Harry knocked twice on the Brocklehurst gate.
After waiting the appropriate amount of time it took a rich person to walk the length of egregiously long walkway, Harry knocked again. (Technically, he was rich too, but that was because of loved ones dying and leaving him fortune, not because of a long and ancient bloodline, which he technically also had if he ever decided to trace the Potter lineage)
No on answered. The gate creaked mockingly at him.
Mandy wasn't home, it seemed. He circled the grounds and ultimately decided against breaking in. It would disturb the wards the Aurora left and notify Gilbert, and lead to another series of headaches he didn't have time for.
Sighing, he looked down his list. It was a list of all of Mandy's known friends and associates.
Did he really have the time to run after the society's girls? There was the Nundu's export he had to finalize, venom samples to send the lab, and a detailed brief he had yet to give Hermione on the operation. He was counting upwards of sixty hours a week. It was Teddy's birthday soon. Molly kept asking whether he could confirm his attendance for George's birthday party.
He folded the parchment and tucked it in his back pocket. The Woman would have to wait.
Tracey was falling out of her chair by the time Daphne ended her tale. Creative discretions were utilized in avoiding Green Eyes' very complicated involvement in all this, but Daphne's gallivant through the Brocklehurst tunnels and follow-up gallivant behind Mandy's destruction of no less than two rooms at the timey-wimey museum, and ten hours spent drafting a full parchment roll on why Astoria Greengrass discovered a newfound passion for public policy and should be accepted to the Magical School of Law, was met with muted guffaws and goggling eyes.
"Gods, Daph. I should've quit my program and come earlier."
Daphne bit into a scone. It wasn't that uncharacteristic of her, was it?
"It's Theo's fault."
Like a good friend, Tracey nodded. "It always is. Never take accountability, darling."
"So you'll come to Mandy's ceremony?"
"Obviously. More mayhem guaranteed?"
"Merlin, no." That was why she was asking more people to come. Continuous association with Mandy was bound to raise suspicions, and Daphne needed to be prepared with more than earnest denials to dissuade the omnipresent Green Eyes. Since the universe was intent on thrusting him on her, she wouldn't let her guard down.
Constant vigilance, they always said.
"Tell me about you. You were with Draco that night?"
"At the same table, yes." Tracey waved a hand. "But I might've gotten on more with the Ministry types. Just because I suck at studying doesn't mean I plan on immediately popping out a child. I like pontificating, intellectualizing, all that."
That struck Daphne as Davies' type. Should she change her plans and set the two up…
No. Astoria first.
"But no progress with Draco?"
Daphne shook her head. "Nothing from Narcissa either."
"Prat."
"Tell me about it. Astoria seems wound up too."
"Why does she like him so much?"
"You're asking me as if I have an answer."
Tracey slurped her blasphemous iced tea. Daphne waited for her own to arrive, and soon both were sipping as elegantly as one possibly could through a straw.
Tracey swirled her cup around. "I saw you sitting with Ginny Weasley."
Daphne let out a delicate snort. "It was accidental."
"I didn't know it was her then, but she was pretty. From what I could see of her hair and legs, anyway."
The legs comment made her think about Green Eyes' expression and subtle admiration of her own legs. She bit back a smile.
"Do you think that or is it because Lady Bluebird said so?"
Tracey laughed. "Some of us can think beyond a faceless gossiper, although she was uncharacteristically nice about it, wasn't she? 'Hair is a delight for the senses.'"
"Was she?" Daphne replied absently. It was true, but she'd been too busy working on the section on Ida, Mandy, and Higgs to pay much attention to the rest. It would have been odd not to mention the ginger girl at all, because Lady Bluebird made it a point to comment on all equally and tease out both obvious and secretive gossip.
Daphne heard much commentary in the past few days debating why Bluebird chose her as the paragon of vulnerability. But Tracey's focus on Ginny, too, though wasn't unsurprising. No one had expected the non-conformist and modest living Weasleys to participate.
"Hm, yeah. I remember she tore into Milicent last year for eating three slices of cake, and I'm pretty sure Weasley could out-do her. Maybe it's because of Potter? Even Bluebird can't go after the Savior's former jewel."
Daphne focused her eyes on a point above Tracey's shoulder, ignoring the discomfort rising in her chest. "It's interesting, I suppose." When Tracey looked confused at her lack of further commentary, Daphne added, "Focusing more on men's discretions instead of women's."
Tracey blinked twice at her, and then erupted into a hacking laugh.
Daphne's face went sour. "Quiet. Four people are looking at you."
"For a moment, you sounded like my friend in feminist and gender studies."
"I was merely making a comment."
"A good one. Imagine a column taking Zabini's ego down a notch or two."
They both snorted. Some things were completely impossible.
"Say, have you seen Pansy?"
Daphne shook her head. She'd connected with Tracey for that reason too, partially hoping Pansy would crash their little meeting today.
Daphne's relationship with Pansy was not complicated. Simply, they were roommates—closer than the others, having slept in beds next to one another and having taken almost all of the same upper-level courses. That…habit of constant companionship and bickering was not easy to dissuade, even if such a relationship wasn't beneficial to seeking a spouse. Most of the women of the season uniquely ignored Pansy, both grateful they weren't her and pitiful for her situation, and occasionally, secretly admitted they would've done as she did.
"Oh," Daphne straightened. The date of Pansy's father's death was coming up, wasn't it? The same day Vaisey promised to take care of her.
And then the man had left once it became clear Pansy would be left with little of the estate after reparations, and her lack of fortune combined with her reputation was too much for him and his family to bear. His lack of defense made her resentful; her resentment furthered his unwillingness to fight for her.
More proof that love, no matter how grand or wonderful in the beginning, was not enough. It was then that Daphne learned the value of social pressure and manners. When she was young, it was about fitting in, and then later about conforming for Astoria's sake. Now, it was about being a master, to not be controlled by it but to control it for her needs.
Then why did it feel like Daphne was being deceived, when embracing mastery required her to let go of so much?
His eyes…his touch, his mouth.
His deceit.
"Daphne? You thought of something?"
Daphne shook her head. They moved onto greater plans, like what in Merlin's beard was Flint planning to do on a boat?
Surprisingly, nothing too out of the ordinary. It seemed the season had seen enough shenanigans at Clove's museum and were eager for a straightforward party. Lady Flint, not as easily bamboozled as her son (and her mouth conspicuously full of less teeth), identified society's mood perfectly and kept the affair simple. Aside from the egregious crystal peacocks strutting about, pouring streams of water (or wine) from their beaks into the guest's glasses, the main deck's dining area consisted of five long tables, each sitting thirty guests, and food appeared at each placemat like it did in Hogwart's Great Hall. There was a sign directing guests to the sun bridge, where they could indulge in drinks, play chess or poker and socialize under bright stars.
Daphne also had the foresight to change her panther mask into a fox-themed ruby-studded one. It sent her Bluebird earnings back at least two weeks, but she couldn't afford any more mistakes. The new mask, combined with a dress style and color she rarely went with—a deep black, floor-length, fitted dress with a slight flare at the bottom, paired with a rose-gold clutch she had yet to bring to a society event—with enough luck would be enough to avoid Green Eyes, lest he make an appearance.
She sort of hoped he would. He'd made for an entertaining addition to the season, but on second thought, he was distracting her. She needed focus, lest Astoria take matters into her own hands again.
Ginny Weasley also joined today's foray into Poole Harbour. The MacNairs were absent, as expected, though Zacarias Smith and Marietta Edgecombe appeared, their canceled invites restored after an official engagement announcement in the papers earlier that week.
Of all days, today found Daphne straining to identify everyone. Even on the main deck, the ceiling had been charmed to reflect the night sky. This, combined with dim candlelight, made for a romantic, almost honey-moon like air that covered everyone's faces in a dim haze. Daphne spent the better part of dinner absorbed into tallying everyone and clocking who was who instead of conversing with her dinner mates. She'd identified Roger Davies sitting close to Adrian Pucey, but by then it was too late to stage an intervention with Astoria. They'd have to aim for a dance, and at worst, a meeting on the sun deck closer to midnight, before the yacht returned to the shores. As a backup plan, she kept an eye on Marcus Belby (thankfully, he ate enough vegetables now and hadn't touched dessert yet) and Gruffyd Wellnelly, who was chatting with Duncan Inglebee.
Around nine o'clock, the Flint family shrunk the tables and levitated them into storage areas, allowing a sparkling floor to materialize beneath their feet. Some guests quickly took to dancing; others waited near the cocktail tables to digest prior to attempting a foxtrot.
"There's Roger," Daphne whispered in Astoria's year as they collected little cups full of chocolate mousse from a cocktail table.
Astoria pressed her lips together. "I prefer the Durmstrang grad."
Daphne mirrored Astoria's expression. "You barely spoke to him when he called on you. Do you even remember his name?"
"Better than drolling about wand regulations."
"Astoria!" she whispered harshly. "We've talked about this."
"Yes, I know, sister." Astoria handed Daphne her unfinished mousse and glided away without another word. She did approach Roger, thankfully, but her dancing was markedly stiffer than last week.
What'd gotten into her? Had Draco said something at the museum? Her attitude had been less than spectacular the entire week.
Daphne kept her eyes wide to find Draco and Narcissa. They'd likely glamoured their hair again, so instead of blondes she looked for brunettes, and when that failed, looked for redheads. No, there was only Weasley and Ernie MacMillan. Daphne didn't know why Ginny Weasley at least tried for anonymity with her horse mask because that shade of hair and Quidditch chaser-body was impossible to hide. Suitors stared at her the entire night.
Including Blaise Zabini. Hell.
She'd decide later whether to make that tidbit public. Blaise's attention was certainly special, but would knowledge of it make Weasley more or less desirable?
Unfortunately, her attention on Weasley was what led to another serendipitous occurance.
Because close to Weasley stood Green Eyes. The dim light did nothing to hide their shine.
Green Eyes remained a respectable pace away from Ginny Weasley, in all her maroon glory, but he didn't look away.
Envy bruised Daphne's chest. Was that all it took? No amount of shared jokes and an almost nose-bump kept a man from looking like a lost puppy at the shiniest, newest addition to the room?
Daphne looked away, trying to stamp down the poison unfurling in her gut with three more cups of mousse.
A minute of internal turmoil passed before she could look around again, and then she finally found Draco on the middle of the dancefloor, spinning a Japanese ambassador in place. His hair was blonde, but glamoured considerably darker. His eyes kept flitting over to Astoria, who was still, thankfully, dancing with Davies a few meters away. Two couples danced between them. Astoria kept her face facing forward in a show that was too stiff, clearly meant dissuade anyone from approaching.
They'd had an argument, Daphne concluded. When or where or how, she didn't know, but some time between last Saturday and today, Astoria and Draco spoke, and it did not end well.
That was good, wasn't it?
She braved a look to Ginny Weasley again, for some Merlin-foresaken reason, Green Eyes was gone.
He was instead talking to the French blonde from last week.
She told herself to not panic. He wasn't around when she was sitting at that table, right? Or maybe he had seen her because he was looking at Ginny Weasley, and now was going after all the occupants at that table.
But that seemed a stretch, even for an Auror. How could he have remembered the French blonde, a stranger to her and probably to him, with just a glance? Or was the French blonde also an Auror? An undercover agent? And she'd overheard John and Lady Abbott use her name, Merlin—
Daphne's panic simmered when Green Eyes bid the blonde good bye and wove his way through the crowd.
Only to talk to another blonde. Daphne recognized her as Gabrielle Delacour.
There were at least twenty blondes present. Maybe he had a thing for both redheads and blondes.
A minute later, a brunette joined him. Susan Bones? No, too short to be her, and her demeanor was too…fidgety to be the elegant Bones. Another new face, Daphne decided, but before she could work through her mental list and narrow possibilities down, Green Eyes had moved on to yet another blonde, Emma Dobbs, this time entering the dance floor with her.
He was right, he was not a good dancer. In a word, Daphne would call his style folksy . His steps were hesitant, and his attempts to lead were slightly out of sync with the rhythm of the music. Dobbs covered his stumbles with her poise, but they made a discordant duo on the floor.
"Sister? Are you alright?"
Daphne was startled. The song was done and already onto the next one; she hadn't seen Astoria return at all.
Astoria was equally surprised at her, well, surprise, but said nothing of it.
"How was the dance with Roger?"
"As well as expected. May I sit the next one out, sister?"
Daphne's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you feeling ill?" Astoria was due for another treatment soon. She'd scheduled it for the upcoming week, since the next event was one Astoria could afford to miss. It was an auction, involving no dancing and relatively little time to socialize properly. Daphne still intended to attend, to keep an eye on competitors and gather intel for the next column.
"No, but I thought it best to ask."
"What? You don't need my permission for that."
"Don't I?" her sister snarked.
Daphne had little time to formulate a response. She was in the middle of one, let's go home, or, do you want to talk about this on the sun deck, and deciding which option would be better because Astoria had to have the sense to not start an argument here, when a familiar voice intoned,
"A dance, miss?"
Her heart skipped not one, not two, but a dozen beats.
Astoria turned to Green Eyes first, assessing him. Daphne was slower, hoping her face and new mask was enough to trick him.
"No, thank you," she replied, pitching her voice an octave higher than her usual.
Green Eyes kept staring, hand outstretched.
She cleared her throat. She'd replied in the negative last time too, and needed to seem as dissimilar as possible to the blonde he thought he'd met at Malfoy's gala.
"And you are?" she continued, adding an airy undertone.
She belatedly realized it sounded almost flirty. Wonderful.
"I'm not supposed to give that away so early," he replied.
Gods, was it too late to flee? She could cite Astoria's health as an excuse, and Astoria would gladly play along.
"My sister is not feeling well. We were in the midst of leaving."
She shot Astoria an imploring glance. Her sister looked away, still in her irritable mood.
"She's mute, you see," Daphne tried desperately.
Astoria's head swiveled back towards her, her glare nearly dissolving her mask.
Green Eyes let his hands hang at his sides. "I see. Do you prefer a drink to a not-dance?"
He was suspicious and testing her. To address the odd verbiage or no?
"A what dance? Is that your preferred form of torture?"
"I wouldn't say dancing is torture if it's with an interesting partner."
Oh, no, they were falling into a familiar rythym, and Astoria was now watching curiously with no apparent desire to intervene.
Different. Daphne needed to be different, but she didn't think she could stomach a waltz around the dance floor in full view.
Her sister took pity on her...
"She would appreciate a drink on the sun deck, Monsieur."
...and wanted her out of sight. Damnit.
Daphne's eyes narrowed, promising retribution later that night. Astoria made a casual wave of dismissal, challenge rising in her own irises, before threading through the crowd.
Green Eyes held out his arm. Daphne pretended to hesitate, as though she didn't know where to place her hands. He dropped his, confusion marring his mouth, and she prayed—implored, begged every deity—that this was enough to push him away.
Rare emerald Elysian jewelry caught her eye. Then its wearer, Lady Abbott. And next to her was John, meandering near the orchestra. John locked eyes with her and immediately, a small smile curved his mouth, and he leaned to whisper something in Lady Abbott's ear. She smiled too, turning in Daphne's direction.
Daphne lurched onto Green Eyes' arm.
"A drink. I would like a—an elderflower liqueur."
She hated elderflower liqueur. She would hate John strolling close and mistakenly using her name more. How'd he recognize her, anyway? A fluke maybe, or he recognized Astoria standing nearby and put two and two together.
Underneath her tight hold, Green Eyes' arm flexed. If possible, it was sturdier than she remembered. She couldn't imagine anything underneath but thick, sinewy muscle, the result of years of Auror training.
"You're strong," he mused.
"Ladies aren't dainty," she retorted, out of a practiced reflex to disagree with him.
He led her wordlessly to the bar upstairs. In the middle, a sleek cocktail bar served as the centerpiece. High stools around it offered a perch for guests who wished to crane their necks to the sky or watch the nearby tables, teeming with games and unfinished drinks. A group, mostly composed of Rosiers and Goyles, tried to play poker but none of them could hold a straight face for more than a few seconds.
A few more scattered tables seated intense games of chess. Flint, Eloise Midgen, a few Beauxbatons graduates, and...
"Miss?"
Daphne pulled her gaze away. "Ah, sorry I was taken by the…" clinking glasses? Roaring waves? She spotted the magical lanterns regularly spaced around the deck. "Lights."
Different. She needed to be different. Even if she'd spotted Pansy, dressed in tantalizingly short purple dress, moving her pawn to take Flint's knight. That hair cut and pouty mouth couldn't be anyone else.
Ohmygod. What was Pansy doing here? Did Flint invite her? Flint was friends with Vaisey, and obliged to avoid Pansy on that basis alone. Or maybe she'd come sauntering in with that revenge dress, hoping Vaisey would see her?
"They...are nice, I guess." commented Green Eyes. He sounded terribly dry and ill at ease. But apparently not uncomfortable enough to allay his suspicions.
"Um, I love the lanterns," she insisted.
"I…right."
Daphne suppressed a flinch.
Their drinks were proffered with little ceremony. He sipped lightly on a bourbon (she couldn't imagine he had the clearance to drink on the job), and she stared, forlorn, down the thin glass before bracing herself and downing the earthy drink. It tasted like a mouthful of grass with a side of cucumber.
"Thank you," she forced out, still thinking about Pansy. The brunette had beat Flint and the two were setting up another game.
Green Eyes swirled his glass, piercing her with the force of his stare.
Is this game what Astoria endured week in and week out? If this was one conversation, Daphne was beginning to realize that weeks of masquerading—pun intended—a personality must be exhausting.
Thankfully, he caught sight of something behind her, and she followed his gaze to see teenagers stumbling about the deck, pressing their bodies against the railing and peering into the dark sea. Half of one boy' body hung over the side.
He lurched forward. She cleared her throat.
"They'll be fine."
He tilted his head, quizzical.
"These yachts have a type of ward around them. Nothing can get out without the host's permission." If she wasn't pretending to not be Daphne, she would've chucked her glass overboard to show him. It'd bounce back, of course, but the liqueur would be wasted.
Green Eyes waited a few moments, as though she'd be lying, but sure enough the boy hit the magical barrier. It gently nudged him back onto the deck.
"Good observation."
She pretended to preen at the complement. "Oh, I wouldn't say that." She fluttered her eyelids. "General society knowledge."
"I guess so."
Green Eyes quieted again.
But he also didn't leave.
Daphne searched for an excuse to leave; perhaps a sudden fainting spell was about to overcome her, or she needed to powder her nose in the loo.
His hand lifted to her chest. She wobbled.
"Sir—"
"You have a—" he broke off, eyes lifting to her face, "A spot of cream on your—" he gestured to his own chest.
Daphne looked down. Indeed, a soupçon of mousse was melting into the stretch of fabric over her left breast. She prayed no one else had seen it. Gods. How messy.
He pulled out maroon handkerchief square from his left pocket.
Auror. Hogwarts. Quidditch Seeker. Gryffindor?
Embarrassed, she took the square and began dabbing.
He hacked softly and diverted his gaze.
For a minute there she'd thought he was going to fondle her. And her first objection, tellingly, was that it was in public.
She returned the pocket square. He tucked it back in his breast pocket, wrinkled and covered in mousse, without a care.
He opened his mouth. She studied his chest.
"Wait." She tugged the square out and pulled out her wand from her clutch to smooth it out and vanish what she could. After she folded it in half twice, she pried open his pocket with the tip of her forefinger, and carefully slid in the handkerchief. Her fingers grazed on the soft fabric, pressing momentarily just enough to confirm that he was sturdy, everywhere, and then her fingers fell away in a slow dance. She felt his breathing slow under her touch.
Stepping away, she pondered the physical and metaphysical benefits of playing Quidditch.
"Do you know Mandy Brocklehurst?" he asked.
Her brain scrambled for dredges of common sense. She snapped her clutch shut and left it on the bar top, stewing in hollow irritation.
For Merlin's sake, had the DMLE run out of spies, or were they all as subtle as a lion?
On second thought, she'd missed the Auror background in not one, but two meetings with this man. So he had some skill in conniving sneakery, so the better explanation was he was just exhausted, too tired after the Ginny Weasley staring and three blondes he'd investigated before her.
"Brocklehurst?" Daphne cocked her head to the side, humming out loud. "No, don't think so."
"You don't know her?"
"I know of her, of course," she amended quickly. "The luncheon two weeks ago, and from the papers. Do you wish to dance with her? I don't believe she's here today."
"Oh. Pity."
"She'll be flattered to hear she has many suitors."
Green Eyes' mouth stretched wide, but there was no smile in it. "I hear she's with Higgs."
Higgs. He was after her and Mandy to get information on Higgs. It was the only explanation. Like with Mandy's cousin, Daphne tried to remember if there was anything damning on Terrence Higgs, but aside from general sliminess and his bad breath, there was nothing dark about him other than astray family members. And who among them didn't have villainous family members?
Her own father, for one thing.
"Is she? Hm. She's a lovely girl, I'm sure she'll find someone." Daphne choked down the last of her liqueur. Planting headfirst into dirt would've been better than this.
At least her plaintive responses left Green Eyes sufficiently mollified.
He left his own drink unfinished, vanishing the rest of it (now, why hadn't she thought of that?), giving her a single nod. The last of his interest left his eyes.
He looked bored. Tired. She was nothing of interest to him anymore.
She wasn't relieved, even as he said, "Sorry. I have to go."
Rude, she could chastise him, Ungentlemanly to lead on a lady for so long.
Not even another ask for a dance?
Daphne uttered a soft goodbye.
He left for the stairs.
She inched closer to the guardrails to peer into the water's nebulous depths.
From behind her, his footsteps were loud in her ears.
But, as it was on this disappointing night, Daphne's explanation of the rich boat magic was half right. While the magic protected anyone from falling out, it didn't stop what was outside from coming in.
And so, a thick bludgeon of scaly flesh pierced through the water and shot upwards.
The shout was halfway up Daphne's throat when the tentacle stagnated in an arc, changed direction, and descended towards the deck.
It twisted around a man in the middle of chess game and hauled him ninety meters in the air, waving his thrashing body with the energy of a child holding a winning medal. The man's mask fell.
Flint.
And the person who rushed towards the chaos first was Draco. The rest of the crowd scrambled for safety.
Daphne watched, frozen, as the tentacle bobbed up and down, taunting as much as it was angry. It began to lower Flint's flailing body towards the deck. As Flint's descent slowed, Draco darted to the edge. He reached out and clasped Flint's outstretched hands.
Pansy followed Draco, arms winding around to his front and clutching desperately. Her heels left streaks on the deck, one snapping under the pressure and the other scrambling for purchase. Draco was nearly overboard with Flint; Pansy's body slammed against the white guardrails, eliciting a successive chorus of pained howls. The monster kept trying to pull, but the wards held Flint in place.
The problem, of course, was that he was being suffocated and shaken about.
Daphne sprinted. Poorly aimed immobilizing spells streaked into the sky. A screaming man knocked into her shoulders, waylaying her temporarily, but all she could see was Pansy's lithe body trying desperately to remain on the deck.
She launched herself at Pansy's legs just as the woman teetered over the guardrail.
"What are you doing?" cried Pansy. "Don't lift my skirt!"
The monster below howled. More screaming ensued.
"Hold me tighter! Tighter!" Pansy barked at her.
She gripped the woman's legs even as she felt herself dragged forward as part of this impromptu human train.
Suddenly, something pressed into her back. The pulling force lightened by a third.
"Hold on!" Green Eyes' voice penetrated her ear drums. He tightened his arms around her waist, panting as he dragged her backwards. Pansy's legs slipped further out of her grasp until Daphne's nails were digging into her ankles, and the force of Green Eyes' pull was pushing her stomach into her back. Ahead, Draco cursed.
"Is no one here a wizard?" shouted Daphne. Curse misogyny and women leaving needing handbags for wands. If men didn't make use of their pockets in the next thirty seconds she was going to eviscerate them in her next column.
"It's a giant octopus!" Flint wheezed. His faint words could barely be heard through the shouts and groans.
"Purebloods and their freaking pets," muttered Green Eyes. There were a few people behind Green Eyes, each grabbing each other and struggling to unsheathe their wands. Someone shot an immobilizing spell at the tentacle.
There was a wet animalistic gurgle, followed by a squelch.
Then a wall of water lifted. Like a tidal wave emerging from under the boat and rising, it spanned an entire side of the yacht, reaching at least a meter high above them. The ground tilted with its force. Daphne focused on Pansy's ankles, bracing herself for the shock of cold.
It reached its zenith, and then a shower collapsed over the boat.
It was worse than she expected because the water was slimy and warm.
"If you let go I'm going to kill you!" Flint gurgled.
"If you survive I'll kill you first!" replied Draco, grunting. Daphne was granted a full view of Pansy's soaked knickers and decided that she, too, would participate in some gratuitous homicide after tonight.
A few more spells missed. The octopus wailed.
Finally, Green Eyes shouted a diffindo! and their human chain—as well as severed meter-length of Octopus tentacle—cascaded one after another. The sudden lightness combined with successive pull backwards led Flint knocking into Draco, who smacked Pansy, who fell onto Daphne, who sprawled into a dozen strangers. She rolled to avoid the weighty pile-up. Her bum and back ached, her vision going spotty. A chorus of wails and grunts echoed in her ears.
Green Eyes was already up and running to the guardrails, shouting nondescript commands. In between the black splotches in her vision, she spotted glowy white strings coalescing to form a dear, or a stag, or some animal with antlers, and it nodded at whatever Green Eyes was saying. It then leapt away. She wondered if she was entering the afterlife by hallucination.
"You fucking moron," spat Draco, sitting up. His mask was sheared in half, and a trickle of blood blossomed at his right temple.
The severed tentacle shriveling around Flint's waist as he wheezed through his shouting. "Me? Who's the one who dared me to—"
"It's called a joke, Flint! How was I supposed to know you owned an actual mollusc—"
"Both of you, shut up!" cried Pansy, pointing out to the shores. "Look what you've done."
Flint, still ensconced in tentacle flesh, and Draco were fixated at whatever she'd gestured to.
"Are those Aurors?" asked Draco.
No sooner did Flint pale, did Green Eyes jog to him, wand lifted to his face.
"Lower the wards."
"But—"
"This is the DMLE. You're under orders to lower the wards!"
Flint wriggled his body out of the dead tentacle, and it looked like he had suffered at least four broken ribs, and lifted a shaky hand. Another guest ran up to Green Eyes, the two exchanged quick words, and then the man—Green Eyes' colleague from the tunnel—barked out orders for everyone to leave and seek medical help.
Draco cursed, hauled Pansy by the arm, and rushed her downstairs.
Daphne stayed immobile, unable to leave both from bellyache and watching Green Eyes navigate the swirling chaos. Shattered glass, spilling drinks, upturned board games. He moved with surprising agility, his gaze cutting through the tumult and making quick calculations—the same way she did with people.
Her breath caught as he locked eyes with her.
Her mask was still on. Thank Merlin for efficient sticking charms.
He was at her side in a blink of an eye.
"Are you okay?"
She blinked slowly.
"Are you okay?" He shouted again, reaching for her shoulders.
He cared. He cared so much and she was the subject of his care only because he thought she was someone making his life difficult.
She trudged to her feet and took a step backwards.
His arms hung loosely at his sides, sleeves rolled to the elbows. "You're not surprised I'm an Auror," he seemed to say this words as he realized it.
She nodded.
"It's you," he breathed.
His hands flexed minutely. His eyes lowered to her abdomen, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to soothe the ache.
"How long have you—" he stopped. Seemed to rethink his question and tried, "Whose side are you on?"
Daphne's brows furrowed. Was he asking about whether she was in cahoots with Flint? Or larger questions of Light, Dark, and the in between?
"Sir! The octopus is getting away, all the wards are gone!" His colleague swung a leg over the guardrail and flailed wildly at them.
"On my own side," she croaked.
Green Eyes' looked at his colleague, combing his hair with his fingers. "You were helping them."
She thought of the panic at seeing Pansy following Draco following Flint.
It wasn't…care. Not exactly, per se.
"So did you. Death by mollusc is gruesome."
"Sir!"
Green Eyes looked down his nose at her. "See a healer. And don't—"
"SIR!"
After a last look at her, as though he was memorizing her for memory, he followed his colleague and leapt over the guardrail, following the creature into the depths below. At least she didn't hear a splash, which meant enough people had gotten their wits together to use magic, and she took the stairs down to the main deck, where few remained. Everyone was being shuffled into small boats by a flurry of law enforcement officers and healers, confused cries mingling with shouty demands that they not be touched and did they know who they were and my father will hear about this.
Daphne was herded into a levitating boat. The trip to the shore was quick, her mind so befuddled and dazed that only Astoria's cry lifted her back to reality.
"Sister! Are you alright?" Astoria was bouncing on her feet.
Daphne unclasped her mask and reached for her sister, sniffling into her shoulder.
"Daphne?"
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."
"They said there was a giant squid. Were you hurt?"
"Covered in octopus snot and bruised but otherwise fine."
Astoria gaped, clutching her tightly. "Let's get you to a healer."