Chapter Thirty-Five – Scheming Crows

The room was a nightmare of concrete and steel, cold and unyielding, and there was hardly any colour except a depressing grey. The floor was smooth and cold. The walls, also cold and drab, towered so high that it seemed they could support the sky itself if they hadn't given way to the oppressive feeling of a cage.

Metal tables and chairs were arranged in neat, military-style rows, one next to the other, all firmly bolted together. The tables were also bare, without any trace of personality or life. The chairs had hard seats and unyielding backs that forced the body into a rigid posture without offering the slightest comfort.

Above it all was the light of the neon tubes hanging from the high ceiling. The lights flickered erratically, as if trying to get the last nerve out of those present. It was a harsh light that hurt the eyes if you looked at it for too long.

Little daylight came through the small windows high up on the walls. The windows were fitted with thick bars, making any view or hope of escape impossible. What little light came in was dull and weak, lost without a struggle in the glow of the neon tubes.

The room was filled with people. Men in identical colourless trousers and shirts sat at the tables eating. The food was simple and functional, served on white plastic trays: a portion of mashed potatoes that looked more like paste than food, and carrots that looked unnaturally pale in the light of the fluorescent tubes. The point was not to enjoy the food, but to fill the stomach to keep the body alive. The men just shovelled the food into their stomachs without worrying about the lack of flavour. They had got used to it, as you get used to everything.

But despite this dismal meal, loud chatter filled the air. The men's conversations echoed off the bare walls, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter. These were moments of fleeting camaraderie, attempts to escape the monotony of everyday life in this place by clinging to each other's banal jokes and stories.

Only John was excluded from this noisy bustle. He sat alone at a table at the edge of the room, with only empty chairs next to him. No one, not even in prison, wanted anything to do with a child murderer.

John's eyes were fixed on the white plastic tray in front of him. He took a spoonful of mashed potato, which disintegrated into a tasteless nothingness in his mouth, followed by the carrots, which were so soft they slipped through his teeth. He also ate mechanically, but without the conversation of the others, without the laughing. He was used to it and could not imagine anything else.

For over twenty years he had been here, every day, in this bare, grey room, between these silent walls. Life in prison had long since become a repetitive routine, but John's thoughts had never come to rest. It was the one thing he had never gotten used to. Every day he was tormented by the same questions, the endless loop of his memories.

Why? Why had he done this? The questions pierced his heart like thorns, every day anew, like a painful echo of what he had done all those years ago. Back then, a dark, twisted part of him had taken over and driven him to commit an act that had stained his soul forever. Back then, he had crossed the line between man and monster for one terrible, irreparable glimpse.

The images appeared in John's mind's eye, blurred and yet painfully clear. The small face, the innocent look. The fear, the tears. And the blood, so much blood. The memory was like a curse that haunted him, keeping him awake at night and haunting every quiet minute of the day.

If he had been stronger, he would have ended it all many years ago. But he was weak. As he had been weak all his life, except for that terrible moment of false strength. When he had taken out all his anger on a much weaker being.

As they did every day at the same time, the voices of the prison guards rang through the room, sharp and unyielding like the toll of a bell. "Another hour and a half in the common rooms or back to your cells," they shouted. The refectory doors opened with a loud clang.

John slowly rose from his table, tray of half-eaten food in hand, and joined the line of men. The prisoners spread out in the corridors, some heading for the common rooms where they might find some distraction, others returning directly to their cells. John was one of them.

He moved mechanically, like a well-oiled machine, his gaze fixed firmly forward. He knew exactly how to walk, as he did every day. There were no deviations, no surprises in his life. The steps to his cell were as familiar as the taste of his mashed potatoes and his guilt.

The familiar grey door with the number 243 appeared before him. He stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. That too was a familiar sound.

With the door closed, John's world shrank to a few feet. The bare walls of the cell seemed to crush him, the air was stuffy and heavy. And yet John welcomed the feeling. He was used to it. It was his familiar life, for over twenty years, and so much more than little Jeremy had been allowed.

John lay down on the hard bed. Its springs pressed uncomfortably into his back, but he barely felt it. He stared at the ceiling, a grey, unyielding surface that offered nothing but endless monotony. Every crack, every unevenness was as familiar to him as the lines on his hand, he had studied them so many times before.

The hour and a half before bedtime passed with agonising slowness. John heard the muffled sounds of the prison, the footsteps in the corridors, the distant shouts of the guards. They were sounds from a world he no longer belonged to.

When the lights finally went out, darkness enveloped the cell, but it did not bring John any peace. He had to wait a long time before he could finally fall asleep, and even when he did, only restless dreams awaited him...

In the middle of the night, John suddenly woke up. He felt a warm breeze brush his face, as if an invisible hand had woken him with a candle. Blinking, he opened his eyes.

Pale moonlight streamed through the small barred window. It was the only light, casting grey shadows over the entire cell. But not everything was grey.

In front of him stood two pitch-black figures, little more than silhouettes in the dim light. Their outlines were vague, as if they were themselves made of dark shadows. But John could clearly see that each of the two figures had a thin, long claw in their right hand, pointing directly at him. Their appearance reminded him of dark angels or demons, beings from the depths of his worst nightmares. Or the saviours he had longed for so long.

His heart raced and a wave of fear and hope surged through his body. He didn't know if he was dreaming or awake, if this was a new stage of his suffering, a manifestation of his guilt or his salvation...

John's voice was hoarse and shaky as he asked, "Are... are you here to judge me?"

"No, we're just here for our own amusement," a female voice said. It was cold as ice. "Crucio!"


With light steps, Daphne walked through the dark corridors of the dungeons towards the Slytherin common room.

The cool, stale air of the underground corridors enveloped her like a familiar embrace, while her thoughts were still intoxicated by her recent excursion, the euphoria and power still as fresh in her mind as the taste of treacle tart on her tongue after a delicious dinner. And her Impetus inside her purred contentedly with her happiness, satiated for the moment.

Harry and she had quickly learnt that the length of the intervals in which their Impetus needed new food depended heavily on the amount of magic they used. The more and stronger they used their powers, the more often they had to go hunting. Usually that meant once or twice a month, but today she felt so fulfilled that it might take longer until the next time. It didn't matter, even a shorter interval wouldn't be a problem for either of them.

After the death of the Malfoys, Harry and she had explored new hunting grounds, careful not to be discovered. Under no circumstances could they risk witches or wizards, or worse, the Ministry or Dumbledore, finding out about their secret activities. But there was still a world beyond the wizarding world, though Daphne tended to forget that, being a witch through and through. But then again, her beloved boyfriend had grown up in the Muggle world, and so they perfected each other.

It had been surprisingly easy to break into the Muggle prisons. They had even been to the prison in Glasgow, where they had just come from, three times. The Muggle guards had no chance against their spells, walls and security systems were meaningless in the face of their magic. It was easier than walking through a field of flowers.

And when their work was done, all they had to do was erase the memories of their victims, sometimes make a little blood or other bodily fluids disappear, and there were no more traces. Nobody cared about the suffering of the criminals they chose as their victims, not the Muggles and certainly not the Wizards, and so the wizarding world would not realise the truth until it was too late.

Daphne reached the secret portal to the Slytherin common room, said the password 'Hybris' and entered.

The room was filled with an interplay of the orange-red light of the fireplace flames and the greenish light of the magical lamps on the walls and tables. The dark waters of the lake glittered in front of the tall windows, visible through the thick panes of leaded glass. Large seaweed flags waved gently in the current, and now and then the shadow of a creature could be seen swimming by.

It was just after curfew, so no one was allowed outside the common room, but not so late that everyone had gone to bed. So the room was still quite full of students. Some were sitting at their tables, concentrating on their homework, others were leafing through their books in preparation for the upcoming end-of-year exams. In some nooks and crannies of the room, however, students were simply sitting together, chatting and enjoying their free time.

As Daphne entered the room, she noticed one of the prefects scowling at her. His disapproval at the time of her return was clearly written on his face, but he said nothing. So Daphne just walked past him.

She had only intended to get to her dormitory quickly, but as she walked through the common room, her eyes fell on her fellow Slytherins from her year. They were sitting in a corner of the room, and with them was her sister Astoria, who was sitting on a sofa between Tracey and Pansy. The other boys and girls were also sitting there, but Astoria's eyes were fixed on Draco, who was sitting in a high chair like a king on a throne. He spoke at that moment and his voice sounded as arrogant as ever, as if he had completely overcome any reticence he might have felt after his parents' death.

But it wasn't his tone that stopped Daphne, it was his words.

"I won't say it again, Tori. Come here now."

Astoria let out a high-pitched laugh, but Daphne could clearly hear the trembling in her voice. "But I'm sitting here so comfortably. And besides, you don't have much room, I'm sure it would be uncomfortable for you. Why don't we continue with –"

"Stop talking! I've given you an order and you'll obey it if you know what's good for you. Now sit on my lap!"

The smile on Astoria's face became even more pained. She gave Tracey a quick look for help, but Tracey's eyes were fixed on a spot on the opposite wall.

"O-okay," Astoria said. "If that's what you want, then –"

"Yes, it's what I want. I wanted it two minutes ago. So come on now, keep me warm with your body. Right here." Draco pointed to his lap, right at his crotch. "Make me happy, Miss Greengrass."

At that moment, any remaining feeling of happiness vanished from Daphne, replaced by sheer rage. Without further hesitation, she marched towards the group, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor.

"What is this?" she shouted, "What the hell is going on?"

The scene changed abruptly as she appeared. Astoria stopped in her tracks as she tried to get up, looking at Daphne with wide, startled eyes. Pansy's lips curled, while Goyle turned ashen. Crabbe, Blaise and Theodore looked away instantly and Millicent's face turned hard as stone. Tracey continued to stare at the wall in front of her as if she were completely absent. Draco's face, on the other hand, twisted into an ugly grimace.

"Good evening, Daphne," he said. "To what do we owe the... honour?"

The other students in the common room had begun to follow the proceedings closely. Daphne could feel their eyes on her back, like the slobbering gaze of vultures and venomous cobras.

"What were you going to do to my sister?" she asked.

"Oh, but she is no longer your sister. You were disowned by your parents, Daphne, remember? Kicked out of the family because you didn't know your place. Unlike your former sister." Draco turned back to Astoria. "Where are you anyway? Do I have to tell you again?"

Daphne raised her hand in Astoria's direction without taking her eyes off Draco. "Stay where you are." She fixed Draco with her eyes. "Have you lost the last of your brain cells along with your parents? Are you really that stupid?"

"I haven't lost anything!" Draco spat. "Nothing at all! I'm still the heir of my family, the richest and most powerful family in the land! And when I come of age, it'll all be mine! Everything! Even your sister!"

Draco rose from his chair and looked Daphne straight in the face. They were about the same height. Daphne suppressed the instinct to recoil in disgust, or punch him in the face.

"And her parents have confirmed this to me again. The contract remains unchanged. And they were so keen to reassure me that they know perfectly well that I am far above them. At least they know their place in this world."

"Draco, darling," Pansy began, but Draco cut her off harshly.

"Shut up! Your opinion is not wanted here!" He looked at Daphne again. "I'm taking everything that's mine. The gold my parents left me, the power, the influence, it will all be mine. Just like your sister! The person you will sorely miss, as we all know. She will be mine, and I will take her, over and over again, and no one will be able to stop me, least of all you!"

Pansy tried again. "Draco, I really think –"

"Shut up, damn it!" shouted Draco. "I'm not talking to you! No, I'm talking about the lovely Astoria, little sister of the mighty Daphne Greengrass, who's been so admired by everyone lately and thinks she's so much better than the rest of us." His words sounded like venom. "But here she will be utterly powerless, for her sister will be mine! My concubine, my property, there only to please me! And she will, oh yes, she will. Because every time I take her, I'll imagine her sister watching helplessly."

"Draco, you –"

"Don't you like the idea, Greengrass? Well, I don't care. I don't care at all. Because I can do whatever I want with my property. I can take it, punish it, violate it, break it, whatever I want. Maybe I'll even lend it out when I'm tired of it – what do you think, Gregory, do you want me to give you my toy? Huh? What's wrong with you, not even a thank you? Oh, you're just a stupid ruffian, really. Whatever! The important thing is that you won't be able to do anything about it, Greengrass. You'll be helpless, weak and powerless, which I'm sure will be a new experience for you, but I'm going to enjoy every moment of it!

"There may be only one way for you to save your sister, and that is to offer yourself to me in her place. But make no mistake, I wouldn't be as tender with you as I am with your sister, not after all you've done. No, I would only use you like the whore you are! The greatest whore of them all, who opened her legs for a filthy half-blood and still struts around here like she's Morgana reincarnated. When I'm finished with you and your stupid sister, you'll be –"

"Draco!"

Draco whirled around to face Pansy. "What, can't you see that I..."

He fell silent as he saw the faces of the assembled Slytherins. They stared at him, stunned, as if he had lost his mind. Some had backed away, pressing themselves against the walls as if hoping to disappear inside. Those closest to the doors hurried out.

Draco let his eyes wander slowly. His face lost all colour. His head snapped back to Daphne. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and his facial muscles twitched.

"Um, Daphne... I... so..."

In the meantime, the common room had become much warmer. The flames in the fireplaces blazed like fiery dancers, eating their way through the logs so greedily that a constant crackling and crashing could be heard. They were the only sounds in the room. But the flames were nothing compared to Daphne's emotions.

She could feel it herself. Her insides were burning hot and something inside her was screaming for blood. She tasted blood on her tongue. She smelled blood in her nose, heard blood rushing in her ears, and even before her eyes a blood-red haze had settled.

The air around her shimmered as her magic poured out of her, from every pore of her body. It too was blood red. She'd never experienced anything like it before, and at any other moment she would have questioned it and berated herself for losing control so completely, but at this moment, in this place, she couldn't care less.

Daphne looked at herself in one of the dark windows. Her reflection was not that of a fourteen-year-old girl. Not one studying to pass exams, or to make a good future for herself, to take her small part in the grand scheme of life. She saw a queen, crowned and baptised in blood, and that promise seized something dark in her soul and pulled it forward.

She took a step forward. Her wand of black ebony lay in her hand, also fiery hot against her skin. It felt heavy, as if she were dragging a sword behind her.

"You really are the stupidest person in this castle," she said. "I would have been content to ignore you, after all you've just lost your parents. Perhaps the grief has robbed you of all reason. I don't care."

"D-Daphne, I'm s-so–"

She raised her wand. The air trembled. "The first time I punished you, I was filled with hate. The second time, with anger. But now, now I'm just annoyed."

A black flame flickered from the tip of Daphne's wand. She closed the gap to Draco, wand pointed at his neck. The black flames danced across his skin. He whimpered and his breath reeked of fear.

"Draco thinks he's the ruler of this house," Daphne said louder now. Her words were directed at the assembled Slytherins, though she didn't take her eyes off her victim for a moment. "Does anyone wish to step forward to defend him? No, no one? None of you would speak up if I were to strike this pathetic wretch here and now?"

Still no one spoke. It was so quiet, it was as if no one dared to breathe. Daphne felt abysmal disgust. Her eyes bored into Draco's.

"Too bad for you, you seem to be alone. Then you should have been stronger alone – or not bothered me!"

Daphne raised her wand like an executioner's sword. Draco's eyes widened as if they were going to pop out of his head. He threw his arms in front of his face. "No, please don't! Please –"

With a low hiss, Daphne moved her wand. She cast a spell so that no one but Draco could hear her.

Still, she whispered as she spoke, "I will kill you, Draco. Not today, but I will kill you. Before we leave Hogwarts, I will take your pathetic life, and you will never be able to hurt Astoria. And" – she pointed her wand at his neck again, the black flames flickering furiously – "don't even think about telling anyone or running away. I would find out immediately and you would meet your fate in an instant. This is my curse upon you, Draco Malfoy, from a true ruler."

With that, she stepped back and cancelled all spells and magic. Immediately the atmosphere changed. Colour seemed to return to the room and warmth to the fires and lamps. The heaviness lifted from the air and many a Slytherin gasped as if their throats had been tightened.

Draco collapsed against the wall. All tension appeared to have drained from his body. He was shaking and whimpering, tears streaming down his face. Daphne clicked her tongue scornfully.

She had sensed the approaching magical presence and was therefore not surprised when Professor Snape entered the common room the next moment. He was panting as if he had been running. Behind him were two students who had left the room earlier. That must be the instinct of the weak, Daphne thought, to get a teacher as soon as there is trouble. How cute that they had thought Snape could have made any difference.

Snape's black eyes travelled around the common room, over the frightened faces, Draco's slumped figure, Daphne's relaxed posture.

"What's going on?" he asked sharply.

Daphne saw him clutching his wand. Really, how cute.

Before anyone else could answer, she said, "Draco threatened my sister. I taught him a lesson that he'd better not do that in the future."

Now Snape looked at Astoria, who was sitting on the sofa, leaning against Tracey and crying softly. It seemed to be the only sound for miles around, apart from Draco's whimpering.

"Davis, take Greengrass to the hospital wing," Snape barked. "And Crabbe, Goyle, take Draco there as well. And the other Greengrass" – now Snape was looking directly at her – "to my office! And fifty points from Gryffindor and detention for threatening a classmate!"

Daphne clicked her tongue as she followed her Head of House. She hoped that losing so many points for their house wouldn't jeopardise the goodwill she'd built up with Harry's fellow Gryffindors over the past few months. Then again... she didn't really care.


The last rays of the setting sun cast long, narrow shadows in the library, bathing the high shelves and endless rows of books in a deep orange light. Dust particles danced lazily in the light, but became harder and harder to make out. There was silence, a silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages being turned and the occasional scratch of a quill on parchment.

Harry sat at one of the large tables. Next to him was Ron, who was alternately looking at two books to his left and right, as if he wanted to read both at the same time. Across from them sat Hermione, her forehead furrowed in deep concentration as her eyes quickly scanned the pages of her own book, her quill making notes in a perfect, almost mechanical motion.

They were joined at the tables by many other students from all years. The end-of-year exams were fast approaching and everyone was studying hard. Hermione had even started over three months ago, earlier than anyone else. Harry hoped that Ron could at least get her out of her books once in a while.

He didn't have to study himself, because as a champion he was exempt from exams. He could have used the time to prepare for the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, but he had no real idea how to do that.

A few weeks ago, Ludo Bagman had shown the champions a maze that had grown on the Quidditch pitch and was supposed to be several metres high for the third task. This would be the location of the Grand Final, where they would have to face numerous challenges to finally reach the Triwizard Cup. But they had no idea what these challenges would be, so they could only speculate. At least they would enter the maze according to their scores, so Harry and Daphne would go first. That would be an advantage.

Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum had looked at them intensely as Bagman had explained all this, both of them scowling. Daphne had only returned their looks with the challenging and mocking smile that was so typical of her.

Speaking of Daphne. That was the second reason why Harry couldn't really encourage himself to do anything for the third task. After all, Daphne wasn't here because she had detention, and it just didn't make sense for one half of the Hogwarts champion to rush forward without the other half.

So Harry used his free time in other ways. His quill formed intricate runes in his notebook, hard and sharp-edged, as if carved with claws, yet with a morbid elegance that made Harry's skin crawl. But the thought of what these runes were for gave him even more goosebumps.

Just then, Hermione raised her head on the other side of the table. Her eyes fell on his notebook and she frowned. "Harry, why are you drawing a rune for 'pain'?" she asked.

Harry winced inwardly but quickly turned the page and began to draw some more complicated but less obvious runes. Keeping his tone as casual as possible, he said, "This is just a research project for Professor Babbling. An extra challenge."

This was a lie, of course. In truth, he was working on a revised version of the runes of pain that Daphne had left on her bed. He wanted to adapt the runes so that they could perhaps work on a larger area and perhaps be equipped with a better trigger mechanism. After all, as he had discussed with Daphne some time ago, it would certainly be useful to have such a weapon up their sleeve if they ever needed it.

Hermione looked at him for a moment before turning back to her book. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He tried to concentrate again when he felt another pair of eyes on him. He lifted his head and looked around. It was Tracey Davis. The Slytherin was looking over at him from one of the other tables. Her face didn't give much away, but her expression was thoughtful, Harry thought.

He raised an eyebrow in challenge as he met her gaze. After a moment she broke eye contact and returned to her work.

In future, he should only work in the Room of Requirement, Harry thought as he turned back to his own things. Far too many curious people here in the library.


"I'm telling you, there's something wrong with that girl! I've been saying it for years and it's becoming clearer and clearer. She's a danger to this school, to my house, to our students and –"

"Are you sure your feelings aren't due to her affection for young Harry? You're not exactly what I would call an impartial judge of his girlfriend. Perhaps –"

"I'm very good at separating the two, thank you, Minerva. And you clearly overestimate the importance of Potter in my life! Or do you think I'd say the same if he were in a relationship with, say, Granger or Weasley? The Weasley daughter, I mean, not one of the sons – but that's beside the point! No, it's like I've been saying for years, but no one would listen to me! Daphne Greengrass is a psychopath!"

"You'd better not let her hear that, or she'll curse you to kingdom come."

"That's exactly what I mean! You see, I –"

"And Mr Potter would probably be even more unforgiving. And they'd both be absolutely right. Severus, your hatred –"

Albus let out a sigh. He raised his hand and his two colleagues immediately fell silent. Perhaps it was the magic he had cast, for Severus' mouth continued to move for a few seconds.

They were in Albus's office, he was sitting behind his desk because his back couldn't stand standing for so long, Severus and Minerva were standing in front of the desk. Severus was waving his arms furiously, while Minerva had her arms crossed. Both of their faces were slightly flushed.

"Thank you, that is enough," Albus said calmly. "So I understand that the catalyst for this discussion was an incident last night in the Slytherin common room involving Miss Greengrass, correct? Severus?"

Albus cast another spell and Severus was able to speak again. He took a deep breath before nodding briefly.

"That's right," Severus said, his voice still only slightly filled with his anger. "It was just after curfew when some students came to see me. They were beside themselves with fear. Apparently Miss Greengrass was threatening young Draco, who, I'm sure I don't need to remind you, recently lost his parents."

"Apparently?" asked Albus.

"That's what they told me. And when I got to the common room, I saw Draco collapsed on the floor. And Albus, Minerva, the boy was deathly pale, as if a Dementor had kissed him! And the other students weren't much better. There were more than three dozen of them, and they were all terrified! Terrified of Greengrass! You could see that as clearly as you can see me here and now."

"Was Mr Malfoy hurt?" Albus continued to ask. "Or any of the other students?"

Severus shook his head briefly. "No, not that, but –"

"Why don't you tell us what happened before that, Severus?" Minerva interrupted. "I'm sure Miss Greengrass, as I have come to know her, would never do anything without a reason."

Albus looked at Severus. "What have you been able to find out about the circumstances?"

"Apparently there was a previous ... argument between the two of them," Severus said. "Draco was sitting with his friends when Greengrass showed up and started a fight."

"That's not what I heard," Minerva said. She scowled at Severus. "When I heard that two students had been taken to hospital last night, I naturally made my own enquiries."

"I thought no one was hurt?" Albus asked, a little confused. And it irritated him that he hadn't known until now. In the past, he had always wanted to know everything that was going on in his school, especially when it concerned the welfare of his students.

Before his fight with Tom, it crossed his mind.

For a moment, Albus' eyes travelled to the stairs leading up to his private rooms and the mirror that stood there. It was waiting for him to continue his mental battle with Tom. Albus felt that he was so close to the big breakthrough in the search for Tom's remaining Horcruxes that everything in him urged him to continue as quickly as possible, despite his exhaustion. But first he had to deal with the matter at hand.

Albus looked back at his teachers, who hadn't noticed his wandering mind.

"Just exhaustion and anxiety from Mr Malfoy and Miss Greengrass," Minerva said. "Poppy gave them Calming Potions and they couldn't get back to their dormitories fast enough. But" – she raised her index finger – "when I say 'Miss Greengrass', I don't mean Daphne Greengrass. No, I mean her sister, Astoria. And that's why I asked Daphne directly this morning. And what she told me is that it was Mr Malfoy who started the fight. By trying to pressure Astoria into physically pleasing him."

Clear disgust had etched itself into Minerva's face. "This isn't new behaviour from him either, if I recall a similar conversation in this office a good two years ago."

"You mean when Potter and Greengrass attacked Draco before?" said Severus.

"I also recall some disgraceful remarks made by Mr Malfoy before that, and I won't repeat them here."

Before another argument could break out, Albus intervened. "Does Miss Greengrass' testimony agree with your findings, Severus?" he asked. "Did Mr Malfoy try to pressure young Astoria?"

Severus gritted his teeth. "At least that's what Greengrass told me. But she could be lying."

Minerva snorted loudly at his words. She crossed her arms again.

"And what did Mr Malfoy say?" Albus continued to ask.

"Nothing," Severus replied. "He refuses to speak to me. I've offered him the chance to come and see me at any time, but so far he hasn't accepted my offer. I've also written to his godfather, suggesting that perhaps he should have a word with the boy, but I'm still waiting for an answer."

At this Minerva shook her head slowly. "I wish you would show the same commitment to students from other houses, Severus." Her voice was very serious this time. "Or even just to all the students in your house."

"And what about the other Slytherins who were there?" Albus asked, nodding briefly at Minerva to show her that he felt as she did.

"I haven't been able to speak to all of them yet," Severus replied quietly. "But the ones I've spoken to have only said that Draco was stupid and that it was his own fault..."

Albus leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand through his beard. "It seems to me that there is much to suggest that it really was as Miss Greengrass said. There were many witnesses and no one contradicted her account. No one was harmed either, although the behaviour of both Mr Malfoy and Miss Greengrass was unacceptable. I take it you've already handed out punishments, Severus?"

Severus nodded curtly. "Points and detention."

"For Mr Malfoy as well?" Minerva asked. "For his comments and behaviour towards Astoria Greengrass."

"No... not yet."

"Then I'll be happy to take care of it. He'll be in detention with me. I'll inform him accordingly."

Albus nodded to his deputy. "Thank you. Well, I think that brings us to the end of our –"

"Is that it?" asked Severus, his voice suddenly rather shrill. "A student uses her superior magical abilities to threaten other students and we do nothing?"

Albus stifled a sigh. He already had a headache and there was still so much to do today. His eyes wandered up the stairs once more, then he pulled himself together. He looked calmly at his indignant teacher.

"Yes, she is magically far superior to her classmates," he said. "And that is exactly why I think the punishment she's been given is sufficient. It would have been easy for her to make Mr Malfoy suffer even more for his inexcusable remarks, as she did in our esteemed ex-colleague's dueling club. It is therefore a testament to the self-control she has acquired in recent years that Miss Greengrass did not use her powers to do so, but confined herself to words, however sharp they may have been. In any case, I know that at her age, in similar circumstances, I would not have had that self-control."

If someone had treated Ariana the way Draco had treated young Astoria... he would probably have ended up in the cell next to his father's in Azkaban.

No sooner had the thought crossed Albus' mind than he felt the old, familiar heaviness rise up inside him. It made him tired. So tired.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "I will speak to her about her behaviour, I assure you, Severus. Good night to you both."

At his words, the door opened and Minerva and Severus must have realised that they had been dismissed. And so they left the office shortly afterwards. Albus could hear their heated voices for a while, accompanied by the roar of the magical spiral staircase, as they continued to argue, but then they too fell silent.

Finally, all was quiet. Albus let out a sigh he hadn't realised he was holding and closed his eyes. Within seconds he felt his mental and physical exhaustion overtake him.

Surely it wouldn't hurt to regain his strength for a moment before returning to...

Before he could finish the thought, Albus had fallen asleep. Restless dreams awaited him.


At the same time, in another part of the castle, two teenagers were lying on a large, soft sofa. They were in their retreat, the Room of Requirement. The windows let in the darkness of the night, but a few magical lamps cast a warm, soothing light. Only the soft whisper of the wind came from outside, little more than a background melody to the end of the day.

It was peaceful, but Daphne still couldn't relax.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Harry. "So much precious time wasted!" she mourned. "What I could have trained in the time I spent scrubbing cauldrons for Snape!"

Harry smiled at her, slightly amused. "As industrious as ever, eh?"

"You know me, don't you? Besides, I have to be. We have big plans."

Harry's face grew more serious at her words, but he nodded. "It's been almost a year since... this moment."

He didn't say it, but Daphne knew exactly which moment he meant. It had been a moment of cruel clarity, born of pain, grief and love. And in that moment, she had promised Harry something, and no power in the world would be able to stop her from keeping that promise.

"I can see how much we've achieved since then, but..." Harry sighed. "Sometimes I get the feeling we still have an infinitely long way to go."

"Not infinitely," Daphne said. "But yes, we still have a way to go. But we've already come a long way in the last year, and even before that, since we met."

"And even longer in your case, right?"

Daphne just nodded. Neither of them said a word for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts, which they could sense at the edge of their bond, but also respecting each other's privacy. Most of the time anyway, Daphne thought as her hand ran down Harry's legs, lost in thought.

At some point she felt Harry's body tense. He fumbled for his wand. "Let's take stock," he said.

Harry waved his wand and a shimmering white paper appeared above them. It was only a conjuration, since they had thrown the real parchment into the fire back then, but Daphne was still impressed by Harry's magical image of her list. He had even reproduced her handwriting exactly, including the ink stain in the top left-hand corner. Had he really memorised the parchment that well?

Of course he had, she thought. The list had been the start of their new life. Their future.

Together, Harry and Daphne looked at the conjured list.

1. Revenge on the Ministry

2. Revenge on Dumbledore

3. Become powerful

Daphne started at the top. "Our long-term goal," she said, pointing to the first item on the list. "This is where we're going to need the most patience. It's not like we can just walk into the Ministry and force everyone to kneel before us."

"Not yet, yes," Harry said.

She gave him a brief smile before continuing. Now she pointed to the second point. "As planned, we should only tackle this once Voldemort has been defeated for good. Let the old fool defeat his former student before his current students destroy him."

"He's getting weaker, you can see that clearly," Harry said. "Still, it won't be an easy fight. It will be the hardest fight of our lives, and we still have a lot to learn."

"And we will. We're getting stronger every day."

"But what we lack is experience." Harry's voice sounded heavy as he said this. "We fight each other every day, but we can't push each other to our limits. We both know we can't hurt each other."

Daphne nodded. "Yes, you're my greatest weakness, Harry." She smiled at him as she placed her hand over his heart. It beat beneath her fingertips. "And my greatest strength."

Harry put his hand on hers before he said, "Let's move on to point three, because it's related. We're powerful, the most powerful students in this school."

"More powerful than the teachers too, apart from Dumbledore I'd say. Flitwick told me he couldn't have conjured a mist like I did in the second task."

"McGonagall told me the same. But the second task... We did well at the end, but I was too weak at the beginning. If that basilisk dummy hadn't been made out of wood at the beginning, but a real beast of flesh and blood, I would have lost it. I was far too slow to react."

"Just like I did with the fake Dementor," Daphne muttered. Now she understood what Harry meant. "We have to get much, much better."

A thoughtful expression had crossed Harry's face. "We could use a teacher..."

"We can't trust anyone, Harry," Daphne said immediately. She looked down at him, but he looked away.

"I'm not talking about trusting. I'm talking about using. Like these books here." He pointed to the shelf on the wall where books and scrolls were stacked.

"And in the end, we can get rid of the person..." Daphne said as she ran the thought through her mind.

"I've been thinking about this for a while. Because I know that we can still learn a lot, need to learn a lot, but I don't know what living wizard could teach us more? Who would be powerful and experienced enough for us to learn from, and at the same time be willing to stand against Dumbledore? The list would be very short, I think."

Daphne tapped her finger thoughtfully on his chest. "Let me think about it for a few days, we don't have to decide today..."

There was an approving hum from Harry, but she also noticed that the thought wasn't going to leave him any time soon, even if he pretended otherwise. Maybe that was something she still needed to work on. He always brooded far too much. She should distract him.

As soon as she had made that decision, Daphne raised her right hand and looked at it in the light of the magical lamps. "Bloody Snape. Look, I broke a nail cleaning his stupid cauldrons."

She showed him her hand. There was a crack in the black-painted nail on her index finger. Daphne looked at it intently and then, a brief mental effort later, the crack was gone. There was no sign of damage and even the nail polish had taken on a new shine.

Harry chuckled. "Vain, aren't we?"

"Vain, when I want to look good for my beloved boyfriend?" asked Daphne.

"And I thought you did it because you liked it. The nail polish and all."

"Maybe that. But what about the rest? The lipstick, the eye shadow, the hair care?" She tossed her hair back. A few strands brushed across Harry's face. "Okay, okay, maybe I'm doing that for me too. But the silk underwear, that's really only for you, Harry." She looked him straight in the eye. "Only for you."

She had to stifle a giggle as Harry's cheeks turned a light pink. She just loved that she could still make him react like that, despite everything they had already done together.

"But I like doing it because I love you," she continued. "Do you love me too?"

Now Harry had to smile, although his cheeks still looked hot. "What kind of question is that, Princess? There's no one on planet Earth that I love more than you."

"What about other planets? Do I have to worry about some Martian bitches?" Daphne's eyes bored into him. But then she couldn't hold back any longer and started to laugh. "No, I don't have to. I can sense your feelings through our bond. In here." She put her hand over her heart. "How could I ever doubt that you love me when I feel something like this? You're completely in love with me."

"And you're in love with me."

"Maybe a little. As long as you don't give me any more roses."

Now they both had to laugh as they thought back to the last Valentine's Day. It really had been a strange moment. But the mouse hunt in the woods afterwards had been all the more romantic.

While Daphne was still laughing, Harry let out a long but relieved sigh. "Thank you, love," he said softly. "I feel better now, don't worry. But it's getting late, well past curfew. We'd better get back to our dormitories and get to bed, tomorrow will be another busy day."

Daphne looped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair, down his cheek, his neck, his chest. She gave him a mock scowl. "I'll sleep when I'm dead. Now kiss me. We're wasting a good night."

Their laughter soon changed to sighs and whispered encouragements spoken against skin sheened in perspiration. Daphne embraced her lover, her partner, her first and only friend, and counted herself a most blessed witch.