Author Notes:

As always, I own nothing of the Harry Potter fanfiction except the plot of the story.

So, this is the second chapter. Something's big coming. I hope you enjoy.

A huge thanks to your huge support and love. You readers have no idea how big of a part you play in the continuation of a fic. Keep it up! We're in this together!

Scene 3

A dizzy Harry slouched on the worn leather sofa in the dim living room of Grimmauld Place. The house felt emptier than ever, its creaky floorboards and dusty corners feeling even lonelier and grimmer than usual. That was strange: Harry had been totally alone for almost five years now.

A half-empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky sat on the coffee table, next to a tumbler filled with amber liquid. His greedy gaze fell on it, and his hand started moving towards it, slowly, creepily. It had almost reached there when Harry's other hand sprung to life and, bursting with vibrant energy, slapped his face hard. Harry winced in pain: the same hand came to rub his face soothingly, as if it was his Mum.

Speaking of Mum…

Harry's hand sprung again to reach for a photo album on the table a certain half-giant had gifted him, his fingers tracing the edges of the worn paper, caressing them because honestly, he had nothing to caress.

His mum and dad waved at him, their smiles frozen in some long-lost, arguably better time. Harry gave them a smile in return, albeit a sad one. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Harry thought he saw their smiles get just a little wider. It wasn't like they could see him, right?

Anyways…

Next page, Sirius's barking laugh seemed to echo in his mind as he flipped to a picture of his godfather, young and carefree. His hair was a total mess. Harry let out a small chuckle as he ran a hand through his own hair: that was probably from where he'd inherited the hairy forest crowning his skull.

Harry mumbled something to Sirius. It was inaudible. Not that it mattered, photos, not even magical ones, reply back.

Harry took another hearty swig of Firewhisky, squealing as it burned down his throat, setting it on fire. He felt a great mind to burning himself at times.

Next page, and Harry blinked. He'd stumbled across a photo of the two people who'd been his life and death once upon a time, quite literally: him, Ron, and Hermione. Dressed in those good old black Hogwarts robes, they looked so happy, so close, so…

Harry clenched his fists, as if to try and force the tears tumbling down his cheeks back into his moist green eyes. Ron was busy with his joke shop, Hermione buried in her Ministry work and ambitions. And Ginny... he better not think of her.

Invitations to the Burrow were becoming rare. Mrs. Weasley's warm hugs had grown colder and colder. Mr. Weasley's friendly chats seemed like distant memories. He didn't seem curious about the Muggle world around him anymore, at least around him.

The only two people who remotely remained the same towards him were George and Fleur. The former still entertained the crowd with his jokes, while Fleur was more than happy to ask him about his life and tell about hers: how Bill was growing into such a wonderful husband and a charming young man, how Ginny was starting to warm up to her and how Mrs. Weasley bragged of her daughter-in-law's beauty to anyone willing to hear.

Harry leaned back, letting his head rest against the sofa's soothing touch. It was as if the sofa had grown fingers of its own; Harry swore he felt a tickling somewhere around his neck. But he didn't laugh. Nope, if anything, he started crying.

The room spun slightly. Harry's eyelids suddenly grew heavy, as if they were clouds saturated with rain, ready to burst down on the unsuspecting world below.

He clutched the photos to his chest and then, it happened. He began to sob. It wasn't a mere sniffle, rather a full-on wailing session, that too without anyone to cling onto or even a simple tissue box!

"Some hero," he muttered bitterly. To whom? No one, because that's what he had. The savior of the wizarding world, alone on a miserably cold, cruel night, weeping his hearts out.

Harry's last coherent thought as he slowly embraced the less painful world of slumber was a wish for something, anything, to change. It was certain to be better because really, things couldn't go any worse.

Scene 4

The Auror office buzzed with the usual morning chatter. Quills scratched on parchment, memos zoomed overhead, and the smell of strong coffee was still strong in the air as Harry strode through the crowd for another day.

He sat at his desk, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Daphne was already there, before time. He glanced across at her, her black hair catching the light as she bent over her a document about some Muggle coffee mugs which had been bewitched.

Funny. Harry internally chuckled at the thought of a red-eyed flying mug chasing Dudley down the lawn. Imagine the horror on his cousin's look!

His throat felt dry all of a sudden. Harry's eyes widened. Time for some beverage!

"Tea?" he asked kindly, standing up.

Daphne looked up, a small smile on her face. "Yes," she squeaked in a mortified tone.

Harry nodded before walking out to fetch the tea.

As he walked to the break room, he could feel there was a certain excitement in the air. Eyes curious, he looked around, trying to decipher what could be source of this sudden whispers and eager faces.

It was at this point he realized he had ears of his own, and they sprung into action.

"Did you see the Prophet today?" "Can't believe it..." "About time, if you ask me."

What the heck was happening?

Frowning, Harry grabbed two of those huge yellow mugs and tapped them with his wand, filling them with a tiny ocean of brown, gleaming tea, steaming.

On his way back to his room, the two cups of boiling tea wobbling in the air just in front of him, Harry's eyes fell upon a clumsily arranged of papers on a desk: The Daily Prophet. His intrigued hands lunged forward for it, and he snagged a copy before continuing on his way back.

"Here you go," he said, placing the mug on the desk before Daphne. She nodded thanks, not looking up from her report.

Harry smiled at her for a second. Busy girl.

He slumped back into his chair before proceeding to unfurl and unfold the newspaper. In moments, the open newspaper hit his eyes with the force of all its articles, titles in big, bold letters alongside pictures which moved and danced. His over-inquisitive eyes started scanning the paper hurriedly, page after page, top to bottom.

His stomach dropped as he finally caught what was probably the source of the commotion around: "DEATH EATER WIDOW FOUND DEAD." A quick glance at its contents confirmed what he'd been fearing all along: it was Daphne's mother.

Harry looked up to spare a glance at Daphne, still hunched over her work, blissfully unaware of how much a misfortune had fallen over her.

"Daph… Daph… Daphne?" Harry called out in a shaky voice, his mind torn between not bothering with the whole night and trying to be a responsible friend…. hey, wait! When did they become friends?

Daphne looked up from her work with a swish, the deep black strands of her hair stroking the air all around her.

"Yes, Harry?" she asked, blinking… rather innocently. "What happened?"

Harry felt his insides go empty. What was he supposed to say? Something like "Oh, you know, nothing much. Your mum just died!"!?

He was just starting to formulate something remotely decent to say when a crude shout rang out across the office. "Oi, Greengrass! Heard the news? Mummy dearest kicked the bucket!"

There, it spilled water all over his plans of being slow and gentle, Harry grimaced as he put his head in his hands. His head snapped around from the door to Daphne, and he felt his heart breaking for her at the sight.

Daphne had gone completely still, every muscle of her body tensed, as if waiting for something big. Her quill hovered stationary over the parchment, ink dripping from its tip to smudge the hard-earned work. Of course, that was of least importance right now.

"About time the trash took itself out," someone else called. An infectious wave of laughter rippled through the room.

"Shut it," Harry growled, but his voice was lost in the growing commotion. His mind briefly tried to fathom just how cruel people could be.

"Hey Potter, why don't you read it out for us?" Thomas swaggered over, grinning. "Go on, share the delightful piece of news with us. I'm sure Greengrass would love to hear it."

More laughter followed, stupid, senseless laughter. Harry looked sideways at his colleague, her face starting to grow pale.

Harry felt his fingers curling around the long, slender stick in his pocket: his wand, waiting. One more word from that monstrous stinking mouth and he won't bother about being decent.

Before he could respond, however, he heard Daphne's small, meek voice speak up. "May I see that, Harry?" Her voice was eerily calm. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. She was probably trying to play it cool to avoid further taunts. This was so… sad.

Wordlessly, he handed her the paper, his eyes studying her face intently. The office had gone quiet, all eyes on Daphne as she read. Even Thomas had his lips sealed shut.

Harry watched her face, searching for any flicker of emotion as her eyeballs wriggled left to right, scanning the article as if it was the Bible.

But it was like looking at a marble statue.

The crowd around them, apparently bored by the mundane proceedings of Daphne's reaction to her mother's death, started dispersing, their annoyance being declared public by a string of poorly-timed grunts and snorts.

Finally Daphne lifted her face away from the paper and looked sideways at the window. She carefully folded the paper and placed it on the desk. Then, she slumped in her seat, looking down at her hands, slightly trembling. Her eyes were absolutely cold still, not even daring to blink.

But then those eyelids slid shut her eyes, and she placed a hand to her forehead. Harry couldn't help wanting to hug her but thought better: that would spark fire to a whole new string of unnecessary rumours neither of them was remotely ready for.

After what felt like hours, Daphne abruptly stood up, smoothing her robes

"Hey, Daphne?" Harry asked hurriedly, getting on his feet himself. "Are you okay?" He berated himself internally. Who's okay minutes after hearing their mum's dead, especially when it's seen as an event of national celebration.

She took a deep breath. "Yes," even the broken smile she usually greeted him withwas absent, and she was looking down at the floor.

"I'd like to request the rest of the day off," she said, looking up, her voice steady but hollow, her eyes chilling cold.

Harry nodded, his throat tight. "Of course. Take as much time as you need."

Daphne gathered the documents spitted across the desk and put them in her brown bag, every movement of hers spookily precise and controlled.

"Hey!" Harry broke the silence, "if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll gladly help."

She didn't reply to his words. She just nodded.

As she walked towards the door, the silence was broken by a loud whisper. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

Harry was on his feet in an instant, wand out, his blood roaring in his veins, as if on the verge of boiling.

"One more word," he snarled, looking around, "and you'll be scrubbing toilets at Azkaban for a month."

The threat hung in the air as Daphne paused at the door. For a moment, Harry thought she might turn back. But she didn't. One push of the door and she was gone, and all Harry got to hear was the slam of the door.

Harry couldn't help feel a tinge of betrayal. She didn't even bother answering him.

But then, the office erupted into furious whispers. Harry sank back into his chair, staring at the closed door. He knew he should focus on work, but with the extraordinary circumstances at hand, it was barely a possibility now.

All he could think about all day was Daphne, alone with her grief, surrounded by a world that celebrated her loss.

After all, who knew what it felt to lose a parent better than him? Harry thought, placing a gentle hand over his chest.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards him with great effort and began to write.

By the end of the day, he was decided: no matter what, he would stand by her and try to support her. It would be a sin to not support her in this, when everyone's backs were turned.

So, I hope you liked it. I appreciate your time. If you liked it, please please consider leaving a review/comment. It really makes my day, and brings a smile onto my face that's very hard to rub off. 😁 Anything you liked…. even a one word review will be greatly appreciated from my end.

By the way, what's gonna happen now? Would love to hear your speculations

By the way, don't worry about leaving a review even if it's years since I published this story. No, this isn't creepy - it's heartwarming.