Chapter Twenty-Six – Balancing Lies and Deception
...
"Good evening, Harry, Daphne. May I come in, please? I have something very important to talk to you about."
Harry wanted to slam the door in Dumbledore's face, but he controlled himself. It wouldn't do any good, he knew, to reveal his feelings now; and besides, he was curious what their Headmaster wanted from them in the middle of the holidays.
"Of course, Professor," he said in a feigned friendly voice. "Please come in. But we are not prepared for guests and have nothing ready. But would you care for some tea?"
Dumbledore stepped across the threshold. "Normally I would never say no to such an invitation, but in this case I fear that pleasure will have to take a back seat to duty."
With a loud bang, the front door slammed shut behind their Headmaster. An oppressive darkness fell over the entrance hall like a shroud of shadow. The only source of light were the burning candles in the serpentine chandeliers above their heads, flickering and flaring as if they were alive, and in a way they were, powered by Daphne's magic, Harry sensed. Yes, life itself was full of magic and vice versa.
"What duty?" asked Daphne.
Dumbledore's hand reached into one of the many pockets of his robes as his eyes swept the entrance hall. But if he noticed anything, he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "I managed to find the location of another of Lord Voldemort's soul vessels. But when I got there, this is all I found."
With that, Dumbledore pulled a gold locket from his pocket. It sparkled in the light of the candles. Instinctively, Harry and Daphne moved closer. They saw their own reflections in the shimmering surface, distorted as if their features had been stretched in length and width, but otherwise the locket was remarkably simple. There were no signs, symbols or other decorations to indicate that this locket was anything special, let alone a vessel for a piece of the soul of the self-proclaimed most powerful Dark Wizard in history. Yet Harry felt a faint vibration in the threads of magic, a very slight current of something dark and terrible. But it was only a faint feeling, as if it wasn't the locket itself that was darkly magical, but merely the fact that it had come into contact with such a thing, like a hand under a stream of water that got wet but didn't turn into water itself. How strange.
"Do you feel it?" asked Dumbledore.
"It's different," said Daphne. "Different from the diary."
"There's not a bit of Voldemort's soul in it," Harry added. A pang of disappointment spread through him.
"Well spotted, both of you. You are right, it's not one of the soul vessels, and it is a testament to your advanced magical instincts that you recognised that. But the locket was in the place where the real soul vessel would undoubtedly be, where Lord Voldemort had hidden it all those years ago." Dumbledore opened the locket. There was nothing inside except a folded piece of parchment, wedged in where a portrait should be. "But there is a message inside. Read it."
Harry took the piece of parchment from the locket and unfolded it. Daphne stepped beside him, their shoulders lightly touching. Together they began to read.
To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Daphne frowned. "Who is R.A.B.?"
Harry wondered the same thing, but in a spontaneous flash of inspiration, he asked another question aloud. "And what is a Horcrux?"
It was only a mock question, the answer to which they had both known for over a year, ever since they had researched it in the hidden books in the Room of Requirement, but Dumbledore didn't need to know.
Daphne nodded eagerly at his words, understanding in her soul but feigning thoughtfulness on her face. "Is... is that the soul vessel?"
"Another name for it, yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "And R.A.B. is, I suppose, Regulus Arcturus Black, the younger son of Orion and Walburga Black, Sirius' parents. Regulus is Sirius' younger brother."
Hearing his godfather's name from Dumbledore, the man responsible for his death, made Harry's guts clench. A hot sensation ran through his body, from his heart to his spine to his head. He took a deep breath. At the same time he felt Daphne wrap her hand around his. She squeezed his hand, but her eyes remained fixed on their Headmaster.
"And that's why you're here," Daphne's voice cut through the air. It wasn't a question. "You believe the true soul vessel... Horcrux is here in this house."
Dumbledore nodded. "That is certainly a possibility that cannot be ruled out, I think. Regulus was a Death Eater, you know. But he died very young, not long after leaving Hogwarts."
At his words, a dark shadow flitted across Dumbledore's exhausted face, and he looked even older than he actually was at that moment, as if he had said such words too many times in his life. Harry stifled a snort. Every dead Death Eater was a good Death Eater as far as he was concerned. Why should he feel the slightest sympathy for this human scum? Regulus got what he deserved.
And he won't be the only one, Harry thought grimly.
Daphne's grip on his hand tightened.
"But perhaps another path was revealed to him before he died," Dumbledore went on. "Perhaps he realised a different truth, a different destiny, and we see the consequences of that here before us now."
"How touching," Daphne said. She clicked her tongue. "I'd admire it even more if I didn't know what witches and wizards had to do to be accepted into the circle of Death Eaters. What my parents couldn't. And believe me, Professor, it's not because they're such good people..."
Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps you are right, Daphne. But I also like to think that Regulus experienced redemption at the end of his life. I'm sure Sirius would have liked that idea, because I think he never stopped loving his little brother, despite everything."
"So what now?" asked Harry, staring at the piece of parchment in his hand. He was afraid that if he looked Dumbledore in the eye now, he would not be able to resist the temptation. The temptation to scratch them out until all that was left of them was a bloody pulp.
"That's why I am here," Dumbledore said. "Regulus spent most of his life in this house. He lived here until shortly before he died. So I imagine he would have hidden the real locket here, if he hadn't managed to destroy it. Perhaps the first thing we should do is ask the family's old house-elf if he knows anything or has seen anything."
Harry and Daphne exchanged a quick glance and then it was his girlfriend who spoke. Dumbledore must have noticed the brief exchange of glances, because he looked at them curiously.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Professor," Daphne said. "Because the house-elf, Kreacher, was unfortunately already dead when we got here. He was obviously very, very old."
"Oh, that is very unfortunate," Dumbledore said, actually slumping his shoulders a little. "But then Sirius said the same thing, and years have passed since then. Still, I was hoping... Well, we will have to search the house to see if the real locket is here. I don't see any other way."
Harry, feeling another surge of hot anger as Dumbledore mentioned Sirius again, said quickly, "The house is big. Do you have any idea how we should proceed? What's the best way to find it?"
"I am glad you asked, Harry, because ever since I began my search for Voldemort's soul pieces, I have been pondering that very question. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it is such a dark and secretive branch of magic that very little can be learned about it, and only after a long search. That's why I have done what I would humbly advise any wizard of my – or your – calibre to do." Dumbledore winked at them through his half-moon-shaped glasses.
"You've come up with a spell," Daphne said, and Harry felt their bond vibrate with excitement. For once, the feeling wasn't an act. His girlfriend really was the most magic-obsessed person imaginable.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I have come up with a spell. Or rather, I invented it. It should be able to detect the dark presence of the soul piece when we approach it. Unfortunately, the spell does not work very far, so I am afraid we will still have to search the house, but it should make our task easier. Would you like to lead the way? You probably know the house best by now."
And so the disparate group of three set off, Harry and Daphne in front and Dumbledore close behind. They walked slowly along the long, dark corridors of the Black ancestral home, pausing every few metres before the door of another winding room so that Dumbledore could cast his spell. Unfortunately, he did so silently, so Harry and Daphne couldn't hear him. But each time they could feel the magic of the spell wash over them like a wave of warm air before dissipating a few yards away.
Daphne had put on a look of concentration that gave her otherwise graceful face a hard edge. Harry would take any bet that she was analysing the traces of Dumbledore's spell so that she could eventually recreate it. She was proud, Harry knew that, but even her pride didn't stop her from learning when there was something to learn, on the contrary, even if it was from a man she hated and wanted to overthrow.
Harry and Daphne weren't the only ones who sensed magic on their quest.
"This house is full of dark magic," Dumbledore said quietly as they passed the door to the library. "The legacy of the Blacks weighs heavily on this place."
Harry nodded nonchalantly. Yes, surely that was only because of the Blacks and not because of what he and Daphne had done and tried to do here in the last few weeks...
Dumbledore continued. "I'm still not comfortable with the idea of you living all alone in a place like this."
"This is our new home," Harry said. "And we'll make it more comfortable in time. We've done a lot already. You should have seen how filthy it was when we first arrived."
"I don't doubt that. And you have removed all the portraits from the walls, I see."
Dumbledore pointed to a spot on the wall where the wallpaper was noticeably lighter than the rest of the wall, for there had indeed been a portrait hanging there, an ugly old witch with a warty nose and a look on her face as if she had eaten a Bertie Bott's bean flavoured Permanent Disappointment, if Harry remembered correctly.
"Like I said, we're trying to make the house more comfortable."
The next time they stopped, it was in front of a dark wooden door on which Daphne had carved the image of two crows embracing. A smile crossed Dumbledore's wrinkled face as he saw it. "Oh, I have an idea what's behind that door."
"Right, that's our bedroom," Harry said.
Dumbledore's white eyebrow rose high above his glasses. "Your bedroom? Both of you?"
Harry felt the back of his neck grow hot, though he tried hard to stop it. "That's right. Both of us."
"Don't worry, your sleeping arrangements are entirely up to you, but allow me to ask a question in my capacity as your magical guardian as wards of Hogwarts: has Madam Pomfrey had her talk with you about –"
"Okay, that's enough," Daphne interrupted their Headmaster. "Let's get on with it. We may not have as many great spells as you, but I can assure you that there is not a strange soul in this room."
Harry saw that her cheeks had also turned a light pink.
Dumbledore chuckled quietly but said nothing more. They continued to search the house together.
Meanwhile, Harry kept sneaking glances at Dumbledore when he was looking elsewhere, for the more he watched him, the more he noticed. Their Headmaster seemed to be getting frailer and frailer, his face paler and more wrinkled, even after the few weeks since the end of term. Hell, Dumbledore wasn't even one hundred and fifteen years old yet, and he still looked older than the five hundred year old Merlin just before his death, at least if the pictures of the legendary wizard that had survived to this day were to be believed. Dumbledore's mental battle with Voldemort seemed to have taken many years off him.
Just as well, Harry thought grimly. It will make it easier for us when we finally strike. When Voldemort is defeated. Even if Daphne will complain about the lack of challenge...
But as Harry thought this, his heart sank a little and there was nothing he could do about it.
It was after more than an hour of intense searching that Dumbledore, after casting his spell outside another room, suddenly inhaled sharply. His wand began to shake slightly. But when he spoke afterwards, his voice was as calm as ever.
"It's in here."
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances. They had only glanced into this room when they had been exploring the house, without noticing anything in particular.
However, Harry remembered that they had been attacked by a swarm of pixies. They had turned the pixies into icicles, shattering them into a thousand pieces on the ground. And indeed, as they entered the room, the bloody water stains were still clearly visible on the dark floorboards.
This time there were no pixies coming out of the huge chest of drawers on the opposite wall. Nothing moved, everything was dead still. The air was heavy and stuffy. Harry's heart pounded as some of their magical spheres of light floated into the room, illuminating it. Not that there was much to see. The chest of drawers, a few display cases of artefacts, and a lot of dust. There were some rat droppings in the corners, so old they had become rock hard, and thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling.
"This would be the perfect hiding place," Daphne muttered. "No one would ever think a piece of Voldemort's soul was in a place like this."
"I am sure the thought would give him quite a hard time," Dumbledore said. "He's always had a flair for the dramatic. That's why his Horcrux could not be any ordinary object, but the locket of his ancestor Salazar Slytherin himself. But his vanity is our blessing, and it will be his undoing."
"The locket is Slytherin's?" asked Harry.
"Yes, it is, Harry. An ancient heirloom of his descendants, but bought by Voldemort with deceit and murder."
With that, Dumbledore walked over to the dresser and took another locket from one of the drawers. It was bigger than Regulus' locket, heavier and bulkier, with a large 'S' engraved on the gold surface. And it pulsed with dark magic. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. Yes, if dark magic was a stream of water, then this piece of jewellery was a raging river.
"Fancy a swim?" Daphne whispered to him.
Goosebumps ran down Harry's back again. Sometimes their bond was almost uncanny.
Dumbledore came back to them with the locket in his hand. "Thank you both for your assistance. I will take the Horcrux with me and see to its destruction, so that we may be one step closer to –"
"No!" Harry said quickly. Both Dumbledore and Daphne looked at him in surprise. Harry continued with sudden determination. "That's not necessary. For you to take it, I mean. We can destroy it here and now."
"I don't have the means to destroy it here, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly. His pale blue eyes were fixed on him. "But I guarantee you that today –"
"You may not have the means, but we do," Harry interrupted, taking the locket from Dumbledore's hand. The metallic surface prickled against Harry's skin, but not for long as he used his wand to make the locket float in the air in front of them. "We'll take care of this. Daph, would you be so kind?"
Daphne, now realising what he was up to, gave him a sweet smile. "Of course, darling."
Her black wand swirled through the air and the locket was enveloped in a sphere of flowing air. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Daphne's golden eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, had fallen silent, watching with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. At least he didn't seem to want to stop them, although Harry wouldn't have let him. No, he would show the old bastard. And by that he meant both their Headmaster and Voldemort, who thought himself the most powerful wizard in the world. Who had tried to cheat death with this perversion of magic.
What hubris, Harry thought. For no matter what heights wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort had risen to, no matter what thrones they had built for themselves, here and now two new players had appeared on the playing field to dethrone them.
Harry was sure that if he looked at himself in the mirror at that moment, he would see a strong golden glint in his eyes. And Daphne would undoubtedly think it was wonderful and just smile happily at him. Yes, they were an odd couple, he knew, and probably completely megalomaniacal. But as Daphne had said so well, they would only be megalomaniacs if they failed. And they had no intention of failing. Never again.
Especially not today.
Harry's heart beat hard but steady in his chest as he approached the floating sphere of air and touched it with his wand. He searched for the magic inside him, and when he found it, a warm sensation flooded through his body. It felt as wonderful, as perfect as ever, an inexhaustible source of power. His power.
But even that was not enough. Harry concentrated even more on his magic, on his warmth, on his anger, on his hatred for Voldemort, the murderer of his parents. He had a piece of his soul before him! A piece of Voldemort's soul! He would show it to him, the bloody bastard.
The warmth inside Harry grew stronger and stronger, spreading further and further, along with his magic. Warmth became heat, heat became fire. Harry felt his blood boiling in his veins.
He took a deep breath and whispered in a calm voice, "Puranaeros Stugaeto".
The feeling of power shot through Harry's body, from his heart, through his outstretched arm and wand, straight into Daphne's sphere and the locket inside. And not just power – a huge stream of fire shot out of Harry's wand and enveloped the locket. These were no ordinary tongues of flame, no, the Fiendfyre unleashed flaming creatures from hell. Dragons, snakes, giant bird creatures, hissing and roaring as if to destroy the world.
It was terrifying, hideous, and beautiful.
This must be what heaven looks like, Daphne thought, marvelling at the flames of hell that Harry had unleashed. She would never be able to get enough of the majesty, the grace, the magnificent display of fire in all the colours of the rainbow, quivering with fury and power and vibrancy, all the power that magic was capable of. And Harry's shimmering golden eyes that only she could see, no one else, her own imprint on his soul.
But Daphne also knew she couldn't lose herself in the sight. Her whole body trembled as she concentrated on keeping the sphere in place, both from effort and excitement. They did it! They really did it! They had performed one of the most impressive feats of magic she had ever heard of! Harry, who had unleashed the Fiendfyre, and she, who had kept it at bay.
But most of all, Daphne felt pride. Pride in Harry and in herself. Modesty was for fools, and she knew what an incredible magical feat this was. But she wasn't deluding herself. With anyone but Harry, she probably wouldn't be able to hold back this elemental power. But with him it was different. It was their bond, she knew. It was as if it was her magic, her flames, her Fiendfyre that she had to keep in check. Difficult enough, yes, but not impossible, as great witches like Morgana, Circe or Sachmet had proven time and again throughout history.
And now Daphne Greengrass too, she thought with satisfaction as her facial muscles tensed with the effort.
A drop of sweat fell from her forehead onto her nose. But she would not give in. Never. Because that would mean her and Harry's death and that would be a shame she couldn't bear. No, failure was out of the question. And so Daphne gritted her teeth and continued her spell.
A second passed. Two seconds. Three – then suddenly there was a terrible, bloodcurdling scream. Daphne jumped. For a moment, the flames cleared, revealing a black mist in the air sphere.
"Daphne, look out!" Harry shouted in time.
Daphne had just managed to concentrate on her own spell when there was a thunderous bang, causing the air sphere to shake along with Daphne's wand and her body. Her teeth hit together so hard it hurt and she tasted blood on her tongue, but it didn't matter. Something had changed after the magical explosion, she sensed. The Horcrux was gone. They had won.
She laughed out loud. They had done it! They had won!
Then Daphne felt a warm stream of magic slide down her face as Harry lowered his wand. He was breathing heavily, but there was a satisfied smile on his face. He was smiling at her, and Daphne was sure she would have fallen head over heels in love with the boy by now, if she hadn't already.
She returned his smile with all her heart as she broke her spell as well. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt as if she had run a marathon. All her muscles ached, but it was a pleasant pain that gave her inner strength.
There was nothing left of their magical achievement. The locket was gone, completely consumed by the hungry flames, but the flames were gone too, banished back to the hellish realms from which Harry had conjured them. Not even a hint of the smell of burning had lingered in the room, so well had Daphne's sphere contained the flames. The only evidence of what had just happened was the smugness on Harry's face and hers – and the dismay on Dumbledore's.
Their Headmaster stared at them as if he had seen a ghost, his face almost as white as his beard. "Since... since when can you do that?"
His voice trembled slightly, not much, but it was the first time Daphne had ever heard anything but boundless calm in it. Not even after the Duelling Club, the Chamber of Secrets or Sirius's death had Dumbledore's voice sounded like this, which made the significance of what had just happened all the more clear to Daphne. Their bloody, venerable, oh-so-wise Headmaster now sounded like Neville Longbottom. Daphne's grin widened.
She wiped her slightly sweaty hair from her face and replied, "A few weeks ago, wasn't it, Harry?"
Harry nodded nonchalantly as he slipped his wand back into his arm holster. "Yeah, should fit. We tried it for the first time just after we got here. Nearly burnt the house down."
"Not just the house, but half of London," Dumbledore said, his voice still trembling slightly. He looked very, very old at that moment. He looked at them both in turn, and Daphne felt as if his pale blue eyes were trying to look into her soul. Instinctively, she concentrated on her Occlumency shields. "Why ... why did you learn that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Harry said, unimpressed. "For just such a moment. We want to be useful, Professor, not a burden."
For a second, maybe two, Dumbledore just looked at Harry and – Daphne wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a variety of emotions flash across his wrinkled face. Confusion, fear, pain. Regret. Finally, Dumbledore sighed, and with his sigh, all the tension seemed to leave his body. His body seemed to shrink a few inches. He shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"But this... I don't even know if I could have done it myself at your age. I can only think of one person who might have been able to..."
A heavy silence fell over the dark room. Daphne heard her own heart pounding, heard a rat in the wall behind her, a distant Muggle siren somewhere in the city that never stopped.
The silence dragged on, and she was just about to seek Harry's gaze in consultation when Dumbledore raised his head again. Deep furrows crossed his face, a play of shadows and wrinkles. Yet he still exuded a tremendous amount of magical power and willpower. At that moment, he was clearly recognisable as the wizard the whole world either feared or worshipped, and whose name was known by every magical child in every land in the world.
Yes, they should never underestimate Dumbledore, Daphne thought. With Voldemort captured and hopefully soon destroyed, Albus Dumbledore was still their most dangerous enemy in this world, even if the past years and efforts had left their mark on him. They really had to be careful.
"Tell me," Dumbledore said, the tremor gone from his voice. "Do you still have the goals you told me about when you heard what happened to the Malfoy house-elf? Do you still seek the power to change the world?"
Daphne remembered the moment in Dumbledore's office very well, as did Harry. Her boyfriend looked back at their Headmaster and said, "Of course. Change will never happen if you don't make it happen, and to do that you have to be powerful yourself."
Daphne nodded determinedly. "Without the power to achieve our goals, our dreams will remain shadows in the night. And that's a thought we find unbearable."
"And you think this is the power you need?" asked Dumbledore. "Magic of the darkest and most destructive kind? Magic that has been used to commit the most unspeakable crimes in the history of mankind?"
"But not by us," Harry replied. "We know the danger, Professor. We haven't chosen this path lightly either. In fact, it would probably be easier not to go down it. Then I wouldn't have to worry about my friendship with Ron, Hermione and all the others slipping through my fingers. But it's the path we've chosen, knowing what it means and what it costs."
"Even the best of intentions can have grave consequences, Harry. And the power you hold in your hands here, the power you seek..." Dumbledore shook his head. "Power makes you crave more power. It is the most seductive yet cruel force in the universe, believe me, I have seen it with my own eyes. I understand what drives you, and I believe you have thought about it, but if you had asked my advice before –"
"Professor, we trusted you so much," Harry interrupted. His voice sounded calm, but Daphne felt his restlessness as if it were her own. And his inner anger. She moved closer to him. "And we've always been honest with you, with our blood magic, with our attempts to find our Animagus form, with the Chamber, with the diary. Even now, we have shown you what we are capable of. We could have kept quiet, and you would have been far away with the Horcrux by now, and Voldemort's soul piece would have survived a few more hours. We've always trusted you, Professor, and we still do, even though it's your fault that Sirius is dead, that Voldemort became powerful in the first place, probably even that my parents had to die. But we still trust you, because we believe you want to make the world a better place. Just like we do. So please trust us too. We are no longer children, even if we look like it. We have already outgrown our age, and it is time that you saw and treated us as such. As your equals."
Oh, what audacity, Daphne thought with a pleasant shiver. What audacity to lie so skilfully to Dumbledore's face, to tell the truth and yet leave out the most important part. It was like putting a bandage on a festering wound, but leaving the wound underneath untreated. The only question was who or what the festering wound was in this analogy.
Daphne closed the gap between her and Harry and took his hand in hers. She squeezed it gently as she felt their magic intertwine. A comforting warmth spread through her heart. Harry swallowed slightly.
Harry's words seemed to have given their counterpart food for thought. Dumbledore's brow furrowed as he looked at them intently. "My equals," he said softly. "I always thought you were special because you both are. But perhaps I should have looked closer. I am deeply sorry for the pain I have caused you, and I am deeply touched by the trust you still place in me. But the fact that it was my mistakes that made you forget your childhood is something I can never forgive myself for."
"Don't take this the wrong way, Professor," Daphne said, barely holding back a contemptuous click of her tongue, "but don't make yourself out to be more important than you are. You have influenced our choices, yes, and you have influenced our lives, but we are our own masters and our destiny is determined by no one but ourselves. So yes, I'm asking you to do your damn duty and use all your damn power for something worthwhile, but we're not just pursuing our own goals because you've failed at your life's work. There must be other powerful wizards out there when you're gone. I apologise if that sounded rude."
Her words seemed to have some effect, for Dumbledore actually chuckled before a long, relieved sigh left his lips. "You apologise if that sounded rude. If. My dear Daphne, I don't think I've been so insulted for decades, not since I was a younger wizard and accidentally spilled tea on the beard of the Chinese Grand Magistrate." Dumbledore shook his head, as if he couldn't believe this was actually happening. "You both speak harshly, but sincerely. Perhaps I should really start thinking of you two as more than just children..."
"Yes, please," Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. Then he leaned back and gave them another intense look, but perhaps a little less intense than before. "Then I will retire now. It's getting late and I'm sure you are tired and exhausted, though probably not as tired and exhausted as I am. I must thank you again. Thank you for supporting me once again in this fight. I once told you that your time to shine was yet to come, but already you both shine like the brightest stars in the night sky. I am incredibly proud of both of you." He smiled at them, and for the first time Daphne felt as if it wasn't completely belittling. What a shame that he had messed up so badly with them before and that they would be the death of him. "It is only with your help that we have come another important step closer to defeating Lord Voldemort today."
"We will win," Harry said, nodding firmly. "We'll make sure of it. But tell me, Professor, what about the Horcrux in Gringotts? Have you made any progress? After all, that was the reason we had to lie about Sirius."
"I am afraid," Dumbledore said, "that the mills at the Ministry and Gringotts continue to grind slowly."
"Then force them to grind faster," said Daphne. It may have sounded harsher than she intended, but it was getting late, as Dumbledore had said, and all the manoeuvring and balancing of lies and deception had worn her patience thin, and patience had never been her strong point anyway.
"I wish it were that simple, Daphne, but I promise I'll keep at it and let you know as soon as I have more to share. Speaking of sharing," – Dumbledore reached into another of the many pockets in his robes and pulled out two sheets of parchment – "the school lists for the coming term. I took the liberty of taking them with me personally, as I didn't know if even the owls of Hogwarts would be able to get through the Black's protections."
"That shouldn't be a problem, Ron and Hermione could write to us too," Harry said, taking the lists from their Headmaster.
He handed one of them to Daphne, who glanced at it and was about to put it away when she noticed something unusual. "Why do we need dress robes?" she asked.
At her words, the familiar twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes for the first time that evening. "Oh, it is a bit of a surprise, but I am sure you will like it. So don't take it easy with your festive attire, because truly magical moments await you next term."
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances. Well, it looked like they were going to have to go shopping again...
"Mummy, there's Harry Potter!"
"I know, sweetie. But don't stare."
"But you're staring too."
"But more discreetly."
Harry sighed. It had been like this ever since he and Daphne had entered Diagon Alley. People pointing at him everywhere, wizards and witches staring at him and whispering about him behind their backs, as if they thought he wouldn't notice. It was really annoying. He was just glad they'd decided to do their errands first thing in the morning when Diagon Alley wasn't so crowded, otherwise it would have been even more unbearable. As it was, Diagon Alley was busy, but nowhere near as crowded as it had been the last time he'd been here, with Hagrid, before his first year at Hogwarts.
It's been so long, Harry thought. I was just a silly, naive little boy then. Now I'm... not so little anymore.
Beside him, Daphne clicked her tongue, trying not to acknowledge anyone present with a glance. "As if they had nothing better to do."
"We should get our shopping done quickly," Harry said.
Daphne shook her head. "No, we should take our time. So everyone can see how little we care about such things."
Harry just grinned. That answer was so typical of his girlfriend. But another exchange of whispers from somewhere to their right made him jump the next moment.
"Can we get his autograph? Please, please?" a boy's voice said.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea," said a man who was probably the boy's father. "We don't know if he's recovered from the Confusion Charms from the evil wizard Mum and I told you about. He may not be completely sane yet."
"Please, please, please!"
"All right, but stay close to me. And we're only talking to Potter, not the Greengrass girl."
Harry took Daphne's hand in his and quickened his pace. "Or maybe we should walk a little faster."
This time there was no objection from his girlfriend.
After a quick trip to Gringotts to pick up some new gold, Harry and Daphne spent the whole morning going from shop to shop, buying everything they needed for the next school year. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk and other new textbooks for all their subjects, although the young couple knew they wouldn't be looking at them except in class. They also bought new pairs of protective dragonskin gloves for Potions and Herbology, new assortments of glass and crystal vials, quills, inkwells and parchment bows, new telescopes with even stronger lenses for Astronomy – the salesman assured them they could easily read a book on Pluto with them, provided someone took a book there and turned the pages from time to time.
What they didn't buy were Quidditch products, even though every shop and shop window was full of them. Posters of players, singing bludgers and flashing quaffles, trading cards, picture books, colourful capes, Viktor Krum masks, miniature figures on little broomsticks flying through the air and imitating famous moves from eight hundred years of Quidditch history. Those who did not sell Quidditch products or merchandise had decorated their shops and shop windows in the red and white of the England team to show their support for the Three Dragons. The whole wizarding country was in a World Cup frenzy.
So was Ron. In each of his letters during the summer, his friend had written extensively about the games he had heard on the radio or even watched live, about a surprisingly boring but long group game against arch-rivals Germany, in which Blythe Parkin only managed to catch the snitch after more than five hours, giving England an 1820-1820 draw, but also a more spectacular round of sixteen match against Mexico, with a total of seventy-seven fouls, six dismissals, including the two English beaters and, for whatever reason, the Mexican team cook, which England narrowly won after two hours and a neck-and-neck race between the seekers to book their place in the quarter-finals. The quarter-finals would take place in three days' time and England would be up against minnows Transylvania. Ron had no tickets for the quarter-final or the semi-final – Ron was convinced that England would sweep Transylvania aside – but his father, through his job at the Ministry, had got them tickets for the final, even in the top box. Ron had invited him and Daphne to the final, but Harry had declined. They had other things to do.
Around noon, Harry and Daphne sat outside in the bright July sun at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour and took a little break. Harry chose a giant mango ice cream in the shape of a snitch, while Daphne opted for a smaller cup of plain vanilla ice cream with little chocolate spiders crawling all over it. However, she said they tasted like normal chocolate, not spiders. Harry briefly wondered how she knew what spiders tasted like, but then decided that he probably didn't want to know the answer.
After this sweet lunch, the two of them went to the last shop on their shopping trip, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, to buy their dress robes as well as their normal robes. Harry quickly found what he was looking for and bought a simple but elegant dark green robe that both Daphne and Madam Malkin agreed went well with his eyes.
But when he tried to watch Daphne pick out her robe, she just gestured towards the door. "Harry, would you please buy a treacle tart for dinner tonight?"
"And why do I have to go when you were with me?" Harry complained. He crossed his arms.
"Because I'm asking you to. And because I want it to be a surprise. So shoo, shoo, go." Daphne gestured with her hands for him to go.
Madam Malkin, meanwhile, watched the proceedings with a serene expression, perhaps a slightly amused smile, as if it wasn't the first time she'd seen something like this.
Harry shrugged. "Alright, I'll go and get some food for the raptor. But pick something fancy, will you? I'd hate to be the better-looking one in our relationship."
"Don't worry, Mr Potter," said Madam Malkin. "We'll find something nice."
Harry nodded to the shopkeeper before turning and leaving the shop. Just before the shop door closed behind him, he heard Daphne's voice.
"Show me your best black fabric, please, madam."
...
It didn't take Harry long to buy two slices of treacle tart from a magical bakery and patisserie – both just for Daphne, as he hadn't liked treacle tart himself since their bond had been formed. Sometimes he still mourned the loss of his favourite dessert, but like everything in life, the immense benefits of his bond with Daphne came at a price. So he wouldn't complain too much, especially since it had been their own free decision to strengthen their bond instead of letting it dissolve, and what that would mean for their future...
These were Harry's thoughts as he stood leaning against a wall in Diagon Alley, enjoying the warm rays of the summer sun on his face and ignoring the stares he was still getting from passers-by. Then he suddenly heard footsteps approaching. He was about to make a rude remark about leaving him alone when he realised who it was.
"Hey, Neville," he greeted his classmate. "How are you? Buying things for the new term?"
Neville smiled at him. "Hey, Harry. Yeah, right, and when I saw you standing here I thought I'd pop round. And I'm waiting for Susan anyway, she wanted to go shopping for that dress robe that was on the list, and well, she said she wanted to do it on her own. That I should be surprised."
"What a coincidence," Harry said with a smile. "That's exactly what Daphne said to me."
Neville laughed. "Oh man, this is really weird. Let's see what our girlfriends ... I still think it's so strange. Girlfriend. I have a girlfriend." Neville's cheeks turned slightly pink as he said this.
"I know what you mean. For the first few weeks of my relationship with Daphne, I had to pinch myself every morning to make sure I wasn't dreaming. That such a great girl would want to be my girlfriend."
"Oh rubbish, Harry. All you had to do was say you wanted a girlfriend and lots of girls would have been all over you."
Harry nodded. "Ginny."
"And Hermione too," Neville said. "Although I think she's over you by now."
Harry really didn't feel like talking about the feelings of other girls whose friendship he valued highly, but for whom he would never be able to feel what he felt for Daphne, who was so much more than just his girlfriend. And he didn't want to give her even the slightest reason to be jealous. Because that wouldn't end well, he knew that. For the other girls. And he liked Hermione and Ginny far too much to let that happen.
Would Daphne hurt them over something like this, he thought. She hadn't hesitated for a second with Kreacher when he'd insulted Sirius, not to mention all the animals before that. But other people...
"So you and Susan have a date?" said Harry, trying to change the subject.
"Something like that. Well, actually, yes, as far as we're concerned, but... But her aunt was against it, so Susan has to be back before her aunt gets home from work." Neville laughed nervously, but his eyes were fixed on his shoes. "She doesn't think much of me, you know. Of my marks and my reputation. She thinks –"
Neville jumped as Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "Neville, you're a great wizard, and most of all you're a great guy and a loving boyfriend. Any girl would be lucky to be with you."
Neville nodded slightly and took a deep breath before lifting his head and giving Harry a wry smile. "That's what Susan always says."
"Clever girl."
"Yes, she is. And she's so energetic and determined and ambitious, it's unbelievable. She can talk for hours about all the things she wants to achieve."
"What do you mean?" asked Harry curiously.
"You know who her aunt is, don't you?"
Harry nodded. Unfortunately, he did.
"Well, Susan disagrees with her about a lot of things," Neville continued. "She doesn't think her aunt runs the Department of Magical Law Enforcement very well. Or that the Ministry does a good job at all."
That made Harry even more curious. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and then asked, "What would she do differently?"
Neville ran his fingers through his blond hair. "Um, this might sound a bit extreme, and I'm not saying it's my opinion, but..."
"Yeah?"
"She'd clean up Azkaban, she always says. All the Death Eaters, murderers, rapists, she... she says they don't deserve to live. That the Ministry should have dealt with them long ago. That they should have been sentenced to death at their trials, not prison..."
"And what do you think?" Harry asked.
Neville hesitated. Then he said, "What did you think when they took out Sirius Black?"
The question felt like a punch in the gut to Harry. But he tried not to show it. "What should I have been thinking?"
"Gran told me he was a friend of your parents," Neville said quietly. He had lowered his eyes again. "But, but you probably already know that, you always know everything..."
Harry just nodded and let Neville continue. And he didn't know exactly what had happened, but suddenly the words just seemed to flow out of his classmate.
"I... I know it's probably not good to think like that, but... but, you know, sometimes... sometimes I find myself thinking... how I think it's a shame that it wasn't... that it wasn't other Death Eaters who broke out of Azkaban. That it wasn't others who would have been kissed by the Dementors instead of still there, alive, while their victims are no longer alive, or sane..."
"Which Death Eaters, Neville?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange," it shot out of Neville like poison. "And her bloody husband and his brother. They, they..."
"I know, Neville," Harry said, squeezing his shoulder again. "I know what those bastards did. And I agree with you, they deserve to die."
Neville's body shook and when he raised his head again, his face had gone pale. Only in his eyes flashed an emotion that Harry could only describe as hatred.
"They tortured them," Neville said. "Even when they knew nothing, even when they were long broken, they didn't stop until... until there was nothing left of them..."
Harry didn't know what to say and remained silent. Neville just kept on talking anyway.
"That's why I wish they were dead. I know it's not what you should wish for, that it won't bring my parents back, but I wish it anyway. And Susan..."
A terrible suspicion rose in Harry's mind. He had never asked himself why Susan was living with her aunt. "What happened to her family?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"They killed them!" Neville hissed. His hands were clenched into fists. "But not before they... they..." Neville trailed off. His whole body was shaking now. A few passers-by gave them curious looks. Harry moved to stand in front of his classmate, who continued in a raw, emotional voice. "They're monsters, Harry. And... it was pure coincidence that Susan was with her aunt at the time. That she's still alive..."
"Neville, look at me," Harry said, tightening his grip on him. "Look at me."
Slowly, Neville lifted his head. "I know I shouldn't think like that, but –"
"Don't tell yourself that," Harry cut him off. He knew this moment wasn't ordinary. Never before had Neville opened up to him like this. "Your feelings are your feelings and you never have to apologise for them. And you're right about everything. Those... Bastards, they're not people, Neville. They're monsters. Like wild animals. And what do we do with wild animals?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I'm not as good with words as Daphne, but I'm sure she'd say something like unshed blood weighs heavier on our conscience than blood shed. Or something like that."
Oh God, he had a feeling he was talking nonsense. Where was Daphne when they needed her? Probably trying on midnight black robes.
But his words seemed to have stirred something in Neville. The other boy gave him a wry smile, very, very wry, but a smile nonetheless. "She really does affect you, doesn't she? Daphne, I mean. I mean, I'm sure Hermione would have reprimanded me for what I said..."
Harry nodded. "I suppose so. And yes, Daphne influences me, just as Susan influences you, doesn't she?"
Neville nodded too. "Yes, that's true."
He took a deep breath, then another and another. Harry gave him all the time in the world as he used the moment to take in their surroundings. There were still a few glances in their direction – probably mostly in his – but for the most part they weren't being paid any particular attention at the moment. In the distance he could make out Professor Trelawney from Hogwarts coming out of a tea shop, and further down the street he could see their Slytherin classmate Tracey Davis walking behind a burly man who appeared to be her father, obviously also shopping for the next term, and in the opposite direction two Aurors patrolled with visibly bored faces. It was really a normal day, no one had noticed that they had just been talking about bloody revenge and murderous desires.
"Thanks, Harry," Neville finally said. "That was probably a bit weird..."
"Never mind," Harry waved him off. "It's all right. Don't worry about it. Like I said, I understand your feelings perfectly."
"Thanks anyway for... for not laughing at me or anything..."
"I would never do that, Neville. We're friends."
For the first time since their conversation began, a genuine, unadulterated smile appeared on Neville's pale face. "Okay. Thank you, Harry. But, but maybe it would be good if you didn't tell anyone about this conversation..." Harry nodded. He wouldn't tell anyone except Daphne. "Well, thanks again, Harry. It felt good, I mean, it felt good to be able to talk about all this, even if it's just our feelings. But I think I've got a few things to do before Susan gets back, but I'll see you on the first of September?"
"Definitely," Harry said. "On the train at the latest. I'm looking forward to going back to Hogwarts."
The last sentence was a lie, but Harry had been serious about everything before that. Neville had surprised him and apparently he had to revise his opinion of Susan as well. Sometimes it really was the quiet waters that ran deep. And bloody.
With that, the two teenagers said goodbye to each other. Harry watched Neville for a while before he disappeared into one of the many shops. Then he leaned against the wall of the house again, as he had done before Neville's arrival.
His eyes glanced down the street, where Madam Malkins' shop lay somewhere out of sight. Harry sensed that Daphne was still there. How much longer would she be? It couldn't take that long to pick out a dress, could it?
Daphne was buttoning her blouse in the changing room, having finished choosing fabric and taking measurements with Madam Malkin, when suddenly she heard familiar voices.
"Am I really not allowed to meet her, Mum? She wrote to say she was here today with her father. She said she'd be delighted to see me."
"As I said, it's not appropriate. Your father and I have already explained that to you."
"But she's actually a friend of Pansy's."
"Friend I doubt. I'm not saying that this Tracey isn't clever, after all she knows who her betters are and sticks to them. But a half-blood like her is not good company for you. If she's tolerated by Miss Parkinson and young Draco, that's up to them, but you can't risk jeopardising your reputation. You are the future of this family."
Daphne decided not to listen any longer. She pushed the cloak aside, stepped around the corner and caught sight of the two new arrivals, a petite young girl with long auburn hair, sky-blue eyes and a graceful face, and beside her a woman with ebony hair as ebony as Daphne's own. Both pairs of eyes widened as they saw Daphne.
"Oh, how rude," Daphne greeted her mother and sister. "Don't I have a future?"
There was an awkward silence in the shop for a moment – even Madam Malkin behind her counter seemed embarrassed – then Daphne's mother took a step forward. She raised her hand as if to touch Daphne, but then stopped. She lowered her hand again.
"Daphne," her mother said, her eyes searching her from top to bottom. "You – how do you look? What..."
"She already looked like this last term," Astoria said. Her sister crossed her arms and pursed her lips contemptuously. "Like a banshee, a creature drenched in nothing but blackness and infamy."
"As I said, rude," Daphne said. "And Astoria, you'd better pay attention in class if you think that's what a banshee looks like, or Professor Lupin will have no choice but to fail you." She crossed her arms as well. "You don't want to disgrace the Greengrass name, do you?"
"You're not Greengrass anymore! You –"
This time it was her mother who cut Astoria off. "That's enough, daughter. Always show your good breeding and manners, and don't stoop to such a level. It's not befitting a girl of your birth." Her gaze swept over Daphne again, and Daphne felt it lingered especially long on her face, on the dark eye shadow and lipstick she had applied, and then on the manicured fingernails with the black nail polish. "You're not entirely wrong, though. Daphne, how do you look? What have you done to yourself?"
"What do you care, Mother? You've thrown me out of the family."
"It was your father who –"
"Or you know what, Mother," Daphne cut her off. "I don't really care either. The last time I cared about your opinion was a long, long time ago. Probably more than seven years." She tapped her forefinger against her lips as if thinking hard. "Yes, that's about right. It was then that I realised how weak you are. How limited, cowardly and submissive you are. I don't think I've ever been as grateful to Father as I was when he cut all family ties between us."
"And yet you haven't dropped your last name," Astoria said, her voice at least as contemptuous as Daphne's.
Daphne shrugged. "What can I say? It's still my name. And the name Greengrass used to mean something, too. Once we were among Morgana Le Fay's closest confidants, and now" – she clicked her tongue – "now you cower before a self-proclaimed Dark Lord with superiority complexes, no, not even him, but his pathetic servants."
"Oh, of course," Astoria said contemptuously. "Your great role model could not be missing, of course. We're so sorry that we're just normal people and not such super witches."
"And that's your problem, dear sister."
At that moment, her mother spoke again as she took a step forward. But she held her hands tightly in front of her chest, as if she really didn't dare cross the final distance to her eldest daughter. "Please, Daphne, come to your senses. We only want what's best for you. We've always wanted the best for you. Please listen to us before you bring more misfortune and ridicule upon yourself."
"And what does that mean?" Daphne asked, her voice suddenly icy.
"You have already made powerful enemies. And then there's what was in the papers about the Potter boy and you. Daphne, people are talking about you and they're also talking about our family. They –"
"It's because of you that our family name is being dragged through the mud," Astoria said. Her sister glared at her.
On the one hand, Daphne was glad that at least one more Greengrass hadn't forgotten how to fight, but on the other, it saddened her that her sister was still completely caught up in her parents' manipulations.
"Please, as if it needed me," Daphne said. She looked into Astoria's eyes. Only hers. "From the moment our parents first thought of offering one of their daughters as a concubine, they've dragged our family name through the mud. Every time they kowtow to pathetic wannabe wizards who think they are powerful, they drag our family name through the mud. The moment our father's quill touched the parchment to sell you to the Malfoys, our family name was dragged through a sea of slurry and mud. Gives a whole new meaning to the word Mudblood, doesn't it?" She reached for her sister. "But it doesn't have to be this way, sister. Together, we can restore our family name to greatness. All you have to do is free yourself from our wretched parents. Let me help you break your chains."
Astoria slapped her hand away. "Unlike you, I know my duties. I will not abandon my family and disgrace myself. The only one being pathetic here is you, Daphne. Our parents love us and only want the best for us, but you've always been far too selfish to see that."
Daphne couldn't help but laugh out loud at her sister's words. "You talk about duty and disgrace as if they were the two forces that move this world. But one day you too will see the truth, I firmly believe. I'll be waiting for you, don't worry. Just tell me and I will help you."
"Unlike you, Astoria knows how a good daughter should behave," her mother said. "Tell me, who's paying for all this for you?" She pointed to her clothes, her black travelling cloak with the silver trim, her dragon leather boots. "Is it Potter's gold? Is it really better than ours? Are you really as independent as you think you are?"
"At least I know he's giving it to me because he loves me, not because he wants something from me to further his own selfish ends." With that, Daphne walked over to Madam Malkin and placed several galleons on the counter. She'd had enough of this whole charade. "As agreed, as an advance. Please send the finished wardrobe to the address I gave you and I'll pay the rest."
Madam Malkin simply nodded and pocketed the gold coins. She then took the opportunity to disappear into the back room. Apparently she too had had enough of the Greengrasses' pathetic arguments.
"Where are you living now?" asked Daphne's mother. "Not at Hogwarts anymore?"
Daphne turned to her. "None of your business really, but yes, Harry and I have a new home."
"Grimmauld Place," Astoria scoffed. "Draco thought it was very unfair that Potter inherited the house until his father explained to him what a dump it was."
"The old Black ancestral home?" her mother asked, confused. "Who would Potter have inherited it from?"
Daphne was pleased that Astoria obviously hadn't told her parents everything either. Perhaps there was still hope if she remained patient. And before it was too late, she would do something anyway. She would never allow her little sister to become anyone's concubine.
"Sirius Black's," Astoria said. "I can explain it to you at home, Mum, because it's a long story. But Draco explained it all to me."
"Sirius Black?" Daphne's mother looked at her, stunned. "The one who hexed you with the Confusion Charms? Daphne, you must realise it yourself if you say that out loud! Why don't you see it? You've always been so easily manipulated, by books and stories and ancient legends, and now you're letting yourself be manipulated by this Potter boy. Don't you see? He's just using you!"
Daphne laughed again. "Oh, Mother, you still haven't got the slightest idea who or what I am. And speaking of Harry, I am sure he's waiting for me. Well, I was not happy to see you."
With that, Daphne walked to the door and waved back over her shoulder. "Until we meet again in the hopefully distant future, Mother. And Astoria, I'll see you at Hogwarts."
She heard a loud snort behind her, but not a word followed. It was probably for the best. Everything there was to say had been said, probably more. More words would be a waste.
As Daphne went to open the door, it was opened from the other side. It was her classmate Susan Bones, entering the shop with a slight smile on her face. She must be here to buy her robes for next year too, Daphne thought, but the thought went out of her head as quickly as it had come.
With quick steps she passed Bones and stepped out into the glaring sunlight. True, it was still high summer, even if it had felt more like the Ice Age in here. Well, better icy and free than warm and oppressed, and if the cold bothered you, you were just too stupid to cast a fire spell anyway...
With these thoughts in her head, Daphne walked down Diagon Alley. Instinctively she knew where to put her feet, her bond with Harry drawing her like a moth to a flame. And sure enough, she finally caught sight of Harry in front of her, leaning boredly against the wall of a house.
When Harry saw her, he pushed himself off the wall and came towards her. "There you are. I really need to tell you something. I've just met Neville."
Daphne frowned. What could be so interesting about Longbottom? But she sensed that Harry was serious, so she said, "Well, I'm curious. I also had an interesting encounter. My mother and sister." With that she linked arms with Harry and they began to walk together. "'Have you got all our shopping?"
"Wow, that sounds like an unpleasant encounter," Harry said. "And of course. Your treacle tart too. All shrunk and tucked away safely. Anything else you want to do here?"
"No, let's get back home. Then we can catch up with each other."
And so Harry and Daphne walked quickly through Diagon Alley until they finally found a dark side alley and disappeared into its shadows. They walked a few more metres until they were sure no one could see them. Then they transformed into their Animagus forms and rose into the air together.
Anyone looking up at that moment might have been surprised to see two black crows in the sky, flying wing to wing as if holding hands.
And how right they would have been.
It was a few weeks after their trip to Diagon Alley that Harry and Daphne sat down to breakfast one morning in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
They always needed to eat well to have enough energy for another busy day of wizardry and study, as they had done all summer. Even on Harry's birthday they hadn't allowed themselves a break, despite Daphne's suggestion and the fact that they'd slept an hour longer than usual – Harry's blood still rushed to his head when he thought of the position they'd both woken up in that day. But there was simply too much to do to laze around for even one day. After all, they had a hundred years to catch up with Dumbledore and at least a few decades to catch up with Voldemort, and that couldn't be done by idleness.
Still, they both enjoyed those moments of quiet in the morning before they began their intense days, and today was no exception. It was the morning of the nineteenth of August, less than two weeks before their imminent return to Hogwarts.
Daphne was removing the morning edition of the Daily Prophet from the courier owl's leg, while Harry ate his cereal and reread Ron's latest letter, as he still owed his friend a reply. The letter had arrived yesterday morning and was, of course, about Quidditch.
Hey Harry,
I'm afraid your crossed fingers haven't helped. You've probably already seen it. At least we didn't have to witness the tragedy live in the stadium. It was just awful. A disgrace.
10:390! Against Transylvania! If you ask me, Dracula should have sucked the blood out of them all, then at least they wouldn't have been able to mount any more broomsticks...
Well, at least Ireland did their duty, so there's at least one likeable team to root for in today's final. Although I wouldn't begrudge Krumm it either, and Bulgaria beat those bloody Transylvanians in the semi-final. So may the best team win, right?
Of course, I still think it's a shame that you and Daphne are too busy to come to the game with us, but I know what you're like. Percy has now invited two people from work. Well, I'm sure it's good for his career, but I would have liked someone to talk to about something other than the effect of floor thickness on the import tax on copper kettles.
At least Hermione's here, and believe it or not, she actually said she was looking forward to the game! I know, who is this girl and what has she done to our friend?!
Oh, I must hurry. Dad's calling, we're about to go to the Portkey for the final and –
Harry stopped reading when he saw Daphne frowning across the table. The newspaper was open in front of her.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Daphne looked up and he could tell from her face and the unease in her magic that something was very wrong. Instead of answering, she handed him the paper.
All Harry had to do was read the headlines on the front page and everything inside him tightened.
Attack on World Cup Celebrations – Death Eater presumed dead exposed – Two Aurors killed in arrest – Number of other casualties and injured unknown
