remembered the day she'd introduced Harry to Tracey. She hadn't told them they were going to meet someone else. Their reactions had been hilarious as even her bubbly best friend, for once, had seemed stunned and speechless. They'd both gawked, standing there awkwardly. At least that's how it had seemed at the time. Soon enough, Tracey had to be reined in to not cross any lines with Harry, of course, who had still been incredibly withdrawn. It had taken some time for them to get comfortable around each other – not that they ever really did anything together. In retrospect, Tracey had always been annoyingly distant with Harry – much to Daphne's frustration. Why that was she had never found out, but some people just didn't get along. You couldn't force it. Maybe they were just too different? It couldn't have been his family at least, of that she was sure; she'd become best friends with Tracey when she had still been Daphne Black after all.
A polite knock on the door interrupted Daphne's reminiscing.
'I said I don't want to talk!' she snapped, hiccuping.
But it wasn't her mother at all. 'It's me, Daphne.'
Daphne froze. She had written that letter, of course, but she wouldn't have dared to hope that Harry would turn up so quickly. So quickly. Too quickly! Horrified, she realised that she'd cried the entire night and spent the last fifteen hours in bed. She had to look like a banshee!
'I– I … Go away!' she shouted, immediately regretting the words and feeling the heat rise to her ears.
'Now that's an odd reaction after writing me that letter,' muttered Harry, and she could practically hear him scratching his head in disbelief and confusion.
Hastily, Daphne produced a little hand-mirror from her bedside cabinet, looking at her reflection with a sense of panic. 'I … I'm not presentable! I haven't taken a shower yet. Go and wait downstairs!'
'You're being ridiculous again …'
There was the tapping sound of wood on wood. Alarmed, Daphne watched as the key in the lock turned all by itself. With the following click, the door swung open. Daphne pressed her large 'Potioneer – and proud of it!' pillow over her face to conceal the bedraggled state she was in, drawing the blanket up to her neck with her other hand.
'Daphne …'
Despite herself, Harry's voice made her sneak a reluctant peek at the boy standing in the door. He was wearing one of those colourful if archaic silken robes he so loved. He didn't look particularly healthy or rested if the skin under his eyes was anything to go by, but his jade-green eyes shone with a powerful inner light. Despite how small he really was (Daphne was sure she was and had always been taller than him), he looked strangely impressive, standing alone in the door, his shadow flickering over the entire wall behind him.
He didn't speak, his strong gaze never straying from hers. Without another word, he spread his arms as if to welcome her. And Daphne, her throat burning, jumped up and straight into his arms, weeping on his shoulder, clutching his robes with desperation, guiltily enjoying his entirely too rare moments of indulgence, his hands stroking her back, the warmth of his presence.
Memory Lane
It took Daphne about ten minutes to calm down, though she pretended to be in tears for about ten more minutes – because Harry coddling her was simply put the best thing ever. She wasn't entirely sure whether her little act had passed unnoticed or if Harry had simply decided to let it go, but it was a win either way.
'Feeling better?' he mumbled softly.
Daphne, still revelling in the intimacy of their embrace, gave a tiny nod.
'Or do you want to play act damsel for a bit longer?'
Daphne strongly gripped his robes. 'You knew?!' she whispered, unsure if she wanted to laugh or vanish on the spot.
With what she pictured to be one of his impish smirks, he whispered back, 'You always get even more clingy once you calm down.'
'A gentleman would've just pretended not to notice!'
'I'm a gentleman to strangers only.'
For a few seconds, Daphne struggled with the question that arose from her fears – and lost. 'And we won't be strangers after tomorrow?' she breathed, trying to keep the trembling note of panic from her voice.
To her surprise, his answer came immediately. 'No.'
'But I thought–'
'Come, let's sit,' said Harry, breaking the embrace. 'I'll tell you what you want to know.'
Daphne was a bit disappointed, but she sat down next to Harry on her bed, taking his hand like she'd done a hundred times before. She was oddly relieved that he didn't resist.
'You thought that we would have to create some distance between us, didn't you? You thought that we wouldn't be allowed to meet any longer.'
She didn't dare look in his eyes, hiding behind her long mane. 'Well … Mum said that the secrecy of the covenant was paramount – or some such rot. She said that we'll have to do anything – anything – to keep it private. And that we'd have to do whatever the main family demanded of us.'
'You're watching too many Muggle motion pictures with Tracey.'
'Films,' interrupted Daphne automatically.
'Pardon?'
'Nobody says "motion pictures".'
'Really? Be that as it may, in your own words, what would be the best way to avoid suspicion?'
'To … I don't know! I can't think straight right now.' She stared at their hands as if they could answer for her. Eventually, she said, 'To not do something fishy?'
'Precisely.' Gently, Harry put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look up. 'What that means, in essence, is that nothing at all is going to change. Well, nothing between us at least.'
Daphne gazed into his eyes, revelling in his authentic, gentle smile that she knew he didn't show to just anyone. 'But I thought the entire point of branch families was to have secret–'
But he waved her objection aside. 'No. The entire point of branches is to ensure the safety and integrity of the entire tree over a long term. It doesn't really factor into the grand scheme of things if a single branch grows this way or that way for a generation or two. Some branches have been with us for over five hundred years.'
'F– Five hundred?!' she asked disbelievingly.
'Five hundred. Don't you think it would be kind of suspicious if we refused to interact with specific families in public for hundreds of years? That's what real discretion means, Daphne. Just getting on with life as if nothing had happened. There have even been two instances of marriages between secondary members of the main family and branches – though they were admittedly highly controversial for several reasons.'
'Really?!'
Harry chuckled at her disbelief. 'Really.'
'And about being ordered to do stuff we don't want?'
'It's not so different from what your grandmother could legally force you to do right now. What is different is that the magic will protect you against certain forms of magical probing. You'll also be physically unable to betray your family – which is all done to keep you safe. The only really drastic difference is that you can't, well, quit. Honestly, didn't Ophala explain this to you?!'
Daphne coughed awkwardly. 'I, er, may … havernaywhntwasalltooch …'
Harry blinked. 'Come again?'
All of a sudden, Daphne felt like hiding under her blanket again. 'I … ran up here when it was all too much to take.'
Harry smiled, his thumb running over the skin under her eyes to wipe away a few lingering tears. 'You're hopeless.'
'Well, it was all really scary stuff!' After a short pause, she asked, 'Is it true that the contract is written in blood?'
'It's a bit more complicated than that, but – essentially – yes. It's necessary because it's meant to be binding to your descendants as well. You should look at it like this: accepting the covenant essentially makes all of your descendants Blacks – no matter how many generations will pass, and even if your family will only produce daughters from now on.'
' … will it hurt?'
'It'll be over relatively quickly. I'll be by your side if you want.'
Daphne nodded, tightening her hold on his hand. 'I'd like that … And I'm sure Tori would want that as well.'
Harry looked at her, a complicated expression on his face, and Daphne just knew that he was keeping something from her. But, a moment later, he nodded. 'Then it shall be as you wish.'
Once again, a few moments passed in silence while Harry apparently waited for her to ask away. 'So there are really dozens of families out there who are effectively Blacks but call themselves differently in public?'
But, to her confusion, Harry wagged his head. Seeing her lack of understanding, he took a deep breath before raising his finger in lecture. 'No. Family contracts are incredibly rare for practical reasons. Also, what you might also have missed if you ran out on your mother, what follows family contracts is usually a contract of apprenticeship.'
'The what now?!'
Harry smiled patiently. 'Contract of apprenticeship. In simple terms, it means that in every generation following you and Tori, the current seat of your branch, or both your and Tori's branch in this case, will pick some family members who will be completely inaugurated. It is possible to renew the family contract each generation, but it's not usually done. In the end, most branches default to the apprenticeship, some going so far as to induct only a singular scion.'
'But what's the difference?!'
'The difference, Daphne, is that those who are not inaugurated are never to know. That means that in families following a contract of apprenticeship, it's entirely possible that one parent and one child are inducted while the rest, for example other children or even the wife or husband, are completely in the dark.'
Daphne stiffened. 'And they can't tell their own husband?!'
'No, as I said, they physically can't; their tongue would roll up, they'd have to cough, spontaneous cramps – that sort of thing. As you might imagine, this kind of relationship can put serious strain on a person.'
'What happens if they desperately try anyway?'
There was something behind Harry's eyes, a sudden surge of emotion.
'Harry?' she asked again.
'They die.'
She stared into those jade green eyes, at once both repulsed and attracted. But then again, she thought, why would she ever do something to betray her family – to betray Harry. The notion alone was … absurd. Slowly, she nodded.
'But why would people choose this apprenticeship thingy over the family model?!'
Harry visibly winced at her use of the word model as if she were speaking about the latest Nimbus series, but he answered nevertheless. 'Because some people believe it to be safer. Keeping your family in blissful ignorance? That sort of thing. But that's not really of importance for you right now. Ophala explicitly asked for a family contract. You and Tori will each have to decide what to do with it in time.'
'What if something happens to both the apprentice and the mentor-person?'
Harry sighed. 'In that case, the family tries to enable the bereaved a comfortable life while quietly withdrawing. You might say that such a branch has reached its full size.' Spotting her momentary confusion, he added, 'Its end, Daphne.'
'Oh! That's kind of sad …'
'It is.'
'You sure seem to know a lot about this stuff …'
'Well, I'm Grandfather's heir. In a manner of speaking, you might consider me his ''apprentice'', though it doesn't work quite like that for the main family.'
Daphne frowned, rubbing her head. 'Until yesterday, I thought you being Arcturus heir simply meant that you would inherit the mansion.'
This time, Harry actually gave a short bark of laughter. 'Not quite. And it's mansions.'
'What?! There's more than one?!' asked Daphne, amazed.
'Two more, though one isn't used very much. I can show them to you when this is all over.'
It took her a moment to realise and truly understand what Harry had said. 'Are there more secrets like that? Secrets you had to keep from me?'
'Yes.'
'And … will you be able to tell me more later?'
Harry nodded. 'Though there are some things I won't be able to tell you; like the identity of other branches, for instance.'
'Mm-hmm,' mumbled Daphne with a painful little smile. 'But you won't have to lie about yourself anymore?'
Again, Harry nodded.
This time, the smile came a bit more easily. 'That's okay, then.' Something else was bothering her, and since Harry seemed to be in an agreeable mood to answer questions … 'What happens to the children of the main family?'
'Well, the first generation is usually automatically bound by the same contract as all the branches. Though there can be,' he nodded meaningfully at her, 'special circumstances. Still, it doesn't necessarily mean that everyone sworn in by oath is necessarily involved in day-to-day activities.'
It took Daphne a moment to realise that he was alluding to her and Tori's situation. She'd never really thought about it. She had still been so young when her father had been murdered. 'They don't have a choice?' she asked in a hushed voice.
'Not exactly. More than a thousand years ago, the Blacks made a blood contract with themselves, ensuring that their direct offspring would never be able to betray them.'
'… Our ancestors were a bit psychotic, weren't they?'
'Well, those were suspicious times. But, yes, I suppose they were.'
They shared a short little chuckle. It felt good to laugh. 'And I really won't have to do any ninja-stuff?!'
Harry stared blankly at her, the grin turning into a quizzical frown. 'Ninja … stuff?'
'You know, spy-stuff. Nightly chases on rooftops, secretly poisoning the bad guys' drinks, playing poker with underworld bosses for millions of Galleons in a casino.'
Harry groaned, giving her a small slap on her shoulder. 'Merlin save me! Definitely no spy-stuff for you! And what's poker supposed to be?! Newer branches usually rest for a few dozen years anyway. The only thing that's going to change for you is that you'll be Daphne Black again – like you were meant to be, even if you won't be able to tell others.'
Daphne's heart soared. She knew he hadn't meant it quite like how she had chosen to interpret his words, but was that really so important? 'That doesn't sound too bad.'
'It's not.' Rolling his shoulders, Harry stood up. 'Come on. Take that shower you complained about. I'll take you out to get your mind off things.'
'But I thought we weren't supposed to leave the house until the contract is done …?'
Harry smirked mischievously. 'You aren't. So, want to come or not?'
Daphne laughed, hastily wiping her face, jumping up. 'Let's go!'
Memory Lane
Harry was made to wait in Daphne's room while his cousin took a shower. He wasn't entirely convinced that she felt as relieved as she tried to project, but he could hardly blame her for feeling overwhelmed. There would be time to come to terms with the new facts of reality. He would need time, too. It was one thing to present a strong shoulder for Daphne to lean on, but Harry was by no means convinced; the ritual was dangerous.
True, one couldn't pick one's own family, so did it really matter if it was decided by birth or magic? And yet there was no denying that the magic involved most definitely was a curse … The girls were related to him, had always been his family, but how would their descendants feel about their intertwined destiny in a hundred years, in five hundred years, in a thousand years?
With a sigh, he ran his wand through the air, drawing three circles, watching as the window sprang open to air the bedclothes. While he was at it, he cleaned the floor and dusted Daphne's books. Some of them (Fun Times with Household-Charms! or Divination for Dummies) looked as if they'd never been touched. Others looked so battered that Harry was quite reluctant to move them for fear of damaging the binding. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi was so worn out by now that all that remained was a loose collection of smeared sheets, with large parts of the book jacket having been etched off.
Harry wrinkled his nose, absentmindedly rapping the book with his wand to repair at least some of the damage. Now that he had time to inspect the room in its entirety, it was hard not to realise how one of Daphne's latest interests seemed to dominate all others: Potions. All manner of ingredients (was that a Gorgon's eye?!) were littering the room, piling up on the desk – or any other convenient surface, for that matter: unicorn hair hanging over a tarnished poster of the Weird Sisters, some fluorescent algae Harry failed to recognise drying on the windowsill, lizard scales, partially ground, haphazardly stuffed away and now forgotten under some Potions periodical on the desk.
Harry sighed, scratching the back of his head. He was itching to tidy the place up, but – frankly – he was afraid of what he might find. Not to mention that it would probably be awkward to explain himself to Daphne if she spotted him sorting through some of her clothes.
'I really wish my daughter were as orderly as you.'
Ophala stood in the door, Astoria, partially concealed behind her mother, looking over her shoulder and waving wildly at him. Harry suspected that Tori hadn't come running already for fear of stepping into something. Daphne's room really was a mess.
'Well, at least her Potions marks are excellent.'
'Thanks for coming by, Harry. I really didn't know what to do; she just wouldn't listen!'
'No problem. I'll take her out for a bit. You don't mind, do you? I'll keep an eye on her, and we'll stay in Muggle London.'
Ophala put her hands on her hip, threateningly raising a ladle, though the effect was slightly ruined by her flowery apron and the warm eyes both of her daughters had inherited. 'Say, do you enjoy other people getting carpeted by your grandfather for your random acts of willfulness?'
'I admit it's part of the appeal,' replied Harry with a wink.
'Heavens, you can be so much like Sirius at times … Well, take care of her, won't you?'
Harry, dropping the grin, nodded solemnly.
'All right then. But the both of you will stay for lunch. You're much too thin, and Daphne hasn't had dinner or breakfast!'
Harry knew better than to argue about diet with a mother and simply nodded again. Ophala, with a dramatic shrug, left for the kitchen again.
'How are you, Tori?' he asked, levelling a concerned gaze at the younger sister.
Bringing herself to cautiously tiptoe into Daphne's room, Astoria gave Harry a brief hug and sat down next to him on her sister's bed. 'It's all a bit much, I guess. And I'm super nervous.'
'Well, that's to be expected.'
'It is, isn't it?!' She bit her lip, bouncing nervously from one side to the other. 'Is it okay if I ask you a question? I just can't get it out of my mind …'
'Of course, shoot!'
She took a deep breath to gather resolve. 'Will you … will you be disappointed if I don't make Slytherin?'
Harry blinked, surprised to realise that the question actually did seem to be of stupendous concern to the girl. With a smile, he put a hand on her head. Tori, at least, was still smaller than him. 'It doesn't matter to me what house you get in, Tori. I know you'll be a credit to Hogwarts either way, and I really couldn't care less what the crest on your uniform says.'
This was apparently both exactly what Tori wanted to hear and too much at the same time, because she practically leapt into his lap, clutching him with a surprisingly strong grasp. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you …'
Harry gave an embarrassed laugh, patting Tori's back. Over the girl's shoulder, he could see the older sister leaning casually against the frame of the door, her hair still dripping wet, rolling her eyes at Tori's breakdown. But even with Daphne's feigned indifference, she couldn't entirely hide the traces of the smile that played about her lips.
Memory Lane
Harry and Daphne wandered aimlessly through the streets of London, marvelling at the street performers, enjoying an enormous sundae that Daphne insisted on sharing, talking about this and that until Daphne jokingly proposed that they should – fittingly – watch an espionage thriller. Harry was thanking his lucky stars to have dodged a cheesy romance that Daphne, all of a sudden, strongly hinted she really wanted to watch with him. Considering the circumstances, he might even have given in, but the auditorium was – thank Merlin! – already packed to the last seat.
The film they ended up watching – Mission Improbable or something like that – was a blaze of confusion for Harry, who kept confusing who belonged with whom, asking his cousin all manner of questions like what exactly the CIA was supposed to be. Daphne only grinned, shushing him by leaning her head on his shoulder.
'That was really intense, don't you think?!' gushed Daphne, dragging Harry towards the exit of the cinema.
'Baffling more like,' muttered Harry.
Daphne laughed. 'You just need more exposure to Muggles. You can't learn everything from books!'
A few Muggles craned their necks at Daphne's loud exclamation but evidently decided that they were foreigners or not entirely right in the head.
At some point during their stroll, Daphne linked arms with Harry. Even though he usually only tolerated these kinds of things in private, Harry let it fly. In addition to being stumped about what to do without ruining Daphne's mood, he was loath to fuel her fear of abandonment. He had the nagging suspicion that his cousin was trying to milk the occasion for all it was worth, but seeing her brilliant smile, he just couldn't bring himself to say no – not even when one of those pesky street vendors insisted he should buy a rose for his 'gorgeous girlfriend'.
His resolve was finally challenged when Daphne pointed at a rather shabby little shop that was half booth half tent. A big sign over the entrance read:
'Madame Avenir's 200% accurate divinations! 30% discount for couples!'
'Daphne, I really don't think we sh–'
'Oh, please!' whined the girl at his side, pressing his arm even more tightly to her side. 'Please, please, please!'
Harry groaned, suspiciously eyeing the cheap wooden sign that swung noisily in the wind and the black cat snoozing noisily underneath. He supposed the feline was part of the workforce in a way. It seemed as if 'Madame Avenir' was in the habit of feeding ravens as well – to add to the mysterious atmosphere, Harry suspected. Sadly, the one emaciated raven she'd managed to attract was having trouble competing with an entire swarm of pigeons that kept hogging the corn.
Warily, Harry eyed the raven. It really was a scrawny, piteous little thing. Surely, it couldn't–
'Pretty please, Harry? Come on, don't tell me you're afraid of women and birds now.'
'I'm not afraid,' hissed Harry, looking around nervously.
'All the better, darling!' teased Daphne. 'Then let's go get our relationship soothsaying thingy.' Raising her arms for effect, she continued in a strangely impressive fake voice, 'Do me this boon, and I shall release you from your baneful suffering!'
Harry rubbed his unclasped arm to get the blood flowing again. 'All right, all right …'
'You're the best, darling!' squealed Daphne happily, pecking him on the cheek.
Harry groaned once more as Daphne held up the flap that served as one half of the entrance to the tent. Stony-faced, he walked inside.
The air was smouldering hot. The overwhelming aroma of cheap lavender oil and incense assaulted Harry's nose like a fatal one-two punch. Two cheap wicker chairs stood in front of a massive slab of granite held up by two stacks of books. On the other side of the makeshift table sat a woman, Madame Avenir, he presumed. She wasn't, however, what Harry had imagined. True, she did wear the fake pearl necklace one sort of expected, and she was wearing huge glasses that didn't seem to have any prescription values. She was even wearing a foreign-looking hairnet to boot, and half a dozen huge fake gems set in bronze glittered on her stubby fingers.
''Ey up! C'm'ere! C'm'ere! Aye, ou'nt start while yer sit, ey?'
But nothing in the world could have reconciled the outfit with the thick Yorkshire dialect Harry could hardly understand.
'Yer ne'n't worry, boy, c'm'ere! Clos'a doer, girl.'
'Doer?' repeated Harry weakly.
'Doer, boy. The door, flippin' 'eck! Put wood i'th'oil, flick a sneck, get it?'
'Can't say I do,' he muttered weakly.
Daphne, giggling, let the tent flap fall down again and closed the fragile wooden shutter.
Harry stiffly sank into the chair. His companion, still trembling with suppressed laughter, pushed her chair closer to Harry's before sitting down.
'She is, you know, speaking the King's, isn't she?' hissed Harry from the corner of his mouth. 'I barely understand a word she's saying!'
'I hear yer, boy! T'alright, I'll try speakin' slow for the mardy chuff with the ivy bush.'
'… Pardon me?'
With a nasty grin that revealed more gold than a common jewel box, she leant forward, suddenly appearing much more businesslike. 'So what'll it be? One fortune or two? Just so yer know, one's fifty bones. For a couple that's seventy.'
Harry frowned. 'Didn't the sign say that couples are thirty per cent cheaper?'
'Right you are, boy. But a couple's still two people, innit?'
Harry had half a mind to leave again. 'This is such a sca–'
Daphne's elbow, however, mercilessly cut him off. 'We'll take the couple offer, please.'
'Good-oh, pretty miss.'
The woman turned around, rummaging in a ragged moving box behind her chair. To Harry's disbelief, she produced a fairly unremarkable-looking mirror. She made a great show of setting it carefully on the table while surreptitiously trying to dust it off. She needn't have bothered; the old silver had long started to tarnish.
She stared at Daphne, widening her eyes madly. 'I shall now look into the depth of thy mind,' she chanted impressively. 'Touch the mirror, pretty miss, and we shall see the destiny reflected in the Mirror of Futures.'
Daphne, good-naturedly playing along, slowly leaned forward, forefinger outstretched. The moment her finger touched the glass, it shattered, razor-like shards tearing through the tent like a cross of bullets and swords.
'Ow! Crap, what the– ' cried Daphne, retracting her hand that immediately started bleeding profusely.
Harry was already on his feet, and he could feel the fury rising in him. Just barely he managed to refrain from pulling his wand on the stupid fraud. 'If that was your idea of an impressive display …' he growled through gritted teeth.
And yet, behind the table, the crone was staring with obvious confusion at Daphne and the remains of her mirror that was scattered around the tent. 'That wan't'er happen! That wasn't supposed ter happen! The mirror! What happened?! My mirror!'
With one last look of loathing, Harry escorted Daphne outside, rudely kicking the flap and the little wooden gate out of the way. He guided a rather distressed Daphne towards the first alley he spotted, fumbling in his pocket for the Portkey he'd made in advance.
'Come on, let's get out of here,' he muttered. 'Don't move your hand! We'll be able to heal it as soon as we're back.'
Daphne, tears of shock running down her extremely pale cheek, nodded, still refusing to let go of the now bloody rose.
Memory Lane
By the time Ophala came sprinting into the lounge, Harry had already carefully removed most of the shards that had embedded themselves in Daphne's hand and fingers.
'Do you have some Essence of Dittany?' asked Harry calmly without looking up.
'W– What?!' stuttered Ophala. 'What happened, Harry? Are you all right, Daphne?!'
'Dittany, Ophala. I shall explain everything afterwards.'
'But– Yes, of course, we've got some. One second.'
'Will it scar?' whispered Daphne, biting her lip.
'No, don't worry. Dittany only scars if you're an imbecile and just slap it on the wounded tissue. You won't even be able to see anything by tomorrow. Just try to relax as best you can.'
Harry continued to work on Daphne's hand with Ophala hovering nervously in the background asking questions and Daphne putting on a brave face. Harry appreciated that his cousin really was a lot tougher with these kinds of things than her usual behaviour, or her appearance, might suggest – and that Ophala kept shooing her younger daughter away. Watching someone pick shards of glass from your mangled flesh couldn't have been a pretty sight, and it wouldn't be better with more onlookers.
'You're really good at that,' murmured Ophala full of wonder, watching as Harry traced the wounded tissue with his wand. Slowly – ever so slowly – the angry red, raw area was fading away. 'I doubt I could've done it that neatly.'
Daphne nodded emphatically.
'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'But it really wasn't all that difficult.' He shifted his grip on his cousin's hand, continuously muttering the healing charm under his breath, trying to ignore the twitches Daphne gave whenever his exhalation tickled her skin.
It didn't take longer than ten minutes all in all (even though Harry, through gritted teeth, would have to admit that Poppy could probably have done the same in half the time) until the only trace of the incident was the blood on Daphne's sundress – and her rose.
With a sigh of relief, he leaned back, rubbing his eyes. 'All done. Try to flex your hand a bit and tell me if it hurts or if the movement feels impeded.'
'No, everything's perfect. Thanks, you're the best!'
'I say! You know your household-charms, and you're even handy with healing. My, at this rate, you'll make a finer bride than both of my daughters combined, Harry,' said Ophala with a cheeky grin.
'Very amusing,' grumbled Harry. 'I'm afraid you'll have to do the clothes yourself. I'm no great shakes at vanishing stains – or vanishing anything at all to speak the truth.'
'Don't mind her, she's always like that,' said Daphne with a reprimanding glare at her mother.
'Oh my!' replied Ophala, clutching her heart as if her daughter's evil eye caused her physical pain. 'I see I'm interrupting the conclusion of your little date.'
Harry suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair.
'Mum!' whined Daphne. 'You're making this really awkward! Just go! Go!'
Ophala laughed, giving her daughter a little smack on the bum on her way out of the room. 'Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!'
'Ack!' cursed Daphne. 'Why do parents have to be so embarrassing?!'
'… I couldn't say.'
'What? Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it like that.'
'It's all right. I know you didn't.'
In the end, Harry couldn't really refuse to stay for dinner, and he enjoyed a boisterous meal with Ophala, Daphne, and Tori. Even though this was far from the first time he'd stayed over for a meal, he just couldn't get used to the relaxed and warm atmosphere. He enjoyed dining with his grandfather, but this was something different entirely: Ophala playfully teasing both of her daughters, Daphne boasting that she'd managed to drag him into the cinema (which, apparently, had been a long-standing bet between the girls), and Tori adding her two cents to everything being said, making fun of Daphne's horrible destiny if even fortune telling tools shattered at her touch. What really got Harry thinking was that, if not for Regulus' death, this kind of family gathering would surely have been occurring at least weekly for him.
'Harry?'
'Mm-hmm? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention.'
'I've been meaning to ask you, but I didn't quite know how to breach the subject. With the Azkaban breakout, well, have you heard anything from Sirius yet?'
Daphne and Tori, who had been in the middle of another heated but presumably meaningless fight, ceased their antics, watching him intently.
'Oh, are we allowed to talk about it now?' asked Tori with a grin, casually revealing to Harry the sisters' rather unusual restraint.
'We have no way of knowing,' said Harry. 'He hasn't come ringing yet at least. I suppose that means that he either didn't get away, is still without a wand and on the run, or hiding somewhere else.'
'I would like to have dinner like this with Uncle Sirius,' said Daphne.
'I don't really remember him,' complained Tori, apparently feeling outdone by her sister again. 'Is he fun?'
'I think the both of you would get along terrifically,' said Harry with a grin.
'Oh, dear me – please no! They'll burn down the house within the fortnight!'
'It's okay, Mum. I promise we won't.'
Harry laughed – even though it was kind of scary how earnest Tori's pledge to refrain from arson somehow was. But it would be something to have dinner with Sirius and the remnants of his brother's family.
'It sure would be nice to have dinner again with Sirius – as family,' admitted Ophala with a soft smile, perfectly echoing Harry's thoughts.
Harry observed her from the corner of his eyes. Ophala had always been a very bright and cheerful woman. And even if the scars from the day of her husband's death had marred her beauty, Harry had never seen her as anything but strong and … luminous. But at that moment, with that wistful smile on her lips, he couldn't deny that Ophala Greengrass lived strong despite the great loneliness that had followed her savaged idyllic life.
Blazing like the sun to defy an ever-lasting night required a special kind of strength, a strength Harry envied.
Daphne and Tori were squabbling again, both trying to trump the other with wilder, fancier plans for a reunion dinner with their uncle. To Harry, they burned brightly, too.
'It really would be nice,' he admitted aloud.
Memory Lane
Half an hour later, Harry was still struggling with his dessert (a huge but sinfully delicious cup of strawberry and elderflower trifle). Daphne had graciously decided to help him out while Ophala successfully goaded Tori into giving some neat charms for the kitchen another try since even Harry could do them.
'Say, Harry …'
Harry sleepily leaned back in his chair, finally admitting defeat. 'Hmm?'
'Do you have to leave tonight?'
Harry's brow furrowed. 'What do you mean?'
'I've had a really nice day, and I know you put up with a lot because you didn't want me to feel lonely …'
Harry, balancing his chair on its rearward legs, didn't reply.
'It's kind of funny, isn't it? I once told Granger that, from my perspective, you've always been the strong one and that I've been relying on your support. She didn't believe me, you know?'
Harry didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing, still playing with his chair.
'… As I said, I'm really, really grateful for today. But … but I don't want to be alone tonight. Not with what's coming tomorrow.'
It was at precisely this moment that Harry almost fell off the chair. 'Tori and Ophala are sleeping in the adjacent rooms, aren't they?' he pointed out with equal measures of reason and desperation.
'Don't be like that, Harry,' whispered Daphne reproachfully. 'You know that's not what I meant.'
'We're not children anymore,' remarked Harry, gesticulating wildly.
Daphne raised an eyebrow so eerily like Arcturus that Harry almost flinched. 'Oh, really?!' She sighed, putting a loose strand of her beautiful hair behind her ear. 'Look, despite what you may think … I–' She lowered her voice even further, shooting a furtive glance in the direction of the kitchen. 'As much as I've come to hate Gran, she always used to tell me stories how evil and dangerous blood magic was. You must know them, too, right? Herpo the Foul, Ekrizdis, and all those other terrible people? I can't stop thinking like that just because …' She bit her tongue, looking uncomfortable. 'You know back in our first year? In the storeroom? I was frightened back then – and I … I'm terrified right now. And not knowing what to expect only makes it worse! Please, can't you at least stay until I'm asleep? I'm not trying to be selfish right now, I just– I just don't know if I can make it through tonight on my own …'
Harry ran his hand over his face, rubbing the dazzle from his eyes. Daphne was still looking at him beseechingly when he raised his head.
He groaned. 'You really are a pampered little princess, aren't you?'
'Funny you should mention that,' replied Daphne, her expression of worry slowly breaking into a soft smile because she seemed to be able to tell from his tone that he'd given in. 'Only yesterday, Tracey and I were talking about how spoiled you are.'
'Did you now?' he asked, frowning. 'How exactly am I spoiled?!'
'Are you seriously asking me that with those ridiculous robes you wore when you turned up still hanging in our cloakroom?'
'I like them because of how they look not because of how pricey they are!'
'Then how many robes do you own that cost less than seventy Galleons?!' asked Daphne with a triumphant grin.
'… That's not fair, it's not like I buy them, how would I know how much they cost? They just … turn up!'
'Harry,' said Daphne seriously, 'normal people buy their own clothes, you know? They don't have their elves order a half a dozen custom made every other week.'
Harry blinked. 'Er … right. Right. That's normal – is it?'
Deadpan, Daphne nodded.
'Oh … Okay.' After a thoughtful pause, he asked with a rueful grin, 'Could you please not mention that to Tracey or Draco?'
Daphne stood up, shaking her head. 'I'll keep it to myself. But you'll stay, won't you?'
Feeling as if he were agreeing to his own funeral, Harry nodded gravely.
'Thanks … Well, I'll get ready for bed. It really has been ages, hasn't it? You still know where everything is?'
Harry nodded again. 'I'll have a few words with Ophala and then head up.'
'Sure.' She pranced towards the hallway, stopping at the door to look over her shoulder one last time. 'Don't run, okay?'
'I know I'm not usually very … assertive, but you should know best that I hate nothing more than to go back on my word.'
Daphne rewarded him with another blindingly brilliant smile. 'I know.'
Tori had already fled the kitchen by the time Harry arrived, leaving Ophala to deal with the tableware.
'So,' she said without turning around, 'my daughter's talked you into staying for the night. Are you here to ask for my blessing? You're bolder than I thought, Harry.'
Harry was about to protest hotly, when Ophala turned around, her grin immediately giving away the jab. With a groan, Harry took a seat at the kitchen table. 'I only just realised; at this household, I really am the bottom-feeder. I don't have it in me to refuse whatever your girls want, and you … Well, let's just say I can tell why someone like Regulus would fall for you.'
Ophala laughed, offhandedly putting a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of him. 'Truthfully, he kept wondering why. You won't believe how often he complained about Sirius to me – while complaining about me to his family. I kept making fun of him because of it, as a matter of fact – even years after we started going out.'
'I think Regulus had good instincts.'
'That's cute of you to say, Harry, but I always suspected he was just partial to my cooking,' quipped Ophala.
'Don't say something like that,' said Harry with a frown. 'I think you're an amazing person. He did show me photographs of your graduation though. I suppose it didn't hurt that you looked like a goddess.'
Ophala laughed again, pointing her wand at a pot on the stove. 'He became a lot cockier later on. He was quite uptight in school, you know. I mean, he had grace and manners, but he wasn't what you'd call a charmer. Anyway, beauty comes and goes, Harry,' she said, indicating one of the long scars that ran across her cheek.
'I don't think so,' he said earnestly. 'You're still a very beautiful person. No scar can take that away, especially no injury you took to protect your family …'
Ophala turned around, looking faintly surprised. 'I see not all Blacks are prudes. Here you are, chatting up the mother of the girl who's currently waiting for you in her bed upstairs.'
'W– what? That's not at all what–'
'Relax, Harry,' she said with another laugh. She sat down at the table, pointing her wand over her shoulder, animating the dishes to wash themselves. 'I had a very easy childhood. Compared to you, Daphne and Tori, or even Regulus; I had it really easy.' She sighed, taking a sip from her coffee. 'I only wish to give back what I got back then. But not all people are the same, Harry. You can't hammer iron into bronze.'
'What do you mean?'
'As I said, I had it easy. My mother is a detestable human being, but she was easy enough to deal with for me. Learning to smile when expected to smile, to dance, to entertain – I'm sure you know what I'm talking about; that was the extent of all things demanded of me. It might even have been everything that was of interest to her. It didn't take me long to figure out that I could get away with anything as long as I kept up appearances. Leading a respectable little pure-blood life – that was always all that mattered to my mother. My father was different, but he died early. Daphne … she's not equipped to handle such a person. I know both of my daughters very well, Harry, and I can tell you that Daphne is vulnerable, so very vulnerable. And because she knows this to be true, she acts tough with people she doesn't know or trust.'
'You're speaking about your mother again, aren't you?' asked Harry sombrely.
'Yes. Really, Daphne is so impulsive. If things continued the way they were heading, I have no doubt that my daughter would have pulled her wand on her own grandmother at some point. My mother is no sociopath, Harry, but she's prideful to a fault. If she believed Daphne to be a serious threat to her health or agenda, she'd kick her out of the family without a second thought. How would I protect her if that came to pass?! I'm convinced she'd do everything in her power to ruin Daphne's future. You know how many contacts she's made.
'I'm not happy, not happy at all with how things are going to be resolved. But I'll turn my claws against anyone who threatens my girls – even if that person happens to be my own mother. Tori and especially Daphne have had it rough – just like you. I'll see to it that they get every bit of happiness they can – no matter what.'
'If that's what you want, you definitely made the right decision …'
'I have no illusions about the Blacks, but I respect your grandfather's dedication to watch over his family. I don't care if I sell my soul to the devil. As long as my girls are safe and sound, I don't care at all.'
'They are Regulus' children to begin with,' Harry pointed out. 'I can't imagine grandfather would've just ignored whatever happened to them, and I can promise you that I would've done anything in my power to help them.'
'I know, Harry, but what if I'm not around anymore? Or you? What if some obscure family interest of yours conflicts with helping Daphne and Tori? Could you promise me that under no circumstances anything would have happened that would have prevented you from helping them?'
Harry stared at his mug of, by now, tepid chocolate, remembering how his own unwillingness to choose one duty over another had led to so much unnecessary trouble only last summer. He had to concede the point. 'No.'
'It's all right, really. Daphne and Astoria were both born Blacks. My mother should never have taken that from them. I know Daphne, in particular, resented her for that, and I have a hard time blaming her for it. But what I actually wanted to say is this: Daphne needs you, Harry. Daphne only has Astoria, me, Tracey, and you – especially you. It's just us. She always tries to show off with you around, but she's still healing. Do you understand?'
Harry nodded.
'You really hurt her when you kept pushing her away during your first year …'
Harry sighed, shoving his mug away. 'Don't worry, it won't happen again.'
She looked into his eyes for a few moments before nodding. 'I've always considered you family, Harry, no matter what's going to happen tomorrow.'
Ophala stood up, smilingly shooing him out of the kitchen. 'Now up with you! You shouldn't keep a girl waiting – and thank you for staying for Daphne's sake.'
Memory Lane
Harry had a wash, checked his borrowed clothes quite unnecessarily for shards of glass once more, changed leisurely into his own robes again, and wasted another ten minutes in the bathroom, walking in circles and hoping Daphne had already fallen asleep.
On soft feet, he crept along the walls towards Daphne's room, no sound betraying his presence. With extreme care, he slowly opened the door to spy what lay yonder.
Daphne, giving his half-crouched silhouette a patronising look, sat comfortably on her bed, blanket drawn up her chin, a recent publication of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers in her hands. The rose he had bought a few hours earlier had been set on her desk. Even though his cousin had obviously tried to clean the flower, a few splotches of blood still defiled the petals. Harry shivered, causing Daphne to scowl. 'What?'
'Nothing.'
It was freezing in Daphne's room. For some inexplicable reason, his cousin had decided to leave the window gaping wide open. Feeling the cold creep underneath his summer robes, Harry walked over to Daphne's bed, taking a seat on the very edge.
Daphne put her reading away and moved her pillow so that she could rest her head comfortably on Harry's lap. 'How many people will be there tomorrow?' she asked, not sounding sleepy at all.
'Just you three, Grandfather, me, and another two witnesses.'
'Witnesses?'
'Well, I've only ever read about the ceremony, but since it's such a tremendously important occasion, the covenant has, over time, slowly evolved to incorporate some … ritualistic elements.'
'You mean, like, verbiage and pretentious gestures?'
'More or less,' admitted Harry, unable to suppress a slight grin. 'Though I'd advise you to phrase it differently tomorrow.'
'Who are those other people?'
Harry ran his hand over Daphne's hair, watching her close her eyes with a happy little sigh. 'I'm sorry, I can't tell you.'
'Do I know them?' mumbled Daphne.
Harry wasn't entirely sure if she just wanted to keep him going or if she'd really gone so far as to suspect that she might know people who were part of the Blacks' very extended family. It was for two very contrasting reasons a worrying inquiry either way.
'I'm sure they're not the kind of people you'd expect,' he said eventually.
Daphne hummed ruminatively before asking, 'A hint?'
'Daphne …?' Harry muttered with the slightest hint of a warning.
'Joking! I'm only joking.' She opened her eyes, staring up at him.
Harry, trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering, calmly stared back.
Daphne's eyes darted to his momentarily trembling shoulders. 'How bad will it hurt?'
'I'm not going to lie; it will be painful, draining, and shocking.' Seeing her rising concern, he ran a finger two inches across his underarm to mimic a cut. 'This far – not longer! Do you understand? This far! Promise me you'll remember! No further – this far!'
'B– But I don't understand!'
'You don't need to right now. Promise!'
She looked in confusion at his eyes, failing to understand. 'I promise,' she whispered.
He sighed, feeling immensely relieved. 'The wound will heal momentarily, but due to the nature of the magic involved, the mark will be visible for a few weeks. You'll have to wear charmed bandages to conceal it. More relevantly, you'll feel exhausted and weak for a few days a– afterwards but that's about it. Anyway …' he continued, trying to gloss over the treasonous stutter, but Daphne had none of it.
Her hand, swathed in a tantalising hint of satin, shot out from under the blanket, grabbing his exposed arm. 'You're freezing!' she said with the tone of a serious accusation.
'I– I'm fine.'
'Harry, you're literally shaking from the cold!'
'Merlin, fine! Why did you leave the window open like that?!'
'I like sleeping with a lot of fresh air,' she replied mysteriously. 'Come on!' She held up one edge of the blanket. 'I won't bite.'
With a sigh, Harry made to lie down on the edge of the bed, but Daphne's glare froze him in place. 'Harry, you're still wearing your shoes!'
Obediently, Harry took off his shoes and socks.
'… and I won't allow you under the blanket with the clothes you wear all day!'
'What?!'
'You heard me. Use your common sense!'
'But I sat on your bed with my robes on just seconds ago!'
'That was then. And sitting isn't the same!'
Harry had never regretted his lack of prowess with conjuration more than right at that moment. For a few seconds, he hesitated – until Daphne raised another mocking eyebrow. 'What – want me to turn away?'
'You're really used to getting your way, aren't you?' said Harry reproachfully.
Daphne merely grinned.
Uncomfortably aware of Daphne's unabashed gaze, he pulled his robes over his head, folding it with unnecessary fussiness. When he turned around, Daphne was still smiling at him.
After a few wobbly seconds of uncertainty and embarrassment, he stripped out of his trousers faster than he'd ever done before, practically diving for the blanket.
Daphne, giggling, made space for him. 'I'm afraid you won't be the best bride ever anymore, Harry – now that you've been seen in your underwear. Scandalous!'
'Funny,' grumbled Harry, lying stiffly on his back.
Seemingly unaffected by the situation, Daphne turned on her right shoulder, away from him but snuggling close. 'How long do you think it's been since we last slept together like this?' she mumbled.
'Five years?' Harry guessed, still staring at the ceiling.
'I've, you know, always slept best with someone to cling to.'
Daphne sneaked her hand around, taking his left hand in hers, drawing it over her. The rest of Harry's body followed naturally. Every muscle suddenly seemed on edge, and he could feel her body heat through her decidedly too thin nightgown. She was so close, he was reluctant to even breathe. Every breath he took was awash with the flowery perfume of her hair, her very own secret scent.
Daphne's soft hand clasped around his, bringing it all the way around to her front, where she clutched it with both of her hands as if her life depended on it. Harry felt his tongue go dry.
'Harry?' she asked, sounding as if she wanted to make sure he was still here.
'Yeah?'
'You … you never told me what my father said to you that day.'
Unbidden, ghosts of the past whispered eerie echoes of old vows into Harry's ears. Promise me!
Harry could feel every breath Daphne took, her hands still clutching his over her bosom. Promise me!
The words he wanted to say got stuck in Harry's throat. 'What are you talking about?' he croaked instead.
Daphne's nails dug painfully into his hand, drawing him even closer to her, her entire body nestled to his, her voluptuous bottom pressing against his–
Bad Harry!
Harry felt as if he had a fever, and he didn't know what to do with his hand that was pressed against Daphne's bust. What was it you usually did with hands?! Were they always such useless, needlessly twitchy fleshy things?
He lay there, trying to hold on to his slipping sanity, desperately picturing the ugly old hag he'd seen down Knockturn Alley last week or even chilly winter mornings until – despite the turmoil of his feelings – he finally realised that Daphne was trembling even underneath the blanket.
It took him another moment to realise that she wasn't cold.
Feeling disgusted with himself, he pulled her closer on his own accord, holding her fast, waiting for the tears and the fears and the nightmares of the past to dissolve in his embrace.
'It'll be all right,' he muttered into her ear. 'I'm still here, it'll be okay, you'll see.'