As always, I own nothing of the Harry Potter fanfiction except the plot of the story.
So, we're in back. And I promise, a lot of action and events is going to happen today.
Let's dive straight into it, shall we?
Scene 3.1
Harry trudged along the cobblestone street, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the eerily long day. The evening air was cool against his skin, but that didn't mean its hairs couldn't appreciate the soft warmth of the setting sun, painting the sky in ethereal shades of orange and pink, each stroke an absolute masterstroke by some gifted, perhaps divine, artist
Harry's mind wandered to Daphne for the umpteenth time in the day. He winced; the image of her face etched with that same horrifying, blank sorrow as she left the office earlier came drifting to his mind.
She must be heartbroken, Harry remarked, running a hand through his messy black hair for no particular reason. He often did that.
The image of Daphne's face didn't fade away, though. If anything, they materialized enough for Harry to start spotting the details: her pale face, her closed eyes, her brow shining with the glitters of sweat, how her hands trembled as she read the demise of none but her own mother, for heaven's sake! The shrieks and insults and taunts all around her table were still ringing in his ears with vivid intensity.
Harry never realized when his fists got clenched.
Next, he felt a tight knot somewhere deep down in his stomach, a mix of helplessness and an overwhelming urge to do something, anything to help her. He just wanted to help…
Crack!
A sharp noise, perhaps that of breaking glass, stung against Harry's eardrums. He quickly shook his head, splashing off his reverie. What was happening?
A shout cut through the evening air then, followed by the more sounds of breaking glass, at least a dozen. There, that was enough stimulus for his well-set Auror instincts to kick in; Harry's hand travelled down into his robes effortlessly to reach for his wand as he commanded his legs to walk faster around the street, from where he thought he heard the sounds coming.
Within seconds, the gigantic figure of the "MAGICAL DRINKS" loomed before him, its worn wooden sign creaking spookily in the breeze. Its rusty brown walls zoomed closer and closer as Harry walked towards it, desperate to know what the hell was happening inside it. The sounds coming from inside were turning wilder with every second. Was it still a bar, or had it been recently updated into a zoo?
Finally, after ages of anxious walking, Harry reached it. His right hand slowly pushed open the heavy door with a creak. The scene that greeted his unprepared eyes was… chaotic, to say the least.
The usually dim tavern was alive with unfiltered, crude shouting and the clattering of overturned chairs, lying helplessly on the ground as mute spectators to the extraordinary scene. The air was thick with the smell of spilled fire whisky and tension. Harry's mortified ears registered at least twenty swear words in under seven seconds - the time his horrified eyes took to make sense of the unabashedly senseless scene.
In the center of the chaos stood the one and only Daphne Greengrass, the star of the show, her black hair disheveled, all decency forgotten and her eyes blazing with red-hot fury. She was swaying slightly on her feet, left to right and back to left, her wand pointed shakily at a group of wizards huddled near the front of the bar. Her lips, devoid of the slightest smudge of mercy, were quivering.
Harry's heart sank as the full weight of her state hit him with the force of a Troll's swollen, chubby legs: her composure shattered most cruelly to the tiniest pieces by pure, unadulterated grief and from what it seemed, a good quantity of drinks.
"Say that again, you miserable cowards!" Daphne's voice shrieked through the air like a Banshee, her voice overcharged with passion: anger. "My mother was worth ten of you!"
One of the wizards, a burly man with a thick, grey beard and a rather irritating sneer, was brave (and reckless) enough to continue. "Your whole family's rotten to the core, girl. Death Eaters, the lot of you! You never change"
"Filthy blood traitors!" another mustered enough courage to chime in, his words slurring. "Should've all been locked up in Azkaban!"
"Don't know why you lot move around freely like you own the place!" yet another shouted.
Harry noticed Daphne's eyeballs wobble a little before her fingers finally refused to hold the wand any longer: it hit the floor with a thud that was never heard amidst the heart-wrenching sob Daphne next let out into the air. She was down to her feet, her head shaking violently in between her hands as angry tears streamed down her face like the most turbulent waterfall.
"You don't know anything! My mother never... she never..." her voice, much lower now, faded away as her eyes flickered with sudden light: one moment and she had the wand picked up from the floor, right back in her hands.
"What? Never talked nice?" these people were relentless, "No surprises there, my little Death Eater sweetheart."
Harry hurriedly pushed his way through the crowd, his heart racing like anything, ignoring the whispers and pointed fingers that inevitably followed him. As he neared Daphne, she fired off some sort of greenish blue hex that went wide, shattering the wide, sparkling mirror on the side.
"Daphne, stop!" Harry gasped, tightly grasping her wand arm.
"They're not worth it," he said as he lowered her hand with great effort.
She turned to him, her eyes unfocused and brimming with tears. "Harry? What are you..."
Before he could say anything, Daphne let the wand drop from her hand again. Without warning, she launched herself at him, engulfing his waist in a truly bone-breaking hug.
"They can't talk about her like that!" she mumbled to his chest, like a lost child. "I won't let them! I'll rip out their throats. How can they…"
If it wasn't for the urgency of the situation, Harry swore he would've patted her on the back. He could almost hear his own heart squirm and crack in pity for the girl in his arms, sobbing her hearts right onto his shirt.
The group of wizards, finally recognizing Harry, began to back away with panic. No one usually messes with the Chosen One unless absolutely necessary. His name and fame were definitely a real asset at times.
But the fat, old bearded one couldn't resist a parting shot. "Look at that, Potter's come to rescue his Death Eater whore!"
The brainless lot giggled in unison at that, like a group of teenage girls about to ask a handsome prince to a dance.
Before Harry could react, Daphne, wriggling free of his embrace, lunged forward. Her fist were catapulted forward and what Harry had been fearing finally happened inevitably: her fists hit the man's face with a sickening crack, the force of a hundred elephants showering upon the poor guy's jaw.
The man let out a monstrous groan of pain, arms stretched before he stumbled backward, knocking over a particularly large table, sending an entire army of silver plates to floor. Harry couldn't deny he didn't enjoy the sight of it: the man deserved it, all of it.
The group of wizards wasted no more time in scampering away. In seconds, the entire place was deserted except for Harry scratching his head, Daphne clinging onto his shirt for dear life once again and a frail, old man who'd just come from the inside, probably the owner who'd come to check out the source of the small 'commotion'.
Harry shrugged as he took out his wand. He gently made Daphne sit on one of the few chairs remaining intact before taking out his wand. A few flicks in the air and the place looked as good as ever, and the old man's face lit up with a small smile as he gifted him a curt nod.
"Sorry, sir," Harry muttered, pocketing his wand. "My friend here is going through a really tough time."
"No worries, young man," the man cracked a big smile, showcasing his enormous, glittering teeth, all white except one big, yellow one. "Take care of her, will you?"
"Of course," Harry agreed. He began on his way towards Daphne, sitting on the chair and eyeing him as if he was some rare species of vulture.
"Come on," he offered her a hand.
She just gaped at it for a few moments before grabbing it. With some effort, Harry pulled her up on her two feet but then, she came springing towards him only to hit his chest with some force.
It wasn't long before Daphne started adjusting her position of clinging to Harry, looking for the perfect position to lean against him, like he was her personal, walking pillow or something. A little awkward, he remarked, scratching his head. The owner, however, nodded in approval.
"I'm sorry," he heard Daphne softly mumbling to his ear, her words slurring. "I didn't mean to... I just couldn't..."
"It's okay," Harry consoled, not wincing against the full weight of her body against his with remarkable resilience and self-control. "Let's get you out of here."
The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside. Harry took in a deep breath of the fresh air around. Hell, it'd been suffocating inside.
It was a testament to the fact their bodies were quite literally glued together that Harry sensed Daphne shivering beside him. It wasn't particularly cold, but grief does funny things to people. Harry knew that, and pulled her closer.
They took a few steps together in God knew which direction, Harry vaguely remarking the warmth of her body pressed against his ribs, a little embarrassed.
"Where... where are we going?" she asked meekly, her steps become unsteady as her legs turned increasingly shaky.
Harry hesitated for a moment before deciding what was probably the best thing for her right now.
"My home, Grimmauld Place. Judging by what just happened, you are by no means okay, And I'm not leaving you alone, at least not tonight."
Scene 3.2
Harry grabbed a large, red glass from the old rusted kitchen cupboard, his hands trembling slightly as he slowly filled it with cool water from the tap, all the way up to its brim. The sequence of events of the drunken mess kept playing themselves over and over in his mind, like some horror movie - Daphne's angry shouts, the cruel insults hurled at her.
He took a deep breath, relaxing his fists which had got mysteriously clenched before heading back to the living room.
Daphne was sitting hunched on the worn leather sofa, her brilliant shade of black hair falling in messy strands around her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she sniffled quietly as Harry approached.
He held out the glass of water, and she took it with trembling fingers. For a moment Harry worried if she would drop it; but she didn't.
"Drink this," Harry said softly. "It'll help."
He might not be an expert in dealing with women but at least possessed the common sense of offering some water - it always helped, no matter what.
Daphne sat there for a very long time, taking small sips. As the cool water hit her throat, her breathing began to slow. Harry stood there, right in front of her all this time, watching her, noticing how her shoulders gradually relaxed and how the redness of her eyes was slowly but surely decreasing.
"Listen," he said, running a hand through his messy black hair for no reason. "It's late. Why don't you stay here tonight? I'm in no shortage of spare room."
Daphne looked up at him, her senses seeming to finally returning. Her blue eyes were wide with the purest shade of surprise when she began in a quivering voice, "Are... are you sure?"
Harry nodded. "Of course. Come on, I'll show you."
He led her up the creaky stairs of Grimmauld Place, the flickering gas lamps casting long shadows on the walls. The spare room was small but cozy, with a soft-looking bed and a window overlooking the quiet street below.
"There are some spare clothes in the dresser if you need them," Harry said, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. "Bathroom's just down the hall. If you need anything, just call."
Daphne nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered.
"No problem. Goodnight, Daphne."
Harry retreated to his room before changing into an old blue t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He splashed some much-needed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The scar on his forehead seemed to stand out more than usual tonight.
It had been a difficult day, sure.
He had just begun to climb back to his bed when a nagging feeling started tugging at his guts. Should he check on her one more time, just to make sure she was okay. Like… people did not-so-safe things when left alone in despair, don't they? Yes, Harry nodded decisively to himself; he should definitely check on her.
Padding softly down the hall, he gently knocked on her room.
"Daphne?" he called softly. "You alright?"
There was no answer, but he thought he heard a muffled sound from inside.
He stood there for a while, his hand resting against the door, his mind engaged in a ferocious duel regarding which one to prioritize: concern for her safety or respect for her privacy? Concern won out eventually, and he slowly pushed open the door with a low creak.
Harry found Daphne sat on the edge of the bed, wearing one of his old, rotten white clothes, looking very forlorn. It was far too big for her, hanging loosely off one shoulder. She didn't look up as he approached closer, instead looking at the rusty old brown closet in one of the dark corners of the room. She had her hands placed on her lap, clasped together.
Harry felt a sharp pang of sympathy in the left side of his chest.
"Hey," he offered gently on reaching the bed, lowering down to sit beside her. "You okay?"
Daphne shook her head, her eyes looking empty and dead, her face absolutely dry now, having a drop of neither tear nor any other emotion known to humankind.
"I'm okay," she whispered in a defeated voice.
Harry nodded, even though he knew that couldn't have been further from the truth. If anything, a sharp, spooky shiver run down the entire length of his spine at her tone.
The room was dead quiet for a moment, that was until Daphne let out a shaky breath.
"It's just... everything. My mum, those people at the pub, Astoria not writing..." her voice was eerily calm and steady, yet it was broken. "I feel alone."
Harry found himself at a total loss of words when she was done. Now, she was gaping up at him, probably expecting to hear some comforting words. But Harry had none to offer, as much as he'd liked to.
She finally let out a heavy sigh before her right hand suddenly sprang up. It came flying over her dry face to land right upon her eyes, shutting them with desperate urgency.
"Maybe if I don't look all of this will go away," she squeaked like a child, shaking violently.
Without thinking, Harry finally did something: his arm reached out to take hers, the one safely nestled on her lap.
"You're not alone," he reminded her gently yet firmly. "I'm here."
Daphne looked at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer with tears once more. A few moments and she was crying again, her whole body pounding against his with shaky sobs. Harry did what he thought best: he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"It's okay," he murmured, rubbing her back. "I've got you."
They sat like that for a while, Daphne sobbing her soul onto Harry's bosom as he held her tightly, as if to shield her from harm. Gradually, her sobs got reduced to muffled gasps and whimpers before fading away. She eventually pulled back, gaping at him.
They looked at each other that way for a second before she turned sideways, her gaze returning to the good old closet she'd been staring when he'd come in.
Without really realizing what he was doing, Harry leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her full cheek. He could just manage to see her eyes widening in surprise. Yet, that didn't give me enough reason to pull away. To be honest and a little embarrassment, he was actually enjoying the taste of her warm skin.
She didn't look particularly resistant to that. But then: something happened.
Daphne tilted her head upwards, her mouth arching upwards so that those lips smashed right onto his unsuspecting ones. Now, it was his turn to get surprised but for some reason, she didn't pull back. Yes, something incredible was happening: they were kissing.
She wasn't cold at all, Harry remarked as he savored the taste of her lips on his; she was incredibly warm inside, and the sensation of that warmth was flowing right into his body, illuminating every damn nook and corner with light, light he hadn't seen or felt in years.
Neither of them seemed to have intention to stop this lip-locking anytime soon. They kept sitting, pressed together, the kisses growing longer and deeper, more and more desperate. Daphne's fingers tangled awkwardly in his hair as she pressed herself closer to him. Harry hands sprung forward to claim a firm grip on her waist, as if afraid the whole thing may end anytime.
Finally, after what seemed like oceans of feeling nothing yet feeling a lot of things, they broke apart.
Daphne was literally panting, the heavy sounds of her breaths thundering in the air between them. Her cheeks were flushed, totally red. The tip of her ears had turned a delicate shade of pink, while her hair was in a total mess, not much unlike his. But best of all was her lips: blood red, swollen.
Daphne looked away, and Harry followed suit.
"I think I should go to sleep," she mumbled, not daring to look into his eyes. "It's been a long day-"
"Yes," Harry agreed, his heart racing. He hadn't let go of her hand, though. "Get some rest."
Daphne eventually bothered sparing him a glance, a very small smile tugging at her red lips. "Yeah?"
Harry, finding his throat too dry to speak, settled on giving a small nod.
They looked at each other for a long moment, the air between them freaking charged. Then Daphne let out a monstrous yawn, her hands coming up to her mouth, freeing themselves from Harry's hand-holding. He couldn't say he wasn't a little disappointed by that.
"Good night, Harry."
She climbed onto the bed as Harry got to his two feet. She'd reached the pillows when she turned back and looked at him from up the bed.
Harry stared back listlessly, standing right there, his feet utterly frozen, unable to move.
Finally, inspiration, or perhaps madness, took over, and he found himself climbing onto the bed, crawling stealthily across its soft orange bedsheet like a naughty snake till he was cuddled right next to none other than Daphne Greengrass.
"We should probably get some sleep," Harry said, a slightly reluctant arm coming up to wrap around her shoulder, to pull her closer.
He noticed her raised eyebrows but Harry, given the circus of emotions exploding inside him like firecrackers now, decided the best thing to do was to simply swooped down to claim her deliciously warm mouth once again. God, she was a good kisser.
"Stay?" she asked softly the first moment their lips weren't glued together after that kiss. "Just... I don't want to be alone tonight."
"Do you really think I'm sleeping anywhere else today, Daphne?" Harry asked with a slightly twisted smile.
Perhaps it was his imagination but for a moment, it sounded like she giggled. Not one of those barely audible, fake giggles. It was a real one, the ones excited "girly" girls squeak out.
"I'm not a fool, you know, Harry," she finally whispered into his chest, having nuzzled into the crook of his arm.
"I'm neither," Harry couldn't help grinning, placing an arm over her waist.
They lay down on the bed, facing each other, their bodies quite pressed against each other. God, the warmth was intoxicating.
Harry reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Daphne's face. Sensing opportunity, she caught his hand with both her tiny ones before holding it against her even warmer and far softer cheek.
"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes wet with some strange emotion. "For everything."
Harry gave a brilliant shade of smile, feeling a surge of affection for the woman beside him.
"You're more than welcome," he muttered as he pulled her even closer.
They looked at each other with… something intense dancing in their eyes for a while.
But the very next moment, Harry found himself on top of Daphne's moaning body, his aggressive lips smashing against her quivering ones underneath him. She got his head grabbed in between her two petite hands as she forcefully stamped her mouth even harder against his.
Harry's hands seemed to have a mind of their own, however, as they roamed about all over Daphne, exploring every patch of her body, caressing every tiny skin not covered by those ridiculously long clothes.
Now that he thought about it, clothes were indeed very useless things, weren't they?
They kept kissing in that position, all eight limbs tangled together in a distorted, awful mess. Not that they cared, though.
Eventually, Harry found his head swimming in a web of silky, thin, black hair, the weight of its fragrance almost too much to bear. Daphne's low winces had become full-on shrieks by now.
Harry never realized when he dozed off amidst all this… activities, right on top of her.
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.
Thanks for all your support and love in this endeavor. You really help me keep going. A big thank you!
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.