CH26: Picking Up the Pieces

November 3rd

12:52pm

Hogwarts Grounds, Scotland

Harry

The cold halls of Hogwarts had never felt more comforting. In the wake of the destruction of the chateau, Harry welcomed the familiarity of another place he'd called home. If there was one thing wizarding Britain had in common, it was the famed school of the founders and so settling in proved to be easier than the command team had thought.

The loss of the chateau had affected Harry very little or perhaps he hadn't given himself time to process it. They weren't safe at Hogwarts, not yet at least, that meant Harry had work to do.

As he climbed the steps to the History of Magic classroom he picked up the pace so as to not be caught in a lecture by Professor Binns, who he'd spotted floating his incorporeal form towards the hall.

'I've had enough of goblin history,' he thought as he pushed open the thick oak doors into the transfiguration courtyard. 'No, that wasn't the goblins,' Harry put a stop to his prejudice as soon as he realised it had reared its ugly head, 'Voldemort is to blame, and his merry band of lunatics.'

"Mr Potter." Down the hall to the right, Professor McGonagall had addressed him with her signature stern expression. She had aged much in the short while since Harry had last seen her, the stress of protecting what little she could showed in her wrinkled and bespeckled features. "I trust you haven't forgotten your way to my office."

"No," he replied easily. "I went to the headmaster's office first…"

McGonagall pursed her lips and Harry realised that the last time he saw her, Dumbledore died not even an hour later. "I am not the headmaster, or the headmistress for that matter." McGonagall turned and started walking towards her with the expectation that Harry would follow. "Where is our headmaster? Is he with the rest of you?"

"Snape scurried off to whatever hole he finds most comforting." Inwardly, however, Harry was grateful for Snape's warning. 'Without it, there'd be very few left to fight, even less willing to.'

"Elphi," McGonagall muttered, and the Transfiguration classroom door opened. "Be that as it may," the professor said as they walked into the classroom, "the portraits saw him last night, stalking the halls, apparently quite distressed."

"There was a lot of distress last night, professor, Snape's is the least I am concerned about." Despite her clear desire to learn more about the former headmaster, Harry offered her nothing tangible, simply because he didn't know what to think. 'The only person who knows what side Snape is on is Snape himself, even then I'm not so sure.'

McGonagall sat at her desk, but Harry was content to stand. Seeing this, the professor got down to business. "I understand it was your idea to send those people here?"

"It was."

McGonagall's mouth twisted into one of displeasure. "Hogwarts, Mr Potter, is first and foremost, a school."

"Hogwarts is first and foremost a castle," Harry countered. "With strong walls and stronger wards." He'd be lying if he hadn't already thought of what Hogwarts could offer them. A fortress from which to prosecute the war, one that would take an all out, no holds barred battle to clear them out.

McGonagall's ire rose to anger swiftly. "I told you," the professor pointed an accusatory finger at Harry across the desk, "when you came to me on the night of Albus' death, I told you I don't want any more of my cubs murdered."

'Too late,' Harry thought sourly. But he hadn't hidden his thoughts well enough. The professor's fierce expression dissolved quickly to be replaced with shock.

"Wh-who?"

"Hermione." The moment the 'Her' had left his lips McGonagall brought a hand up to cover her agape mouth. "And before that Luna, then Remus and Susan too."

"How did she die?"

It didn't take a genius to know who 'she' was. If McGonagall was to ever pick a favourite it would be Hermione. "Traitors, Diggle and Podmore both. She probably figured out their little operation and they killed her for it, or they knew she would eventually find out and got to her first. She died and then they killed Remus right in front of us."

"And Miss Lovegood? Miss Bones?"

"Voldemort." There was no anger left on her wrinkled face, only sorrow remained. Before she lost herself to grief, Harry looked to keep them on track. "We're here to stay, we've got nowhere else to go." McGonagall lightly dabbed her eyes with a conjured handkerchief but eventually nodded her head in acceptance. "That means I'm going to need you to hand over the wards to me."

"They are already yours, or rather, they belong to you even if you have not claimed them. Albus, he never left them to Severus." McGonagall sniffled and tried to hide her contempt for what she considered Dumbledore's final oversight. "You are essentially acting headmaster of this school, I couldn't make you leave even if I wanted to."

"Then why all this?" Harry asked, vaguely gesturing with his arms at the room around them. 'An owl would've gotten to the point faster.'

"Because I wanted to."

It was Harry's turn to be shocked that the woman who'd spent most of Harry's magical life caring for him had wanted to kick him to the curb. McGonagall's grief stricken did little to dampen the disappointment in her eyes.

'Me? You blame me?' Harry concealed his outrage behind a mask of indifference, he'd spent his whole life having blame cast upon him, his head of house's was no different from the rest. "Thank you," he intoned sarcastically, "for your cooperation."

He swiftly left the classroom for McGonagall to deal with her grief alone. Despite wanting to kick him and his forces out, Harry felt sorry for his old professor. So many had been lost but he'd been able to stagger his healing process if only marginally, McGonagall was just hit with the emotional equivalent of an eighteen wheeler. He felt sorry for her, but she didn't want his company and so Harry focused on his first important task in securing the castle.

'I'll need to review what Dumbledore wrote about the wards,' he thought, mildly frustrated that he'd forgotten, 'by tomorrow this castle will be mine.'

November 3rd

12:43pm

Hogwarts Grounds, Scotland

Daphne

The newly erected camp went wholly unnoticed to Daphne who had maintained her vigilant watch over Astoria's bed the moment she had her most serious injuries mended. Broken ribs, punctured lung, fractured jaw and third degree burns on her arm, Daphne had received immediate medical attention by no less than the head mediwitch herself. The wounds had hurt, only slightly more than the treatments themselves but nothing had hurt more than when she had been pulled away from Astoria to identify her parents' bodies.

'There wasn't much left to see,' Daphne remembered as she twisted a deep green ring on her finger, 'charred bones and slack flash make for bad identifiers.' All that had been left was blonde strands of hair on their heads and her father's ring, passed down through generations as a symbol of Greengrass authority… and it was now hers. The auror who'd gathered her had asked all sorts of questions; how she was going to transport the bodies, what were their preferred funerary rites, if she'd like a mind healer. Daphne didn't know if she'd answered them. She knew that her parents would want to be buried in the Greengrass cemetery but there was no way she'd do so without Astoria there.

"Miss Greengrass?" Daphne looked up and saw Sally Merrithorpe peeking through the privacy curtains. Daphne had only known her a year, but Sally had aged in that time, nothing was more telling than the stress lines etched in her face. "Has she stirred?"

Daphne turned back to Astoria who was lying still in her bed. As she gently ran her hand through her sister's hair she shook her head no. 'Not even a twitch, but she's still alive, that's all that matters.'

"Do you mind stepping out? We've reached a verdict."

Daphne nodded and stood up, her legs felt weak beneath her having not stood up in hours. Bending over the cot, she lightly kissed Astoria's forehead and followed the head mediwitch out of the privacy wards.

The medical tent was a marvel of magic. Fifty rooms intersected by wide hallways to limit traffic with sign posts on each corner that directed patients, visitors, healers and aurors around the colossal structure. Without extension charms, they'd be lucky to fit five rooms in the tent's real space. There was no carpet on the floor, only wooden floorboards so no one would trip on anything. The ceiling of the tent was the most impressive feature, shifting scenery to coincide with the time of day and the weather. At that moment, they were under the shade of storm clouds and so the tent was filled with floating candles not unlike the great hall.

"I'm sorry to disturb you after all that you've been through, its been rough night in this here tent." Daphne didn't respond, it was her air of impatience that gave Sally the idea that she simply wanted to get it over with. Merrithorpe flipped a page up on her notebook and began reading what her subordinates had noted earlier that morning. "Patient Greengrass, Astoria, exhibits all the signs of a blood curse. Attempts to heal wounds with magic prove ineffective. Time and mundane methods will heal the superficial injuries i.e. cuts and bruises."

'Time… there used to be so much more. Time to forgive, time to forget…'

"But, that's not all." Sally looked up from her clipboard and Daphne noted that although the older witches' features were schooled, there was a deep pity in her eyes. "Whatever Miss Greengrass did in that house, it sapped her energy to the bone. Without her magic fighting the curse, it's eating away at her."

"W-will she live?" The sound of her own voice felt foreign to Daphne. She hadn't spoken in nearly ten hours so it came out shaky and hoarse.

"What little magic she has left is doing its best to counter the curse." Merrithorpe cringed as she braced herself to reveal the news. "She will live, just without the ability to wield magic."

'Without the ability to–?' Daphne closed her eyes and turned her head. "A squib?" she whispered to herself, but Sally heard it.

"Technically not, but if she uses any magic from now on, she could be losing weeks or months of life at a time depending on the amount."

"So what?" Daphne began as the storm rose in her chest. "She's supposed to grow up an outcast? Never again experience the joy of learning a new spell?"

"Seven billion muggles will never experience that same joy." Sally's deadpan and slightly disappointed tone made Daphne realise what she had insinuated. "Astoria will still be able to ride a broom and use enchanted items–"

"I'm sorry," Daphne put a hand up for Sally to stop talking, "I didn't mean it like that."

Sally remained displeased but carried out her duties nonetheless. "I would suggest telling her as soon as you can."

Daphne's face didn't accurately portray the anxiety that came with such a notion, she too had schooled her features in a subconscious effort to keep herself together. "Thank you," she replied, robotically opening the privacy curtains to Astoria's bed.

"Miss Greengrass?" Daphne turned back to the mediwitch who was eyeing her with an earnest and sympathetic gaze. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No," she replied curtly as she closed the privacy curtains around her. Daphne's head hung low, a mixture of emotional and physical exhaustion. She hadn't even begun to process the death of her parents and already she was burdened with more responsibility. 'How do I tell a child she'll never be normal again? Not only that, but an outcast as well.'

"Daph?"

'Astoria…' Daphne whipped her head around to see Astoria haltingly raising her head from the bed. Daphne was by her side in a flash, lightly pressing down on Astoria's chest.

"No," she commanded, "stay down, you need to rest."

Astoria feebly tried to sit up higher but gave up quickly. She huffed and collapsed back into the hospital cot. "I've been in enough hospital beds to know the feeling." She tried to giggle but all that came forth were dry painful coughs. "I over did it again didn't I?"

"What… what do you remember?"

"Father woke me up, he said we had to go somewhere?" Astoria's face scrunched up in confusion as she tried to remember the previous night. "Not much after that, just remember… pain." Astoria's confusion was then directed at the space around her cot. "Where are mother and father, are they okay?" she asked, noticing her parents' absence.

Astoria's eyes were flooded with concern, not for her own injuries, but by the simple fact that their parents hadn't been there when she awoke. Daphne slid her right hand behind her back as she placed the other atop Astoria's head. 'So much love in those eyes of yours, why should anyone so pure go through so much pain?'

"They are," Daphne lied, her hidden hand squeezed so tight it felt like the ring was scraping at her bones. "Just get some rest, they'll come visit you later." Astoria breathed a sigh of relief and Daphne watched as she fought a losing battle with consciousness. Astoria was out in a matter of seconds, leaving Daphne to handle the wave of emotion that had threatened to spill out after lying to her sick sister.

'Oh gods what have I done.'

November 3rd

10:47pm

Black Chateau, Isle of Man

Harry

Harry shivered as the temperature dropped when he crossed the threshold into the dungeons. If someone was teleported at random into Hogwarts, they'd know they were in the dungeons by the lack of tapestries and portraits. Barren, grey stone walls defined the underbelly of the castle.

With Dumbledore's journal tucked under his arm, Harry bypassed the dungeon hall that would take him to the Slytherin common room and the eastern half of the castle. He then passed a corridor that led to crypts and a mausoleum, eyeing it carefully the whole time.

'I have developed little patience for the undead,' he thought irritably. He and Ron had come to the crypt seeking answers about the basilisk in second year, only to be scared half to death when scores of ghosts emerged from the graves. Remembering Ron and the shenanigans they got up to hurt less than he thought it would, in that came the clarity to realise something. 'The basilisk… I have to speak to Slytherin about any defences the school may possess.'

At the end of the hall was a simple oak door, rotted and chipped around the edges. Beyond it was what was called 'the room of protection,' or, as Harry thought of it, the ward room. Dumbledore had made little mention of the castle's wards, simply that they were formidable, ancient and had taken on a mind of their own.

'Whatever that bloody means,' Harry grumbled as he pushed the degraded door in. The hinges squeaked in protest but opened nonetheless. The flickering flames of the dungeon sconces told an incomplete tale of the room. From what Harry could see, he'd stepped into a small vaulted chamber, circular in shape with no natural light.

Instinctively, Harry commanded light into his hand, and, being the first wandless spell he'd ever achieved back in fifth year, his magic obeyed. Harry cupped the ball of light and raised his arm up above his head. The dark chamber was illuminated by the white light, revealing the incredible emptiness of the room of protection.

There was only a single pillar of rock connecting the ceiling to the floor, no adornments of any kind could be seen. In fact, there was no sign any human being had ever been in the chamber.

'The hell is this?' Harry pushed with his magic and the ball left his hand and floated at a comfortable height in the room. After circling the room three times his frustration had risen significantly. 'What am I missing for Merlin's sake?'

At that moment, the light he'd conjured was snuffed out without reason and in an instant his wand was in his hand and the language of serpents on his lips. His night vision enhanced eyes provided him no indication of threats, no warm bodies in his vicinity, just the blue of the cold castle walls. He peeked around the centre column, back into the hall he'd come from where the light of the torches provided him some small comfort.

'What..?,' he squinted and watched one of the lights go out, then another, then the next. A wind picked up, unnatural in those submerged corridors, and licked at his feet. Two torches remained, then one, then none. The breeze at his feet was too weak to cause such a disturbance and, not knowing what to expect, Harry took a hesitant step forward.

A gust crashed into him with the force of a lorry. Harry covered his face and stood his ground with the wind whipping past his ears and wreaking havoc on his hair. Harry grit his teeth and braced but the wind was too strong and became stronger by the second. 'Protego,' he cast silently and a shimmering blue shield sprung to life in front of him. The wind was deterred, but not stopped. It splashed off his shield and changed direction to strike him in the back. The force of the attack sent him tumbling to the ground, dazed and confused.

'PEACE!' a voice called out.

'What? What was that in my head?'

'PEACE.' The voice commanded again. 'MASTER THYSELF.'

'Master thyself…' Harry placed his wand on the floor, sat up and straightened his back. The wind hadn't ceased its relentless assault, but Harry simply ignored it and pushed back only as much as necessary to stay upright. The sound of whooshing disappeared and the rhythmic beats of his magical life blood flooded his senses. He'd found the warmth in his heart, the centre of his being and gently opened himself up to the magic around him.

He opened his eyes and the wind was gone, but the room, the room was more active than ever before. A constant vibrating thrum emitted from everywhere around him. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face, it was impossible to contain it. Connecting with the school was spiritual ecstasy, the sheer volume of it filled him up in a way he couldn't describe. In that moment, it all faded away, the war, the dead, nothing could ruin it for him.

He couldn't just feel the room of protection, extending far into the grounds he could feel where the castle's magic began and ended. He could feel the protective enchantments layered over and over each other like rings on a tree. He could see every tree, bush, flower and weed planted on the ground's soil. He could hear the waves of the black lake slapping against the cliffs holding the castle up and the light breeze that they carried onto the grounds. He could smell the meals in the kitchens and the rain on the roofs. In that instant, Harry was Hogwarts, and Howarts was beautiful.

'Thank you…' A light breeze across his cheek was the only answer he received but it was more than enough.

"Are they claimed?"

Harry hadn't heard anyone enter and was surprised by the familiar voice. Wand alight, Daphne stood just one step into the chamber. She held herself as she usually did, tall and proud. But Harry didn't miss the bags under her eyes, nor the greasy unkempt hair tied back hastily, ready to collapse at the slightest disturbance. Not even in the dimmest light could he not realise Daphne was low.

"They are," he answered swiftly, hoping she wouldn't notice the pause he'd done to take her in. He stepped closed and probed softly, "how's Astoria?"

Daphne breathed a short, disingenuous laugh. "Alive, but she'll wish she wasn't."

"Hey, come on," Harry reached out and grasped her empty hand, "don't say that. I'm sure she'll—"

"She's a squib, Harry," Daphne wrenched her hand away from his. Her face had a distinct look of disgust, but not with him, herself. "Or as good as."

'A squib?' Harry didn't know what to say or do and so he just stood there, wordlessly, mouth open in a state of shock.

"She's a squib, my parents are dead…" Daphne's back hit the rocky wall and she slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. She'd brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them with her wand hanging limp from her fingers. Daphne looked up at him, more disappointed than he'd ever seen her and spoke softly. "…and I lied to her."

"A lie of comfort," Harry guessed and when she turned away he knew he was right. Harry sat beside her on the floor and reached for her hand, gently pulled her wand free from her fingers and pocketed it. "Your bravery bought Tonks the time to save her life, that is what she'll remember."

"She'll remember our parents being tortured right in front of her and that I wasn't there to stop it." The bluntness caught Harry off guard and the fact that he knew she was at least half right left him somewhat speechless. Harry watched her subconsciously fiddle with a large green ring on her finger as she continued, "I'm responsible for Astoria now, I don't want– I can't fail her too."

"You won't," he opposed earnestly. 'Where is your confidence, where is Daphne Greengrass?'

"But that's all I've done since Gringotts!" Daphne angrily countered. Behind her unblinking eyes Harry could see the ghosts of the dead as she listed off her 'failures.' "Hermione, Remus, mother and father. Every time I fail, someone dies and then the people I care about suffer the grief of my actions." She then met his eyes for the first time since she'd entered the chamber. Brimming with tears she choked out, "I don't know what to do."

Harry didn't know what to say, he wasn't even sure there was a combination of words that could change her mind. He'd been there before, that feeling of powerlessness, like every move you made was the wrong one. He knew the burden of caring for someone and not being able to help them, he felt it there, with Daphne. When his mouth set in a thin as the realisation that he couldn't magically solve all her problems, he knew all he could do was offer her comfort.

The flood gates opened, Daphne's body shook as she sobbed for her parents and sister. Years of trauma erupted like a volcano, the rivers of lava, her tears. Daphne leaned into him as he lifted his arm up. He could feel the hot tears seep through his shirt and onto his chest as he held her, rubbing her back and arms soothingly.

"It's okay," he'd repeat softly, "we're here, together. We'll figure it all out, you and me."

They sat in the dark for what could've been hours, Harry's arm grew tired and Daphne's tear stained eyes dried up. All the while Hogwarts sang a mournful tune for them, sharing in their pain. He didn't know if Daphne had heard it, but she'd fallen asleep and Harry had followed soon after, lulled to rest by Hogwarts' song. Dumbledore was right in his assessment of Hogwarts, it had taken on a mind of its own, and in the short time Harry had known it, it had shown more empathy than anyone in Voldemort's forces.

Author's Note

Alright a new arc lets get stuck in. The last arc was all about closing off the ministry plot points and putting Harry and Daphne in certain positions. Harry is at a point where everything is sort of a dull pain for him. He's aggressive, quick to anger and has very little patience for things that get in his way. That changes when it comes to Daphne as per his promise but for anyone else… best to stay away from him. Daphne is in an incredibly fragile and vulnerable place right now, her philosophy of always finding a solution has failed her several times in quick succession and that's has taken its toll.

To be clear, I do not dislike McGonagall, in fact, I like her character quite a bit. She's got a pretty cool backstory if you can be bothered looking into it. That is why I wanted to do her justice here. She's lost her best friend/hero in Dumbledore, that same night Harry let death eaters into the castle (in her eyes) and now she's learnt of the death of several friends all in one hit. All that grief is centred around one person: Harry. McGonagall isn't he type to not feel that keenly, in the books her scream when Voldemort pronounces that Harry is dead is a big moment. The deaths, particularly Hermione's and Remus', would hit hard. I think it's reasonable she'd want nothing to do with Harry at least for a little while.

Astoria that poor girl (I say as if I didn't orchestrate her suffering). I'm definitely going to maintain ambiguity when it comes to what exactly happened inside the chateau when Astoria exploded because I think the aftermath is painful enough. Barely recognisable bodies and a lifelong disability… no wonder people stop reading the story.

Now I'm not setting up some sister conflict here by Daphne lying to Astoria, I think that kind of drama is too trivial within the scope of the story. Its more to show that Daphne is spiralling. She over analyses every 'mistake' she makes and that leads to self-doubt and it goes around and around in a downward spin until she crashes.

The Hogwarts wards is the second step towards Harry's change in these last two arcs, can anyone guess the first? I very much liked writing the feeling he had when embracing the ancient castle's magic, that mystical and spiritual side of magic is something I wish I'd explored more in the trilogy.

I won't say much on Harry and Daphne's little moment in the room of protection just that you shouldn't' make any assumptions.

See you next week!

RevanchistVII