Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K Rolwing.
Chapter 58: Happy Holidays
-Harry-
The castle was all but abandoned on Christmas Eve. I strolled around the place, admiring the icy patterns on the windows and the grounds, which were covered beneath a soft layer of white.
Despite the warm, flickering torches and Christmas trees at every corner, the place felt despondent, as if someone had forgotten to close the door, making all the warm air swoosh out swiftly.
The evening descended upon the castle in silence, I knew there was going to be a celebration in the Great Hall for all of those who didn't go home over the holidays. I had no intention of going there, not only would I feel out of place, I would also miss another place, the place which I was currently going to.
The silver door was there, as it had been for over two years. I entered it and was embraced by the purple warmth of the torch. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I entered, it felt like walking inside a volcano after being stuck in a biting hurricane.
My master was wearing a -unsurprisingly- purple knitted sweatshirt. She smiled when I entered the room.
I fell down into my armchair with a relaxed sigh.
Rowena sat down, a little more gracefully, in her own seat. "I didn't know you were this exhausted," she remarked.
"I'm not," I said, my eyes closed.
Despite my lack of vision, I could sense her rolling her eyes. "I can tell," she said dryly. There was a brief pause. "I wanted to ask you something."
I opened my eyes and sat up a little straighter. "Yes?"
My master folded her hands neatly. "You and Greengrass, are you a pair now?"
I sat like a question mark for a moment and scratched my neck. "I don't know. Maybe? I don't know. Perhaps?"
"Comprahendable answer," she remarked. "It doesn't really matter. What does matter is the question of her loyalty: towards you, or someone else."
I remained silent for a moment, truly trying to take a step back and do what I had been told so many times.
Rowena continued, "you like her, I get that, Harry. But are you sure -absolutely sure- that she does the same? You made this mistake with Delcaour, I won't allow you to do the same one again."
"This is different from Delacour," I said evenly. "Don't even try to compare them."
"Is it really?" my master said. "Greengrass has countless reasons to want revenge on you, do I even need to tell you this?" Rowena watched the fire with a frown. "I know how you feel Harry, it feels like you've just met someone who is perfect, someone who makes you smile no matter when or where or what. But please, Harry, now, more than ever, it is imperative that you think. Don't feel. Think rationally."
And there it was: I tried to remember every encounter with Greengrass, every look, every word, every flash of emotion on her face.
She was angry at me, I knew that. Despite everything, she was different ever since the end of last year.
Things were going quickly forwards between the two of us; could it be possible that she was simply trying to get close to me? Could she be a spy?
Yes. Yes she could.
I felt like a Tornados fan pressed into the Night Bus, which was full of Canons fans. Everywhere I went, every person I met, there was no one whom I could trust.
No one.
I shook my head, trying to push my uncomfortable thoughts about my master into obscurity. "I can't be certain," I whispered.
Greengrass' face flashed in my memory, her eyes just before she leaned in and kissed me. The longing, the warmth, the desire, could those things be faked?
Rowena hummed. "Then you already know what you must do. I don't have to tell you."
"You don't," I said.
Rowena nodded. "Good, but Harry, don't be too careful." She sighed. "It's a difficult line to walk, and I'm sorry you have to walk the line, but you can't grow paranoid, don't start seeing shadows when the sun isn't even out, okay?"
I stared at the shadow my master cast against the wall behind her by the purple fire. "I think paranoia is a pretty good thing, master," I said, "If only I'd been more paranoid when I went to the dance with Delacour, or before my trial at the ministry."
Rowena shrugged. "Complacency is never beneficial, but on the other hand, will you ever allow yourself to laugh if you're always on edge? Will you always be on your guard and never let yourself feel free?" She smiled. "You need to be careful and suspicious, yes; but more importantly, you need to let yourself live too."
"Is it even possible to do both?" I said.
"I never managed to, but I hope that you can surpass me." She smiled to herself. "Or well, I know you can surpass me."
-()-
-Daphne-
I stared into the mirror, trying to envision exactly how I looked during the dance with Potter. I even tried the dress on again, and did the hair the same way.
And applied the makeup.
I didn't know what to think.
Part of me wanted to say that I was pretty and beautiful and sexy and hot, because that was what Potter said; or well, he didn't outright say it, but it was in his eyes. They spoke to me with absolute certainty that I was pretty and beautiful and sexy and hot and perfect.
Looking inside his eyes, how could I ever believe those things to be false?
His face -just before we kissed- had been burned into my mind. I wanted to say that being burned hurt, but I loved the warmth it brought with it. I just wanted to lose myself.
I had woken up in the middle of the night, sweaty and panting; Potter's awfully smug smile was hovering on my retina.
I looked inside the mirror.
If Potter's eyes were solid with certainty, mine were the opposite. The blue irises looked shattered, as if someone had cracked an egg and whisked the insides until one couldn't even tell they had been egg once upon a time.
Potter was the symbol for all of my grievances, I couldn't like him. I couldn't. It was rather simple, actually; and yet. . .
"Daphne!" my father said and knocked three times on my door.
I frowned. My father never came and collected me for dinner, that usually was Azalea, and mother on special occasions, my father never came.
"I'll be there soon!" I said, trying to keep my voice from wavering; I had an idea about what was going on.
Not now!
"Now!" he screamed.
Fast as a snitch, I changed my dress and took off my earings, but the makeup would have to remain.
I opened the door to find my father pacing outside, he was pale as a sheet, his forehead a little damp with perspiration. "He's here," he whispered. He didn't need to say anything else.
I had been right, then. I, too, felt a shiver run up my spine.
Did I feel like this with–
I stopped that train of thought. If I didn't. . .
The Dark Lord was sitting in the same place as last time, in the same clothes and with the same posture. If I hadn't known any different, I would have said it had only been a day, or perhaps an hour since then.
I kneeled in front of him, my eyes drilled to the ground like they weighed a thousand pounds.
"Rise, Ms. Greengrass," Voldemort said slowly, as if he was talking to a fool "I've only come here to check in on your progress." He whispered it softly, like the words were made of silk, but even the walls and the moon heard him.
I gulped and sat down in the other armchair. "It's going well, my lord," I said. My throat felt drier than a desert.
"Yes, yes," he said with a smile, if it could be called such. "I've heard that the two of you even went on a date just before the break." He tilted his head and chuckled manically. "Very romantic, I must say. I'm impressed, it's only been a few months."
I inclined my head subserviently, as some kind of acknowledgement of his praise. "Thank you, my lord."
"I only have a question though." His red eyes scrutinised me as if I was a page from an old book, written in some dead language. "Does he trust you?"
I opened my mouth and closed it.
The Dark Lord took that for an answer. "Potter isn't trusting, perhaps that is understandable, considering all that has happened… Still, we need him to trust you, no?"
"We need him to love me," I said coldly, absently. "We need for me to be a pillar which holds up his entire being."
Something snapped inside of me as I muttered those words. Was I about to do that to a person who I longed to meet again more than I did anyone else? Apparently, the answer was yes.
Voldemort chuckled, seemingly oblivious to my epiphany. "How poetic," he said, his eyes boiling with anger. "You need to make that happen, soon."
I nodded quickly. "I'll speed up my efforts, my lord, I'll ignore everything else," I said. My mind was racing, but it had left the track long ago.
Voldemort leaned back. "But if he doesn't trust you, don't you think that, if anything, acting like you love him will make him suspicious?"
"You're right," I said.
"Obviously," he said, his face set like a stone. "We need to make him trust you; it's imperative to the mission." He paused. "Tell me how you will do it?"
In sat silent for a moment, and tried to piece myself back togather; but no matter how I aligned the pieces, they assembled into something that get me out of the room alive.
Then it all clicked together, the pieces assembled.
"I have a plan," I said, my voice wavering.
He couldn't know. Don't let him see through you.
"Potter might suspect that I'm on your side," I said. "I could tell him that I am," I whispered.
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he said. "Explain yourself."
My throat was dry, but my assembly held firm. "I'll tell him that I was working for you, because of the obvious reasons, but when I got to know him-" I cleared my throat -"when I started to love him, I realised that I didn't want to kill Potter anymore, and decided to switch sides."
The Dark Lord looked at me. "Why would you tell him?" he said. "Why not just turn traitor and keep it a secret that you were ever on my side?"
"Because I didn't want to keep any lies from him, he would find out eventually, and I wanted it to be from me."
The Dark Lord chuckled. "That's not enough," he said. "Your parents," he said. "My followers use your home as a base, and if you were to turn side, they would die. You need help from Potter to break them out."
I tensed up, but breathed out. "Sounds like a plan," I said.
"It does," the Dark Lord said. "But I think it lacks something. . . it lacks a catalyst."
-()-
-Harry-
I stared at the letter in my hand. It was a couple of days after New Year's eve, a thin layer of white still covered the grounds. The winds whisked around the walls of Hogwarts.
The letter was penned by Greengrass, written in red ink.
Greetings Potter.
I believe it is time for you to formally meet my family. We'd like to invite you to dinner at Ignatus' Illiad on the 5th. Does 5 o'clock work for you?
P.S, my great aunt will be there, do not wear anything with red on it, please. I'll explain later.
Regards, Greengrass.
It was short, concise and succinct. It was emotionless and blank. Everything I had learned to expect from Greengrass.
It was just. . . we had kissed. Surely that meant something?
I put the letter in my lap and ran a hand through my hair. She could have changed her mind. She could have realised that she was mad for liking me. She could have-
Did she like me in the first place?
The questions crept up on me like a vampire and bit me. All of a sudden, I doubted it. Just because she initiated the kiss, I had been sure she felt something, but perhaps she had just lost herself in the moment or had a few champagnes too many?
Or it was as my master warned me about.
There was only one way to find out.
Which would mean a visit to London on the 5th. I already met most of her family; only her sister remained. And well, the rest of her extended family. If her great aunt was coming, then who knew who many else?
I had to be careful, this was prime material for a trap. I'd have to run this past Dumbledore, even if I didn't like it. He had people who could be ready, who could be my backup.
I stood up, preparing myself for a visit to the headmaster; and then, hopefully, dinner with the in-laws.
-()-
Dumbledore had agreed to let me go; and only with ten people acting as guards too. They would be waiting outside the restaurant, in case anything went wrong.
I looked myself over in the mirror one last time. I didn't even want to know how much gel had gone into 'fixing' my hair. My suit shone brightly in the dim light too. I felt like a proper upper-class snob. All that was left to complete the look was to scowl at everyone who was not dressed like they were meeting the prime minister.
I had wanted to use a red tie, I had taken a sudden liking to the colour, but Greengrass' request stayed in the forefront of my mind. My thoughts had been bouncing around my head like tennis balls ever since I got the letter. Would her family hate me? Love me? Neither?
But to be honest, it wasn't her family which made my stomach flutter and my palms sweaty. It wasn't them which occupied my mind, I needed to keep her out tonight though, I had to be alert and cautious in case it was a trap.
I went out of my room to where Rowena was waiting. She stood up with a huff and adjusted my tie, it was green, like my eyes. "It's not too late to change the colour of this one."
I rolled my eyes. "I've told you before, I'll never be caught wearing something purple."
"I didn't know you found the colour so despicable."
"I don't, not even close," I said. I took a step back. "It's just to irk you."
I left without another word, and I could feel my master's annoyance radiate from her like she was nuclear plant.
Dumbledore and my guard were waiting in the entrance hall, all of them whispering solemnly. It was a Friday, I didn't even want to think about how many of these people missed out on time with their family.
All because of my selfishness.
Was I selfish for putting myself over everyone else? Perhaps.
I stopped in my tracks. The day I should have won the Duelling Days flashed before me in mere moments, Alice's last words were imprinted in my mind with letters of obsidian.
This was me fulfilling my promise.
-()-
"Is this a joke?" I stared at the group around me, looking each of them in the eye, searching for any deception.
"This is the place," Dumbledore confirmed. "Ignatus' Illiad."
I looked back at the 'entrance', the door was dirty and slimy and wet. "This is the entrance to the sewer," I said.
Dumbledore smiled. "Ignatus had to hide his restaurant somewhere, muggles go into a lot of places, most of the time, the sewer isn't one of those places."
I braced myself, and opened the 'door'.
The moss was everywhere and the air was damp with moisture; but the second I crossed to the inside, it was as if I was teleported. The warmth washed over me in a calming wave; scented candles burned brightly, sedating the place in a calm, heavy scent, not what one would have expected in a sewer.
The place had ancient, red tapestries running along the walls, paintings with beautiful scenery hung on the walls. Over each painting there was a number, each one seemingly random.
"Name?"
I blinked and searched for the source.
"To your right," the voice said, exasperation pouring out.
A man had entered one of the paintings, he was clad like a butler, standing in front of a pyramid.
"Harry," I said quickly. "Harry Potter."
He walked out of the picture, leaving me to further inspect the place. I couldn't see any rooms anywhere, as far as I could tell, there was only one endless corridor with an uncountable amount of paintings.
"You're in 1999," the voice said to my right. Before I had even gotten a chance to turn my head, he was gone.
I stared at the picture, unimpressed. There was a zero above his painting, the next one along the corridor had the number 1441. The one to my left had 4564. I sighed and continued down the corridor, searching for a picture with 1999 above it.
I assumed that was what I was supposed to do.
I shook my head with silent frustration. This place had arguably the worst customer service I had ever seen. Had my name been something different, perhaps I would have demanded to speak to the manager.
The 34th picture to the left held my number above it. I looked at the scenery. It was the picture of a forest, the sun barely managed to burst through the trees, which left the clearing in a muted, but warm light.
What caught my attention in the painting was the gathering inside. In the middle of the clearing, a table of rock had been placed. And around it, ten people, dressed formally, were seated. I recognised four of them.
Right. So how on earth did I get inside the painting?
I took a step closer and felt a tug at my navel, the world around me dissolved in mist. After a couple of moments, the fog cleared and I was met with chattering, tropical birds and a swift, humid breeze.
The gathering stood up together, their conversation ceasing.
Greengrass, or well, everyone was a Greengrass, but my Greengrass disentangled herself from her chair and went over to me.
"Hello," she said. "Have you ever been here before?"
I looked around. "In the jungle?"
She rolled her eyes. "At the restaurant."
I smiled. "No, I haven't."
"Huh, I'm surprised you managed to find your way here, then."
"I can count, you know."
Greengrass took a hold of my arm. "Huh." She smiled at me, making my cheeks go red. "Let's go, we need to introduce you to my family."
"Looking forward to it," I said. I urged her to stop. "By the way, have you blackmailed your mother yet?"
Greengrass smiled. "No, not yet. Why?"
"I just wanted to know whether I should expect her to be upset with me or not," I said. "I'm wondering if showing you that letter was a mistake."
Daphne smiled. "You should expect her to be upset with you either way, and no, showing me was one of the few good things you've done."
She practically dragged me over to the table.
"Everyone," she said. "This is Harry, my betrothed."
Her father, Jonathan, felt compelled to stand up and shake my hand. So did her uncle, and her aunt, and her great aunt, and her cousin, and her other cousin. The third cousin had a hand without four fingers. The fourth one's hand was blue.
The chairs around the table were also carved out of stone, the legs spiralling down to the floor. Thankfully, I was seated next to my Greengrass, with her sister on the other side of me. Her father sat in front of me, eying me up and down like we were supposed to have a fistfight after the evening.
"So," Isabella said from beside her husband. "Daphne tells us you've been helping her with her coursework." Isabella's eyes were slightly narrowed, as if I had an ulterior, more nefarious, purpose.
"Yup," I said, trying to ignore everyone looking at me. "Green– Daphne is an excellent student."
Her mother didn't look convinced. Her father only hummed, not taking his eyes off me for a second. "Daphne has always been an excellent student," Jonathan said. "I wonder why she has only recently required an extracurricular teacher to be so."
Green– Daphne shifted beside me. "It's harder," she said. "That's why." I spared a glance sideways; Daphne was sitting with her back straight as a lamp pole, her hands resting immovable in her lap.
Jonathan huffed. "If you say so, as long as you finish the year with an O in every subject."
I wasn't quite sure if he was serious or not.
"Yes, father," Daphne said. "I'll focus on what is important for the rest of the year."
That could be interpreted in several ways, I realised. Perhaps she valued me more?
From the outskirts of the clearing, a couple of waitresses came bearing plates; or rather, they were levitating them in front of themselves.
"Roasted duck, seasoned with moongrass and strawberries," the waitress said and placed the plate in front of me.
I thanked her silently, and observed that everyone else got the same meal. Wand in hand, I muttered a couple of spells to ensure that the meal was, indeed, safe to ingest.
Daphne was looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Oh no, you just found out about our plan to poison you," she said dryly. "Such a shame all that poison went to waste."
"Rather be paranoid than dead," I said, remembering my conversation with my master.
"So, Mr. Potter," Jonathan said. "You almost became a duelling champion last year, what's the secret?"
There was no noise around the table except the clinking of cutlery. All of the relatives were leaning in a little closer, as if I was a preacher about to enlighten them.
"Practice," I said. "A lot of practice."
"Really?" Isabella said. "Daphne's told us that you were quite talented when you began Hogwarts too, despite having been raised by muggles."
I smiled at Daphne. "'Quite talented', really?" I said.
Daphne folded her arms, glaring at her mother.
"Well, I guess I was," I continued. "But I would never have won that tournament based on pure talent. I had to work on it." I gestured to Jonathan. "I doubt you were born with an expansive knowledge of protective enchantments, for example."
He nodded. "It's a sound assessment." Jonathan looked at his second daughter. "It's something someone else would do well to keep in mind."
"Yes father," Astoria said, though I was certain she meant that about as much as I meant what I said when I told Hermione that I learned everything in the Chamber of Secrets.
The table became silent again, only the cutlery clinking. I felt distinctly out of place, like a tulip growing in a field full of roses.
Daphne wasn't eating her food, instead she was just looking at it as if it was about to attack her. Astoria, on the other hand, ate her food in silence, as if it was the only thing that existed in the world.
I wondered what the purpose of this dinner was, clearly, none from the family felt particularly inclined to socialise.
We finished dinner, and the desert amid low chatter. Nothing special was said, nothing of substance or actual value. Throughout the dinner, I felt myself making sure that my wand was still in my pocket.
For every second of silence, for every second that the family just kept on staring off into the distance, I grew more and more certain that something was about to happen.
The chirping birds suddenly sounded like shrill shrieks, the swaying trees suddenly cast skeletal shadows. I shifted uncomfortably, my senses on high alert.
"So, Mr. Potter, Daphne," Jonathan said. "You will have to marry before the two of you turn twenty."
I nodded slowly, not sure if I was supposed to say something.
"Have you started planning for this yet?"
Daphne huffed to my right. "Of course we have," Daphne said. "We've also chosen the colour of the tapestry in our nursery," she snapped.
Isabella scowled; I was certain that Daphne was awaiting a chastisement when she came home.
"Good," Jonathan said, ignoring the obvious sarcasm. "We'll be looking forward to it," he said.
Conversation went silent again, and I, once again, wondered what on earth was really going on. It felt like talking to one of the bodies I had conjured in Greengrass' room; and they couldn't even talk.
The dinner ended, and amid equal silence, all of us left the establishment together.
Exiting the sewer felt like a relief, but not due to the smell, but for finally losing that company. Daphne was standing next to her statue, barely saying a single thing. Her relatives were whispering among themselves; none of them ever addressed me during the dinner.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, his face drawn into a frown. "Mr. Greengrass, there has been an incident, by your office. . ."
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "Incident?" he said. "What kind of incident?" The man pushed past Dumbledore, his family following him closely behind. "We're in London, we can find out for ourselves," he said, stalking away.
Dumbledore and me remained by ourself in the small alley.
"That was the worst dinner I've ever had," I said, looking at the spot they'd just disappeared.
Dumbledore held out his hand. "I think we should go to the alley too."
I arched my brow. "Should I expect trouble?"
"Not anymore."
-()-
-Daphne-
"It does," the Dark Lord said. "But I think it lacks something. . . it lacks a catalyst."
I nodded slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. His eyes watched mine, and I prayed he wouldn't realise.
Please don't realise I'm actually going to betray you, not pretend to do so.
"What do you have in mind, my lord?" I said instead.
"Why would you switch side now?" he said. "There has to be an incident, something that makes you realise that Potter is better than me." He chuckled to himself. "It will be hard to come up with such a thing, of course."
"Of course," I repeated.
"I will kill your mother," Voldemort said, smiling at me. "That should be enough."
My mind scrambled and I blinked. "No!" I exclaimed. "No," I said again, calmer. "There's someone else you can-" I swallowed "-kill. She's a friend to our family, and she's. . . very dear to me."
Another lie.
The Dark Lord smiled. "Name her."
-()-
Diagon Alley looked pretty as ever, the street lights shone with warm, orange light. The shops displayed their product proudly and with colour.
Every building looked like it was built yesterday, except one.
The facade was black, and there were aurors and law enforcement scurrying about like ants.
My father's office was destroyed, attacked, vandalised.
Father stepped inside, his steps cautious and frail. I was but a step behind.
He froze in his tracks when he came inside.
A white sheet was lying inside the room, there was a large red stain in the middle of it; beneath it, one could make out the silhouette of a short body. The blonde hair was flowing out from under the sheet.
Father stared at it, then his head to look at me; his eyes were full of fear.
"Daphne," he whispered. "Did you know about this?"
With shaky steps, he walked over and lifted the sheet off the face.
Gabriella was smiling in death. I used to love her eyes when she visited my family as a kid; they always sparkled like seeing me brought her great joy. She looked almost identical to the last time I'd seen her, except the spark, it wasn't there. It was gone, forever.
Because of me.
I swallowed. "I- I didn't know, father. Why was she here tonight, shouldn't she be home?" I lied, my voice breaking.
He put the sheet back over her head with a shaky hand. "Did you know the office was getting attacked?" he said.
I said nothing. Gabriella was gone. From now one, my father would be faithful, if norhing else.
He stood up and clutched a chair which survived the carnage of fire inside. "I can't, Daphne," he said. "One person has died already, who is to say there won't be more?"
"We all knew someone was going to die," I said.
If only I could tell him.
"Potter! Yes!" my father snapped. "But her?" He gestured to the body covered by the white sheet. "I thought Potter would die. I thought Potter would die so that we could live."
"He will," I said. "But we can't kill him, not yet."
If only I could tell him.
"Why?" my father said, almost on his knees. "You only need him dead, then you're free. Why try to trick him and fool him and make him like you?"
"Because the Dark Lord said so." I lowered my voice. "And please, keep it down, I don't want anyone outside to hear."
Father shook his head. "Please, Daphne. I'll go and talk to him, I'll see if the Dark Lord can just end all of it, now. That would be for the best, no? Then you would never have to be with Potter anymore."
"Don't do that," I said. "I'll talk to him, you don't have to."
Father looked at me and shook his head. "I know the risks with him, Daphne, trust me." Father turned towards the exit. "Daphne, one innocent is already dead because of your plan. How many more do you want to add to that?" He stepped outside the room, leaving me to look at the white sheet.
Innocent.
Was she really? I wanted to feel a wave of regret and guilt, but all I could remember was my mother's old letter and every evening when my father had come home from the office late at night.
I left the house, and looked around the alley.
Potter was talking to Dumbledore down the street; Father was whispering something to Mother. I floated over the cobblestones towards my family.
"Are we going home?" I said. The plan was underway, there was no point turning back now.
Mother pursed her lips. "Yes," she said. "Astoria and the other's are home already." She sent a glance at Potter. "Do you want to say goodbye?"
"No," I said. "Let's go home."
The next barrier was one I knew I would stumble and fall on: telling Potter.
