Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K Rowling.

Chapter 64: Scales

-Hermione-

After leaving Harry and Greengrass to themselves, I'd gone straight to the common room, sitting down in one of the armchairs, waiting and waiting. I thought through a hundred different scenarios and lies I could tell Harry, as to make my pact with Helena stay silent.

It wasn't until several hours later, when the sky was blue as ink outside, that the fat lady swung aside to reveal Harry. His hair was a mess, more so than usual, and there was a noticeable blush to his cheeks.

When his eyes spotted me, his visage fell grim. I waited for him to sit down, but he did not.

He stood in front of me, the fireplace roaring behind him. "Why did you try to obliviate Daphne?" he said, voice solid as iron.

My response died on my tongue, all those ideas, and I still didn't know which one to present. "I didn't want her to remember our meeting," I said.

"Oh really? Who could have guessed?" The fire seemed to shrink in size behind him. "What did you want her to forget?"

"I had one of the ghosts help me with something, I didn't want her to know about it," I said bluntly. "That's that."

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line. "It was the Grey Lady who helped you, no?"

I nodded. Harry's eyes flashed at the mention, curious.

"What did she help you with?"

This was the hard part. "She. . ." I tried to fake a blush, doing what Helena had taught me to do. "She helped me. . . find out how Finch-Fletchley looks like, down there, you know? She can look inside rooms while being inside the walls, you know?"

"If that is true," Harry said. "It is a gross invasion of privacy."

I shrugged. "I don't want to date someone who. . ." I blushed, for real at that time. "Well, you know."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and a thin smile on his lips. "I see I made the right decision then, not helping you, if this is how you use your knowledge."

I scoffed. "Really? But it's okay to help Greengrass, who bullied all of us?"

"I haven't helped her with anything," I said. "My stance doesn't change just because I face a different opponent."

"Is that how you see us? As 'opponents'?"

"You make it quite hard not to, when you're trying to obliviate my– my girlfriend."

"So you're back together now?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. . . kind of." He sat down in the armchair to my left. "She's very good looking, Daphne," Harry said, out of nowhere. "And she desperately wants to make me happy. . ." He shrugged again, a sort of casual indifference about it. "She's a great kisser, and hopefully, more than that, soon."

I scoffed. "You're only together with her for kissing and sex?"

Harry stared inside the fireplace, as if looking for something, but I didn't get the impression he found whatever he was looking for. "At least I'm not using legilimency on my closest friends," he said. "Hermione, I'd be careful if I were you. Don't cross the line, okay? Because if you do, I'll be there and tell everyone what you've done."

"Why even let me walk free?" I wondered.

"You're not free," he said. "Every single day, you'll wake up terrified that you'll set a foot wrong, and that I'll tell everyone. Every time you laugh, it will be forced. Every time you try to sleep, your mind will drift towards what would happen if I told everyone."

Harry stood up, and smiled at me.

"Would you call that freedom?"

-()-

-Daphne-

I didn't deserve it, but Harry had given me a second chance; or rather, a third chance.

This time, I was going to clutch that chance like I would die if I let it go. When Harry started to kiss me back, and when he pushed me down upon the field of grass, I'd realised that I wanted nothing else more than that. I gave myself up, and felt the emotion rush through my body.

I didn't sleep at all that night, I laid in bad twisting and turning, unable to leave Potter behind. It was as if he was in bed with me, kissing me, touching me.

That was also when I realised that I really would have wanted him to be.

The next morning, when I had to climb out of bed like a zombie, it felt like I had the worst hangover.

I didn't see Harry at all the next day, not a single lesson was shared, nor mealtimes. I was halfway through the door out of the common room, when another memory creeped upon me, another memory, from the day before, which had been lying beneath all the others: the encounter with Granger.

I'd been without a chance, unable to even resist her attack for a moment. That had to change, and I knew someone who could make that happen. Only that he didn't want to do it.

But what if he had to teach me?

I was frozen in the doorframe, torn between rushing to the room to meet him, and walking back inside, to get the plan in motion.

If he ever found out, he would be furious. I wouldn't get a fourth chance. On the other hand, Draco hadn't told Harry about anything else, why would he tell him about this?

Was that a chance I was willing to take?

Draco liked me, if I played my cards right, he would never tell Harry.

-()-

-Draco-

My eyes were fixed on the inside of the cabinet, as if they couldn't believe what was inside it. The small, frail little bird was chirping just as if it had been outside in a wide forest.

It worked, I thought, ready to explode because finally.

It worked, I thought, feeling my stomach churn.

This couldn't be real. Potter had found out about it months ago. Why hadn't he done anything? It couldn't be real.

But the bird –which had been transported to Borgin and Burkes and back– spoke differently. If I wanted, Macnair, Dolohov, Lestrange, all of them, would appear the very next day.

But Potter knew, therefore, he must be prepared. If Potter knew, Dumbledore probably knew too.

Voldemort didn't know though.

There was a scale in front of me, next to the cabinet, old and dusted, with a green paint which had been partly peeled off. It was perfectly balanced.

On one side of the scale, I saw my mother, back home, hugging me and father, but just behind her, there was a pile of bodies, too many to count.

On the other side, I saw people walking around in Diagon Alley, smiling and pointing at the brooms on display in the stores, but at the end of the street, my mother's head lay, with a large pool of red beneath it.

I slammed the door shut. I had finished the mission; I could bring them to the castle and kill Dumbledore.

I looked up at the scale, both sides refused to move.

-()-

"Draco!"

I turned around, and saw her coming towards me, Daphne.

"Can we talk, in private?"

I was on my way back from Herbology.

"Sure," I said, following in her step slowly.

Just that morning, I'd seen her before defence class started; she'd been standing with Potter, smiling at him like he'd said the funniest thing in the world, but they had both been quiet.

"What is it?" I said, looking just to the right of Daphne.

"I need your help," Daphne said bluntly. She sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry about earlier, Draco," she said. "But I must make Potter think that I like him." She was looking at her feet.

"We're not–"

"I know Draco," she said. "But I–" Daphne froze in the middle of her sentence, she looked up from me, and somehow, without even saying it, I understood.

"I– I need to be able to defend myself," Daphne said. "And there is no person better to teach me than Potter." She spat his name out as if it was a lemon. "But he doesn't want to teach me." Daphne took a short step closer, so that our bodies were mere centimetres from touching.

I felt heat run up my neck, just as my heart started beating like a drum.

She smiled at me, I wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"I need to convince him to help me," Daphne said.

I swallowed, and looked inside her eyes, her pretty blue eyes. "What can I do about it?" I whispered.

There was a flash of triumph in her eyes, but it was gone in an instant. "Everything," she said.

-()-

-Daphne-

It was done. I only had to wait.

I wanted to punch the face I saw in the mirror. What if Potter found out about this? Then, there would be no more holding hands, no more banter, no more laughter.

But somehow, I felt that the plan would work. Planning and executing was thrilling, exhilarating. Nothing was like it.

I had to trust Draco; he knew what he was doing. He. . . loved me, he'd do anything if it meant that he could be with me.

It would work, I assured myself. It would work.

Draco looked like a little porcelain doll when I spoke to him, as if he was about to break at a single touch; but that didn't stop me from dropping him from the billionth floor. Draco didn't know he was falling, and when he hit the ground. . .

I applied some makeup slowly to my face, combed my hair gently.

Potter and I would meet in the room tonight, and I would remind him why he shouldn't think twice about his decision to give me another chance.

-()-

-Draco-

"Can I count on you?" I said sternly.

The two seventh years exchanged a glance. "You're sure Potter won't find out?" Craster said, frowning.

I shook my head. "How would he? No one will ever see you, and I will speak with a couple of people to vouch for you."

The pair exchanged another glance. "When will we get the meeting?"

"Summer," I said. "But you'll only get one chance, the Dark Lord doesn't have time to meet every single aspiring little teenager. This is your opportunity to prove yourselves."

They exchanged one last look. "Okay," Horner said. "We'll do it, but I'm telling you man, if we don't get that meeting. . ."

I folded my arms. "You'll do what?" I said. "An attack on me is an attack on the Dark Lord. Do you want to be outed as a traitor, Horner?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. . . sir. We'll do it, for the Dark Lord."

The pair left, leaving me staring after them.

This was crazy, absolutely crazy.

Yet I felt more hopeful than I had in weeks. Daphne didn't like Potter.

She was working against him.

For me.

The scale was moving, each arm rising, the lowering. It was ever so slowly slowing down. I felt like I knew which one would weigh heavier.

-()-

-Harry-

"Master," I said. "I've been wondering about something?"

Rowena looked up from her book. "Oh?"

"Yes, about the last horcrux."

"Go on."

I cleared my throat. "What kind of defence do you think it'll have? Do you know?"

Rowena shut her book. "Let's not just sit around and talk, we can duel in the meantime."

I stood up, following her inside the room. "If I hadn't known otherwise, I'd have said that you were enjoying this."

"Blasphemous," Rowena said, smiling. Without a signal, she started her attack, a slow and lousy tempo, one I knew that she knew that I could match.

"The locket will make you angry," Rowena said between bursts of spells. "It'll make you suspicious of your best friend, doubtful of your closest confidant and anxious in your own self. The only thing you will have complete confidence in is the locket itself."

I fired a stream of fire towards her, at the same time as conjuring a pair of lions who charged her from behind. I could see Rowena smile as the tempo increased and increased; every second, the beat went quicker.

"So it won't be anything like the diary?" I said. "Even though Jennefer's brother has been with it a long time?"

"Creating a body from a horcrux is only possible by two ways, one you know, the other is the way the diary did it."

I was struck in the chest and sent flying into the air.

"What!?" I said. "What is the way I'm supposed to know?"

Rowena tilted her head. "You've seen it, haven't you?"

I sat up, panting slightly. "That was Voldemort's 'main' part which got resurrected, not one of his horcruxes," I said.

"It's the same principle, and ingredients."

"So theoretically, if Voldemort gets his hand on the horcrux again, we could have to kill two of him?"

Rowena chuckled to herself, starting our duel anew. "He won't," she said. "He hasn't just split his soul, Harry, but also his mind. What if the horcrux he resurrected has changed its mind during its time trapped inside the container?"

I spun on the spot, and ducked as two spears flew just above my waist. "You think they will fight each other?"

"Could," Rowena said. "But two parts are essentially two different people, and the longer they're apart, the longer they've had to increase their differences."

Rowena conjured a huge golem, thirty feet tall –purple– and sent it running towards me. I narrowed my eyes and started dancing.

"But what if he realised that they still had the same goal?" I said. The notion of two Voldemort's was much scarier than the golem in front of me.

"He still won't do it," Rowena said, smiling as she observed my struggle, all without lifting a finger. "He won't want to share the power, even if it means sharing it with a part of himself. . . Also, if you resurrect a horcrux, it ceases to be a horcrux."

The golem disintegrated into ash by my work. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I put out, as sweat was pouring down my forehead.

Rowena shielded my feeble attacks lazily, as if she was playing with a child. "You cut the connection between the horcrux and the body," she said. "It doesn't prevent the other part from dying anymore."

"Aha," I said.

I tried to focus on the duel, feel the beat beneath my feet, move to the rhythm of the fight; but I had started out of sync, as shown when the wand sailed out of my grasp.

"You lacked focus today," Rowena said. "That won't be tolerated again."

"You were the one who wanted to have a conversation in the middle of the duel," I pointed out.

Rowena raised her eyebrows. "That's something which might happen during a fight. . . or you will face two or three people at once."

"Yeah yeah, I get it, multitasking, right?"

"Call it what you will," Rowena said. "As long as you don't die."

I sat back down in the armchair, closing my eyes to only breathe for a moment. "I wonder if Voldemort has thought about resurrecting a horcrux," I said.

"Maybe he did," Rowena said, picking up her book again. "But there is only him, Nagini and the locket left. If he resurrects one, there is only one preventing him from dying."

"Unless he creates more," I said. "Would that be possible?"

Rowena shrugged. "It's possible, theoretically, but if he does, I'd say that he is just as likely to kill himself as splitting the soul successfully."

"Great," I said.

Two horcruxes; then Voldemort.

If only Jennefer's brother would come home soon. . .

-()-

-Rowena-

The sun kept creeping gradually closer to the horizon, as if it was scared of leaving the grounds in darkness. The huge lake reflected the brilliant sun back at me like it was a huge mirror.

Not for the first time, I looked around the huge clearing we'd created. This was the place.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me, they were slow, calculated and precise; I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Is this the third time they've snuck away this week?" Salazar said, and sat down on the log, next to me.

I shrugged. "I've lost track, I don't really mind."

Salazar stood up, his face twisted into a solemn frown he always wore. "Well, I fucking do, if I have to see– If I have to see Helena naked one more fucking time in the forest I'll turn the two of them into fucking trolls."

"I thought you were of the opinion Godric already was a troll?"

"He fucking looks like it," Salazar said. "And thinks like it, to be honest."

I smiled. "He's strange," I said. "But he's in love, so were we once, no?"

"He's in love alright," Salazar said, polishing the ring on his finger with the hem of his robe. "But–" he broke off, and didn't speak again.

"Did Ludogeretz know anything of value?" I asked; Salazar had just returned from the mainland, where he'd been looking for help for our rock.

"Nah," Salazar said. "Might as well have asked the fucking horse, that would have given better insight." He hummed thoughtfully. "Rowena, I want to talk about something, about the rock."

I arched a brow, but followed him inside the provisional house we'd built. It was made of logs from the trees Godric and Helena had cleared.

"Any word on Helga?" I said.

"Nothing," Salazar said. "But she's actually got a family, so I'll excuse it."

"So do you," I pointed out.

"A family who doesn't want to impale her with fucking stakes, then," Salazar said. He sat down in his little armchair, making it scream in anguish. "The rock, Rowena," he said. "It's fucked."

"We'll figure it out," I assured him. "The rune pattern we came up with last week should work perfectly."

Salazar stood up again and started to pace back and forth in the small room. The fire was crackling gently in the background. "It won't," he said. "It crumbles like a piece of burnt bread when we put it to use."

"We've not started the self-regulation," I said. "Once we get that done, it should be able to sort itself out."

Salazar froze in his tracks, the fire was right behind him, leaving his face in darkness. "Rowena!" he snapped, making me wince. "It's not going to fucking work! We might as well try to transfigure the moon into god damn cheese, that'll be easier."

He clenched his hands into fists, and fell into the armchair again. "I don't get how you created her," he said. "I get that the rock is more complicated, but still, I ain't got a single clue of how you created her."

"We can't use the same method," I said coldly, leaving no room for debate.

"Why?" Salazar said, his emerald green eyes looking at me, narrowed as if I was about to lunge at him.

"What do you think?" I said. "I can't be because she is a human and the rock will be a fucking school?" I smiled sweetly, seeing Salazar's jaw clench in annoyance.

"What's the difference?" he said. "She thinks and walks and fucks like any other human, why the fuck couldn't we just do the same thing, just tweak it a little?"

I scoffed. "Are those the qualities you want in a school?" I folded my hands neatly in my lap, trying to put my thoughts into words. "Do you want to know why I never told anyone how I made Helena?"

Salazar smiled. "Because you're a greedy bitch who hoards all her knowledge?"

"That's coming from the condescending bastard who can't even go near his own wife for fear of his life," I replied. "No, the reason I never told anyone –not even Helena– was because it's fucking evil, Salazar. Really, fucking evil."

He raised his eyebrows. "Ah yes, because the five of us are such symbols of virtue?"

"I don't want Helena to see it," I said.

Salazar shook his head. "You're the smartest person I know, Rowena, but you're a goddamn idiot when it comes to your daughter."

"Thank you," I said. "But insulting me won't change my stance, I'll teach her everything, except that."

Salazar curled his lips into a cruel, condescending smile, as if I was a little child. "You do realise that Helena would have no qualms about doing whatever needs to be done to create the school right?"

"That's why I don't want to teach it to her."

"You don't have to teach her, only me," Salazar said. "The two of us can do it, now, together."

I chewed on my lip for a moment. "Do you know what, Salazar? I lied about Helena."

Salazar raised his eyebrows. "What? You came up with that whole elaborate story of how you 'created' her because you didn't want to admit that you fucked some stableboy?"

I glared at him. "Helena has no father, you know that as well as I do. No, I lied about creating life, because I didn't do it."

"Really? So what is Helena, an elaborate inferi?"

I shook my head. "No, Salazar," I said, feeling my heart beating, it felt like putting a lid on a cauldron about to explode. "I didn't create Helena out of nothing. I. . . Shall we say that I cut off a stalk of myself and planted it in new soil?"

Salazar's eyes narrowed. "The soul," he said. "You didn't?"

I nodded.

He leaned back in his armchair. "Alright," he said. "Let's do it that way then."

I could see it in his eyes, they were solid as iron; he had decided.

Salazar smiled to himself, the shadows dancing across his pale features. "It's time to see how much we really want this fucking school."

-()-

-Harry-

She was a twig. A small, frail little twig which anyone could step on, and make it snap.

Daphne looked like an angel, resting against the pure white of the hospital bed. Her blonde hair was sprawled out around her, like she was a golden saint.

"We're looking for the attackers," Dumbledore said. "But I fear it will be tricky to find them."

"Malfoy is a Death Eater," I reminded the headmaster. "It's not impossible that–"

"Do you really believe so?" Dumbledore said.

I bit my lip. I didn't believe he'd done it; Malfoy may be a horrible person, but he loved Daphne; that was as clear as the sun in the sky.

"How long until she recovers?" I said, staring down at her emotionlessly. I felt strangely detached, standing above her. It was a scale, made of cold iron and sharp bolt. On one side, the knowledge that Daphne was in the hospital because of me weighed heavy, pushing with all its might towards the ground.

On the other side rested the knowledge that Daphne had betrayed me, tried to kill me, that weight too, was dull and enormous.

The scale went back and forth, seemingly unable to decide what to do.

"She should wake up in about an hour," Dumbledore said. "Pomfrey will fix her broken arm overnight, and as you can see, all the facial transfigurations are gone."

I swallowed; it had felt like a voyage through time when I walked inside the infirmary, seeing the pig's visage back in all its ugly glory.

"Good," I said. "I'll find out who did this, if you don't, headmaster."

"Professor Snape is investigating as we speak, so is Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector."

I scoffed. "Some real professional detectives you've got there. I hope they find out who did it, because if they don't, whoever did it will regret it."

Dumbledore stood up. "I won't allow you to do anything, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice sharp as steel. "I've given you a lot of leeway, but there are some bounds I recommend you do not cross."

I remained silent for a minute. "I'd like some time alone with my girlfriend, headmaster, if that is okay," I said, turning away from him and back to Daphne.

I heard the footsteps echo against the stone, and soon after the swish as the door opened and closed.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," I said, honest to her, for once. She was a little twig, and she'd been way near snapping, out of nowhere, by people who were most likely nobodies.

The arms of the scale went up and they went down, every minute the different sides seemed to change weight.

-()-

-Daphne-

They weren't supposed to have broken an arm. They weren't supposed to have broken anything, actually.

The hospital wing laid in complete darkness, the doors shut, Madam Pomfrey no doubt sound asleep.

I winced as I looked at my arm again, regrowing the arm with skele-gro felt like breaking it a thousand times over. Perhaps it was for the better though, it made the story more believable when I got some lasting damage, even a scar.

Not for the first time, I slid the hem of my shirt up and stared at the thin, pale line stretching itself across my skin. I stared at it as if it was going to come alive at any instant, and squirm itself around my body.

Everything depended on Harry, if he felt guilty enough, I'd won. If he didn't, I'd have to live with it.

The next time I opened my eyes, the hospital wing was bright again, the sun barely managing to intrude through the thick clouds in the sky.

A small plate with food was resting next to me, the heat rising off it together with a brilliant scent.

As I sat eating, I didn't notice the swish from the opening of doors, nor did I hear the pale footsteps.

"Good morning," Harry said, sitting down in a chair next to me.

"Hey," I said and put the plate down on the nightstand again.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, all things considered, they only broke one arm."

"That's one arm too many," Harry said. "Who did it?"

"I don't know," I said; and that was the truth, I had no idea who Draco had recruited.

"I'll find them," Harry said. "Whoever did it needs to be made an example."

"An example of what?"

Harry's green eyes flashed. "An example of what happens if one attacks me. . . or my friends."

"Is that what I am, a friend?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Me, friends and girlfriends, then."

I raised my eyebrows. "Girlfriends? Are you telling me you have several of them again?"

"I thought we established that I had five, six, now that you're one of them." Harry stood up from his chair, and started to pace in front of me. "You should eat," he said.

"I have."

Harry refused to look at me as he was pacing back and forth, I could practically see the cogs in his head turning, as he was thinking, weighing each decision.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," Harry said. "I just want you to know, I am sorry."

"For what?"

"You know why. You're in here because of me."

I nodded slowly. "Perhaps, but I knew the danger when I became your– your girlfriend," I said.

"You got off lucky," Harry said, frowning deeper. "They could have done far, far worse than breaking your arm. This can't happen again. . ."

Could it have worked?

"If this–" I gestured to myself in bed. "–is the price of being your boyfriend, I think it's rather worth it," I said with a wink. "But there is something you could do to make me feel better."

"Really?" he said, his eyebrows raised. "Like what?"

"Come closer, I'll whisper it in your ear."

Harry stood still for a moment, looking me in the face. "You're not subtle, you know," he said; but he leaned in, meeting my lips fiercely.

Once we were done, both of us were red enough to not be able to look at each other, Harry stood up. "I'll come and visit you after classes," he said. "I may even do your homework for you."

"I'd be really grateful if you did," I said, smiling at him.

Harry looked at me for a few moments, as if I was a complicated problem that needed to be solved. "I'll be back," he said. "I'll be back."

-()-

-Harry-

"Good work today, Harry," my master said as we walked outside the room. "You're improving."

"Thank you," I said.

I sat down in the armchair, looking inside the fire. It didn't take long before an image of the hospital wing appeared in the flames.

Daphne was resting, her eyes closed. There was no trace of what had happened less than a day ago, but I could see it as clearly as I could see her.

"What should I do, master?" I said, dragging my eyes from the girl.

"About your girlfriend?"

I nodded. "It's my fault she's in the crosshairs," I said. "I should help her to learn to defend herself."

"Mhm."

"But on the other hand, if I teach her, she'll know that she can fight."

Rowena raised her eyebrows.

"She should use fighting as a last resort, as a last exit when running or fleeing isn't possible, but she won't do that if she knows how to properly fight."

Rowena smiled. "That was the first thing I taught you, and it worked pretty well, no?"

"Did it?" I asked, sceptical. "Right now, I go everywhere, fighting one enemy and the next, because I can."

"She won't become as good as you," Rowena pointed out. "She won't have the time nor the effort to."

"Maybe. . ." I looked inside the flames again, at Daphne. "Is it okay with you, me teaching her?"

Rowena's hands were folded neatly in her lap. "Don't teach her everything," Rowena said. "Be careful. . . not even I teach you everything I know."

"Really, what is it that you haven't taught me?"

Rowena looked at me pointedly. "I think I've told you what: how to make horcruxes."

A thought struck me. "Did you teach Helena?"

Rowena smiled at me, though it looked as if she was in great pain contracting her muscles to do so. "Why do you think she is a ghost?"

"Fair point," I said. "Did you ever teach anyone?"

Rowena looked at me for a few moments, chewing her lips. "You and Helena are my only apprentices."

"Is that a no?"

"I found a way to split the soul for another purpose," Rowena said.

"What purpose?" I said, feeling a cold curiosity.

"That, too, is something I won't teach you, Harry."