Chapter Twenty-Five – The Joys and Pain of Grimmauld Place
The taxi, with Harry and Daphne in the back, weaved its way through the heavy traffic of central London. The sky was bright blue and the summer sun was illuminating the many sights of the city as they left Kings Cross station further and further behind them.
Harry couldn't help but smile at his girlfriend as she stared wide-eyed at the red double-decker buses that cut through the traffic like icebreakers through ice, only less destructive, and the tall buildings that towered impressively into the sky. The crowds of people on the pavements, the buzz of voices and the whole chaotic vibrancy of the city seemed to fascinate Daphne.
Her amazement was amusing, Harry thought, almost cute. But then again, it was probably the first time she had ever seen so many people at once, Muggles or wizards. And so, at that moment, as she took in the metropolis and her impressions, she looked like a curious child exploring the big wide world for the first time.
However, Daphne's expression quickly cooled as they left the bustling city centre behind and drove through what looked like a residential area, except that the facades of the houses looked anything but homely. They were covered in dirt and some of the windows were smashed. The paint was peeling off many of the door frames and rubbish was strewn across the ground. It really was a miserable sight and Harry felt a little ashamed of the Muggles who had allowed their own neighbourhood to fall into such disrepair, even if they didn't have the power to fix all these defects with a simple wave of their wands. Still, the idea that such an area was the ancestral home of a centuries-old pureblood family was nothing short of grotesque. But there was no doubt that this was the right address.
And so the taxi finally stopped at the edge of a small square, directly in front of the house with the cheeky number twelve on the front door. The square was Grimmauld Place and the house was Sirius's old home. Harry's stomach tightened at the thought, but he hadn't come here to despair yet.
He paid the Muggle driver and got out of the taxi with Daphne. They got their trunks out of the boot and then the taxi drove off quickly, as if it didn't want to stay in this desolate area any longer than it absolutely had to.
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances. With their large trunks, Hedwig in her cage and their magical robes – in Daphne's case combined with stylish black leather dragon boots – they looked as out of place as a laugh in Potions class.
The house in front of them didn't look as dilapidated as many others they'd passed, but the ravages of time didn't seem to have left it untouched either. Dirt and fumes had eaten deep into the façade, which had apparently once been painted in glorious colours, and the plaster showed deep cracks that looked like scars from battles long past. The window frames were darkly stained, the glass covered in cobwebs and dust.
"Pretty place," Daphne commented dryly. "Now I understand why Sirius left as soon as he could."
Harry made his way to the front steps. "Let's see inside first. We'll have to live with what we find here anyway. It's not like we have many other options."
"We could always burn it down. But better from a distance before it all blows up in our faces. The house is full of dark magic, I can feel it. My inner crow's feathers are standing on end."
"If even you say so, then this must be the darkest magical place in all of Britain," Harry said with a grin. But he could feel it too. The legacy of centuries lay like a shroud over this place. He would bet all his possessions that many a Muggle had fallen victim to dark magical rituals in this house over the years, or simply to a cruel family of mad pure-blood fanatics.
Together they climbed the worn stairs. The paint was peeling off the heavy front door and the lock looked old and rusty. Harry noticed that the knocker was in the shape of a writhing snake, also covered in rust. There was no keyhole or letterbox.
Instinctively, however, Harry knew what he had to do; his years in the wizarding world and his training with Daphne had not been in vain. He reached out and placed his hand on the wood of the front door. A tingling sensation ran through his fingertips, like touching an electric fence in a pasture, but this was a different force. A much more powerful one.
There was a click in the lock, then the door opened inwards. Darkness awaited them inside, accompanied by a musty smell. He and Daphne exchanged another glance before they stepped over the threshold side by side.
They entered some sort of entrance hall, the exact dimensions of which were obscured by the darkness. The floorboards beneath their feet were covered in dust and the sound of rats could be heard from the walls. Harry felt he was in the most desolate place in the world. Hedwig in her cage also hid her head under her wing as if she didn't want to see anything.
Next to Harry, Daphne clicked her tongue, disgust on her pretty face. Then she suddenly had her wand in her hand and pointed it into the darkness in front of her. "Incen–"
"No," Harry said, grabbing her hand. "Don't."
His girlfriend gave him an amused look. "What? I just wanted to make a light." She let go of his hand and raised her wand again, but this time she just said, "Lumos Sphaerus".
Harry shook his head, though an amused smile formed on his lips as bright balls of light flew from Daphne's wand in all directions. But the light only accentuated the decay of the Black's ancestral home. You could clearly see the dirty wallpaper peeling off the walls, the rat droppings in the corners, the cobwebs that covered the entire ceiling, and a snake-shaped chandelier that had once been gold but was now almost black.
And it was not just the chandelier, Harry could see snakeshaped furniture and ornaments all over the long, dark entrance hall. Although he owed the greatest gift of his life to the House of Snakes, Slytherin, of which the Blacks seemed so proud, he felt no particular love for the animal. Especially when it was such an integral part of the decor of his new home. It really looked like they had a lot of work to do here...
But as the magical spheres of light continued to spread around the house, a woman's croaking voice suddenly sounded ahead of them. It was a voice that made Harry's hair stand on end.
"Who is it?" the voice croaked. "Is it you, Regulus? Have you finally returned? Come here, my son, I want to see you with my own eyes. I've waited so long for you to come home. Kreacher will draw you a bath and..."
The voice continued to babble something unintelligible to Harry. He and Daphne exchanged another look before walking on in silent agreement, wands raised. A ball of light above their heads lit the way.
They reached the life-size portrait of an old woman with yellowish skin and a black bonnet on her head. The old woman drooled as she went on and on about pride, honour and family. Her eyes were glazed over like smoky marbles and she seemed anything but sane. Could portraits go senile?
"Er, hello?" Harry said carefully.
The woman jumped at the sound of his voice. She rolled her eyes and stared at him in confusion. "Who are you?" she shouted shrilly. "You're not Regulus! Identify yourself!"
"No, I am not. My name is Harry Potter, Madam. I –"
"Potter?! Potter?!" the woman began to scream. "A family of Blood Traitors! Filthy, disgusting scum! How dare you enter my ancestral home, you unworthy wretch!"
"All this belongs to Harry," Daphne's voice cut through the air. "He is the heir of Sirius Black, the master of this house."
The woman's eyes seemed to explode inside her head. Her painted face turned bright red, if that was possible, and her mouth kept opening and closing as if she didn't know what to say. But that moment was just the calm before the storm, for the next she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Sirius?! Sirius?! Of course it's my unworthy, wretched, traitorous son bringing a filthy Potter into my house! Oh, the shame! What a disgrace!"
The woman was Sirius's mother, Harry realised. Well, not really his mother, just a portrait of her, but he could now well imagine why his godfather had disliked his home. Still, Harry suddenly felt quite sick to his stomach and his tongue was heavy as he spoke, but even a mother as unpleasant as this one deserved to know the truth.
So he said, "Sirius is dead. He died not long ago." I killed him.
He didn't say the last sentence, just thought it in his head, and yet he felt Daphne's amber eyes on him. She moved a little closer.
"Serves him right!" the woman shouted. "Mixing with Blood Traitors and Mudbloods. Abandoned his family! His blood! He doesn't deserve to live anymore!"
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But he's your son!" he shouted.
"He's not my son! He was a freak! Scum, scum, scum! And now the fate of scum has befallen him!"
"How dare you?" hissed Harry. He raised his wand, which shook in his hand. A reddish glow flickered at the tip. "How dare you!"
"This is my house!" the woman shouted. "The house of my ancestors! I can dare and say what I like, and such spawn of filth and wickedness as you will not sully the honour of the Blacks! Every second you are here brings shame to this house! Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame! Sham–"
Sirius' mother seemed to be caught in an endless loop of her tirade when Harry and Daphne suddenly heard something else. An inhuman screech, accompanied by hurried, slurping noises, drifted towards them from the house, growing louder and louder.
"Mistress! What are you doing to my mistress? Mistress!"
It was a house-elf running towards them, but it was a house-elf unlike any Harry had ever seen. Where Dobby had been young and vigorous, this house-elf was old and frail. Where the house-elves of Hogwarts were clean and kind, this house-elf's skin was dripping with filth, and his bloodshot, watery grey eyes lacked any trace of warmth. His wrinkled skin hung from his gaunt body, and large clumps of white hair grew from his bat ears. He was completely naked except for a dirty rag, the original colour of which Harry couldn't make out for the life of him. This had to be the house-elf Fudge had spoken of, the old servant of the House of Black.
"Foul boy and girl, leave my mistress alone!" the house-elf shouted. "Mistress, Kreacher is here, Kreacher is here for you, Kreacher will drive away the evil children!"
The house-elf, Kreacher, continued to rush towards them, his hands raised as if to go for their throats. Daphne reacted instantly, pointing her wand at the attacker, but Harry stopped her.
"Don't!" he shouted. "Stop!"
The house-elf stopped instantly. His body shook, but he stopped moving, his bony fists raised in front of him as if frozen. His bloodshot eyes widened. "Ugly, disgusting boy orders Kreacher to stop, and Kreacher stops. Does that mean..."
Harry nodded. "Yes, Kreacher. I'm your new master."
Sirius' mother hadn't stopped shouting by now. "Shame! Shame! Shame!" More and more drool dripped from the corners of her mouth. Then suddenly a jolt went through her body. Her glassy eyes cleared for a moment, an evil glint in them. "Kreacher! Kreacher, be a good servant and remove these rodents, these parasites, from this house. Do it now, what are you waiting for?"
Kreacher fought the stupor Harry's words had put him in. His whole body shook, his fingertips twitched, his eyes rolled up and down his skull, left and right, but he couldn't obey the portrait's command. "Kreacher is trying, mistress," he croaked, the desperation clearly audible in his voice. "Kreacher –"
"KREACHER! KREACHER! KREACHER!" The woman's voice grew louder and louder, shriller and shriller, as if she were a rabid harpy. "DO YOUR DUTY, YOU USELESS THING! DRIVE OUT THE UNWORTHY, THE WRETCHED LOT, THE SCUM, THE FILTH! SHAME, SHAME, SHAME!"
Tears welled in Kreacher's eyes as he looked hatefully at Harry and Daphne. "What are you doing here, you stupid children? Why are you doing this to my mistress? Why don't you leave mistress and Kreacher alone?"
"We mean you no harm," Harry tried to reassure the house-elf. He walked towards Kreacher with his hands raised in appeasement, but he seemed to instinctively back away from him, at least as far as he could in his current state, and so Harry stopped again. "Sirius left me this house and –"
"SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! UNWORTHY SON! UNWORTHY! SHAME! SHAME! ABOMINATION! ABOMINATION OF PURE BLOOD!"
At this point, even Hedwig found it too much to bear, and she rattled her beak angrily as she spread her wings in her cage, ready to attack. "Klak-klak-klak!"
Kreacher was still glaring at Harry, his gaze even more intense and hateful than before. "The stupid boy is the heir of the unworthy son who betrayed his family to mingle with filthy Blood Traitors and Mudbloods."
"Sirius was a good man!" Harry said loudly, as if to drown out the noise. "He was brave and honourable and –"
"MALICE! SCUM! PURE BLOOD SULLIED! MAGGOTS! SCUM! PARASITES OF MAGIC!"
Kreacher began to laugh, it sounded like fingernails scraping a chalkboard. "But unworthy son is dead, and the maggots feast on his flesh. Unworthy son got what he deserved. Kreacher would have liked to be there to spit on his corpse."
"That's enough," Daphne hissed. Her black wand whizzed through the air. "Crucio."
A red beam shot out and hit Kreacher right in the emaciated chest. The magic that had held him before seemed to break as he collapsed to the filthy floor. His body jerked and writhed in pain. "Aaaarghhhh! Aaaaaaarrggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed as the agonising curse tore through him.
"SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SCUM! DISGRACE!"
"Wretched wretch," Daphne hissed. "How dare you? I'll teach you manners."
The red beam connecting her wand to Kreacher grew stronger, Kreacher's convulsions more violent, his voice increasingly shrill as the pain shot through his body. Harry could do nothing but watch. He felt numb. Empty. Hollow.
"Aaaarghhh! Aaaaaaarrgggghhhhhhhhhh! Aaaarrgghhhh!"
"BLOOD TRAITOR! DIRTY BLOOD! SCUM! DISGUST! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!"
Hedwig screamed in her cage as if she wanted to escape. "Kreeeeeh! Kreeeeeh! Kreeeeeh!"
Daphne laughed. "Not so happy now, are you? That's what you get for not being able to control your wicked tongue."
"Aaaarrrghhh, Aaaaarrrrrghhhhhh, Aaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!"
"SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SCUM! DISGRACE! BETRAYAL!"
"Kreeeeeh! Kreeeeeh! Kreeeeeh!"
The screams of the portrait, Kreacher's cries of pain, Hedwig's hissing, Daphne's laughter, the stifling atmosphere of the house threatening to suffocate him. Harry felt dizzy and couldn't breathe. He cupped his hands over his ears to block out the noise. In vain. There was no escape. No escape from reality.
It was too much. Everything was too much. He wanted it to stop, to end. All of it, the suffering, the pain, the fear. He didn't want to suffer anymore. Never again.
Let someone else do it for him.
As if in a trance, his wand arm lifted and aimed at the house-elf, who rolled on the floor in pain, his lips bitten to a bloody pulp, his skin pale as death, his voice cracking. How dared this creature, this miserable wretch, mock Sirius? To insult him, to defile his memory?
How could he dare to be so weak, to offer no resistance? How could he allow himself to be so humiliated?
Harry felt bile in his mouth. Heat coursed through his body. Anger, hatred, disgust. Fear.
He had to become powerful, fight against this world, otherwise he would end up like this wretched creature. And he had sworn never to let that happen. Never again. Damn it, never, never again.
The spell came naturally to him, as often as he had used it. Against rabbits and mice and such, sure, but when you looked at the truth with unadulterated eyes, this creature was nothing more than a stupid rabbit. He was not a Dobby, not one of the house elves of Hogwarts, just a loathsome, disgusting nothing. And he deserved nothing less.
"Crucio."
His red beam merged with Daphne's. Kreacher's cries of pain grew more piercing, his body rolling on the floor, out of control and out of consciousness, but Harry felt a faint stream of life power flowing through his body from his wand.
He imagined the cries of pain were those of Cornelius Fudge. A dreamy smile spread across his face.
They burned Kreacher's body in the garden of the house; the torture had been too much for his old heart. Harry had to use all his self-control not to spit on his body.
Afterwards, he and Daphne began to explore the house. But wherever they went, whichever corridor or room they entered, there was dirt and dust dripping everywhere, even more pungent than the dark aura of the dark magical artefacts scattered throughout the house. Whatever the stupid house-elf had been doing all these years, cleaning had obviously not been one of them. And so they spent the rest of the day using their magic to get at least two of the bedrooms clean enough to sleep in.
By the time they had managed that, it was late in the evening and Harry fell into his new bed, tired and exhausted. The day had taken its toll on him, but it still took him quite a while to fall asleep. And even then, the peace he longed for did not await him...
Darkness surrounded him. Pitch black, absolute darkness. Harry felt like he was falling, but he couldn't be sure because there was nothing to guide his gaze. But suddenly he saw a light in front of him, faint but unmistakable. It was white, as white as the whitest snow, but the light seemed to be moving away from him.
Harry screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth. He started to run after the light. Slowly it came closer. The distance was getting smaller. He reached out as far as he could. His fingers touched the white light.
Suddenly the darkness around him disappeared and the white light wrapped itself around him like a shroud. But there was something else... also white... pale. Deadly pale.
Harry's heartbeat quickened. His legs went wobbly. There was a human body in front of him, but it wasn't moving. Its face was pale and rigid, not a breath coming from its lips. It was Sirius.
"Sirius," Harry murmured, but his voice was weak. Barely more than the faint echo of a human sound, like the very last note of a symphony before it was over forever.
He had seen his godfather like that before... in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, after he had killed him. After the Dementors had sucked out his soul.
But unlike then, a jolt went through Sirius' body as soon as Harry's murmur had faded. His godfather widened his dark eyes and glared at Harry.
"Why?" Sirius straightened and walked towards Harry, "Why didn't you help me?"
Harry stumbled back. "I wanted to help you!" he shouted. "I wanted to, but –"
"But you were too weak," Sirius said, grabbing him by the throat. His hand was as cold as a dead man's. "You'll always be weak. A weak son. A weak godson. A weak friend and lover. It would have been better if I had never met you, then I would still be alive. Tell me, boy, who will be the next victim of your weakness? Ron? Hermione? Or perhaps Daphne?"
Harry felt as if a spear of ice had pierced his insides. He reeled back, struggling against the grip of the false dead and screaming as if his lungs would burst. "Never! Never will I –"
He blinked. In an instant, the white light had disappeared, as had Sirius' body in front of him, the hand around his neck, the black, accusing eyes. It was dark around him, but not impenetrable. Moonlight shone through a window to Harry's right, accompanied by the distant lights of a city that never slept.
He was in his room at Grimmauld Place, in his bed, sitting up straight, his heart beating wildly. In his pyjamas, clinging to his skin, soaked with sweat.
It was just a dream, Harry thought as his heartbeat slowly calmed. A nightmare, but just a dream.
"Harry, are you all right?" a familiar voice reached his ear.
He looked to the side. There was Daphne standing on the doorstep, her black wand in her hand, radiating a warm light. Her silky, jet-black hair fell sleekly over her back and shoulders, and she was wearing nothing but a thin nightgown, also black, of course. She looked like a dark angel. And she was beautiful.
"Are you all right?" Daphne asked as she walked slowly into the room. The floorboards creaked under her feet, which seemed all the louder in the otherwise eerily quiet house. But Harry was glad of every sound she made. She must have sensed something and come to him immediately. Just like always.
"I'm fine," he said, noticing how hoarse his voice was. He coughed and started again. "I'm fine, just had a bad dream."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Daphne walked over to his bed and sat down on the edge. "Can I lie down with you?"
"You mean..."
Daphne nodded. "If it's all right with you."
Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks, but he didn't hesitate. He moved a little to the side and lifted the covers so that Daphne could slip underneath. And that's exactly what she did.
But she didn't just lie down next to him, no, she snuggled up against his side. Harry felt only too well how her graceful, very feminine body, wrapped only in a thin nightgown, nestled against his arm, against his chest. His cheeks grew even warmer. But if his girlfriend found all this strange, she didn't show it, and through their bond he could also feel nothing of the sort, only affection and concern.
Daphne lifted her hand and gently stroked his hair. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Goose bumps ran down his body. He would never have thought that a human touch could be as wonderful as it was at that moment. It seemed to him as if all the tension fell away under Daphne's gentle touch. Once again their two magics intertwined and Harry felt the familiar taste of Daphne's blood on his tongue. He swallowed lightly.
"What were you dreaming about?" Daphne asked.
"Sirius," Harry said. "But it wasn't that bad. It's just... I..." He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "I could have saved him, Daph. If I'd been stronger. If I hadn't been so weak."
Daphne brushed a strand of hair from his face. Her fingers were so soft against his skin. "You're not weak, Harry. Quite the opposite. You're very strong, the strongest person I know. You saved my life in the Chamber, remember? Or when you defended me, against Malfoy, against Hermione, against Wood. When you took my father's blow that was meant for me." Her fingers stroked his cheek where he had been hit. "Time and time again, you have stood up for me. I know you no longer want me to call you by the name we gave each other then, but to me you will always be my shining hero."
"What shining hero would do what we're about to do?" said Harry quietly. "What hero would torture other living creatures? What hero would have used the Killing Curse without hesitation?"
Daphne moved even closer. Her scent caught Harry's nose and clouded his mind. "My hero. Maybe that's not what the others would call a hero, not this bloody miserable world, but I don't care. The others don't matter, just you and me."
"Sirius could have mattered..."
She nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
"I killed him, Daph. I pointed my wand at him and cast the curse. It's supposed to be difficult, they say, and I did it on the first try..." He tried to turn his head away from her, but Daphne's fingers held him.
"Because it was the right thing to do," she said. "Your magic, your inner self, your soul recognised it and guided you. You knew instinctively what to do because it was the right thing to do." She shook her head slightly, causing her hair to brush his cheek. "No, you did nothing wrong and you should never think otherwise. In fact, I'm sure Sirius feels the same way, on the other side. If I'd been in his place, I'd definitely have wanted you to let me go."
"Daph –"
"Of course I would wish for a different death," Daphne continued without letting him finish, "if I had to die. Preferably in an epic battle against our enemies while dragging them to their deaths with me, but..." Her voice trailed off, though her fingers still ran through his hair. Harry had the feeling she was deep in thought.
After a few moments of silence, he asked, "So you'd do the same for me?"
"No," Daphne said without hesitation. "For you, I would descend into the depths of the underworld to snatch your soul from Hades and bring it back to life with me. I just hope I'd be stronger-willed than Orpheus, so I wouldn't turn back on the way back and ruin everything." She shrugged. "Or I'd have to kill the God of Death himself to make our escape possible. That's fine with me too."
Harry couldn't help but grin broadly at her words. He couldn't say exactly why, but he believed every word Daphne said. If anyone could do that, it was his girlfriend. No, not just his girlfriend. His partner, his companion, his accomplice in this earthly tragedy. The witch who had confessed her love to him.
At that moment, Harry's heart felt like a burning charcoal, only for him it was the most beautiful feeling on earth. He could finally see the whole beautiful, terrifying, hopeful truth. It had been inside him all along, but now he had the strength to see it in its entirety. And to speak it.
He turned to face her. "Daph, I think... I mean, I..." He took a deep breath and looked straight into her eyes, her beautiful, warm, golden eyes with a greenish glow in them. "What I want to say ... I love you, Daph. With everything I have."
Daphne smiled at him. "I know." With that, she closed the last gap between them and kissed him softly on the lips. It was one of the most tender kisses they had ever shared, and perhaps the most beautiful of all.
As they fell asleep some time later, arm in arm, snuggled up together, enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other and the comfort they promised each other, there was a happy smile on Harry's sleeping face. And any thought of nightmares seemed a distant memory.
Even after that first night at Grimmauld Place, Harry and Daphne stuck to their new sleeping arrangements, as neither of them liked sleeping alone in this grim place. And suddenly Harry found it very difficult to get out of bed every morning, but he forced himself to do it anyway because there was so much to do.
For the first week, they spent most of their time exploring the old manor house, looking through all sorts of strange rooms and dark corridors. On the very first morning, they discovered a training room with several magical training dummies in the shape of human opponents that could even repel and return magical attacks to a certain extent, similar to the training dummies in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. They spent hours bombarding the dummies with curses and spells, imagining that they were Gilderoy Lockhart and Rita Skeeter.
It was amazing how well they worked together, Harry realised. The way they understood each other instinctively, even seemed to anticipate what the other was going to do next, what spells they were going to cast, how they could best contribute to enhance the effect of the magic, when they could contribute some of their own life powers and when they had to provide support. This was probably also due to the bond that bound their magic together. Harry could feel that bond pulling at them. Pulling them towards each other and their common goal, towards wherever their wands were needed.
When the dummies were so badly mutilated that even the magic of this old house couldn't repair them, they moved on to another room.
The Black's vast library was easily Harry's favourite room in the house. It was two storeys high – broken up by a grand staircase that ran from the top floor to the ornamented carpet below. Harry and Daphne would spend hours in one of the many large, overstuffed armchairs, reading armfuls of whatever tomes caught their fancy. They read of promises of magic far beyond what could be found in many of the books in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts and what not even the Room of Requirement could offer them, of dark, magical, horrible rituals that made Harry's hair stand on end, and which they tried out anyway on dark nights in secluded rooms or in the sheltered garden of the house. They read the accumulated wisdom of this ancient family, which promised limitless power if you were prepared to follow the path to it, and if you had the talent and the will to do so, and they had both. They read until their eyes hurt, until they fell asleep leaning against each other in one of the armchairs, waking only in the middle of the night to try out the new spells.
They practised like mad. Harry loved every second of it, even though they nearly burnt down the house with themselves in it while practising one particular new spell. But they got the magic under control just in time. Thank Merlin – or Morgana, as Daphne would say – for falling victim to his own magic would be a shame he couldn't bear.
When did I become so vain? Harry wondered, but knew the answer immediately as he watched his partner, beaming with joy, directing the glowing flames through the air like a puppet master. We really do seem to influence each other, as Madam Pomfrey said back then.
There was only one moment when Harry's heart was heavy, and that was when Hedwig did not return from a hunting trip one morning. He also knew she would never return again, but he couldn't blame her. The boy she had been given to almost three years ago no longer existed. Whatever she had seen in him then, it was probably better she looked elsewhere now. Harry just hoped that his friend was well and that she could live a long and happy owl life, wherever she was now. Hopefully somewhere with lots of tasty mice and fried bacon...
And so the summer went on. It was the end of July, just before his birthday, when Harry found himself sitting in the Black's library one evening. On his lap was a thick, heavy tome of yellowed parchment, the cover of which he would rather not know what it was made of. Although he had a hunch. Well, more than a hunch, but he didn't want to think about that at the moment, because the contents of the old book were much more interesting anyway. It was about a subject that had been of burning interest to Harry for some time.
A mystery hidden deep in the shadows of wizarding history, he read intently, is the Impetus, an ancient and sinister form of blood magic, researched only by the most ambitious and ruthless wizards and witches. The Impetus acts as a catalyst within the mage's body, transforming the life power gained from the pain of others, or one's own, into even greater magical power. To achieve this effect, the Impetus must come from a being wholly imbued with magic. Some historical accounts claim that the eyes of a basilisk, the lungs of a dragon or the heart of a unicorn have been used as the source of an Impetus, but it is difficult to verify their veracity today. What is certain is that the price that ambitious wizards had to pay for such overwhelming power was always high and relentless...
The book didn't say what that price was, but Harry had an idea. He remembered Daphne's words well, after she had first come to his aid in her crow form, and he had told her of the words of the centaur Firenze. That drinking unicorn blood would condemn you to a cursed life.
"In one of the books from the Restricted Section I once read that those who eat the heart of a unicorn obtain great power but must in exchange offer the pain of others to their body as compensation. Maybe it's something like that."
That was what she had told him. Harry was sure that the two went together, like Snape and his greasy hair. It just fit like a glove. And he had already talked to Daphne about his feeling. If there was even a halfway realistic chance of gaining this power, it would certainly help them achieve their goals for the future. And everything in life had its price, he would not be deterred by that.
The only question was, what would such a realistic chance look like? How could they get their own Impetus? The trade in the organs of such rare and powerful magical beings was strictly regulated, and Harry could not imagine that they could have been removed from the beings long ago in order to still be effective. No, they had to be fresh, the blood and tissue still warm. Too bad they'd cut out the basilisk's eyes back then, but who knew if they'd still be alive if they hadn't. No, there was no point in dwelling on the past.
Harry knew there were unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, after all, Hagrid had only taken them there because the creature that might have been Voldemort had been hunting them. But in all their subsequent trips to the forest, whether in human or animal form, he and Daphne had never seen a unicorn. They felt their magic, as the whole forest vibrated with it, but that was all. Unicorns seemed to be very shy creatures, from the looks of it.
Maybe they just needed to be patient, Harry thought. Eventually, they would surely find a way to get their Impetus and gain even more power.
Knock-knock
A sudden knock on the front door, echoing through the house, jolted Harry out of his thoughts. He blinked in confusion.
Who the hell could it be knocking at their door?
In the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place number twelve, Daphne sat cross-legged on the floor, directly in front of the portrait of Sirius's mother. The room was silent, and even the portrait was fast asleep, unaware of her presence, for Daphne was hidden under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. She thought hard.
The portrait was the only thing left hanging on the walls of the house. She and Harry had not hesitated long after moving in to remove all the other portraits from the walls and hide them in a dark cupboard under the attic. They didn't want to risk being overheard and spied on, as that could ruin their big plans for the future.
They had also tried to remove the portrait of Walburga Black, but to no avail. They had realised with regret that the portrait was connected not only to the matter of the house, but also to its innermost essence, its deepest magic, nourished by the many generations of Blacks who had lived and died in this house. Trying to tear it out of this magical web would be like trying to cut a piece of flesh out of a human body, a piece of heart or brain, without causing irreparable damage to the body. It would be like trying to remove a keystone from a dome without the stones falling on your head. It would be like untangling a complicated knot without damaging any of the threads.
It would be exactly the kind of challenge that would appeal to Daphne, even without her own selfish goal of finally ridding herself of the presence of this wretched woman. And so here she was, sitting in the hall. She had spent the last few days thinking about how to do this, and now she was finally going to do it.
Daphne took a deep breath before pointing her invisible wand at the unsuspecting portrait. She closed her eyes and felt the magic within her. It felt as warm, as wonderful as ever, as perfect, an inexhaustible source of power. Her power.
She could feel the magic pulsating within her. Concentrating on it, focusing all her senses on the magic within her, she felt it growing stronger, the pulsation increasing in intensity, more and more. The magic within her spread, oozing from every pore of her body, but at a command from her mind, it focused. Like long, thin, invisible fingers, the magic now moved towards the portrait, passing through Harry's Invisibility Cloak as if it weren't there at all. Daphne had noticed this before. It was as if the cloak was completely detached from the rest of the magic in this world.
It was a complete contrast to the portrait in front of her. Daphne could see it clearly now, not with her eyes, for they were still closed, but with her magical senses. It was exactly as she had imagined it – an intricate web of magical threads that ran from the entire house to the portrait, wrapping around it like shackles. A veritable knot in the flow of magic. But while the magic within Daphne was cosy and warm, the knotted magic of the house was unpleasantly cold. Cold as a dead man's body.
In a fit of curiosity, Daphne tugged at one of the threads with her magical fingers, but this only tightened the knot, as if to prevent it from unravelling. So she had to go slowly and patiently. She couldn't rush things.
She took another deep breath and tried to calm her heart, which was pounding with excitement. Come on, Daphne. You can do this. Harry's counting on you to finally send that wretched woman to the afterlife.
Once she had regained her usual composure, she unravelled her magic a little more until she had formed several magical feelers. Ten to be exact, like the ten fingers on her hands. When in doubt, it was always better to use something familiar when faced with something unfamiliar.
Daphne felt her way carefully with her magic fingers. Even more carefully, she began to pull at one of the dark threads. She stopped immediately when another thread stretched out on the other side at the same time. She tried to follow the thread, but after a short distance she could no longer make it out in the tangle of other threads. It was a real mess, but she didn't give up.
She slowly felt the thread until she felt a knot. There, right there, it met another thread! The other thread had wrapped around it, she felt, once, twice, three times. But where had the other thread come from? And where was it going? Daphne couldn't see. She cursed inwardly.
Okay, calm down, Daphne. You've fought Voldemort and a basilisk and fought off a dozen dementors, you can do this. Nothing could be easier.
With renewed confidence, Daphne continued to feel her way with her magic fingers, this time with two fingers at once and in opposite directions. In both directions she found more lumps and knots, where one thread met another, where the threads had intertwined and tangled. She felt that she could go on like this forever, always feeling another thread and yet never coming to an end. But she had to concentrate on her goal – and her beginning. She had to free the first thread around which this one was wrapped. So she took several of her magic fingers and began to unravel the loop, very, very slowly, so that she didn't accidentally touch any of the other threads. She managed to pull the loop far enough so that the first thread no longer touched it.
Daphne exhaled. Well, she had freed the first thread a little, but would that help her? She carefully felt her way forward, a magic finger holding the loop wide. Soon she came to the next tangle, this time two threads wrapped around hers. Again, Daphne began to untangle them with her magic fingers. As she did so, she noticed that one of the threads had actually wrapped around itself. She tried to tighten it with two of her magic fingers and sure enough! The loop came loose! The thread was now smooth and completely detached from the other thread.
A smile played on Daphne's lips. Yes, she would manage to untie the knot, she was sure of it now. She stifled a giggle.
Daphne Greengrass will show you all, she thought. She'll show that she's a better witch than all the Blacks.
And so she continued. Thread by thread, she felt her way forward, loosening one loop after another, pulling here and there, while holding on to another or tightening a thread, all to make progress, piece by piece, thread by thread, knot by knot. And slowly, very slowly, the web of magic threads began to unravel.
Daphne didn't know how much time had passed, for she had lost all sense of time in the flow of magic, but finally, as she pulled on another thread, she saw it. The portrait – no thread touching it anymore! It was free, detached from the magic of the rest of the house! Daphne had to control herself not to jump for joy, which would probably have ruined everything.
So Daphne forced herself to stay calm. Her magical fingers, which had grown to far more than the original ten, scanned once more, feeling over every edge and corner of the damned portrait, but they couldn't feel any more threads. So she reached out with all her fingers at once. She grabbed the painting and ripped it from the wall. And for the first time since she had begun her quest, the movement took place not only in the web of magic, but also in the physical, material world.
Daphne opened her eyes. The portrait had detached itself from the wall and was now floating in the air in front of her.
"Hah!" she exclaimed triumphantly.
At the same moment, Sirius' mother awoke from her sleep. She opened her painted eyes and mouth, probably to start another tirade, but Daphne beat her to it. With a quick flick of her wand, she created a sphere of air around the portrait, making it impossible for any sound to escape. Daphne could see the portrait's mouth moving, its face contorting and turning crimson, but the woman could rant and scream all she wanted – she would only mistreat her own ears. And soon not even that.
With a satisfied smile, Daphne leaned forward and touched the surface of the air sphere with her wand. For a moment she considered using her newly learned spell, but that would probably be overdoing it. It would be like shooting cannonballs at a mini-muff – a waste of resources.
And so only ordinary red-orange tongues of flame shot out of her wand, enveloping the portrait until it was unrecognisable in the fire. It took a moment – a second, maybe two – before the sphere of air began to shake. Daphne felt the trembling on her wand. From there it spread to her hand, her arm, her whole body. The tremor travelled in exactly the opposite direction to the flow of magic from Daphne's heart to her wand to do its destructive work.
For a brief moment, the wall of flame cleared and Daphne could see the face of Sirius' mother. It was snow white. There was naked fear in her eyes as she screamed and screamed and screamed, unable to do anything about her fate. But if the painting did feel pain, it wasn't real pain. Not genuine pain, just hollow and empty, like everything else about this woman, for Daphne didn't feel the slightest flow of life power rushing towards her. She wasn't surprised. And so it was no fun.
Daphne increased the magical flow, the flames grew stronger – and then it was over. Suddenly, the shaking stopped as the last of the painting's magic was completely destroyed. All that remained of the canvas, paint and frame was ash, and after a few more moments they too were consumed by the devouring flames.
Daphne lowered her wand and the sphere of air dissipated. Not even the smell of burning was left, her sphere had shielded the flames so well. Daphne felt very pleased with herself.
She was about to go upstairs to tell Harry of her achievement when she heard a noise.
Knock-knock
It was the door knocker, Daphne realised, although she hadn't heard it once in all their time at Grimmauld Place. She stopped on the first step of the stairs and looked towards the front door. Who the hell could that be?
She didn't seem to be the only one asking this question, for Harry came running down the stairs from upstairs.
"Who's that?" he asked. His gaze fell on the empty space on the wall and his eyes widened. Then a smile crossed his face. "You made it? Great!"
"You tell me, you own the house," Daphne said. "And thanks, it was a piece of cake. For me anyway."
Harry nodded before closing his eyes. Daphne could feel him searching the protection of the house to find out who was standing on their doorstep. His sudden, hard expression was answer enough for her, even before he opened his mouth.
"It's him," Harry hissed.
Daphne clicked her tongue. Couldn't the old man leave them alone even here?
She walked over to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," she said, "don't let anyone notice."
Her boyfriend took a few deep breaths and Daphne could feel him going through his Occlumency exercises in his mind. As he did so, a familiar golden glow came into his beautiful green eyes. Daphne felt pride, pride in him, pride in herself, pride in both of them. They would show that old fool. In the end, they would be the last to laugh, and the supposedly most powerful wizard in the world would only be able to look on helplessly and with horrified eyes. The very thought of it sent shivers down her spine. She could hardly wait, but she also knew that they would have to be patient. Yes, patience was the virtue of the hour, even if it was difficult for her. But their time would come. And anyway, they had to find out what their guest wanted from them...
When the anger had faded from Harry's face, replaced by a neutral, calm expression, Daphne took her hand away.
They both looked at each other. Harry nodded and together they walked to the front door and opened it.
Standing on the doorstep in front of them was none other than Albus Dumbledore. A slight smile played around the lips of their Headmaster, but even that couldn't hide his exhausted expression.
"Good evening, Harry, Daphne. May I come in, please? I have something very important to talk to you about."