Chapter 17: The Terms of Your Parole

Daphne never failed to jerk sharply whenever the sharp buzzer noise abruptly split the air in Azkaban prison. Especially not when the sound was right in her ear: the signal that her cell door was being opened.

An armed Auror now entered the tiny hole where she had been remanded pending trial for war crimes, in spite of the fact that the Ministry had the evidence that Daphne had been secretly playing both sides, working as an agent for Dumbledore's Army and all without the guerilla group even knowing it.

The Auror now tossed Daphne a pile of street clothes. "Should be a decent fit. Get changed. There is someone waiting to meet you…."

Swallowing hard, Daphne slowly slipped into the corner of her cell and pulled her prison jumpsuit off, changing into a simple pair of Muggle jeans and a blouse. In a past life, she would have done at least a dozen shameful and humiliating things before she was ever caught dead wearing clothes that were Muggle. But after a couple of months in the pokey, beggars could hardly be choosers.

Keeping her head bowed, Daphne followed the armed Auror out of the prison, past the gates and bars that had been thought to be impenetrable, at least until Voldemort had staged that mass breakout almost two years ago.

Daphne and her armed escort finally stepped out of the prison itself, the walls of Azkaban giving way to the crashing of the waves. The salty sea spray assaulted Daphne's nose, and she inhaled it, breathed it in, gratefully. She began to trudge down the tall flight of stone steps to the stone landing platform for the tiny island prison, where she had touched down in a threstral-driven carriage with bars on the windows, following her arrest.

A gentleman with spiky black hair stood beside just such a carriage now, leaning against the threstral mounts. Drawing closer, Daphne's blue eyes went wide. She nearly laughed.

"Oh, Godric….." Shaking her head while unable to help a wry smirk, she sauntered over towards the young man, sensing how the armed Auror fell back, but not far enough that he couldn't keep his eyes on her.

"What are you doing here, Scarhead?"

Harry smirked back, shrugging. "Your chariot awaits, madam. Or would you prefer milady?"

She snorted. "You know I don't believe in that claptrap."

"Which part of it is claptrap? Chariots are very real, though they do seem to make most of their appearances in Muggle fairy tales. I've been reading some to my godson now…."

"Hope you haven't scarred him with the one about the girl who is named after a terminal disease," Daphne quipped. She was amused by how Harry blinked with shock before chuckling.

"You know, that's just what Ron thought of that story when Hermione and I first told it to him…." Glancing over Daphne's shoulder, Harry nodded to the armed Auror. "I'll take it from here, Baylan." The Auror withdrew, back towards the prison. Daphne watched him go before turning back to Harry.

"So what's this about, Potter? Taking me to stand trial?"

Harry's lips twisted in a manner that was almost smug. "Actually….. there isn't going to be a trial."

Daphne stared. "What?"

Harry shrugged. "Called in a few favors. The Ministry has granted you a full pardon. You're free."

If it hadn't been right barking, Daphne would have thrown her arms around the cheeky devil's neck. "Really?!"

Harry laughed. "Always the tone of surprise…."

"Hang on, Scarhead – how can the Minister pardon me for crimes that I haven't even been convicted of yet?"

"Oh, you would have been convicted, at trial," Harry murmured. From his tone, Daphne had to wonder if he wouldn't have been happy about this. "But I compiled what evidence I could for the other side of things, acted as a character witness. Yours was a….. call it a pre-emptive pardon The Ministry needs to walk its talk and treat its assets more fairly."

Daphne nodded, arms folded. "So, what now?"

"Well….. I am to be your parole officer."

Daphne snorted. "Great. You can fill me in for how long on the way…." She started to move to climb into the carriage, but Harry closed the door in her face.

"I'm not done. I haven't given you the terms for your parole…." Daphne folded her arms expectantly, listening. "1: You are to come and work for the Ministry of Magic, representing the Auror Corps, as the leader of its new and elite Slytherin division. There will be plenty of deprogramming work to be had, converting back young Death Eater recruits, former members of the Inquisitorial Squad…."

"Sounds fun," Daphne quipped. Her voice stuttered to a shocked stop as Harry now suddenly stepped quite close and drew his arm about her waist.

"2: You agree to marry me and become the new Mrs. Potter….. as my wife."

Daphne gawked at him. "Are you…. are you seriously proposing to me? Potter…. are you mad?!"

"As a hatter," Harry clipped.

"Your idea of a marriage proposal is to blackmail me into a wedding as a condition of my parole?" Daphne started to laugh. "Boy, you've done some pretty barking things in your time, Scarhead, but this….. Mmmmm…"

The words died in her throat as Harry tugged her close by her waist and kissed her deeply on the mouth. After only a moment of struggle, Daphne gave in and kissed him back. Thoroughly snogged him, really. When the couple finally broke apart, they were both gasping for breath.

"I'm still waiting for an answer, Daph. Those are your parole terms, should you choose to accept them."

"I….." Daphne hesitated and looked into his eyes. She strummed a hand through his untamed locks, sizing him up. "….. I do….." Harry grinned. Daphne gulped, allowing her heart to make the leap. "I….. Yes. Of course, yes."

Harry smiled, and they embraced and kissed again. Grinning broadly, Daphne tugged him into the barred threstral carriage; as soon as the door closed, she leapt onto him and pushed her lips against his in another earnest kiss, as the threstrals took to the sky.

Several months later, though it only seemed like an instant, Daphne Greengrass was standing in a simple white dress before her groom. The man who was to be her husband. If she had ever before given thought about her wedding, she had been resigned to being betrothed off by her parents to a fellow Slytherin and pureblood of good standing. She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined that she would be agreeing to wed the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One who had slain the Dark Lord. And yet she was here, and though the spot upon which they were holding their nuptials held no significant meaning for her, she could think of no better place to marry Harry Potter than on the plot of land where he had spent so much time growing up. Where one of his best friends had sadly died.

When the priest pronounced them man and wife, Daphne shyly felt her lashes flutter shut, growing heavy and lidded as Harry drew her close. Tilting her head, Daphne closed her eyes and merged the last little distance between them, kissing her…. her husband, and he was kissing her back. Looping her arms about his neck, tangling them in his jet-black curls, Daphne parted her lips for Harry and they deepened the wedding snog. The new Mrs. Potter errantly tossed her bridal bouquet aside, not looking to and not caring where it had fallen. Later, at the reception, she was more than amused to realize that the Bookworm, Hermione, had been the one to catch it, much to the bushy brunette's bemusement.

When she wasn't spouting off her encyclopedia knowledge and sounding like a know-it-all, it was hard not to be drawn towards Hermione. Daphne found that she liked Granger. After Daphne and Harry had shared their first dance as husband and wife, the bride slipped out of the back of the marquee to speak alone with her Maid of Honor – a request which had surprised both women. Though it wasn't as though Daphne had had any real true friends who were girls, other than her sister. She still felt a sharp pang when thinking about her sister – first order of business after she and Harry returned from their honeymoon would be to go to St. Mungo's and work to get Astoria out.

"Daphne…." The blonde girl turned to study Hermione quizzically. "I'm not going to pretend that I know how love works or what it means. But Harry clearly sees something in you, and he's always been a rather excellent judge of character – most of the time," she amended. Hermione now held up a finger in warning. "But if you hurt him, I should give fair warning that I won't be responsible for my actions."

Daphne had to respect the bird, despite her threat. "I'll never give you the excuse, never mind the pleasure."

Hermione's brown eyes sparkled, and she smirked. "Good." She held out a hand to shake. Instead, Daphne slapped it away, leaned in and brushed her lip across Hermione's cheek, as a peace offering.

At Hermione's blinking in shock, Daphne smirked. "We are to be sisters-in-law, after all, or as good as, from what I've heard from my husband." She felt such an odd and giddy rush thinking of her Scarhead in that way. The new Mrs. Potter tilted her head back, squinting against the glare as her gaze trailed up the scaffolding of fresh construction timber, up to where a gingered gentleman was hammering away on what was to be the roof. "Though if this ramshackle thing gets to be too crowded as a love nest…."

"….. you and Harry would be more than willing to move out, and I so appreciate that!" Hermione finished, grinning cheekily. At Daphne's bemused and heavy side-eye, the smirk on the other girl broadened, and Hermione shrugged. "I mean, not to worry – if and when you have to move out, Harry has plenty of other places to fall back on and make a house a home."

Daphne couldn't help it. Granting Hermione a smile – her first real smile in ages – the newlywed bride burst into laughter.