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This story is a collaboration work between Avoranger and Cal the Wandcrafter!
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A/N: This chapter has through rewriting. Have fun to reread and enjoy the chapter for the new reader!
Daphne awoke with a start, a familiar shiver rippling beneath her pillow. It was her wand, vibrating with a pulsating urgency that could only mean one thing: duty called. With a groan, she dragged herself from the warm embrace of her bed, her limbs protesting as she battled against the crushing exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. The past week had been a gruelling marathon of triple shifts and the torturous schedule made her body ache with the effort of keeping up with the relentless pace of the Ministry's Internal Affairs department. The three hour nights of sleep and hellish schedule gave rise to the temptation to stay wrapped up in her cocoon of warmth and softness, Daphne knew that she couldn't succumb to the seductive pull of slumber. Not today.
It was her friend Tracey who weighed most heavily on her mind. Daphne's closest friend had been struck down by a mysterious curse during the Battle of Hogwarts, just barely managing to survive the heavy damage to her spinal cord and brainstem. Every year on the anniversary of that fateful day, her condition worsened for the weeks leading up to and trailing the event and Daphne had always happily taken on Tracey's workload, ensuring that she received the intensive therapy and medication she needed to survive.
As a member of the raiding team, Daphne had no respite from her duties. The team captain, Mario Geto, was unrelenting in his demands, insisting that they stick to the schedule no matter what. Tracey's absence had left a gaping hole that needed to be filled, and Daphne, her closest confidante, had been chosen to take on her responsibilities. Managing the evidence and preparing for any disciplinary hearings was no easy task, and the weight of the work was crushing. Daphne longed for the comfort of her bed, the sweet embrace of sleep, but she knew that her duty lay elsewhere.
Daphne stumbled towards the bathroom, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The soft light of the morning sun filtered in through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. She splashed cold water on her face, hoping to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. But the fatigue clung to her like a shroud, dragging at her every move.
As she brushed her teeth, Daphne stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked haggard, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair in disarray. But she refused to let the weariness show. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and reminded herself of her purpose: to help Tracey, to serve her team, and to do her duty to the Ministry.
With a deep breath, Daphne made her way to her closet. She pulled out her uniform, a crisp white blouse and black trousers, and dressed quickly. She tied her hair back in a neat ponytail and slipped on her shoes. She picked up her wand, feeling its weight and warmth in her hand, and tucked it into her pocket before heading down the hallway of her family home.
She reached the kitchen and paused for a moment, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The coffee machine sat on the counter, gleaming in the morning light. Her fiance had given it to her as a gift, a small token of his love and support. She smiled at the thought of him, of his warm embrace and his gentle voice. He had been her rock during these long weeks of triple shifts, and she was grateful for his presence in her life.
Daphne poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing the bitter warmth. She closed her eyes, letting the caffeine seep into her veins, and tried to focus on the task ahead. Today would be a raid on the Department of Mysteries, one of the most secretive and mysterious divisions of the Ministry. The Unspeakables were known for their formidable powers and their ruthless tactics against any form of accountability, and Daphne knew that they would be a formidable foe. But she was determined to see it through, to do her part and to help her team succeed.
She took one last look around the kitchen, at the familiar objects and the comforting smells, and then made her way to the front door. She stepped out into the cool morning air, feeling the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair. She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of purpose settle over her. She was ready to face whatever the day had in store, to do her duty, and to help those who needed her. "One more day," she said aloud to herself. "Tonight I get a full night of sleep, and then a full weekend off." She smiled, feeling a sense of hope and determination. The fatigue clung to her like a weight, dragging at her every move, but she refused to show it. She was a member of the Internal Affairs Raiding Team, a soldier in the war against corruption, and she would not let her weariness show. She was ready.
The next morning was just as brutal for Daphne, as she peeled open her bleary eyes and struggled to rise from her restless slumber. Her limbs felt like they were made of lead, heavy and unresponsive, and the mere act of moving felt like a Herculean task. With a groan, she shifted onto her side, her eyelids still drooping with the weight of exhaustion, and caught a glimpse of her calendar perched on the nightstand beside her bed. But as she squinted at the day's date, the calendar seemed to sneer back at her with a wicked glint in its eye, taunting her with the reminder of the appointment she had marked for today.
Sleep, that elusive mistress, had evaded her once again despite all her prayers to the contrary, leaving her feeling like a walking corpse. The only silver lining in this dismal cloud was the thought of seeing her fiance, Harry, for breakfast before they embarked on a marathon 72-hour snuggle and movie session.
With a heavy heart, Daphne heaved herself out of bed, her legs shaky and unsteady beneath her. She stumbled towards the washroom, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and exhaustion. The cool water splashed over her face, and as if by magic, the fog of sleepiness began to lift, allowing her mind to clear. Despite the weariness that clung to her like a heavy cloak, Daphne's heart lifted at the thought of seeing Harry. They had planned this breakfast date a week ago, and with both of them having the day off, there was no reason to cancel it. 'Besides,' she admitted to herself, 'I don't think I've had the time to eat in two days.' But then reality hit her like a ton of bricks - She was exhausted beyond measure, and the clock on the wall seemed to be ticking at an impossible pace. With a heavy heart, she realised she had very little time left to get ready. She grabbed her bag from the previous day and ran towards the fireplace, her father's amused headshake following her out the door. With a swift motion, she tossed the floo powder into the flames and silently shouted her destination, eager to start her day with the man she loved.
Daphne darted through the busy pub, her heart racing with anxiety as she searched for Harry. The sea of people felt suffocating, and every second that passed felt like an eternity. She wondered if she would ever find him amidst the chaos.
Finally, his messy hair caught her eye as he disappeared through the door of the Leaky Cauldron. With renewed determination, she pushed her way through the throngs of visitors, apologising profusely as she bumped into them. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her breaths came in short gasps as she called out to him.
"Harry! Harry...wait!" she managed to call out, her voice strained with exhaustion. She could feel the weight of the double shift she had worked the week before in every bone of her body.
She reached out and grabbed onto his coat, using it as an anchor to steady herself. She locked eyes with him, her gaze intense with emotion. The relief at finding him washed over her, like a wave crashing onto the shore.
Harry turned to her with a grin, knowing full well the stress that Daphne had been under lately. As a Auror, he was always under pressure to solve cases quickly and efficiently, and the consequences of failure were dire, and knew that her job was equally as stressful. Harry had witnessed her exhaustion first hand earlier that week when she had come to his department to do a raid. He had seen how hard she worked, how dedicated she was to her job, and he loved her for it.
"Don't worry, I just got here too," he reassured her, sensing her guilt at being late.
Daphne narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" she said bluntly, her voice laced with scepticism.
Harry chuckled. "No, I promise. I had a late night too. Come on, let's get some breakfast." He took her hand and pulled her towards the door, a small smile on his lips. They had both been through a lot lately, but they had each other. And that was enough.
Together, they stepped into the alley, their spirits lifted by the prospect of a relaxing morning and some much-needed sustenance.
With a skip in their step, Harry and Daphne made their way through the bustling Diagon Alley to a small and secluded corner shop near the end of the shopping centre, flanked with a wrap-around porch with white painted tables adorned by pots of flowers. Harry's hand tapped rhythmically on the front door, causing it to open to reveal their destination: Lily's Eatery. It was a quaint little cafe that only served breakfast and lunch, but it held a special place in Harry's heart as it was named after his mother, Lily Evans.
As they approached the eatery, the tantalising aroma of fresh pastries and breakfast foods filled the air. Harry proudly informed Daphne that he had ordered their breakfast in advance, knowing her tastes perfectly. Daphne couldn't help but smile at Harry's thoughtfulness, despite feeling guilty for being late.
Once inside, they settled at a small table near the window, overlooking the bustling street. She could remember the first time she and Harry had eaten there together. They had dined there the previous day along with Harry's Auror partner, and he had took her back the next day for breakfast. As Harry had served the food during what she considered their first date, he had told Daphne about the discovery of his mother's journal in the main Potter Family vault, and how it was something he had only gained access to after dealing with the bank in the aftermath of the war. He had explained that his mother had not only been an expert in charms and potions, but she also had a passion for baking. He showed Daphne a page from the journal where Lily had written about her love for making cakes and desserts. Despite not having much formal training, Lily's talent and love for baking shone through in her creations. So as a tribute to her, he decided to open the cafe under a shell company he had founded, and ever since it had been one of Diagon Alley's best kept secrets - after all, if everyone in the world knew Harry Potter owned a restaurant, there would be no chance in the world he would be able to keep the cafe as the friendly, quaint and quiet little diner he envisioned.
Daphne couldn't help but be charmed by the story, imagining Lily Potter as a young girl baking with her mother during the holidays away from Hogwarts. It was moments like these that made her grateful for Harry's company, and for the warmth and love that radiated from Lily's Eatery.
Harry reached across to take Daphne's hand in his. "You know, I was just thinking about that day we first came here together," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Daphne's heart fluttered at his touch. "Yeah, I remember. You ordered the same thing for me then too, didn't you?" she replied, returning his smile.
Harry chuckled. "Of course. I know you too well."
Her smile was a small thing, but it was there nonetheless, a brief flicker of light before it vanished into the shadows. Daphne looked down at the table, her hands fidgeting with the napkin. "I'm sorry for earlier this week, Harry. I was just doing my job," she said, her voice filled with remorse.
Harry didn't want her to feel guilty, so he spoke up. "You don't have to apologise, Daph. You're a professional, and I understand that," he said, his words a soothing balm to her troubled soul. He knew her well enough to realise that Daphne always felt bad when she had to raid the Auror's Department. It was a trait that he admired in her, but also one that he wished she didn't have.
"But still..." she began, her voice trailing off.
"You did what you had to do. I won't get involved because it's not my place to do so," Harry said firmly. He knew that his boss was furious as well, because the raid had resulted in the confiscation of a lot of evidence, which was going to be used in a disciplinary hearing. "Head Auror Robarts was also angry about it, he nearly threw a paperweight through Jefferson's head. All the Aurors who work in that room are going to be punished."
"They deserve what's coming to them. The laziness and incompetence of those Aurors is staggering," Daphne seethed with disgust, her voice laced with venom. "The amount of evidence that was unlabeled or missing is unbelievable. We'll have to investigate fifteen different convictions now."
Harry watched as Daphne's expression grew darker with every word. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her. He knew how much she cared about her job, and seeing her colleagues' careless mistakes must have been hard.
"I checked your squad's room, by the way. It's clean," Daphne continued, her tone slightly calmer now. "But you might want to check the office next to you. It's really bad," she added, shuddering at the memory.
Their food arrived, and Daphne's attention was momentarily diverted as she searched through her bag. Harry noticed the pained look on her face and asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Oh no, I seem to have forgotten my galleons," Daphne said, her face contorted with regret.
Harry reassured her, "Here at this establishment, we dine for free, my dear Daphne. After all, I do own the place."
Daphne protested, "Nevertheless, it still doesn't sit well with me that you are treating me, especially when we are not yet married."
"But soon enough, my dear, you will be my wife, and this place will be yours as well," Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Business is business, Harry. I still don't like cutting into your profits like this," Daphne retorted.
"Let's eat," Harry suggested, flashing a smile. He didn't want to argue anymore. Daphne pouted but relented, and they began to dine together.
Harry had chosen a delicious spread for Daphne, pancakes dusted with powdered sugar and maple syrup, along with ice cream and berries, while he opted for a full English breakfast. The two ate in silence for a while before Daphne finally broached the topic they were supposed to discuss that morning.
As Daphne sat across from Harry, a slight breeze crept in through the window and rustled the curtains, casting shadows on their faces. She leaned forward, her eyes meeting Harry's.
"Have you reached out to the wedding organiser we decided to hire for our big day?" Daphne's voice was soft, but laced with a tinge of anxiety.
Harry paused, his fork hovering over his plate of food. He swallowed the morsel of chicken he had been chewing on, then wiped his mouth with a napkin before responding.
"Aye, I have," Harry's voice was deep, his words measured. "They confirmed that our preferred date is available, and I have already paid the booking fee," he shrugged, as if the task had been a simple one.
Daphne felt a weight lift from her shoulders, and she let out a sigh of relief. "My mother has been pestering me about it incessantly," she confided. "And I wouldn't know what to say if you hadn't taken care of it. I am glad I won't have to evade her inquiries anymore," she said, a smile lighting up her face.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle at his fiancée's unique behaviour. "Sometimes I wonder who is the one getting married, my mother seems to be the stressing and planning more than both of us," Daphne grumbled, rolling her eyes in frustration.
Harry listened attentively, not daring to interrupt her. He knew that Daphne just wanted to be heard. But in the midst of her rant, he caught a suspicious movement from someone in his peripheral vision.
He quickly diverted his attention to the figure and began tracking their movements, no longer listening to Daphne's tirade. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the person move in and out of the shadows, their identity shrouded in mystery.
Noticing that Harry had stopped listening to her, Daphne followed his line of sight with a furrowed brow. However, she had forgotten her glasses and could not see what Harry was looking at clearly. Despite her attempts to focus her vision, she failed to discern anything.
"What are you looking at?" she demanded impatiently, but Harry only gave her a vague response that further irritated her. He had to protect her, and he couldn't let her in on his suspicions just yet.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in frustration.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Daphne! I have to go!" Harry gave Daphne an apologetic glance before dashing outside to pursue the person he had been observing. His heart raced as he navigated through the crowded street, determined to catch up to the mysterious figure.
Daphne watched in stunned silence as Harry left, but she quickly regained her composure and chased after him, her heart beating faster with each passing moment.
"It's not so easy to shake me off, Harry!" she exclaimed irritably, causing Harry to wince. Daphne was determined to keep up with Harry, her footsteps pounding the pavement with fierce determination. Her fiery spirit burned like a wild flame, and Harry knew that it was futile to try and convince her otherwise. He should have known that once Daphne had set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.
"Easy there, Daphne. Focus and stick close to me," he ordered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. "We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves."
"Who are we after, and why?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. Harry shook his head, silently cursing himself for not giving her more information earlier.
'Harry seems to have forgotten what my job is,' she was still annoyed with Harry momentarily. She was in the DMLE as well, after all.
"Look over there. See that tall bloke with the green scarf and the crooked nose. Walking out of the cauldron shop?" Harry whispered, subtly nodding his head in the direction of the man. "You know about the bombing case? I've seen him lurking around four of the crime scenes during the investigations, and now he's headed towards Olivanders with a large black sack. We've been trying to track him down for months."
She knew what the case he has dealing with. A few days before he had bluntly told the entire IA team about what progress they had made so far during the inspection as he walked them through the evidence room and case files to demonstrate everything was where it should be. The Bombing Case… Daphne would have preferred that he was on the serial killer case over this one, at least it had some actual leads to follow.
The two cases seemed never-ending, like a tangled web that had ensnared the entire wizarding world in its grip. The bombings had started with low-intensity blasts, leaving behind no casualties but spreading fear and panic in their wake. But the situation had escalated quickly, and now there were two large explosions that had claimed the lives of several witches, wizards, and even some innocent muggles.
The serial killer case was no less gruesome, with a trail of bodies left in its wake. It had started with the murder of a head of department's son, and since then, it had claimed the lives of two recent Hogwarts graduates and a shop owner in Hogsmeade. The killer's modus operandi was chillingly consistent - each victim's throat was cut, and their body would burst into flames when touched by forensic experts, leaving nothing behind for investigation. Every lead seemed to end in a dead end, but at least there were connections between the victims, unlike the random and seemingly unconnected bombings that had been driving Harry insane in his attempts to solve.
But Harry and Daphne were not ones to give up easily. They continued down the dimly lit alley, their wands drawn and their senses alert. They could hear the man's footsteps echoing down the alley, the sound of his ragged breathing growing louder with each passing moment.
"Stop right there, sir," Harry said firmly, pointing his wand at the man's chest. The man just giggled, his eyes darting back and forth as he shifted the bag on his shoulder. The man, who had been trying to slink away unnoticed, stopped in his tracks at the sound of Harry's voice. He turned to face the Auror, his eyes narrowing as he sized Harry up. After a moment of tense silence, he chuckled, a low, mocking sound that set Daphne's teeth on edge.
"Ah, an Auror," he said, his voice dripping with mock respect. "And Harry Potter, no less!" He raised his hands slowly, his hunched posture giving him an eerie, menacing quality. His hair was tied back in a greasy, uneven ponytail, and his teeth were yellow and rotting. His clothes were ragged and tattered, stitched together in places with crude, uneven stitches.
Daphne stood beside Harry, her wand at the ready, her eyes never leaving the man's face. She knew that this was no ordinary criminal, that there was something off about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"What's your name?" Harry barked, his wand arm tensing as he fixed the man with a sharp gaze. "And what's in the bag?" His Auror's voice held a commanding edge, cutting through the murky air of Knockturn Alley like a knife. Daphne couldn't help but admire Harry when he was like this. He had a way of taking control of a situation that was both admirable and intimidating.
"It's Wibly," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "And I'm a squib."
Before Harry could say anything, the man reached into his bag and pulled out a lumpy, foul-smelling package. The odour that emanated from the bag was overwhelming, causing Harry's nostrils to flare in disgust.
"Dragon dung," Harry muttered under his breath, cursing his luck. He had been hoping for something more substantial, something that would lead them closer to the Dark wizards they had been tracking for weeks.
The man sneered at Harry's reaction, his mouth twisting into a cruel grin. "Am I carrying something illegal? Last I checked, Squibs are allowed to buy a bag of shit from the Apothecary."
Daphne bristled at the man's insolence, but Harry remained calm. He knew that losing his temper wouldn't do them any good. Instead, he fixed the man with a hard stare.
"If you're carrying anything that could be used for Dark magic, then I have every right to search your bag," Harry said, his voice cold and measured.
The man laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that grated on Daphne's nerves. "Dark Magic… As if. You wizards just love bragging and putting us down. If you want to arrest me, you'll need proof, Harry Potter," he spat, casting a disdainful glance in their direction. "And last time I checked, dragon dung wasn't on the list of banned substances."
With that, the man slung the bag over his shoulder and strode off into the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Harry watched him go, his mind racing with frustration. It seemed like they were always hitting dead ends in this case, always chasing shadows and never finding anything concrete.
"We're not finished here; I haven't told you to leave," Harry repeated, his voice low and firm. His eyes locked onto the suspect's, daring him to make a move. Daphne stood close behind, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
The man's face contorted with rage, his anger so thick it was almost palpable. "You lot are so stubborn! Just because you have magical powers!" he snarled, his fists clenched tightly.
Daphne felt a shiver run down her spine. She had seen Harry in many dangerous situations before, but something about this suspect made her uneasy. He seemed to radiate a malevolent energy that made her skin crawl.
"What do you know about the recent bombings?" Harry cut to the chase, his eyes fixed on the man's face.
The suspect sneered, his lips curling into a mocking grin. "Why are you asking me? I'm hardly capable of blowing up anything without magic," he reasoned, as if he were merely humouring them.
But Harry wasn't fooled by the man's evasions. He stepped closer, his wand held steady in his hand. Daphne mirrored his movements, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.
"I know you know something," Harry said calmly, his voice carrying a steely edge. "I saw you at multiple crime scenes, and every time we try to question you, you always run off into muggle London."
The man's face twisted in a mixture of hate and fear. "You must be mistaken," he said evasively, his eyes flicking from side to side as if searching for an escape route.
But Harry was relentless. As he drew even closer, he noticed a strange tattoo on the man's wrist - a box-shaped design that seemed oddly familiar.
"Nice tattoo," Harry remarked, his eyes fixed on the design. "Where did you get a tattoo like that?"
The man immediately pulled his hand away, his eyes darting around nervously. "None of your business!" he spat, his tone defensive.
Harry's heart raced as he realised the significance of the tattoo. He had seen it before - but where? His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the clues.
"It could be my business if you turn out to be the bomber," Harry replied firmly, his wand at the ready. "Now tell us what you know." His eyes bore into the suspect's, daring him to resist.
"I don't know nothing... I just purchased some fertiliser," Wibly repeated, his voice a high-pitched whine of fear that grated on Harry's nerves. He looked at the man in disgust, noting how the sweat glistened on his forehead and how his eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal. Something about Wibly's statement triggered a memory, but it remained just out of reach. Harry's mind raced as he tried to recall a True Crime show he had watched with Daphne about a devastating bombing in muggle America in the mid 90's. Something about the chemical composition of the bomb…
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden memory that came unbidden to his mind. It was a statement by a witness to one of the attacks, a woman who had survived the blast. She had said that the air smelled foul, like burning sulphur and decaying flesh, the smell of dragon dung. Harry shuddered at the thought of such a horrific odour and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Who instructed you to purchase the fertiliser, and what was it for?!" Harry demanded, grabbing Wibly by his collar. He could feel the man's pulse racing under his fingertips, and he wondered if he was about to have a heart attack.
Daphne intervened, her hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, please, calm down," she said softly, her voice like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
"I won't tell you!" Wibly cackled madly, his eyes bulging with madness. "You'll all perish! Britain will be purged of wizards and witches! Long live the Squibs! This is the price you'll pay for your oppression!"
Daphne's eyes widened in horror as Wibly's delirious ramblings grew more sinister. Harry felt a surge of anger and frustration as he realised that Wibly was not going to cooperate. In a fit of rage, he shoved Wibly to the ground, his wand in hand.
"Harry, let's bring him to the Ministry. We'll sort this out with a proper warrant," Daphne suggested, nodding with assurance.
"You'll come with us to the Ministry for further questioning," Harry declared firmly, his eyes boring into Wibly's.
"I won't let you capture me!" Wibly scrambled to his feet, fumbling with something in his pocket. Despite Harry's efforts to apprehend him, Wibly managed to palm a small vial of an amber liquid, and drop it into the bag of fertiliser. Harry's heart raced as he realised what was happening. He tried to cast a spell to disarm Wibly, but it was too late.
Daphne quickly cast a Patronus to report the arrest to the Ministry, but before the message could be sent, Wibly taunted them with a final threat.
"I'll never be subjugated by you and your filth! I'll take you all down with me!" With a final maniacal laugh he stared at the bag of dung, now glowing a dangerous orange. The burlap sack began to smoke as the liquid in the vial triggered a massive explosion that rocked Diagon Alley. Harry instinctively shielded Daphne, but the blast was too close, and they were both thrown off their feet. The sound of the explosion echoed through the alley, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions. Harry felt a searing pain in his side and knew that he had been hit by something as he and Daphne were thrown off their feet as a massive fireball engulfed them.
The aftermath of the explosion was catastrophic. Harry and Daphne's bodies were torn apart, their blood and flesh scattered across the once-bustling wizarding thoroughfare. As the smoke cleared, the gruesome scene came into view. Nearly a dozen innocent bystanders lay dead or dying, their bodies mangled beyond recognition. The scent of dragon dung lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the heinous act that had just unfolded.
But something strange happened amidst the chaos. As the explosion rocked the alleyway, a forgotten object inside Daphne's purse was hurled out and shattered on impact. It was a half-repaired time turner, a powerful artefact that had been illegally hidden in a Department of Mysteries employee's cubicle. Daphne had discovered it during her exhaustive week and had planned to return it to the Ministry, but it had been overlooked when her week of exhaustion finally ended with her almost passing out before she made it to the floo. The impact of the shockwave burst the glass, sending the sands of time flying out as their souls, unbeknownst to anyone, were transported back in time to the year 1995, to the very moment when the tattoos on the bomber's wrist were first inked.
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